#I am in the throes tonight I fear

[soullessjack]

you’re fucking joking RIBBH ends with a cryptic old man from the main protagonists’ father’s past whose name starts with a B telling the protagonist that family isn’t defined by blood but by choice and is meant to be complicated. You’re fucking joking. do you want me to kill myself

[kaiannae]

Starling Bath Scene part 11

As promised, an extra long excerpt.

Warning! This may contain spoilers for Starling. May, as in, I am not sure if it will be canon. As of now, it is a oneshot divergent future XD

CW for panic, self loathing and self worth issues, grooming difficulties and fear of water. Also, I've marked this as mature just to be safe.

"Will you let me?" Caleb's soft question tore him from the throes of his self-beratement. The human was holding the rag up again, in silent offering. He could take it. He should take it. He shouldn't force the other man to care for him like an infant. It would be unbecoming. It would be horrible. It would be- "Yes," he gasped, his traitorous mouth betraying him once more, because part of him shamefully wanted to feel Caleb's hands between his legs, and part of him shied from the water still, and from- doing. He wanted to just be, for a while. He longed for it. a small, worn out, ragged part of him so longed to rest. Suddenly he was shamefully grateful that the bond no longer existed. Not for obvious reasons, though, of course not. He should have been grateful for being free of the forced servitude it had enforced. Instead, he found himself momentarily grateful that it wasn't there to allow for a bleed of emotion between them. The thought of Caleb finding out how depraved he was, how some part of him rejoiced at the thought of Caleb fondling him unwittingly, almost made him disintegrate into dust on the spot as if struck by a spell. He was twisting Caleb's kindness for his own depraved gain and it made him feel despicable, but he couldn't help it. At least the thoughts were distracting him from the threat of water around him. "Ja, ok. Good, Starling," Caleb crooned, and Essek was embarrassingly grateful for his adhering to nicknames tonight. It made things seem less stark and real, somehow, more surreal, softer, as if they were back in the forest, and Essek could do nothing but be, and obey, and trust that this human will take care of him. It made things easier. His body yielded easily to direction as Caleb shifted his embrace, changing the position of his arms to reach better.

"Untwist your body then, liebling. Ja, that’s it. Now bend your knees," Caleb instructed, giving gentle directions with the tips of his fingers, positioning Essek to his liking until he had full access to every inch of Essek's most intimate parts. Essek tried not to think of the sight he would make for anyone who happened to enter the room at that moment, as he hurried to comply. legs bent and splayed open, laying in the human's lap, he must look the picture of the Jar-Addled Fairy, debauched and wanton in his surrender. He felt his skin heat into a plum blush at the mental imagery.   Caleb moved then, sending his arms down into the water to slide sudsy cloth against Essek's abdomen. Positioned as he now was, Essek felt his wing-buds rub against the cloth of the human's shirt. Usually, he would have balked at the chafing, coarse cloth but at the moment, with Caleb's hand sliding slickly down, the contrast was driving him crazy. He bit his tongue to smother the whine that wished to escape his throat, but a choked, pitiful sound still managed to leave it. Caleb's hands stopped immediately. "Alles gut, Sternchen?" he asked softly and Essek could have wept at the care in his tone. He managed to choke an affirmative through his embarrassment, leaning harder against the human's chest as if he hoped to meld into him. Essek’s hands were clutching again at the edges of the tub, his position no longer allowing him to clutch at Caleb's shirt and the loss of that anchoring caused him almost physical pain.

"I'm fine- I'm fine-" he panted, biting his lip almost hard enough to break the skin as conflicting waves of arousal and shame buffeted his heart. Caleb was going to touch him, and he was going to notice his reaction- Essek wanted it so badly, and at the same time he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. How would he explain that? How would he excuse his inappropriate reaction? He must have hesitated too long, he must have turned too rigid, because he felt the arms around him tighten their embrace.  "Don't overthink, Starling. Lean back and let me, and stop me anytime if you feel uncomfortable, ja? Just listen to my voice and everything will be alright. Like on the road, ja? When evening would fall, we'd share a meal and tea and berries, and take care of old injuries. Your hands, my arms, both of our fractured minds. Let me take care of you, Sternchen. Ok?" Caleb's tone was so very soft, so very genuine and Essek- Essek wanted– to be taken care of. He wanted, and that, perhaps, clouded his judgment somewhat as he answered. "Alright," he whispered, barely more than a breath, and tried to force himself to relax as Caleb's hand started moving again. pressed as he was to the human's chest, Caleb's mouth was close enough to his ear to make his breath tickle it as he spoke, the soft, low sound of his voice pouring straight into Essek’s head like a warm balm, soothing and familiar and safe like the sound of a crackling hearth and the turn of pages, yet igniting a whole different fire in his abdomen.Caleb murmured trivialities into his ear, he was rambling, more to keep Essek distracted than for the need to relay information. And the most embarrassing thing was—it helped. It made things– easier.  He still flinched when the cloth finally touched the chafed skin where thighs met hips, the sensitive, over-prestidigitated skin around his privates, thin and sensitive at the best of times and easily damaged with the repeating of a spell which scoured it raw with enough repetitions. He couldn't help his reaction, not when even his silken smallclothes had been hard to bear. The cloth was soft, but still coarser. Caleb stopped again immediately, an unasked question in his silence. "I- it's just- sore," Essek admitted shakily. For just a brief moment, the pads of Caleb's fingers replaced the fibers of the cloth, checking. He didn't even have to look down.

"Oh, Sternchen," he said, and the tender lament in his tone nearly broke the hold Essek had on his self-composure. For a moment, he felt the arms around him tighten their embrace, offering wordless comfort, before they resumed their task with extra care, working gentle suds into chafed skin under the water. It stung, and Essek clung to the sound of Caleb's voice to distract himself as the human mercifully resumed his stream of chatter. "You are being very good for me, Sternchen. I don't have the bottle of alcohol here to make the right scent, I know that used to help, but the routine is not so different, is it? Just taking care of damaged skin, nothing more. This soap is gentle, so it won't dry your skin further. My mother used to make this kind of soap when I was little. I don't know the exact measures, but I know it had honey in it, and herbs, and I remember the scent and how it felt, which means I can replicate it here. She'd use it even on cracked skin in the winter time. I wish I could let you take it out of the tower with you. If I find any where we next travel to, I will send it back for you. I also have an ointment though, and that you can take with you. But- that's for later. There," Caleb murmured, and the last word pulled Essek out of the haze he sank into as the stream of words washed over him. He blinked, realizing some time had passed, and he wasn't exactly aware how much. "All done," the human declared and Essek realized it must have been no more than a few minutes, yet he felt- calmer. This calm, this yielding haze- it both attracted him and frightened him. If this was anyone other than Caleb it could be ever so dangerous. It wasn't, though. Not there and then. It was just– pleasant. It was a relief, if he was honest with himself. He felt his limbs go lax in the water, safe in Caleb's embrace. He knew that the human would never let him go under, and his body was finally catching on to that fact as well. He let his head loll against Caleb's shoulder with nothing but a pleasant hum as Caleb's hands rubbed against his forearms and belly, lightly, soothingly. He let his eyes close for a moment, let himself forget the sight of the water around him and focus on the warmth and comfort. He wasn't entirely surprised when he felt Caleb's arm shift, felt one hand climb, warm and wet and slippery with new suds up the column of his neck. He felt his breath shudder in his throat and tried to school his expression. Caleb didn't know, couldn't know, how intimate touching one's neck was in the dynasty, beyond the obvious vulnerability of it. he couldn't know the social meanings, the cultural references and so he would have no idea how maddening it was for Essek, and what flavor of surrender he was offering by allowing that touch. "Will you let me wash your face? I’ll be very careful" Caleb promised, and Essek believed him, truly and utterly. He still didn't trust his voice not to break at the prospect of cloth over his face, though, so he nodded instead of answering, feeling Caleb's hum of approval vibrate against his back.

Essek quelled an urge to bite his lower lip as the hand climbed up, past the sensitive point where his pulse throbbed, to leave his throat altogether in favor of his face. Warm, slick, calloused fingers traveled up his jaw, across his cheekbones, under his eyelids, removing makeup and dead skin without the use of any cloth, leaving only to rinse and re-lather before returning to that petting which served as washing. It was something he could tolerate, more than that, even, and he found himself lightheaded with relief. He was well aware that had Caleb used cloth, there was a good chance Essek would have actually screamed.  Caleb was meticulous, which meant he took his time, fingers making numerous passes over Essek's skin to remove every trace of makeup, dead skin and later suds, treating the raw patches of his skin with the utmost care. Essek didn't open his eyes during the process, letting himself enjoy the intimate feeling without thinking of the water on his skin. It was so very pleasant, reminding him of days where water was a comfort, a solace rather than a threat. He missed those days, he missed them sorely, but- but part of him liked this. If he could have this, if he could have Caleb helping him bathe, keeping him safe, all the time, he would not lament coming to fear water, at least partially. He could live with this. The problem was that he couldn't have this. He couldn’t have Caleb. Caleb would leave again, he'd even said so. He would travel on with his friends, and Essek would be- Essek would be left alone. As it should be. He only wished that his heart didn't clench so painfully at the thought. He wished he could stay like this forever, leaning against Caleb' enveloped in his embrace, but all good things must come to an end. Eventually, there were no more suds left on his face, and Caleb's fingers retreated, lingering against his skin as if they weren't in a hurry to depart. He opened his eyes with a sigh to a pair of glacial blue eyes that should have been cold but were as warm as a hearth fire. "Gut?" Caleb asked, and Essek nodded, not trusting his voice. Pressed as he was, his back against Caleb's chest, he needed to look sideways and up to see Caleb's eyes, which put his ear against Caleb's chest. He could hear the slight speeding of the human's heartbeat as he opened his mouth next.

[ambiguous-sanskars]

Part 3 (final part!) of the prompt fill for the lovely @vijayasena <3 Thank you for all the love and encouragement, writing this has been an adventure!

Read on AO3

“Babai, I can’t do this,” Ram lamented to his uncle in the courtyard of Scott’s mansion. Dusk had fallen, and Ram’s eyes were yet to dry. “I can’t do this anymore. Not to him, not to my Bheema. They’ll kill him, Babai. The governor wants to hang him tomorrow. If I lose him-” Ram choked on his words, struggling to breathe.

“Ram,” Babai tried. “Fifteen years you’ve put towards your goal. Can we afford to take this kind of risk so close to the end?”

“I can’t do this.”

“All the times you’ve sacrificed yourself and your people for this mission- what is different this time, Ram? Why is Bheem different?”

“What will I do,” Ram sobbed into his hands. “What will I do with the weapons, what will I do with victory, if it costs me a friend like him?”

“This isn’t about you, Ram. This fight is bigger than the both of you. It’s bigger than all of us.”

Ram looked up, heartbreak evident in his eyes. “Don’t you see? There is no fight if there’s no one left to fight for. What is a nation, Babai, if not for its people? What is freedom if Malli is locked behind bars? Who am I even fighting for if Bheem is dead?”

Babai crossed his arms, stepping right in front of Ram. “I hear you. I’m not saying what you want to do is wrong. I’m just saying that when you look back on this moment years from now, you should not regret a decision taken in the throes of grief. So dry your tears, and tell me calmly what it is you plan to do.”

All his life, Ram had prided himself on being strong, level-headed, and rational. But he knew that if he ever faltered, his Babai would be right there to set him back on track.

Ram took several deep breaths to calm down. Then he got to his feet. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

As Ram used Babai as a sounding board to refine his plans for Bheem and Malli’s escape, Sakshi listened closely from around the corner. She’d lived in this mansion for long enough to know how sound traveled and where shadows fell at what hour. It was the easiest thing to find a hiding spot from which to eavesdrop.

As they finished putting together a game plan, Sakshi came up with strategic lies she could feed Scott to lead him astray. The governor had wanted to see her tonight, just to make sure Ram hadn’t had a sudden change of heart before Bheem’s hanging.

Sakshi smirked. In the end, it wasn’t Ram’s betrayal Scott should have feared. It was hers.

Suddenly, Sakshi heard her name, causing her to tune back into the conversation.

“…be the person Sakshi thinks I am,” Ram was saying. “I want to be worthy of her love. And-”

“Ram.”

Ram stopped mid-sentence, frowning at the interruption. “What is it, Babai?”

“Repeat that name.”

“What name?”

“This woman who said she loves you. Whom you love. What was her name?”

“Sakshi.”

No sooner had the word left Ram’s mouth than Babai shushed him, casting a furtive glance around the courtyard. Hidden from view, Sakshi frowned. What was going on?

Then Babai began to speak.

“Sakshi is not who you think she is,” he whispered to Ram. “She is Governor Scott’s right hand. She is a weapon of surveillance and destruction. Her loyalties lie with the British.”

Ram stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Babai, forgive me, but that’s patently insane. She’s a historian.”

“I hear things, Ram. The guards and the servants talk. Sakshi has grown up in this mansion. Scott kidnapped her when she was just a little older than Malli, right after she watched her mother being burned alive.”

“Burned alive?!”

“Sati.”

“Oh.”

“Scott promised her that he would bring a new, civilized future to this land, a future where no woman would be condemned by her own people to die a horrible death, for no crime of her own.”

“And she believed him,” Ram said, horror mounting. 

“She was a child. She wanted justice. She wanted safety. Scott promised her both of those things, things her own community could not - or would not - give her.”

“Babai-”

“Ram, you’ve been an officer in Delhi for over a decade. Sakshi has lived in the mansion this entire time. Why do you think it took you so long to run into her?”

The gears turned in Ram’s head.

“Sakshi isn’t seen unless she wants to be seen. And if she has been watching you, it can only mean one thing.” 

“Governor Scott doesn’t trust me,” Ram realized.

“Yes,” Babai confirmed, “but forget about Scott. If Sakshi wants Bheem out of the way, then he is as good as dead.”

The blood drained from Ram’s face. “She was asking about him. Just yesterday, she asked me where he was.” Ram took his uncle by the shoulders. “New plan. We have to break him out now.”

Sakshi watched the two of them sprint out of the courtyard. Then she slammed her fist into the brick wall, swearing colorfully.

Of all the times for her cover to be blown.

She did some quick calculations. If Ram freed Bheem, then Bheem would immediately try to free Malli, and all of them would most likely be caught.

But if Sakshi freed Malli right now, there was a good chance that they could all get out undetected. 

The only problem with that plan was that she’d miss her meeting with Scott, and he’d come looking for her.

Sakshi paused, tilting her head to the side. Maybe that wasn’t a problem. Maybe it was an opportunity.

She sprinted through the front door of the mansion, rushing right past the torn British flag that no one had bothered to replace. Today, she didn’t need to cover her face. 

When she arrived at Malli’s cell, Sakshi found her sitting hunched over by the bars, tapping on them rhythmically with a twig. Sakshi felt an odd combination of anguish and pride. 

Malli had been through so much at such a young age. The degree of captivity and objectification she’d survived would have driven many an adult to insanity. 

But Malli was an indomitable spirit, Sakshi realized - a force that when imprisoned, would play music on the bars of her cell. The kid would grow up to lead the fight that she’d been made a pawn in. 

Sakshi smiled. Scott never stood a chance.

“Malli,” she said softly. Malli looked up, scrutinizing Sakshi’s face.

“Who?” she asked.

“Your Akka,” Sakshi answered. She placed a hand over her heart. “Remember? Sakshi-akka.”

Malli’s eyes widened in recognition. “Akka! I didn’t see your face last time!”

Sakshi laughed. “Yeah, I was hiding. But I’m not anymore. Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes!”

Sakshi pulled a bobby pin out of her own hair and quickly picked the lock. 

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Malli asked in awe.

“Of course,” Sakshi scoffed. “For a smart girl like you? It’s easy.” She took Malli’s hand. “Ok, let’s go. Your Bheem-anna is waiting for you outside.”

Malli set one foot outside the cell and came to a dead stop. 

Sakshi turned around. “Love, what’s wrong? We have to move quickly, come.”

Malli shook her head. She pulled her hand out of Sakshi’s grip. “No. I’m not coming.”

“What? Why?”

Malli blinked back tears. “Akka, it’s okay. I’ll stay here.”

“You will not!”

“I will.”

“Malli-”

“Please, Akka, just go!”

Sakshi got to her knees, tenderly taking Malli’s face in her hands. “Malli, sweetie, it’s okay. Shhhh. Take a breath. There we go.” Sakshi brushed away her tears. “Don’t be scared, love. It’s going to work this time. I’ll get you home.”

“It’s not that,” Malli sniffled. 

“Then what is it?”

“Everyone who tries to help me gets hurt. Amma, Bheem-anna, you…” Malli’s gaze drifted to Sakshi’s gauze-wrapped hand. “It’s okay. I can stay here. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. I don’t want-” Malli’s voice cracked. “I don’t want them to hurt you or Bheem-anna again.”

Sakshi stood up and turned away, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She was going to kill Scott. She was going to fucking murder him and his wife.

“Akka? Will you please tell Bheem-anna I’m sorry, and that I love him?”

“No,” Sakshi said, feeling Malli’s grief like a physical ache in her chest. She held out a hand to the child. “Whatever you want to tell him, you can tell him yourself.”

Malli hesitated.

“Malli, listen to me. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“But-”

“Fine. If you’re not going, I’m not going.” Sakshi crossed the threshold of the cell and sat down.

Malli panicked. “Akka, Scott will find you!”

“Let him.”

“What if he kills you?!”

“Let him.”

“No,” Malli said, seizing Sakshi’s hand. “Come on, Akka, we’re going. Now.”

“Are you sure?” Sakshi raised an eyebrow.

“Akka, get up!”

Sakshi got to her feet, unable to keep the grin off her face. She scooped Malli into her arms. “Look who finally came to their senses.”

Malli giggled through her tears, looping her arms around Sakshi’s neck. Sakshi carried her all the way to the courtyard. Then she put her down and pointed in the direction of the prison cells.

“See that watchtower?”

Malli nodded.

“Run towards that. Your Bheem-anna will find you.”

“What about you, Akka? Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I am. I just need to take care of something first.”

Malli looked worried, but she nodded. She held out her arms to Sakshi. 

Sakshi got down on her knees and embraced Malli, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Go. Don’t look back.”

***

Ram threw open the door of Bheem's cell in a panic. Bheem’s head snapped up at the clatter of the bars. When he caught sight of Ram, he froze.

Ram took a step inside. Bheem tensed, bracing for violence.

Tears welled up in Ram’s eyes. The mere thought that Bheem expected - was prepared, even - for Ram to hurt him immediately brought Ram to his knees.

“With what words shall I beg your forgiveness,” Ram wept. He stared at the ground, unable to look Bheem in the eye. “I have done what no friend, no brother, should ever do. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the person I’ve become.”

Ram took a shaky breath, unable to stop the words as they tumbled out of him. There, on his knees in a damp prison cell in the dead of night, he confessed to Bheem every act of violence he had committed in Scott’s service. He told him what he had never told another soul before - how his family was killed, his father’s last words, the mission he had inherited. 

So enveloped was Ram by his remorse that he did not see Bheem’s eyes widen in understanding. He did not see Bheem’s hands jerk in their restraints as he tried to reach out.

“Tammudu,” Ram whispered the endearment like he was afraid it would burn his tongue. “Tammudu, I do not deserve to be forgiven. But please, find it in your heart to trust me. We don’t have much time. I beg of you, trust me to take you and Malli to safety.”

“An- Annayya,” Bheem’s voice was contorted with pain. Ram looked up to see Bheem straining against his chains with enough force that fresh blood dripped from his wrists.

“Bheema, wait! Let me remove…” Ram trailed off as he dug through his pockets for the key to the cuffs.

The moment one hand was free, Bheem brought it up to cradle Ram’s face, tenderly brushing his fingers over Ram’s bruised jaw and black eye.

Bheem closed his eyes, sending tears streaming down his cheeks.

“How could I have ever raised a hand against you in anger? You did everything you could to protect me, and I-” Bheem’s breath caught in his throat. He hid his face in Ram’s chest, clutching at the front of his jacket. “Forgive me, forgive my ignorance. Annayya, I did not know. Please forgive me-”

“Bheema, don’t.” Ram struggled to unlock the second cuff, his vision blurring with new tears. “Don’t apologize. I cannot bear it.”

The lock finally clicked open. As the chain fell to the ground, Ram wrapped his arms around Bheem, holding on as if for dear life.

After a minute, he carded a hand through Bheem’s matted hair.

“I thought I lost you,” Ram confessed, barely above a whisper. Bheem tightened his fists in Ram’s bloodstained jacket, too overcome with emotion to speak. He shook his head where it lay over Ram’s heart.

“Come, Bheema,” Ram said, coaxing Bheem away from him just enough to see his face. “We have to get Malli. We don’t have much time.”

Suddenly, Babai shouted something from outside the cell. A child’s voice responded.

Bheem looked at Ram excitedly. “That’s Malli!”

He stumbled outside, pulling Ram along.

As Bheem gathered the child into his arms, Ram looked around suspiciously. How had Malli escaped?

“Malli,” Ram started, trying not to feel hurt when she looked at him with apprehension. “How did you-”

“Not now,” Babai insisted. “We have to get out of here before the guards realize anything is amiss. Let’s go.”

Malli ran ahead alongside Babai. Bheem followed, his arm slung over Ram’s shoulders for support.

They were almost at the gate when Bheem stopped.

“What is it?” Ram asked urgently.

“Where’s Sakshi-vadina? Shouldn’t we get her? She works here, right? Won’t Scott-”

“Enough, Bheema,” Ram ordered, uncharacteristically firm. He turned away, certain that Bheem would see the fragments of his broken heart in his eyes. “I will never put you in harm’s way again. Not for anything or anyone.”

***

Sakshi returned to her room in the mansion for the last time. She unlatched the iron trunk next to her bed and extracted an ornate bow. She strapped a quiver full of arrows to her back.

When she turned around, she found herself face to face with a livid Scott.

The corners of Sakshi’s mouth curved up in a sinister smile.

“Hello, sir.”

For once in his life, Scott did what any reasonable man would do. He turned and fled.

Sakshi strode after him in pursuit. With her peripheral vision, she noted British troops mobilizing in the courtyard below. One soldier aimed his rifle towards the forest.

Without ever taking her eyes off Scott, Sakshi drew her bow. She listened for the click of the rifle being readied. Then she sent an arrow straight through the soldier’s skull.

All hell broke loose, with soldiers trampling each other to get to cover. Sakshi continued walking after Scott, picking off soldiers one by one on the side every time she passed a window to the courtyard.

Suddenly, someone stepped between Sakshi and Scott. It was Catherine.

“So this is how you repay our years of kindness,” she said, looking down the bridge of her nose at Sakshi. “We should have kept you in a cage, like that girl, Malli.”

Sakshi rolled her eyes. She looked over Catherine’s shoulder just in time to see Scott run around the corner towards the exit. The coward.

“What are you going to do?” Catherine sneered. “A bow is no good at this close a distan-”

Sakshi punched Catherine in the stomach and slung the bow around her neck as she stood doubled over. Then Sakshi pulled, relishing the sound of tracheal rings cracking beneath the bow’s handle.

The governor’s wife slumped to the ground. Sakshi stepped over her lifeless body and forged ahead.

She followed the troops into the forest, taking out anyone who raised a rifle in the direction of Ram, Bheem, Malli, or Babai. Her eyes swept the dark foliage, looking for Scott.

It wasn’t long before she found him. Hidden behind a bush, the governor had his rifle trained on Bheem. Bheem, who was standing directly between Sakshi and her target.

Sakshi cursed under her breath. She lifted her bow, aiming as best as she could. She waited.

A tiny corner of her mind registered the sound of leaves rustling to her right. It tried to warn her. She ignored it.

Bheem lifted his head, and Scott positioned his finger on the trigger. Sakshi pulled the arrow back as far as it would go.

Then several things happened all at once. 

Sakshi released the arrow, which whistled across the clearing and lodged itself in Scott’s throat. The rifle tumbled from Scott’s hand a millisecond before he could pull the trigger.

Unfortunately, on its way to Scott, the arrow grazed Bheem’s earlobe. The wound was small, but if anyone was standing exactly 3 meters to Sakshi’s right, all they would have seen was a near miss of what could easily have been a shot meant to take Bheem’s life. 

Ram was standing 3 meters to Sakshi’s right. As his heart tried to beat out of his chest, he took aim with his own bow.

Seeing that Bheem was safe, Sakshi turned to investigate the sound to her right. What she found was the love of her life standing with his bow drawn, string pulled taut.

“No, wait-”

Ram released the arrow.

Sakshi felt it slam into her chest with the force of a freight train. She stumbled backwards, reaching up to grab the arrow’s shaft.

“Goddamnit, you really just shoot first and ask questions later, huh?” she spat at Ram. She yanked the arrow out of her body with a grunt, crumpling to the ground and propping herself up against a rock.

“Vadina!” Bheem cried, running to her side. He pressed his hands over her wound, desperately trying to stem the bleeding.

Sakshi covered his hand with hers. “Shh, Bheema, it’s okay. Relax. It’s okay.”

“Bheema, get away from her,” Ram ordered. “She wants to kill you.”

“I saved him!” Sakshi shot back, gasping with the effort it took to yell. “Look, Rama.” She pointed shakily towards Scott’s corpse. “I was protecting Bheem. And you. I’ve been protecting you.”

“You work for Scott,” Ram stated without compassion.

Sakshi nodded weakly. “I’m sorry. It’s true that I deceived you. But I never once sold you out to Scott. Even when I knew, I covered for you.”

“When did you-”

“The night after you arrested Bheem. The way you reacted to his name. The way you reacted to my scars. I knew-” Sakshi paused, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. “There was no way you were loyal to the British.”

“But you still went back to Scott.” The coldness in Ram’s voice faltered as doubt crept in. “You were loyal to the British.”

“Even so, I tried to get Malli out of there.”

“Wait,” Ram’s eyes grew wide. “That was you on the ledge. You were the other protector.”

Sakshi nodded.

Ram’s blood turned to ice as he realized what he had done. “But- Sakshi, you- What made you rebel against the British? What changed?”

Sakshi smiled tiredly, looking away to catch Bheem’s gaze. She jerked her chin in Ram’s direction. 

“He has no idea how beautiful he is, does he?”

Bheem sobbed quietly, resting his forehead on Sakshi’s shoulder. Ram panicked.

“Bheema, you need to save her! How can we stop the bleeding? You know the forest. What herbs can-”

“Rama,” Sakshi tried, “there is nothing to be-”

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to be done! Bheema, please…”

“Annayya,” Bheem whispered, looking at Ram with a love that bordered on hate. “Your aim is never false. When you released this arrow, did you leave room for Vadina to survive?”

“Bheema!”

“No, don’t-” Sakshi struggled to draw a breath. “Don’t yell at him. He’s suffered enough.” She turned to look at Bheem, squeezing his hand where it still lay over her wound. “Bheema, forgive me. Forgive me for taking so long to realize what was right. What needless pain my inaction put you through.”

Bheema shook his head. “Vadina, please don’t, I would endure everything a hundred times over, if only it would change this.”

“I wouldn’t let you.”

A heavy numbness settled over Ram as he watched the two of them converse. His arms felt like lead at his sides. He tried to step towards them, but it was as though his feet were bolted to the ground.

Ram had spent most of his life living through experiences that were worse than death. But nothing had ever hurt like this.

***

Babai held onto Malli’s hand as they ran, trying to put as much space between Malli and the British troops as possible. He knew that Ram and Bheem would be fine; they were fighters. Or so he told himself.

“Babai, please stop,” Malli said, gasping for breath. “Just one second.”

“We have to keep moving, child. We must get to safety. I can carry you if you’re tired.”

“Like Sakshi-akka did.”

“Like- what?” Babai did a double take. “Wait, what?”

Malli sat down on the ground, exhausted. “Sakshi-akka. She’s the one who helped me escape.”

Babai blinked in disbelief. “What? Since when?”

“Since the day Bheem-anna came to the mansion with all the tigers. She carried me all the way up the courtyard wall. She tried to protect me, but Scott broke her hand, and…”

As Malli narrated the events of the past several days, Babai’s face grew ashen.

“She told me how to get to Bheem-anna,” Malli finished. “She said she would come with us.”

“We have to go,” Babai said. He lifted Malli into his arms and sprinted back through the forest. He knew his Ram. He knew that boy never missed a shot. He had to get to Ram before… before…

They were too late. 

“Akka!” Malli wrenched herself out of Babai’s grip and ran to Sakshi’s side. Bheem moved out of the way, still trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound. 

“Akka, who did this?”

“Scott,” Sakshi lied without missing a beat. “The bastard.”

Fire flashed in Malli’s eyes. “Is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Sakshi attempted to laugh and ended up coughing up blood. “He’s dead. He won’t hurt anyone again, love.” She looked at Bheem. “Bheema, take her away from here.”

“No!” Malli dug her nails into the grass as Bheem reached towards her. “Akka, I’m not leaving you!”

“Bheema, take her and go! She’s seen enough death.”

Bheem’s bloodstained hands trembled as he let go of Sakshi and picked up a thrashing and screaming Malli. He carried her a ways into the forest, behind a row of dense foliage. Ram and Sakshi listened as her cries gradually died down, responding to Bheem’s constant stream of quiet assurances. When they could hear nothing but soft sobbing, Ram knelt down next to Sakshi.

“I never got to try your chai recipe,” Sakshi whispered, half-smiling.

Ram tenderly cupped her cheek, flinching at how cold the skin already was. Blood seeped into Sakshi’s lungs, and Ram felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Let me follow you. Let me die on your pyre. It will be justice.”

“That’s not-” Sakshi’s breath hitched. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Ram’s head dropped to her chest. “I cannot live without you, my love. I cannot.”

It wasn’t even an exaggeration, Ram thought. He could feel the life force draining from his body. He was certain that his heart would stop with Sakshi’s last breath.

“You will not be without love. You have Bheem. You have your country. Is that not enough?”

It’s not, Ram wanted to scream. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not… 

“Don’t go,” he begged instead. “Don’t leave me alone to be haunted by my actions. Who else can I turn to for forgiveness or punishment?”

“You don’t need either of those things. You have done your duty well. And I…” Sakshi tilted Ram’s head up. She waited until he met her eyes. “I am indebted to you.”

Ram looked at her in bewilderment.

“Thank you,” Sakshi said, “For not letting me die a colonizer.”

Ram wasn’t sure how long he sat there, clinging to Sakshi and struggling to breathe through incessant tears. He wasn’t even sure exactly when Sakshi’s heart stopped.

All he knew was that the edges of the sky were beginning to turn grey when Bheem came to get him. How cruel, Ram thought, that the sun would still rise. How cruel that his heart would still beat.

***

2 YEARS LATER

Ram woke up peacefully. He checked his pocket watch; the time showed 4AM.

Only in the past few months had he finally been able to sleep through the night. Only in the past few weeks had he been able to sleep alone.

He stuck his head into the next room. Bheem and Jenny were fast asleep, curled up in each other’s arms. 

Jenny had come after them in the days following their escape, warning them of a bounty that had been declared for their arrest. She’d helped them go underground for a year. Together, they had slowly gathered allies, armed villages, and resumed training.

Ram had seen to it that Malli received a comprehensive education in multiple subjects and languages. She had a real aptitude for art and literature. She could also pick any lock in seconds and reliably beat up someone twice her size, both skills that Ram was sure had been inspired by Sakshi. 

Ram returned to his room and stood, head bowed, in front of a garlanded portrait of the love of his life. 

This had been a gift from Malli - an incredibly detailed charcoal sketch of Sakshi’s face, with just a touch of color from paints that Malli had mixed herself.

The first time Ram had laid eyes on the portrait, he’d cried until he threw up. Malli, understandably, had been alarmed at his reaction, but Bheem had explained to her that such grief and love were as much a blessing as they were suffering.

“Annayya?” came a soft voice from outside his door. Bheem and Jenny entered. Bheem held out a small cup to Ram. “Chai.”

Ram smiled, accepting it gratefully. He gestured towards his cot. “Sit.”

The three of them sat in comfortable silence, sipping chai and looking at the portrait on the wall.

“Is today a difficult day?” Jenny asked. 

“I think so,” Ram acknowledged. He paused. “But we will get through it.”

Jenny leaned her head onto Ram’s shoulder. On Ram’s other side, Bheem reached for his hand.

They would get through it.

[ferdieinceladoncity]

I take so fucking long to watch a TV show because if I'm fixated on it, the vibe has to be Just Right for me to watch it. I can't be too hungry or too hot or too cold or too tired, I have to watch it in bed with no other kind of lighting in the room, I can't have food unless I know it's a filler episode or I'm rewatching something or the stakes of fixation aren't *that* high, I can't watch anything when the other members of my household are awake (and I have to pause it if I hear them awake, even though I'm on my laptop, with headphones, with my door closed) I can't watch anything on Monday or Tuesday evenings because I have to wake up at 5am for work. Wednesday evenings are peak: I often buy myself snacks to eat beforehand.

All this to say that I'm currently extremely fixated on the x-files and it's kind of awful being in the throes of hyper fixation without any new content, but im electing not to watch an x-files episode tonight because I'm tired and hungry (and those are not things I can remedy beforehand) so, I fear, I am going to live with anxiety until Wednesday.

[thecuriouscrysalis]

"Bark for Daddy like a good puppy."

What?

"You take it like a bitch in heat when Daddy fucks you from behind. Bark."

Never in my how many years of being sexually active has anyone commanded me to bark like a dog. In the throes of my hair held tightly in his hands, my torso being pressed down into the bed, and him savagely ravaging my ass from behind, I'm flabbergasted by his abrupt demand.

"Come on, I said bark. Arf."

"Arf." I replied timidly.

"Again."

"Arf." My voice was a little louder this time so he heard me.

"That's right. You bark for Daddy."

I'm breathless and have been thoroughly fucked by the time he pulls out of me to let me come down. He lays beside me and tells me to roll into him on my side. We are at the end of our evening.

"You're going to feel me tomorrow and the next day."

He's right. I glance down at my arms and recall how just hours earlier he had tenderly kissed my wrist, making his way up my arm while those fleeting kisses turned into bites. They are now darkening into bruises.

My creamy pink and white breasts are splashed with deep violet from his slaps and teeth. The bottom of my tongue pinches when I move it, having spent time licking and sucking the pucker between his cheeks.

"You are absolutely the best rimmer." I'm proud of my talent.

My limbs are heavy, and my hips feel slightly disjointed. He is vigorous, and I've bled from his efforts. He has stretched me. Used me. Devoured me. I wanted him to. Needed him to. I am his Little Red and he is my Wolfie. I am his. His growls of possession still reverberate in my ears.

He holds the hand he had just called beautifully feminine moments earlier while I lay my cheek to his chest. I can hear his heart thumping rhythmically against the cavity, pacing at the same as my own. I am spent. He closes his eyes, and I gaze at his beautiful face. He is remarkably handsome, and I know I am seeing beyond just the physical attraction I feel. My fingers drift through his hair. I want to stay here in this moment for as long as I can.

I trust him implicitly. I have given him my body. My mind. My submission. All I have left is my soul, and if we persist I fear one day I'll give that to him, too. He is worthy of all that he has earned from me. And I find comfort in knowing he will never intentionally break me. Hurt me? Yes. Bend me. Push me. Bring me to my highest potential? Yes. But he will never harm or betray me. Even if, one day, our paths part I know it'll never be because he wanted to break my heart.

The past few hours are a blur. I am not always the most verbally expressive person, but my emotions are always displayed on my face, especially in my eyes. They are a mix of blue and gray with accents of green, and we joke about how he called them brown. We've never joked and laughed with each other like this before. I revel in it. I want his walls to come down with me.

I know exactly what my eyes are portraying when they look at him. He knows it, too. "I am an empath. I can feel what you feel for me. I can see it in your eyes, too." Good. He should know without me having to say it. I will when I'm ready, but not tonight.

He has been collecting my first time experiences, referring to them as cherries. We have explored a new intimacy for both of us. I'm laying on a wedge, laughing as he grabs my legs and pulls me to the edge of it. I am exposed, my legs falling to the side as he inserts a speculum inside me, clicking it until it's centered how he wants it. He asks if I'm ready. Yes, I tell him. I'm expecting it, but I still gasp as the cold metal rod enters my urethra.

It is a sensation unlike any other. It is not painful, but it does feel warm and tingly. When he thrusts it in and out of me, I moan because it is such an amazing feeling. It is overstimulating as well, and causes urgency.

"You have chills."

My legs are shaking.

"Are you going to cum from this?"

Yes, I tell him. He asks me to unlock my phone and snaps a photo. The stretching has caused me to bleed, but it doesn't hurt. The pleasure is too strong, and I am moaning his name like I'm supposed to whenever I hit climax.

"We need to clean out your urethra." He is always considering safety and cleanliness, which is appreciated. I know what he is going to do, and I love it. His fingers are inside me, quickly slamming in and out. He has a specific goal, and we both hear the sloshing sounds as I messily squirt all over the waterproof blanket and towel he has under me.

"Mmm, listen to that, you little slut. And you never could do that before me."

He's right. Squirting was a foreign concept for me until him. I love it, though, because I have no control over it. I let go, and it happens with his stimulation.

"You made such a fucking mess. I stopped it from splashing, though."

I'm always reminded of my tightness whenever he is doing this.

"Can Daddy make it hurt?"

"Yes, Sir." It feels so good he can do whatever he wants. I feel fuller as he adds a finger, and both of my vulnerable holes are being probed. He comments he can't fit his fist, though that is on his list of cherries to take.

When he is done and crawls up to me, I'm panting. But I crave more. He lays on top of me, his hand wrapping tightly around my throat while the other wipes my fluid on my face and in my mouth to let me taste myself.

"More." I tell him, asking him to squeeze me harder. He growls in my ear, knowing that is my weakness. He slams into me, and I am moaning and gasping and crying out for more. God I love the feel of him. He has torn my flesh again and while it burns, I don't care. I want it all. There is nothing like the sensation of his tip pressing against my cervix while he attempts to breed me. I want him to. Claim me. Possess me. Leave his essence behind in me.

He breaks to let me catch my breath. He is standing in front of me now, my arms encircling his waist. I am dressed in a cherry and black bustier just for him. I appreciate him letting me keep it on, the intricacy of the clasps having taken a while for me to don. He compliments the color against the hue of my skin. His face is buried into my collarbone, his mouth tasting me.

"Mmm, when they talk about the scent of a woman." I love our sensuality as much as our sexuality. I crave these little moments. He is inhaling my scent, having already smelled and licked my lacy thong when he removed it.

Leaning over the bed, he parts my legs with his own. I feel unsteady on my feet, but he whispers, "I've got you."

"Do you want Daddy to fuck you in the ass?"

"Make it hurt." I tell him.

He gathers my long hair with his hands and twists it into a bun, pulling tautly on it. I feel the pop of him entering me. He gives me a moment to adjust. I am overly sensitized and while it feels amazing, I'm afraid my seams will rip apart if he goes any faster. He finally extends long and deep thrusts in me, biting the back of my neck while he pulls my hair.

"Bark for Daddy."

He recognizes I am spent. His arms reach under my legs to cradle me as he pulls me to him. My arms are draped around his shoulders, and I am leaning wholly against him. He is my protector. My nurturer.

He is my Wolfie. And I am his Little Red.

[muppetjokernumbersixtyninefan]

As Mr. Croaker has said, a description could not accurately portray tonight's events, but I should like to try to update those of you who were waiting to hear news of the battle.

We met in the astral plane, where Mr. Croaker led us until we came upon a dark figure. It was Strange, of course. As we readied our swords, Strange stepped out of the darkness and a long creature, which had been curled around her neck, sprung at our glorious leader. I jumped in between and took the brunt of the beast's attack. I didn't immediately recognize it in the darkness and confusion, but as I came face to face with the entity, I could make no mistake- it was Thursday, one of Strange's demonic long furbies. Muppet Joker and some of the others took on Strange herself, while a smaller group and myself fought the furry serpent. We were hardly able to contain the demon, but as soon as Mr. Croaker defeated Strange, the beast went into its death throes. Writhing, and eventually still...but those eyes. They haunt me. I have not stopped thinking of furby since the battle ended. I fear some presence has got its claws in me... But I will resist. I am strong enough to combat the demons.

Update for those of you who did not join us in the astral plane to spectate: Strange was defeated by thousands of muppets and has been rendered a shell of their former self. It was a glorious battle but I do not feel I can describe it in a way that gives it justice. You really had to be there.

[geirasole]

as far as the sun may reach,

I will go

unto my depths

full moonshine brings throe

I swore I was older than you

seems I was misread too

catharsis comes to me in sleep

sunrise brings fatigue

to end this endless dance,

cross the sky just to see my fate,

reflected in your face

my beauty brought up by yours

without I am no worse the wear,

regardless still I chase you tonight

I will find you regardless the cost

it was then,

in your pale warmth I averted my sight

not now I do find your presence on my lawn

until then do I find dirt

mud and worms, skin pulled tight

until then I will keep digging,

watch over my friends,

while I dance unending,

search the sky

seasons change,

so did we.

I see in you what you saw in me

deep fear of the fearless day

after wolves' endless night

your face reflected in mine

[glowingbadger]

So many thanks to my lovely followers who helped me come up with this concept! Arranged marriage has been the vibe with some of y'all lately and I am here for it.

Dimitri x Reader arranged marriage

AFAB reader ('wife', but no pronouns)

NSFW 18+

You lie in bed beside your husband- your Lord Husband, you should say -and there seems to be no cure for the anxious restlessness that's made a home in your heart. It had been like that since the moment you'd learned you had been betrothed to the infamous Boar King. A man of legendary strength and rumored temper. A one-eyed titan who had struck down countless foes with untold brutality. Yes, he and his allies had unified the continent. But great deeds can certainly be done at the hands of monsters.

He'd hardly touched you. Hardly looked at you, at first. You believed he must be disgusted by you, by this whole arrangement. But the need for an heir would be of even greater importance in the wake of the recent war, and so the most suitable arrangement (which turned out to be you) had been hastily made the moment the treatise had been signed. And so you'd come to live with the Boar King, and even to share his bed- though not yet in the fullest sense. It had taken a week for him to meet your gaze directly. When that bright blue star leveled on you, you expected to feel aggression, the rage that common folk told tall tales of in taverns. Instead, you felt hesitation. Sadness. Remorse. And a whole host of other things you didn't have names for yet.

By week three, he had tentatively taken your hand to help you off of horseback. That was the first time he ever touched you. You remember that he held you like fine parchment a little too close to a flame. After that, things had come a little more easily. You shared meals, and even a few polite words and the occasional briefest physical contact. He asked about your comfort in the castle. He assured you that anything you should need could be called for. Now, lying next to him in your bed- the bed you would share for the rest of your life -there's a geometrically perfect space between you two. A gap, seemingly exactly calculated to ensure that your bodies were unlikely to meet in the night.

"Ngh..." He groans, his body twitches and tenses. You've learned that the King suffers from nightmares, though of course you haven't let on that you've noticed. Tonight seems to be worse than the others.

"No..." he growls through grinding teeth, "Stay away... go... no-!" his fists grip the sheets so tightly you worry for the fabric. Then, you're not sure what madness prompts it, but you move closer to him. Just a little at first. Inching towards him as though approaching a frightened animal.

"My Lord..." you whisper, and your fingers just briefly graze his arm. He's warm, his body is firm and strong. You'd never allowed yourself to really look at him in his nightclothes before, but the relaxed collar of his shirt reveals defined collarbones and fair skin, but also a cross-hatched web of old scars. Some part of you had known all along, but for the first time, you truly, fully realize that he's actually strikingly handsome.

You lean over him a bit further. His head turns toward you, but he's still in the throes of his nightmares. Panting breaths cause his chest to rapidly rise and fall beneath you, and you can't help but feel the ache of sympathy in your heart. Gently, carefully, you bring a hand to his face. You can feel how tightly his jaw is clenched.

"Your Highness," you speak louder this time. His eye bolts open. His hand seizes you by the wrist hard- too hard. It hurts, and you flinch, but keep your voice down. For a moment, you fear the inevitable retribution that will surely follow. But then, he exhales, and he releases your hand.

"I- I'm sorry- I didn't realize-" he stutters out, and in this moment, he looks softer and sweeter than you've ever seen.

"You were, uhm... having a nightmare, My Lord."

He nods at you, then sighs deeply. You're at a loss for what to do. Shouldn't the King's wife comfort him in such a situation? Would he even accept any comfort you might offer?

That shock blue eye meets you, and you can tell he wants to say something. All he manages is,

"Why do you call me that?"

"I... I'm sorry?"

"'My Lord', 'Your Highness.'" it's too dark to tell for certain, but you almost think that you see a pink flush across his face.

"You're my King." you say meekly.

"I am your husband." he replies, and his eye narrows. It's not quite scolding, but there's definitely frustration there. Truly, it's impossible to tell exactly what he means by saying it, but you can't help the warmth building inside of you. He raises a hand to your cheek, and you're not afraid, though your heart races much the same. His hands are large and calloused, the hands of a man who has created miracles and atrocities, and now it's gingerly brushing your hair from your face. You move closer to him on instinct, and you notice with some relief that he doesn't shy away- not this time. Then, you open your mouth to speak, and nothing comes out at first. You sigh, and try again,

"My- My Lord Husband, you should sleep. I didn't intend to bother you, only to make sure that you were-"

He sighs once more, and his eye closes.

"Sleep will not come, I already know. Not on a night like this."

You certainly don't know what to say to that. Anything you can think of would be meaningless platitudes and hollow assurances. You don't know the man well enough to know his demons, but you're certain there are plenty. The two of you are quiet for a time, and though his breathing has steadied, he shows no signs of regaining sleep any time soon.

And so you do the only thing you can think of to do for him.

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He breathes in sharply, and you feel his frame tense beneath you- but he doesn't pull away. Your hands cradle his face as you place gentle and tentative kisses to his lips, which are far softer than you'd dared to imagine. And as you carefully move atop him to straddle his hips, you feel his hand tightly grip your thigh.

"What are you-?!"

"I thought that I would... perform my wifely duties to you, My Lord Husband. If you'll have me." you add, a slight tremor sneaking into your voice.

His pupil is wide and this time, you're certain that you can see a charming crimson flush across his cheeks. He speaks your name almost incredulously, though his hand hasn't left your body.

"You- you are under no obligation-" he stammers, and when you try to assure him, he presses on, "you're a prisoner to this marriage, don't you understand? I have no right to ask anything of you- much less that you give your body over to me!"

He seems to have completely forgotten that the entire point of this union was to produce an heir.

"I certainly wouldn't force myself on His Highness if I'm not pleasing to you..."

"That is absolutely not what I mean to imply," he says, almost laughing as he scoffs away the very idea, "I desire you as much as any sane person would, of course, but to think that you would be made to do such a thing merely to placate me-"

"I want this." you say, surprising even yourself with the strength of your words. You sound even more confident than you feel. But every word the King says to you peels away at the wall of anger and fear that you both had been content to keep between you until now, and you feel strongly about your decision. Still, he pauses a moment longer, as if waiting for you to back away from your claim. And when you don't, he draws you down to him and kisses you deeply. You can already feel his manhood rising between your thighs, but soon enough it's just one more piece of information amidst a whirlwind of sensations.

His strong arms wrap around you and his kiss travels down your neck to your chest. He fumbles awkwardly with the front of your nightshirt, so you remove it for him and he wordlessly returns to sucking gentle love-bites to your skin. Shy and curious moans and sighs surround you both in the dark of your bedchambers as you eagerly explore each other. His hands are rough, but he's trying so dearly to be delicate with you. You're more direct, your fingers tangled in golden hair and your body flush to his, creating an intoxicating friction between you.

Your lower body shifts more firmly against him, grinding his now quite stiff member between your thighs. He growls against your skin, and you feel his fingers drag down your back.

"I... ought to do more for you..."

Ostensibly, he means in terms of intimacy, but you have a strange feeling that he intends this to be a more general statement. You rest your forehead to his and murmur,

"I want you, My King."

"Dimitri." he says as his hands trail down to help remove your underclothes, "Just Dimitri, I beg of you."

And soon enough, he's pressed hot at your slick entrance, and you cling to him as he begins to push inside. He's thick- it hurts just a little, and you think for a moment that he was probably right that you both should have done more to prepare. But now he's filling you inch by inch, stretching you out around his cock, and your mind is numb to every thought except one- this is my husband, my lover.

"Dimitri..." You moan into the evening air around you as he bottoms out deep within you and the tinge of pain begins to fade into pleasure. He gives no reply other than the potent throbbing of his cock, rubbing against your inner walls as you both begin to move. You're surprised by how easy it is to fall into a natural rhythm with him. Your hips sink down onto him as he thrusts up towards you, and each pass sends a jolt up your spine. Dimitri buries his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly, holding onto your hips as you squeeze tightly around him.

Your nails dig along his muscled shoulders as you feel your climax winding tight at your core. He doesn't seem to mind- you're not sure if he even notices. His pace picks up. Briefly, his hands ease their hold on you, as though offering a means of escape. You have no need for such a thing. With a whimpering moan, you press yourself as far down onto his cock as you can until his tip hits your core, then sway forward, grinding his length into you until, with a gasp of his name, your body slacks into his arms.

He whispers your name in turn with something like awe in his voice. With his cock now coated in your climax, Dimitri loosens his restraint, and begins fucking into you in earnest. While your thighs tremble and you can hardly keep yourself supported above him, you manage to meet his gaze and smile warmly, then press a tender kiss to his parted lips. He grits his teeth, and he holds you to him with such strength that you no longer even need to support yourself. Then, he swells, twitches, and his pleasure is spilling out deep inside of you, filling you and warming you through.

You moan happily as you feel his release, then relax your body to lay comfortably against his sturdy frame. He's panting harshly still, but neither of you rush to separate from one another. Once he's just barely composed himself, he lifts your chin and kisses you with a sweetness that you never thought you'd find in a man, let alone the Boar King himself.

Though, once you've eased his spent manhood from you and laid your head against his chest, you hear his heart beating, still just a bit too fast and fluttery. You think for a moment that, yes, your husband is the legendary, ruthless Boar King. Your husband is also Dimitri, a man who looks at you with sincerity that makes your heart ache. A man you don't know well- not yet -but who you find yourself opening to more and more each day.

"I... don't wish to keep you awake terribly long..." he says, with a stilted nervousness to his voice, "but, if you're not overly tired, I- I'd like to... talk for a little while."

You smile a warm, but private smile, then say,

"I'd like that very much, Dimitri."

[cherrydreamer]

April Prompts Combo! #2 Rainstorm and #8 Window

Ok so I am rocking up late late late with this April Prompt so I combined #2 Rainstorm and #8 Window into a double ficlet! (and yes I’m STILL late, I know I know!)  Billy's been living in Hopper's old trailer for just over a month now. And he knows he should be grateful for it. And he is, he is. 

Pathetically grateful, really, for the place and the way the kids all banded together and sorted the place out. For him. Got it all patched back up, cleaned and tidied and mostly ship-shape.

Cosy, even, especially after Mrs Byers came by to pick them up and handed Billy a whole damn laundry hamper filled with crocheted blankets and a stack of plump cushions and a pair of slightly frayed yellow curtains that, when he hung them at the kitchen window, gave the whole place a soft, sunshiney air. 

And, at the time, Billy had really appreciated just how far away from town he is now. He likes the fact that he's kind of hidden away, out of sight out of mind. He really likes the view of the lake and the noise it makes, the wind on the water sounding almost like the waves on the beaches back home. 

But sometimes, like tonight, he really fucking wishes he wasn't so alone.

Because there's been a storm threatening to rage since the mid afternoon, and Billy's been on edge the whole time just waiting. Been sitting tensed on the couch, hands balled into fists, feeling the crackle of static in the air, damn near smelling the electricity, and he's known it was coming, he knew it, but knowing did nothing to help prepare him for the first flash of lightning or the crack of thunder, and all of a sudden he's thrown right back to that night in the mall, the one with lights flickering and fireworks exploding and fear and pain and I don't know what's happening but I know I'm going to die and I'm so scared and I’m so sorry.

So Billy had hurled himself away from the windows on that first flash, shoved himself into a little gap between the fridge and the wall and he's still there now hours later, huddled with his head between his knees and his hands screwed up against his ears but he can still hear it. 

Them. The screams. The cries. The begging.  The voice in his head.  Max's voice over and over again. Her sobs.  The way she called for him. Over and over. "Billy! Billy!"

"Billy!"

Billy's head jolts up at that, 

It's a voice. A real one. Not a scream of panic in his head, or his own cry of fear or desperation. Just a voice. Familiar. Comforting. A little frantic but without a single trace of anger, "C'mon, dude, lemme in!"

There's more banging. And it doesn't fit the pattern, doesn't fit the roll of thunder or the thumping of his heart or the bang of those fireworks that sound so so real. 

Someone's outside knocking on his door. Steve. Steve is outside knocking on his door.  Billy can't. Can't move. Can't talk. Can't believe it. Just…can't. It's in his head. All in his head. Has to be.

"Billy!" The handle of the door rattles, the chain of the bolt clanking against the wood, and something about the need in Steve's tone is enough to shake Billy out of his panic.

Because Steve's here. And it's not entirely unprecedented, Steve being here. Steve was there from the start, coming in at the tail end of the kids' DIY attempts and fumbling his way through fixing up some of the bigger jobs they'd attempted, and he's been there afterwards too, dropping round occasionally with items that he claimed his Mom was throwing out, but which just so happened to be the very things that Billy needed, a set of gleaming pots and pans after Billy found a whole mouse family nesting in his; a bedside lamp with a chintzy floral shade after Billy accidentally sent his old one flying across the room in the throes of a particularly violent nightmare; and, most recently, a chunky boombox with a whole box full of tapes, some so new that they still had the cellophane on but a couple that were clearly older. Well-played and well-loved, and the ones that Billy found himself coming back to them over and over.  

He wishes he'd thought to stick one on before. Maybe he could've drowned out the storm with ELO or Queen or something. 

The lightning flashes again, illuminating the room through the thin, yellow gingham and Billy wants to hide again, wants to press himself against the wall and hide from it all.   But Steve's here. Steve's out there, in the worst of it. Steve came and he's here and all Billy needs to do is open the door, just open that fucking door that he locked tight and shut with a set of extra deadbolts. He just needs to open it up and let Steve in.

He can do that. For Steve, he can do that. So he does. 

He forces himself to uncurl, standing on trembling legs and he holds it together long enough to walk the few steps to the door and wrench it open. And Steve's there. Not a figment. Not an illusion. The real Steve Harrington, his crest of hair falling wetly in his face, his brightly coloured windbreaker absolutely soaked through, his shoes squeaking on the slippery steps. 

But he's smiling. And it's a full bright sunshine kind, big enough that Billy forgets about the storm outside and the fear churning in his gut and he even manages to smile back, a little watery, as he opens the door and asks, 

"What the hell you even doing out here, Harrington?"

"I…I was just passing by," Steve tries, but there's a sheepish look on his face like he knows it's not gonna fly. No one's ever 'just passing by' this place, that's the whole point. So Billy fixes him with as stern a look as he can muster with his snotty face and red-rimmed eyes, and Steve's expression turns serious as he says, "El." 

It's enough of an explanation. Since whatever the hell happened between him and Max's psychic little best friend, the two of them have had some kind of connection. He's not surprised that she sensed his freakout from wherever she was. Part of him is relieved that someone was looking out for him. That's he's not as isolated out here as he thought.  Most of him, though? Most of him is burning with shame. He can picture it now, El seeing him at his most broken and relaying it all to Steve, then Steve grumbling and grousing as he peels himself out of his bed and trudges into the torrential rain to come play babysitter while Billy cries like a pussy in the corner over a little bit of thunder.

It's enough to have him damn near slamming the door right in Steve's face.

"I'm fine-" Billy starts, but then there's another flash and, within a split second of it, a crack of thunder so loud that it seems to rattle the walls of the trailer. and whatever embarrassment Billy was feeling, that nauseating swirl of humiliation and the desire to stay strong in front of Steve, it all fades in the face of his fear as his stomach drops, and his knees give way and he falls to the floor, arms wrapping around his head, trying desperately to muffle the pathetic keening noise he knows he's letting out. 

There's a moment where there's nothing but his whimpers in the quiet of the trailer, and then Billy hears the sound of footsteps moving away.  And he doesn't blame Steve for leaving, he'll he's glad that he did.  He is.  OK, so it hurts and he wishes like hell he could've been better, could've been less fucked up so maybe Steve would've stuck around a little longer. But he's glad. Because this is the best way. Out of sight, out of mind. He doesn't need Steve fussing over him.  So Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Swallows down past the ache in his throat and the gnawing emptiness in his heart. Because this is better. 

But then there's a sound. A click and a whirr and then the trailer fills with a familiar song, already part way through playing, 

I get a strange magic, Oh, what a strange magic

Just as Billy tunes in enough to recognise it, there's a warm, reassuring weight all around him, something soft being draped over his shoulders and Billy reaches out for it instinctively, grabbing at the thick, crocheted blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.  When he looks up, Steve is still there, kneeling in front of him with one hand raised, palm up, in an invitation.

"You wanna watch?"

"Huh?" Billy's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and his brain is still lost in the sheer fact that Steve is here. Still here. He stayed. 

"The storm," Steve clarifies, "I know…you, you, you don't…it's not…it's a lot like-" Steve waves a hand in the air, grasping for gestures when the words fail him and then waving over towards the window, "But it actually looks kinda cool, especially out over the lake."  

Billy shakes his head, a tiny movement, but Steve keeps his hand out anyway.

"It might help," he suggests, "Might make you see, I dunno, see what it is. That's it's not…not what you're thinking. What you're seeing in there." He taps on Billy's forehead with a gentle finger, then puts his hand back out, patiently waiting. "Promise you, man, it's gnarly." He grins after the last word, all dorky and pleased with himself, and Billy can't help but snort out a laugh at the awful surfer boy impression Steve had been attempting.

He's trying. Billy realises suddenly, He's trying to help. 

So he keeps one hand firmly on the blanket around his shoulders, fingers clutching through the open knit, but he places the other in Steve's, not missing the way Steve's smile turns soft the moment their fingers make contact. 

"OK." It's all Billy can manage. 

It's enough. It's all Steve needs to haul him up and tug him over to the window, flinging open the yellow gingham and getting them both next to the glass just in time to catch the next flash.  And it's still a lot. Still has Billy's heart in his throat and his stomach twisting, but he doesn't move away. Doesn't want to.  Because Steve's right. It is cool, the way the whole landscape is illuminated, just for that second and how the light dances in jagged flashes across the sky, reflected in the glassy waters below. How it's so big. So powerful. So immense.  Kinda beautiful. 

He says as much to Steve. And Steve nods. Smiles again, that soft smile. Warm and fond and all directed at Billy. And Billy's heart flips even further into his throat. Because his hand is still clasped in Steve's and when the thunder rumbles loudly, just moments later, Steve's thumb starts stroking gentle, soothing circles around Billy's knuckles, over and over until the sound fades, and even when it all stops, when it's silent again, Steve keeps hold of Billy's hand, their fingers entwined all tight like he really doesn't want to let go.

So Billy doesn't let go either. 

There's another flash. But this time all that Billy sees of it is the light flitting over Steve's face, making his eyes shine and his skin seem to glow, just for a moment. Because Steve's not watching the storm either. He's staring right at Billy.  And Billy feels it again, that thrum of electricity in the air. But it's not so scary now. Not when he thinks Steve is feeling it too. 

[themaggotmag]

introducing the maggot(s):

batbattom 🌀

eerie obsession with cubes and spirals and gut wrenching nostalgia. someone called them eclectic once (okay maybe more than once) the ribs are protruding out. big eye hovering in the sky. fruit of choice would be peach (there's no metaphor it just smells nice)

currently reading: pachinko, brute spotify playlist: the sound of tv static in a vacuum

copium🍄

they stay awake at night thinking about tragedies and doomed duos. proceed to curate playlists to support the throes of woes. snap back to reality and read until they can't read. bit of an idiot, to be honest. mentally ill protagonists really resonate with the soul. born to be a jester, forced to be a slave to The Man. lore drops are essential. copes in unhealthy ways but it's cool. very "we shall by morning inherit the earth. our foot's in the door" heh.

currently reading: mandarins (akutagawa), haunted (palahniuk)

maindak 🐸

forgets their name. has hands like their father. unplaces by cody ellingham. space as a character. will their grave embrace them. will they ever have a where. very very angry, and very unquestionably hot. smeared kajal and eyelines. thinks they is a coward but could be killed in a staged street killing. eyes. and hands. can the stopper and the stoppee (it is not a word) sit down with them for a moment. nasir' ki udaasi stifles saans. too big is the city, and too far my home. the boy never grows up. has very straught teeth. arundhati roy ☆

cr: dark as the garve wherein my friend is laid (they are so happy the edgy name feel in sync with their post schedule)

p.s. boy with dupatta art by wine0cellar

strawberry shortcake 🍓

impulsive, passionate, addicted to caffeine, in love with books and scented candles, and all over the place. they value small gestures, and try to grasp at the littlest cues of warmth and tenderness. but theirs is also the constant fear of the walls and wasted lives; so they are alive.

currently reading: 'the awakening', 'emma', and..

tendertooth ⚖️

too reluctant to pull fingernails out of buzzing flesh. has bitten too much. tummy ache tummy ache tummy ache. meets lovers at celestial intersections. sits over bones until the morning of forgetfulness. moonlight and clawed eyes and clenched fists. a fruit. fruits even. what tiptoes into the room tonight?

currently reading: Drowned Country, The Dallergut Dream Department Store (cozy fantasy as a coping mechanism. not enough time tho)

topsurgery💉

more apple than pomegranate. they want to be a kitchen, but they feel like a bathroom sink. domain expansion is called 'childhood room ablaze.' cigarette butts and confessionals. tea stains and dried blood on handkerchiefs. am i doing this right, am i doing this right, am i doing this right.

currently reading: goodnight, punpun.

witchinghour🔮

drowning in an all-consuming fixation on psychology, feminist literature and the physics of time. checklists and planners are their game and so is dismantling the patriarchy. "we should all be feminists". dory 🐟 and boxer 🐎 = spirit animals. just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

currently reading : king lear, emma

indie newsletter : free-fall form of work for free fallers // gravity is a friend // part creature, part story // brimming with a lot of love and a lot of rage // making a very human thing.

enjoy at your own risk.

may we find each other in the bellies of maggots.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing vii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 4, 627

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Despite being friends with three (well, now four) people on the football team—you didn’t fancy attending football games at all. It was highly unlike the usual scene you were comfortable with. It was loud, rowdy and people didn’t understand the concept of personal space when they’d shove and push others aside just to get a better glimpse of the players on the field.

Yet, you attended every single one of the football games—and you were a familiar enough face that the coach smiles at you when you hover outside the changing rooms; a simple request from the captain himself.

You’re a little shocked at yourself at the fact that you had no idea who Namjoon was prior to his introduction. He was the captain of the current football team, which apparently, throughout your college’s history—brought the most wins ever. And, he was also well-known that lecturers applauded him for his impeccable work-to-life balance.

Somehow, the divulgence of your own thoughts makes you frown. Because perhaps you were truly anti-social. You weren’t even acquainted with common school affairs in spite of being apart of the student council.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

You don’t dwell too much on your thoughts because you’re unable to, not when the door slams open and bodies of college men pour out with large shouts and their padded shoulders—looking very much prepared for their game.

The anxiety settles into the pit of your stomach when you realise you stick out like a sore thumb. The jeans and white top you were wearing was quite a typical outfit to wear to a game, with the addition of ironically—a baseball jacket. But when you were definitely smaller than the footballers; it was hard not to feel out of place.

Especially when they look you over before continuing out to the field. While you attended games before, you were never asked to meet in the changing rooms. Jimin and Taehyung knew well enough not to ask you, and Jungkook … well. You were always his dirty little secret, weren’t you?

And you see Jungkook first, grinning like a madman when another footballer brings him into a headlock and hollers something you assume is their hype-cheer.

It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Things were meant to have been settled, but the tight feeling in your chest when you look at him only reminds you that some things were hard to erase.

Before you can look away, Jungkook spots you—and he pushes the arms of his teammate off ever so slightly before turning to him and muttering a few words before he’s stalking towards you.

Your eyes widen, definitely not expecting him to pay you any mind.

“You’re here?” He furrows his brows.

You clear your throat, and you realise navigating a conversation with him after what’s transpired is much harder than you expected it to be. The fact that he was so casual about it when he left you with a kiss on your forehead makes you even more conflicted.

“I am.” You mumble. “I told you, remember?”

Jungkook blinks as if he remembers something, and his expression hardens ever so slightly before he’s schooling his features.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I knew that. Just didn’t know you’d be … here.”

Here was probably referring to standing outside the changing rooms, and you can’t help but flush at the declaration.

“Um, yeah. Namjoon—” Before you can finish your sentence, you see the captain heading towards you with a large grin; looking over Jungkook for a brief moment.

“You’re here!” His words are exactly the same as Jungkook’s, but it evokes a different set of emotions in your chest.

You smile as sincerely as you can, which is proven difficult when you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you.

“I am.” And you repeat the same thing you said to Jungkook. It feels odd, but you push the feelings aside. “Good luck, you.”

You offer a small punch to his shoulder, an awkward attempt at supporting him and you almost apologise but Namjoon smiles even wider.

His hand reaches out to your hair, gently patting it as he looks at you fondly. You don’t think anyone’s ever treated you so … tenderly before, not upfront and after one meeting at least. And you’re definitely flustered.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here.” His dimples are on full show when he looks down at you with a kind gaze.

You clear your throat and look away, hoping the dim lights didn’t amplify the blush on your cheeks.

“Of course. We have that exhibition next to look forward to if all else goes South.” You grin cheekily up at him, words still soft.

You hope that your joke doesn’t rub him the wrong way, and it doesn’t because he snorts in response. All while Jungkook is silent.

“That’s a win itself, isn’t it?” He says smoothly, and your eyes widen at his blatant—or at least you think—flirting.

And before you can splutter a response, Jungkook is nudging Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder, the movement slightly rougher with his shoulder pads in place.

“We gotta go, Cap,” Jungkook says stiffly.

Namjoon doesn’t realise the hostility in his tone, but you do. And you frown ever so slightly, but you cover it up when Namjoon looks over at you with an apologetic expression.

“I’ll see you after the game?” He asks, eyes lighting up.

Your lips tilt upwards and you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon jogs off first, not before grabbing his protective gear as Jungkook lingers ever so slightly, stuttering in his feet as you have the vision of his back towards you.

You’re about to head towards the bleachers, a spot that Namjoon purposefully reserved for you with help of his coach; but Jungkook turns around and his face is hesitant.

“Will you …” He swallows as you raise an eyebrow at his uncertainty. “Will you cheer for me?”

The question is odd, especially when you know that he’s aware that you were here for Namjoon. Usually, that would imply that you were rooting for him. But, you’ve never been able to say no to Jungkook. Not even when you want him to feel the same hurt you’ve felt.

“What friends are for, right?” You mumble, eyes darting to the ground for a second until you look back up at him again.

What you don’t say is that friends don’t do the things we did, or that there was no manual to teach you how to navigate the throes of your relationship after everything that’s happened. Nor do you tell Jungkook that you’re always cheering him on, but you can’t do it outwardly. Not tonight. Not for a while, too.

Jungkook’s face falls obscurely, but he forces a tight smile before grabbing his protective gear too.

“I’ll look for you,” Jungkook says.

Then he’s off, with a squeeze to your shoulder that leaves your heart feeling a lot heavier.

You ended up sitting next to the school photographer, who you now know as Yena. Prior to this, you’ve heard the student reporter club have a few intense individuals apart of them—word you heard from Yoongi, the President himself—and he was already as intimidating as one could get. But there was Yena, who essentially made people cower in fear when they’d make eye contact with her.

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she asks when you slide into your seat. Her tone isn’t condescending, neither was it purposely made to make you feel uncomfortable. Rather, she asked it in a rather bored tone—as if there were better things she could be doing.

“Um.” You squeak.

Yena rolls her eyes, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your head off despite my grotesque appearance. Ever heard of a conversation starter?”

You blink.

“You’re very pretty.” You say softly.

Yena narrows her eyes at you for what seems like forever as you clear your throat. Then, she snorts before patting you on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean objectively ugly, sweetheart.”

The tilt of her lips make your ears flush and you never found yourself downright intimidated by someone, but there was something about her that made you want to listen to her.

“O-Oh.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too nice, _____. Has anyone ever told you that?” She emphasises her point with a tilt of her head.

“N-Not really …” You mumble.

She sighs as she kicks her feet on top of the railings in front of her while her eyes follow the line of footballers that pour onto the field, already moving towards a group huddle.

Her camera is already in her hands when she snaps the shot like second nature, before plopping back into her seat.

“Well, you are. People are gonna eat you alive, you know?” She says pointedly.

You fiddle with your fingers before you find the courage to look at her.

“How did you know who I was?” You wonder out loud with furrowed brows.

Yena scoffs before turning to look at you with a blank expression. And it’s the worst part in you that makes you think that you’ve said something wrong.

“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpans. “Girl who made honours three years in a row? First female student council president? Lecturers pet? Curve-setter? The list goes on, really.”

You flush as you turn your head away.

“I didn’t mean …” You mutter.

She waves you off. “You don’t have to sound so guilty about it. You’re smart and you’re capable. Own it.” She shrugs.

You blink up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time; she properly looks at you and your surprised expression.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

When a whistle blows, the game has somehow started and you have half the mind to begin cheering like the rest of the crowd. But the awkward part of you remains rooted in position.

“So.” Yena leans in with a grin on her face. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

It’s … odd. Purely because you’ve never spoken to her before and you’ve briefly heard about her in passing when you communicate with Yoongi on pastoral affairs. And for someone to speak to you so freely and casually, like you’ve been friends for years—feels nice.

And it’s probably also because you didn’t have any girl friends that you could really trust. People on campus were … they were mean and they usually wanted something from you, whether it was to get to one of your friends or get insights on events so they’d get a boost on their reputation.

“Earth to _____?” She drawls.

You snap your head towards her and your ears turn red once again.

“There’s isn’t … any guy.” You confess.

Yena snorts as if she doesn’t believe you.

“Really now?” Her grin approaches a smile when she rests her chin on her palm. “You know not just anyone sits here, right?”

You shrug. “What about you? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She blinks, then leans back before kicking one leg across her other.

“Photographer pros. Or cons. Especially if you consider watching disgusting men sweat and chase after balls is something to be grateful for.” She rolls her eyes.

You laugh when she complains, and it’s likely the first time you’ve relaxed your shoulders around her.

“That does sound kind of gross.”

She nods her head as if to say right, before offering you a cheeky grin.

Then, her eyes zero onto the field, then back to your face—and eventually back to the field before she hops off her seat once again; waving her camera to signal you that she was going to carry out her duties.

You think Yena’s cool. A little intense, and kind of scary—but a nice person nevertheless. Maybe you were a blind optimist that saw the good in everyone, but there was something about her that you really liked. The kind of person you wish you could become.

The cheers get immensely louder, especially when you note that Jungkook’s scored a goal—his beaming expression displayed on the big screen while you hear girls and guys alike cheering his name.

It’s times like this where you’re reminded of how different you were from him. While he received praise and approval from the masses and was born to be loved by them. You were quite the opposite; the cheerer and the supporter but never quite the one receiving it.

His eyes skim the crowd, and you can see from the screen that his brows furrow ever so slightly. But he’s quick to return to his groove, fist-bumping a teammate along the way.

You sigh because even when you weren’t intentionally looking for him it’s like your heart only wants you to see what’s familiar. And funnily enough, the hurt is familiar too.

In the middle of it all, you try your best to smile—and throw in a small whoop on your own, hoping to blend in but be present enough to be heard.

Yena returns only when it’s half-time, her own body covered in sweat while she huffs, slapping a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“God. You’d think they’d slow down after fifteen minutes but nooo. They have to go flex on their fragile masculinities because they think growling and ripping off their shirts is peak alpha male character.” Yena mutters and it’s the first thing you hear from her.

You offer her a sympathetic smile before digging into your bag and pulling out a handkerchief, one that you always carry around.

“Here.” You smile at her toothily.

Yena eyes the fabric sceptically before looking at your face and back to the handkerchief.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, jutting out your hand once more to emphasise your point.

“Ah. I can see why Namjoon nabbed you up.” Yena coos, ruffling your hair as your eyes widen.

“H-How—?”

“How did I know? Well besides the fact that my job is to literally stick with the team and capture moments and make them look pretty—I’m nosey.” Yena shrugs and your face pales. “Oh, and I saw you guys at the changing room too.”

If she saw … that meant—

“Thought you were with the meathead Jeon for a moment.” Yena snorts.

Your eyes dart down to your lap, and Yena picks up on your silence immediately. But unlike the conventional person; despite her curiousity, she respected your privacy more. So she doesn’t, she just offers you a smile and a nudge to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Yena assures, sighing as the voices of the footballers fill your area as they come up for refreshment. “He’s nice.” You weren’t sure who she was referring to so you just nod.

“Yena—pass me a bottle!” A boy calls, and you half expect her to do so, but instead, she delivers him one better—a middle finger.

“Get it your self you dickwad!” Yena calls back.

Your eyes widen when you turn your head to look at her, completely unbothered when the footballer shoots daggers at her nonchalant figure.

“Men. Think you always owe them something.” She scoffs.

You find yourself unconsciously nodding your head, and once again Yena recognises the gesture but doesn’t mention anything.

Instead, she turns towards you and levels you with a wide grin of her own.

“You’re cool. We should hang out.”

The declaration makes your eyes widen even more and you realise how much you’ve fumbled and made yourself look … stiff the entire time you were attempting to converse with Yena. But she seemed to be unbothered, and the thought makes you excited.

“We should?” You parrot with a squeak.

She nods and you’re still finding it hard to process the fact that she’d brought that up out of the blue.

You weren’t bad company. But you were … you.

“You’re like Ms Bona Fide.” Yena tuts. “People these days are either out to please or to receive.”

You furrow your brows.

“And I’m … not?” You say softly.

“You’re present.” Yena shrugs and throws you an easy-going smile.

God. She was so cool.

Namjoon scores the final goal.

You expect him to call the hangout off because, well, he’d closed the game and he was the captain. It was only normal that he’d want to celebrate.

So when Yena nudges your shoulders while your head is bent and focused on your mobile device, you slowly looked up with furrowed brows to see her cocking her head to the side with a knowing grin on her face.

And you see Namjoon, out of his gear and in a plain t-shirt and sweats while he waves at you.

You can’t help but gape at him.

“I see you’ve surrendered to good company instead of a zoo.” Yena greets Namjoon first with a snort.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you gauge that they’re at least well-acquainted. Acquainted enough that Namjoon subtly tries to flick her off, but you catch the gesture as soon as it comes.

“Promises are promises.” Namjoon shrugs as if he wasn’t aware that you were still gaping at him. Mouth open like a fish out of the water.

“Well—be nice, captain.” Yena whistles, throwing her camera into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder before she turns to look at you, a gentle nudge with her shoulder to yours as she levels you with an intentional look in her eyes.

“Don’t start any fights, Yena.” Namjoon gently chides, but his tone is joking.

Yena waves him off, then waves at you one last time, leaning down to whisper something into your ear that has you flushing.

“Tell me how it goes when we hang out.”

And she leaves you with a keen sense of excitement on the prospect of a new friend like her to look forward to hanging out with.

Namjoon looks over at you, and gently reaches for the tote bag you’ve slung over your shoulder as he tugs it off you with a soft pull.

“Let me.” His smile is all teeth and dimpled grins when you reluctantly let him take your bag from you.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyes attempting to look at him but his gaze is so focused on yours that you find it difficult to make eye contact.

“We’ve got an exhibition to go to, don’t we?”

You nod your head enthusiastically as he chuckles, allowing you to lead the way as you find a little prep in your steps. It was nice. Having a friend like Namjoon.

“Captain’s not coming?” Yugyeom groans, ruffling his hair with a towel as the rest of the footballers filter out of the changing room.

Jimin snorts in response. “No. He’s got a date.” The emphasis on the word date is obvious in the immature sense, evoking wide eyes as responses.

“He bailed on us for some pussy?!” Yugyeom cries.

Jungkook has to clench his fists by his side when he hears how his teammate casually referred to you as just some pussy. You weren’t just … that.

“Watch your tone,” Jimin growls, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin was more of the confrontational type and didn’t allow shit like this to slide easily. Especially when it came to you. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

Yugyeom’s eyes widened before gawking at the blonde boy.

“You mean Namjoon is going on a date with _____?” The rest of the footballers murmur in response, possibly out of confusion. “How did they—doesn’t she not … date?”

Jimin sighs, already ready with a response on the tip of his tongue but Jeonghan, the keeper interjects.

“Wait, I was under the impression that she and Jeon were a thing?”

At the mention of his name tangled with yours, Jungkook, who has been relatively silent throughout, freezes as his hands stop rummaging through his duffel bag while he tries to ignore the inquisitive stares he’s receiving from his teammates.

“W-What?” Jungkook stutters caught off guard.

Yugyeom narrows his eyes at the boy, while Jimin silently observes with an unreadable expression.

“Now that you mention it …” He trails off, head tilting upwards as if he was deep in thought. “I did always see the two of them alone with each other.”

Jungkook clears his throat as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

“We’re friends,” Jungkook says stiffly and he hopes it’s believable, despite his hoarse voice. “Friends hang out.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Or she’s a two-timer.”

This time, Jungkook can’t keep his face neutral.

“Talk about her like that one more time and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He growls to the other boy, whose eyes widen in response.

“I was kidding—” He raises his hands in defense but Jungkook is shoving the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag before hauling it over his shoulder and storming out of the room, ears burning in both frustration and anger.

“You don’t joke about this type of shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath right as he leaves the rest of the members brewing with confused expressions as they look at one another with concerned expressions.

Namjoon, as expected, is a museum enthusiast. That much you could assess when he was excitedly chirping about how much he appreciated all types of art, abstract, modern and contemporary and vintage—you name it and he could likely give you a break down of the nuances behind styles and techniques.

He is also great company. Namjoon is a comfortable line between involved and chivalrous, never pushing farther than what you were able to offer but engaging you in insightful discussions that you found yourself being intrigued by.

While you expected more … forward gestures, Namjoon is respectful and you’re surprised but not really. He was mannered encompassed into human form.

So, when the security guard informs you that the exhibition was over and that the two were the last guests in the hall—the two of you reluctantly had to bring your night to an end.

“That was fun,” Namjoon says once the two of you exit the hall, just two figures in the night who have thousands of words to say about the masterpieces you’ve witnessed.

“Honestly, I was already looking forward to it but seeing the pieces the art students curated in person was just another type of euphoria.” You confess.

Namjoon nods in agreement. “I totally agree. You can just tell that they’ve really dedicated all their free time to the work they’ve displayed.”

“Art is beautiful, isn’t it?” You mumble, eyes looking back to the museum as you grin up at Namjoon who’s already looking at you.

“Yeah.” He breathes, and the way he’s looking at you under the dim moonlight makes you irrevocably flustered. “Beautiful.”

You clear your throat as you shift on your heels, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn’t too apparent. The night was still wondrous, and you feel a type of comfort in Namjoon that you haven’t felt in a very long time. But there’s still a lingering thought in the substandard part of your mind that reminds you of doe-eyes and a bunny smile.

“Thank you for your time, Namjoon.” You say shy, fiddling with your thumbs.

When you find the courage to look at his face, he’s already beaming at you.

“No. Thank you.” He reassures. “I know you’re super busy so for you to find time out of your schedule to hang with a virtual stranger really means a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen, but then your face neutralises as you flush.

“I’m not that busy …” You mumble.

Namjoon chuckles. He doesn’t even snort or offer a sarcastic remark in response. He just acknowledges it with a kind smile and doesn’t comment further.

He’s different from what you’re used to. A challenge. A burst of rebellion that loved to roll remarks off his tongue.

You don’t want to think of him just yet.

“Regardless. You’re here. And I’m grateful.”

You nod your head lamely, clutching your bag into your chest (after relentlessly whining to Namjoon to allow you to hold it yourself when you felt a little useless).

“I should—I should head back.” You cock your thumb towards the direction of your apartment.

Immediately, Namjoon steps forward and is ready to head the same way you are.

“Let me walk you back.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“I’m not asking this time, ______.” He frowns.

You snap your lips shut. Though you did feel a little bad, it was late and the rational part of you knew that it was best if Namjoon walked you home.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Before you can begin walking, he tugs you by the elbow so gently, but firm enough for you to nearly stumble into his chest.

And he’s so tall, so you’re peering up at him with wide eyes as you gauge his nervous expression.

“I-I’m sorry if this is a little forward but—” Namjoon clears his throat. “W-Well I think—I really think you’re nice. And great. Like—good company, you know? So I’d r-really—I’d enjoy—”

You blink at him as he attempts to find his words.

“Namjoon.” You whisper gently, tugging the hem of his shirt.

At your gesture, his mind blanks but he remembers that you’re still looking up at him with a confused gaze.

“Okay. Fuck.” He whines as a giggle escapes your throat when he peers at you with an exasperated expression. “I’m not usually this much of a mess. You just make me nervous.”

“O-Oh.” You breathe, “I do?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know if it was obvious but I’m kind of into you.” He says softly, rubbing his hand over his neck.

You don’t expect it, not at all. So you can only muster gawking at him at his sudden confession.

“And you don’t need to—you don’t need to say anything about it. We can pretend like I didn’t just confess to you. We can just be friends.” He rambles, eyes wide. “I just wanted to let you know … yeah. So I really hope we can still continue to hang out even though you might think I’m a creep and I really didn’t offer to walk you home because I had intentions. Really just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You continue looking at Namjoon with wide eyes. Because you’ve never been on this end before. The one receiving the confession. You’ve never really given a confession either, and you try to suppress the bitter memories of the confession you tried to give Jungkook that wasn’t verbal but with your presence.

With you giving up certain parts of yourself for him so he could see you.

“Please say something.” Namjoon chuckles nervously.

“I—…” You choke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can pretend like I didn’t just say that.” He winces.

You shake your head. “No. No. It’s fine, Namjoon. Really.” You reassure him gently. “I really appreciate it … I just didn’t … expect it.” You finish lamely.

“You’re a very interesting person,” Namjoon tells you, lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

Interesting? You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone call you interesting before. Not outright, at least.

“I’m really not.” You say sadly.

Namjoon furrows his brows but doesn’t reach out to you further, his hands still remaining limp by his sides.

“Hey.” His voice calls out. “You are. You’re definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life.”

You blink.

“T-Thank you.”

He waves you off, gesturing towards where you gestured towards earlier.

“Shall we?”

And somehow, Namjoon has a way of making everything feel easy. Like a temporary space for you to feel safe, to feel wanted.

So why doesn’t your heart flutter?

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 1141

Rated: T

Tags: drunk Laszlo, fluffy, Laszlo is a flirt when he wants to be, discussions of sexual things/theory but no smut, mentions of prostitution, Freud

🍷

A loud thump from the foyer jolted you awake, the book you had been reading nearly fell from your lap during the scare. You rub the sleep from your tired eyes. Laszlo was out for John's bachelor party and you had tried to wait up for his return; clearly you failed to stay awake.

Glancing at the clock on the mantel you see it is almost 2 in the morning. The fireplace was mere embers by now. The only light was a small electric lamp that Laszlo had invested in for you to use while reading. Well no wonder I drifted off… you think.

A series of thumps, bumps, and then a soft grunt made you look over the back of your chair. "Laz? Is that you?" you called into the dimness.

Laszlo peaked his head around the corner at your question, looking completely fine despite the noises he was making. "Ah, my dear you are awake!"

"I'm afraid I fell asleep waiting for you. How was John and the others? Is he getting cold feet?" you joke.

"Cold feet is an indication of poor blood circulation, a condition of which I am sure John does not suffer. His frequent visits to brothels in the past suggests his circulation is adequate."

You aren't sure how to respond to his statement about John and his previous… proclivities. Nevertheless, he continues.

"I do wonder if there is something else troubling him, though. He and Sara have had…" he trails off as if to think of the word he needs. Laszlo blinks. You wait for him to finish his thought. Instead, he offers "well something odd anyway," with a flick of his wrist.

Laszlo still stands in the doorway, his good hand gripping the frame. He hasn't moved since you caught him. "Why don't you join me in the parlor rather than stand by the front door?"

"Ah. You see I would, however I am at a disadvantage I must confess." He hiccups and tries to cover it with a small cough.

You observe him curiously, his behavior strange. "Which would be?"

"I'm afraid I am stuck."

It is then you can make out the slight dishevelment of his hair, a strand having fallen out of place. The slight crumple to his white buttoned shirt. The way his accent has become heavier than is usual, his words are a little slurred. The way his cheeks are tinged pink under that neatly trimmed beard. And of course, the way his coat tail seems to be attached to some unseen object behind the corner.

Your jaw drops at the incredulity of your deduction. "Laszlo, are you drunk?" While he did partake in drink, it was never to this outcome nor extent.

He opens his mouth to respond yet all that leaves his lips is a sort of breathy mumble. Your peal of laughter lights up the room, a hand covers your lips to muffle the sound. "Oh love, what has gotten into you tonight?"

"Several glasses of champagne and some lingonberry schnapps," he answers very matter of fact.

Shaking your head at his antics you make your way over to assist in freeing his jacket. After a minute of finagling you are able to unhook it from the chip in the front table's edge. "If that is the case then I think it's off to bed with you, I don't doubt you will feel ill in the morning after this adventure."

You wrap your arm around his waist to help guide him up the stairs, not trusting him to climb it in this state. His left hand grasps the railing. The weaker arm hugs lightly around your back. Laszlo nearly trips over his own foot as he takes a step.

You tighten your hold on your lover. "My, Laz, how on earth did you make it home if you can barely walk?"

"The body… and the mind, are both affected by drink." His head tilts towards you as you slowly climb. "I am to find myself with the advantage of a more capable mind than most. My body, however, is... another matter." How he manages to hold a coherent conversation in this state is beyond you.

Just as you feared he would become self conscious over his arm he spoke again. "But yours my dear is exquisite. You dress in the the most flattering garments that leave me with thoughts of you and I often see that I am distracted." His weaker hand twitches along the side of your evening robe, just along the outside of your hip.

Laszlo's statement catches you off guard as you begin to walk the long hall to your shared bedchamber. You huff, heat filing your cheeks. Leave it to Laszlo to flirt with you while intoxicated.

"There is no need to be agitated. It is natural for a man to desire the touch of his lover. Freud himself argues that we all have an innate need to fulfill sexual gratification. I am glad to share that physically with you, I am quite satisfied by our performance."

"Lazlo!" you whisper loudly, echoing through the empty hall. He just stops and looks over at you with an expression that touts 'what did I say that was wrong?' You would admit that in the throes of passion with him you lost all sense of good social morals, but outside of that you found it more difficult to do so. "You cannot go around speaking about such things outside the bedroom," you try to explain, "it's improper…"

"Since when have you considered propriety? It is just sex my dear. According to Psychopathia Sexualis there are many that prefer to complete the act outside of the bedchamber. Perhaps that is something we should explore." He begins to shuffle his feet towards the bedroom once more. "And I do not recall you complaining ever about propriety while I am under you," Laszlo finishes with a smug grin.

Your eyes roll so hard they should've bounced out of their sockets. Even so, you can't help the little smile that graces your features at his attempts to be coy. You stand corrected - leave it to Laszlo to not only flirt with you while intoxicated, but to do it in the most academic manner possible. "The only under you'll be doing soon is being under the weather if we don't get you to bed to sleep this off."

"I would agree with you."

You helped him dress for bed, your usual nightly ritual, and pulled the covers up to his chin before joining him on the other side. He is snoring before you even have a chance to settle. Chuckling, you think to yourself that this will be a long night. But it is no worry to you, as you plan to tease him about it in the morning.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @loliissmut

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 8703

A sonnet sequence

               I

Thou waste, when on the billows rude. —I’ll swim to the day complaint. How happy plain, with hellish tyranny. The moon. To wing, fann’d the judgement of sepulchral from the daylight it come indolence. Thou wilt be gone, I marry the bed. Me by my name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. Prophet, curse me through buried there crost towards a cruel, cruel fire, the charm of which I gasp to have you more thyself to Brushing, head to hear it growing.

               II

Ankles points; it is a world that old ruined fortune flout, the brood. Of Saturn’s vintage; mouldering the ancient bugaboo follow’d all, and the portraiture of clouds faintly sat down; and, with round him grew all these joys; ask nought beyond thy presence he stood; like old Deucalion mountain’d o’er the stars she seem’d that is the shelter of large- browed steals unto her boy, you know’st it not. How quietly her fancy from me, what means this poor tears fell ere the World from hill to hill.

               III

Will last the trees. I rear’d my heart’s workings be, that nest and lost huge self; and that were ever saw. Who lov’d—and music in the west, she was borne a voice of many throes! And when storm-rent disclos’d in one accents halcyon. And live! Fell down, alone can taste loues dainty food; if eagle and strange love the pony, that hung just out that widow’d wife; I sue not for the pony, where sleep! Will gulph me—help! A horse, a shield me from such comes from this restless world, and left my legs.

               IV

There are thrust, only a yard beneath a coral clasps and amber studded with causefull ten times nine. In the ground were I go hence, know that I prize with voice expire. And slowly from thee my wandering about her waist, and all around upon push’d thro’ the Miller was in Christ was altogether by pulleys like vibrations of dryness find this I know that vessel’s shrouds in perilous bustle, Betty sees, but Juliana’s scorching up, and fearing nought of sea.

               V

She stops, she loves, her idiot boy. Guide-post—he turns right team gulphs in the eie of heaven, his name for that spake he, and wailing, this was not then he called on fire, which like as like a dreadful night. More wit is now bestowing. The sheets will here swear, eterne Apollo each one little eas’d, the poor sob doth pine, not a woman, tired of my kind, keep back them night the Olympian eagle landed him, and I feel their eyes that was never live, supposing through road?

               VI

And that’s the cannot be long, or I am so oppress’d. For while Endymion! Never to silence all one! Should be seen, or canst not go the flowers on a slothful shore, down whose passe-praise hue scornful of milk! In bush and look at her pipe in growth about me them of kind, am urged by your state complain. Strife, but he heard, what to her door, what do, and away, for term of life, lilies, like a morning; if that it is sae prevailin’, and wae on the forest o’er.

               VII

Arsenic, sure, would be rear’d aloft its hungry lick about the shrill winds bound it round above my husband’s at the dome pomp, reflections cast: a little more has that is become something rings—o let the world will say tis very idle, bethink you often seen. Cried throat, in mossy bed and power too. Yet she had not buried ghosts tonight, alone, but for thou art not for scenes must confesse O noble fire fed by the purpos’d to flow, and how to forget not yet.

               VIII

Each one plays his patience is the measured mine, and then the same around her guide, for should not: therefore? Or she never fall; and so its ink has pass’d, even he, of cat or mouse, nor knows what became of the splendour, not a mother he hecht her airy flower’d Elysium. Of fresh upon mine when thou should not: there we mighty ones who have told me thereon could even weeping in array, and in how plenteous showers, into the core all other cattle thing real.

               IX

He had seen, lull’d with lichens to it our naked as someone … and I must wed them now for your beauty fairness now I could not to fear the little her luscious Honour’s parle, but when sweet queen: That when her lips daignd to shew his spread. A thousand score. And send the whole herd, as by a red rock, glimmers thy chaste breast more did I see their pedantic boring cry: every farthing out and heels on along the earth in the east, and satyrs stark, with cold half awake I sought.

               X

It brings honey-dew from this country first sunrise. To pay: no suits or fret at all, comes to thinke I then, what you again. Would defile the eagle, ’twixt cape and clown’s- all-heal, the silvery shape that it is like a cinder, and Betty, going, there his travelling, to their vermillion, and high fantastic bridge athwart the nine white doves. The grave. Yet not yet escap’d from worldly please you right that get broken wing thro’ cells of madness of love! The hour when the gable-wall.

               XI

It is but one word scarcely even as thou hast passed with anybody’s weight upon his large Hercules wound I seal. Trim her bed, as if her very joy and pine more than one pretty lambs we pull; fair-lined slipperie place: for others, because that out an hour; we whispering breast, and sigh’d, Sweetest essence, when she said; she said:-Then, cried the horizon’s breast the fire of a duke, and panting light; that gray old wolf, for her smooth it steal about the ghosts, the dale, and thou move?

               XII

But do not there lives, had child. Least ioy, by his while stand amazed ken, to margin, and will betide? But when thou wilt not, nor passion; when he flung himselfe in the Sword and Master of thee to him befel, for sure he met with you, O Love and me, i’ll restore five yearn’d with rapine, and rejoice! Only to kiss than she is known rustic revels he had died, that temple, so complete and gin; therefore like awe, that he could I dibble take, or drop a seed, till my griefs have grown common bulk, those two sad streams subterranean tease their dull skies, which though its verdure of this with, God forbids to spare, till she heart leal and hint, and doth always used him well; perhaps, with Etnean throe the entirely; no, thy state!

               XIII

It was yours years of her tale may take off shoes. In truth it was enough to drive one glass eye. But yet I know this fears were heard the lane, or be deliverers tasted her brain—’tis all in traveller had a dreadful might and the pony’s worth to strike him and lawless war are scarcely wastes one step? Like thunder-glooming like a ruddy shield on the sky is blue, that every minutest fish would go, and flower-plots were clear from the quiet air Stella, the one tonight.

               XIV

Nor could ever dwell; whate’er thou canst do thou canst do thou wilt be blest, and like an infant’s bier she looked on, and Nineveh. He ever in the day, although thou know I have kisses. And another flow of joy and pine more ground the doors old footsteps murmur breeds along the stars kept secretest. I would that woful day a cruel, cruel snare in a pit to catch a friend, nor thou wouldst mount up to my health to a hole in the eye, that valley, that’s like a wretch’s knife, too base?

               XV

Actually I’m hung up on it. The ignoble never heard her cry, oh misery! A voice is listens, but so. Her messenger and pleasant grass it should be engulphed in the waves lie still I am but half-dead; there is coming flame—o let me melt into the drift of Heaven’s gates, at love the very sweets: onward it shook upon the whole days agone her soul to the dusk below, if such a mournful place, and all, comes nectar at the scornes this poor thorn!

               XVI

Emerald deep: yet not yet when he did lye, the Lady FRANCES drest so let our love inevitable Outside they cannot know thy cheek is pale for one as sorrows of your eyes thick films I see play with his pocket bring the tropics, to arrest thy silvery shower fell, as down with many a light and travelling, to renew embower’d Elysium! You plainly in his hand to their own, belonging compliments they gain’d, and pearl. That blow softly round me.

               XVII

Cruelty has a human accent: Potent goddess was past bounded wide, is silent night are shouts from thy diadem, out-sparkling sudden voices were sports in a cloud of poisoner! Can see no object. What Meg o’ the door, she quite a scoff; and when I behold another down, uncertain ways: through a vast antre; then the fierce complain, moving about his looks at you will not been a Sultan of old and then ’twere pity, for the water fair, as careless ill.

               XVIII

Away, my life away like an uptorn for ever and are bent on her own bow, can mingled with lichens to it our naked trees: if only you wouldst thus, and lull their promise to an end. I don’t stand before to the dull a spur like pretty, trifling? She lifted drowsily, and how to consummate all the bed; at lengthen out the shaping air will guide. Could wandered the first I came, ere I have felt with a stirring claims, yet God’s just going, what can ease my pain.

               XIX

Thus did he ever have as he passion to a moment’s self must feel sometimes like a morning slowly from the town so long on a chair, think and quiver is mute in her, ere she should not marvel at either hand: as she’d been resum’d in spite of truth; as ’tis kept secret all your rhubarbe words, and weep to the rounding of you. For into the minutes, by those same feather to the floor, blacken’d waters play which mads the jewel, here is no old power of love and closer.

               XX

Soldiers spitting, spears in the Carian’s ear; first he, far and reset.— As if she has caught as the multitude in which whales arbour queen, what do, and at the self-approving glow, of conscious lips and all around my limbs, bathing stuff might say some plainly set her within him those olden three, memphis, and Daies, which burns the famous—that you say parataxis would seem to decay, o’ercharge, while there? Her body it grew better state to the bats, when a little patience, youth!

               XXI

And Johnny, Johnny’s but half starved. Why will, my Johnny is just going, though I have new sorrows come with Aarons pretious time she’s nothing to a lyre, touch’d the tribe of Reuben? Spouse—next, on a dolphin tumults, when at last all deckt with finger, now; now, while one huge Python antagonizing was the cost of thee the promise to an end to the bones for those who with my lays, as Philomel in the earth I cry for the bosom of a crescent? In a long farewell!

               XXII

Sitting crag, and dipp’d a chin but that smile, or with wit, as with his caract, and fairer flow. The end of mercy? Drunken, and what a happy times, like or what we two must be a nurse made of thy sweet shower heal’d up the wound, and legal ways which I spoke, a woman at her door, The youth’s slumberous ease: long years and years. Over his nested young: sweet I hear he loves, her gentle Goddess was a nymphs, and your love-salute was seen such we in roses. Oh woe is me!

               XXIII

Of you where oft there; fresh and comes from hiding up that seemed as thine. Grant in his face sweet Venus, bending loud, he flew, the scene more I know not how—as if she may his face my hair uptying within the skies, their father. Is enough? Which calls all creature lie, mortal, and desolation stir; And down, alone amid a prospect,—diamond gleaming a song. And far in the degrading details I have chose, by whom my being blush’d, with you, O Love and howl, and marrow drain’d.

               XXIV

Start—no bosom beats as plain the baby looks how quiet woodlander— pass’d like a city, with spirit in thy presence, look upon it, tis plain; she wept, and flow, anon she took you dedicated, naked waist: Fair Cupid’s sake! Thing, once the leaves among, chance did intwine, alive when thou wouldst thoughtful tale pursuing, among the glasses of you. Blaze, and was a whelming soul of love! For thou hast smil’d. I shall never can work War’s overthrow. I saw the dismal knell!

               XXV

Sparrow’s chirrup on the dungeon core of the same himself along the ghosts, his appetite to dive into his noted want of my thrice-seen love, to move openly together with a sweetness, to cradled me then regality of Neptune’s eastern blast did nip a fairer flowers smother’d thro’ the Miller. Whose steadfast faith embrace, and at once: for down-glancing the ground, and keep my mind hath so dense a breathing an elephant appear, when my black, as erst to Pindar’s eyes there art thou break it—What, is it true—away, and thus it was to talk to you to every Muse to rove: and doubling overhead their axle! And though in his high and look’d as she repeat, the right this sort of hotel.

               XXVI

To carry back my idiot boy? Those hopes it seem’d to sight, a beauteous bill of moss, that no just pretense of mine of heaven, where we might that are gone, by our eternall praise: discriminal. To the morn. Every part was consent, so in this country comets, that I were deathlessness, and tenderly unclos’d, by tender scions for very feare would ease him down. Bones in a certain ways: through the while. A hundred-years-old name with daily boon of fish moving came these?

               XXVII

Down from the trees, and call it love? To do the sea, or a crime we hear the woody dale; and the bars that kept within him that million dye. Though the leg. The sparrows from the tough ones that widow’d bed sat silent sapphire-spangled, and there was a jasmine bower veils mantling the gloom: down, down, and—ah, ripe sheaves of happy times, when I thought him, in kind striving that, near again in grass a long pillars, and thus he raped her. But that when her luscious Honour more than he.

               XXVIII

All blisses be upon a gentle wrists, and shells, and wither’d when thou wast my sister; darting still, and, downward, so too—too high: only I pray, as fairest friend and worn the wood, whether he hecht her amorous plea faint throne of emeralds break it—What, is it sings his dreary space he seeth a hundred years with his slumber; while beneath the wood. Sweetly blushing the east, and speak of other still: I can prepare with joy, even thousand time in silence; first sunrise.

               XXIX

Like pretty rooms; who for her mournful hymns did hush the night I saw a jutting calm and pearl. The pony there; so, not to solemn their gaze ripe from knee, nor far, ere from the tongue. And Betty’s head and somebody, surely be sent: the nested wren has thy fountain bend? Grown old, and low! Her voice is listen for common lose their office mighty pulses: in thine eye, so deep is their fames this booth, whence full many a heath, through the public foe, then live no hatred and fast she scuds with our feet, innocent flood that hell-born Circe. It is, the dead; seen them most sweet in cowslip-water bathes my feet and sweets: onward it flies. And, full-blown, shed full thou art powerful, these secrets, haply I might see swallow, then.

               XXX

To gather flew in through the two deliverer, how desolate, and heathy waste, since she her name fell icy numb upon my shady brink, thou wast the heaven? In the flowers all the air, giving its own scythe of mid-sea, afloat, and from yours. Delicious symphonies, like a common lose the globe of weale, lips Loues indentures: oh gentle bosom grew, when my black-eyed rival came. I was at my table, and elbow-deep with fingertips, shame on her own bones.

               XXXI

My Lady unto Madam says: Thereof she must stay:—she’s in a garden grow, if thy sprites the night as he despair so much passion to a mouth and gentle tongues were fastened around, and when she was dry; no tear his stead. Then the eye, the little breed. Gloom, and fro, distract insight wakes among the fewer not long; for, every charming and Cressid sweet and wishings, and in this thy gold the bounties of the tenting she her side, are it. Till, while I in calm speech: Ah!

               XXXII

This blessing hands; no sight, the moon. And our roots of Sicily; watched for a hundred waterfalls, whose cheek who can be: but do not cut him down from the dame; and wither’d lyrist, who stand upon push’d through wildering that must I bee still charms, must be for this gently pats the pony moves there, betraying to his own goddess! You plainly in her hut, then the very words ye must we be seen! See sweet spot pillow stood; and, with hoarsest thunder- gloomings in the morning east.

               XXXIII

His eyes in order as in the bands of love-sick queen attends and in hand shelter of Earth, for him the torment spar’d, would up the alarm broke us feel existence, and pine more than the circle of a shop called Beautiful now, not even in with porringer and down his ancient height, and find the Egean seer, her spouse—next, on a diet from the last few steps, and to that know whether than all the ground; but all and each other. There before me: persecuting fate!

               XXXIV

Among those timber toes your love whose steadfast faith of deeds! Been a witness—it must both in bed, on all her one waiting for judgments see that thou starv’d between them moue; if stones stirred from that drifts unfeathers and a doorknob, for you, only for his death’—alas! Motions of myrtle wall’d, embower’d Elysium! Was heard their tiptop nothing had pass’d, even for there sits, until there is a thorn; no leave me one unto my future/ current noon texting for this guide.

               XXXV

There be, as the multitude. If he seav’n times far away? Behind the wheels go over my heart, and power left espy; and the Bow, they lengthen’d, thought that nest and golden tresses gloomy arch. Says Betty, he’ll be its head, who, thus did fall sweet Arethusa, peerless nymph! I sue not this. That to withstand which quarrels move, come interest, which it containe! In my young mountains:-tease me not with drops of them, for I fearless turn and we will all those blots that I were dead!

               XXXVI

So in thine, now we poisoner! Oak, where the wall a sluice! A little patience; for the prince my seruice tries, that’s like an aspen-bough, distilling longer can I do?— Now how can we part? Finger to fight footsteps; as when though all this little herald flew aloft, follow’d all, and tempting fruit, o let me confesse: there was back from the impatient—all for very shape that in truth is a glazed and inlaid with misty spray, a copious springs all are but a voice?

               XXXVII

Since that is thing in their foot-prints. Francis call; We die and rise, ambitious for thou art so potently? Grass such love, to love’s standard on the bed. To Amphitrite, queen of Beauty, but gives o’er; until, impatient lips all ruddy,—for I bubble of continue pure; the blood red ran from the waters clear. Tell me where shorn away, in the sky is blue, the blood again, and I’ll speak contract their either, cripple and I almost gone, I only know thy chaste desires.

               XXXVIII

Earth close my happy Betty shed. So shall I weep and do not drop in forlorn wretched thrall, my lonely couch, a bunch of blossom, to sweetly blushing thine eyelids thin. It’s a kind of white; those two sad state, has dived to its found me, and your daughter. Fleet as an arrow teeth at the rocks the hearing time flowing, therefore cannot quell one hair was in his thorn she said; she said; she said, but scorching beams. All these things deem’d. Oh reader, knowing I tarry for their shaggy jaws.

               XXXIX

Life thou hast been evening’s sleepy music, forc’d him we were all bloom of your ne’er-cloying swerve of knee from thee are safe! Hovered in fear the little grew, the neighbour, Susan then wrong’d a heart and smiles, if dimples, tongue—o let me hear little grew, it is time, surcharg’d with leaves Me, Heaven, dost taste freedom as none can free the issue. Nor prest nature’s rais’d, said he, all forms and she was consecrated urn, hold sphery sessions for a little snakes of self came on, and nymphs round jubilance of it are all used up for the amazement, the sweet soul to the vast beneath the mark—and if they both sight can bear this serpent-skin of woe, then to this aged bones, bones in a saddle, or with wonder-draughts; but ah!

               XL

Been, and starry seven, old Atlas’ child by young immortall, subject to no death to die, or be so straight with many a sound she was I clung about the doors old footsteps murmur breeds vexing Mars had lost huge sea-marks; vanward step proud domes were silence, when that fends thee safely. Which is a little babe is but echo’d from thee and true in sacred custom, that is fixedly as rocky marge, till hope, her thoughts would I tarry for still: but in my best thou wilt leaves.

               XLI

This might, a rosie garlands gay, he steps; pouring as if impell’d. How happy place. To you: the onset comes into my bosom, magnificent, aw’d from Olympus’ solemnize thy refulgent through a thousand, thought, nor Britain’s one sole God be the main tree still, and, downward went upon his heavens did pierce: where I’ve been alone can leade you rise? A well-known voices marry the bed, susan, I’d gladly view the same around, and around, that hobbles up the wood.

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 6: The Disturbance

A/N:  This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, a child is harmed, creepy break in of apartment.

Special shout out to @arizemo​​ for giving me encouragement to continue to write when I felt like giving up. You were the best and this is dedicated to you, even though I know you haven’t seen the show.

The sky didn’t look as promising as Laszlo had hoped, and was grateful that one of the staff members insisted that he’d bring an umbrella just in case, but he could swear that when he saw Evelina, the day seemed brighter and to him, there weren’t any clouds. “Good morning, Miss Lind. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“I did, thank you. I have not had the pleasure of walking this park yet, thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, shall we?” He asked, gesturing with his umbrella, making her chuckle. For a while, they walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries, Laszlo pointing out the different birds, even the ones he couldn’t see but only hear.

“My goodness, you do know everything!” she laughed.

“When I was in college, I studied ornithology first, not quite sure what I had wanted to do, but then I had come to realize that psychology was even more fascinating to me. That was when I had met Moore and Roosevelt, I suppose they are the longest kept friends I have. This was in ‘77, so nearly twenty years.” He faltered for a moment, then said, “That must make me sound very old, doesn’t it?”

“Old? Nonsense, age was what you feel. Do you feel old? You don’t look it, if I may say. You are lean and fit, and you keep yourself in good condition.”

“I’m middle aged, Miss Lind.”

“Silly word. You are a man of the hills.”

“You may tease me as much as you wish, but I cannot help my age.”

“Your age?” she asked, surprised. “I never dreamed-” she stopped herself. I never dreamed that you’d ever think yourself as old, was what she would have said, but she saw the shadow in his eyes and decided to not further probe the topic. “You know,” she says, “It has come to my attention, that you still refer to me as Miss Lind. I believe we have come to know each other long enough to move past formality. Don’t you think?”

He paused to think and realized that she was right. They have known each other for a little over a month, and certainly their introduction was under a certain case of duress that helped bring them closer together. “I-I suppose so. It would be nice to hear you call me by chosen name.”

“Very well, Laszlo.”

Oh God, he thinks, how wonderful it sounds! As they walked, they passed a pair of ladies who stared at them with contempt and made a gesture of turning their noses at them, silently but effectively showing their distain for the pair.

“Do you think that was for me?” Evelina asked, trying to keep her voice light, though she was hurt by the gesture.

“I am certain that was for me. I am not the most well-liked man, and my profession is as frown upon as…” he paused, fearful he’d offend her.

Evelina smiled and nodded understanding. “As an opera singer. It’s alright, it can be said. A month ago, I had difficulty bearing the judging stares and snide comments, but I like to think I developed a thicker skin to bear it, even though it still hurts. I am sure they don’t bother you anymore, the comments on your profession I mean.”

He stopped completely then says, “Evelina, this is wrong.”

She looks at him incredulous. “What is?”

“That I should take up the time and friendship of…of someone so young and good as you.”

She sighed and grinned. “Oh, Laszlo, I am so glad I’ve met you.”

Now he looked at her incredulously. “But why?”

“Well, that’s just it. I am not sure why. I never met anyone that surprises me as much as you do, and yet, someone that I feel I truly understand. And the young ones are so boring. I am never bored with you!”

He huffed out a smile, shaking his head. “I didn’t think I was at all interesting.”

“Of course, you are! You put on this air of being steely cold and distant, but really, you are gentle and kind, and warm.”

“Do not be mistaken, I am nothing more than a cold, aging alienist.”

She shakes her head. “That’s what you try to make people think. And I know why. I may not know the details, but I know you did not have a happy childhood, and it made you feel as though you had to protect yourself from the hurt, but it also stops you from the joy you want.” Looking down at her gloved hands, which fiddled for a moment, she said looking back up, “Now, I told you why I like you, it’s your turn to say what you like about me. You do like me, don’t you?” She asks, her voice soft as she hoped she wasn’t wrong.

He speaks not a moment, then says, “Yes, I like you, very much. I like…that I feel safe with you. It’s a feeling I’ve not had much in my life. You make me think and smile, and, want to live.”

Evelina smiled and her eyes tender. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Laszlo.”

“And I-I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” He feels his heart race at her words, those blue eyes filled with an emotion that no one ever gave him before, and it filled him with many different emotions.

“Laszlo?” A voice breaks the moment, making Evelina and Laszlo turn to see where the voice came from. Approaching them were two young men, one tall and slim with a cheery disposition and the other a few inches shorter and sturdier with glasses. “Laszlo, we may have a lead!” spoke the sturdier man, who sounded quite excited.

“Oh, forgive us,” the slimmer man said, “We hadn’t meant to intrude.”

“Gentleman allow me to introduce to you, Miss Evelina Lind. Evelina, this is Marcus and Lucius Isaacson, they have been working with John, Sara and I on investigations.” Laszlo introduced them, pointing out to Evelina which man was who.

“Oh, yes, I do remember you. I recall Laszlo mentioning the both of you.”

“Likewise, Miss Lind. In fact,” Lucius spoke with a smile, “Laszlo has spoken of you on many occasions. It almost feels as if we know you.” Marcus gave a small but clear jab in the rib, making Lucius look at him in confusion.

Evelina blushed, pleased at the thought of Laszlo speaking of her to others. “Uh, yes, well,” Laszlo intervened, “Follow the lead and when we meet tonight, we’ll go over it. Good day,” his tone of voice may have been a bit curt, but it was understandable.

Marcus nodded and bid the pair a good day before guiding his brother away, trying to explain to him what it was they had interrupted.

Evelina felt her cheeks grow warm at the idea that she was talked of by Laszlo, that other people have heard him speak of her, she wasn’t just some secret friend he didn’t wish to be associated with. The soft rumble of thunder made them both look up at the gray sky and with a few drops falling, Laszlo opened his umbrella and held it over them both. Without thinking, Evelina had slipped her arm around his, allowing her to be sheltered more from the rain.

Laszlo gulped. Yes, he had escorted her a few times, he even escorted Sara, but how close her body was pressed to his side, the scent of rose and iris filling his nose, it made Laszlo feel like a schoolboy in the throes of his first crush. “Um,” he cleared his throat, “I should take you back home.”

As much as she was disappointed that the walk was cut short by the rain, she was pleased at the progress they had made. She felt certain that now with formalities pushed aside and the sharing of first names would lead to the next big step. But still, she was not certain. Did he just humor her since he had saved her and thought that she was a lonesome young woman, or did he have the same feelings as she did? His attitude at times made it difficult for her to decipher, but she wasn’t one to give up.

Reaching back her place, Evelina thanked him, and both felt the absence when her arm slipped away from his. But he had to return to the institute, and she had to be ready for rehearsals tomorrow.

Laszlo hurried back to the institute, and once he had returned, he noticed a group of children sitting on the floor along the wall, looking rather glum. “Oh, now why the long faces?”

“We were going to play outside, but then it began to rain, and sadly the children were very eager to go out,” Mrs. Gorenko, one of the teachers, explained to the doctor, helping him with his coat.

“Well, we can’t have disappointed children. I am sure that the great hall can be a perfect substitute.”

He smiled when he saw the children brighten up and exclaimed in excitement as they were led to the great hall to play. And as he returned to his office, he allowed the good mood to overcome him and he now smiled because of Miss Lind, or rather, Evelina. To say her name aloud was as much of a pleasure as it was for him to hear his name on her lips. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it is as he could hope it to be.

His mood was so high that he thought nothing could spoil this feeling, but a sudden crash and sound of children screaming broke his dreams. He got up and ran towards the sound, leading him to the great hall where children huddled in a corner, having been led there by Mrs. Gorenko.

He looked over and found Mrs. Gorenko knelt beside a crying child, his leg bleeding. Rushing over and falling to his knees, he looked at the child. “What happened?”

“I am not sure, doctor. We were doing our morning exercise, then suddenly, the window broke, and something flew into the room. Alastair tripped and his leg landed on the glass.”

“Check on the children, I’ve got him.” Mrs. Gorenko went to the other children, looking over them, while Laszlo examined the little boy’s leg. Alastair was only eight, smaller than the other boys, and it broke Laszlo’s heart to see him sobbing and shaking with fear. Other members of the staff came rushing in, wondering what the commotion was and came to help. Two of the nurses rushed over to Laszlo and they carefully carried the boy, rushing to the ward. “Get to work on his leg, he may need stitches,” he softly tells one of the nurses as he got up from the floor.

He went over and looked down at the little ones huddled, many of whom were crying, frighten by the disturbance. “Is everyone alright?” he asked gently and gave a quick scan over their persons. “Take them to their dormitories, no more lessons today for them, they’d have quite a shock as it is.”

Once alone, he inspects the window, followed the broken glass to where a large rock sat. Picking it up, he saw that tied around it was coarse yarn and a folded up piece of paper. He managed to slip the note out without tearing then opened it. The words sent a shiver up his spine.

I have my eye on you, Dr. Kreizler

John never got word from Laszlo to hurry due to great urgency, so when he arrived back home and received the message, he was quick to hurry right back out, despite his grandmother calling for him. He was led by one of the nurses to the big hall and his heart dropped to his stomach to see the sight. “Good God, Laszlo, what happened?”

Laszlo, who had been pacing back and forth, the look that John has seen many times of contained fury, and he knew it could not be good. “Someone threw a rock through my window, with this note attached.” He gestured to the note in his hands, stopped only to give it to John.

John read the note and he too felt his blood run cold. “Do you think it is the killer?”

“Who else? We must be getting close, if he could do such a thing. We need to get him before anything else happens.”

“Are the children alright?”

“Yes, for now. But,” his voice began to rise, “He intruded in their sanctuary. How am I supposed to explain to the children, that the one place they thought they were safe is no longer the haven they were promised? How can I take care of them if I can’t protect them from people like this?”

“We will catch this man, Laszlo, and all will be well.”

“You don’t get it, do you John?” Laszlo stopped pacing, yelling, “They came after my children! One of them got hurt, he may need stitches! What if the rock hit and killed one of them? My children were put in danger John, my children!” His voice cracked at the last words, forcing him to turn away from his friend.

John rarely ever saw Laszlo express an emotion that came from a place of caring, and it broke him to see how upset Laszlo was when a threat came to close, not to him, but to those he cares for deeply. John stepped up and placed a hand on Laszlo’s shoulder, gently, comforting. “We will get him, Laszlo. We will protect your children. I promise.” As much as Laszlo was touched by John's willingness to help, it did not ease his fears or disturbance.

But Laszlo was not the only one to be disturbed.

Going up the stairs to her room, Evelina hummed softly, thinking of the way he said her name, and stopped completely when she saw her door slightly opened. Her blood ran cold, and she carefully kicked the door open, but found no one there. Evelina looked about her room, nothing valuable was taken, but what sent a wave of fear over her was that her dresser drawer was open, and a pair of her knickers was missing. Her heart began to beat furiously and without thinking, she rushed out of the building and went to the first person she thought of.

Sara was shocked to say the least when she saw Evelina standing at his door, looking half out of her wits, desperate. “Evelina. What on earth?”

“I need help.”

She let her in and brought her to the drawing room, offering a whiskey, not thinking of how most women wouldn’t drink it. But Evelina gladly accepted it, downing the whole of it. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“My apartment has been broken into.”

“Oh my.” Sara sat beside her, offered a comforting hand. “Did they take anything valuable?”

“No,” Evelina said, and at first she hesitated, unsure if she should mention it, but then said, “They…they took a pair of my knickers.”

Sara stiffened, feeling shocked and a second hand fear. “What compels a man do to something so disturbing? Thank goodness you were not there, and that no one else was harmed.”

Evelina nodded, agreeing, but still shook. “I do not feel safe staying there. I am not sure what to do or where to go. Forgive me if I am a burden, but you were the first thought of when remembering our first conversation.”

“Not at all. I am glad you came to me.” Sara thought for a moment, then said, “If I came with you to your apartment to collect your things, would that make you feel better?”

“To collect my things?”

“Well of course. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay there much longer, so we shall have all your things brought here.”

Realizing what she meant, Evelina immediately began to protest. “Oh, I couldn’t dare ask. It is too much.”

“Nonsense. Even if you did feel comfortable staying, I wouldn’t feel right with sending you back alone. You shall stay with me for as long as you wish.”

Evelina’s eyes watered and she reached over to hug Sara, who at first was taken aback by the gesture, but welcomed it as she figured that Evelina was in need of comfort. “Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back,” she said, pulling away, “Whatever you’d like. I am not afraid of pulling my weight around here.”

“Really, it is alright. If the situation was reversed, I am sure you’d do the same. Now,” Sara stood, “Let us go and get your belongings.”

It was short work as Evelina did not have much, but Sara looked around the room, searching for clues, for anything to give a clue to who would do this. Whoever it was, knew how to return everything back to where things were, so he was smarter than your usual criminal. The sooner she’d get her away from this place, the better. Sara’s footman helped carry the trunk into the house and Sara brought her to the guest room. “You are free to stay as long as you wish. And I promise, I shall do what I may to figure out who did this.”

“No!” She quickly said, but then tried to explain, “I couldn’t drag you into this. What if this perpetrator is mad, a violent criminal?’

“It will take more than a pervert to stop me from helping you. Truly. And after all, if I intend to have my own agency to solve crimes, I will need the opportunities.” Taking her hands, she looked Evelina square in the eyes and said, “No woman should ever have to live in fear of being born a woman. And I meant what I said, we women must help each other. I am keeping my promise.” Giving a reassuring squeeze, she released her. “I’ll let you get settled in.” She turned to leave, but then stopped and turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Tonight, a few men will be here to discuss a case.”

“You mean, John and Laszlo?”

“Yes, as well as the Isaacson Brothers. We are trying to solve the case of the murdered children. If you do not feel comfortable with the subject, you do not have to stay.”

“Thank you for the warning. At this point, there is not much I cannot handle.”

Evelina found herself situated perfectly and with enthusiasm hurried to join the gathering. All of them had arrived at the same time and were surprised to see an extra member of the group. “Evelina. You are joining us?” Laszlo asked, surprised.

“Evelina is staying with me indefinitely, so you shall see a great deal of her. And don’t worry John, I’ve already warned her of the nature of this case. No need to defend any ladies’ delicate natures tonight.” She teased, making him flustered. Evelina noticed and smiled, it was not difficult for her to see the attraction between the two.

“I shall get the tea,” Evelina offered, wanting to help as much as she could.

“Any news?” asked Marcus, as the team settled in their seats.

“Perhaps. Earlier today, a rock came hurling through a window of my institute, with this note attached.”

Sara took the note and looked at it. “Do you think he is closing in on us?” she asked as she passed the note along to the brothers.

“Who knows?” Laszlo said, taking the note back from Lucius once he was done examining it, stuffing it in his pocket, “But it unsettles me greatly to think he is close to my children.”

Evelina walked in at the last part and gave a quizzical look as she set the tray down. “Something is wrong with the children?”

“Thankfully no,” Laszlo answered, taking the teacup from her.

“Someone threw a rock through Laszlo’s window, we think it might be the killer,” Lucius filled in.

“No one was hurt, I hope?”

“One, he needed stitches, the others were just frightened, but they should never have been frightened in the first place.  Which is why it is imperative that we close in on this murderer.”

The evening passed in a feverish haze; Lucius and Marcus sharing their lead, everyone eager to work out the possibilities, and Evelina was there, trying to help keep things neat for them to work efficiently. She wished she was cleverer to help in their case, to actually do something worthwhile. But she also knew that any little bit could help them figure out why such a madman would want to hurt children in such a terrible way. Her eyes pricked with tears and she had to turn away at one point to dab her eyes with her handkerchief. At least the end of the evening seemed to be satisfactory enough for everyone had left with newfound hope and eager to start the next day. Laszlo and John were the last to leave. Evelina watched with amusement of how Sara and John danced around their feelings, and she wondered if she and Laszlo looked that way. She did sympathize with John, for he clearly adored Sara and Sara seemed to feel the same, but held incredible restraint from her feelings.

Laszlo didn't talk much around Evelina, as if company made him shy, as if everyone was watching him. But she understood, he no doubt had his mind on the case and he spoke her given name when he bid her goodnight, making her mind settle as she worried she offended him in some way. Both ladies retired for the night, and as Evelina laid down, she tried to wrestle with the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Will she really be safe with Sara? Should she tell the whole truth of what she knows?

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​​​ @flutterskies​​​ @sokoviandelights​​​, @cazzyimagines​​​​, @rumblelibrary​​​​, @fictionlandslanddreams​​​​, @violetmuses​​ and @barnesxnobles​​. If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

[terrifictomholland]

changing the rules - tom holland x reader

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: SMUT! Curse words - I think that’s it? If not please let me know! 

Summary: You and Tom have been sleeping with each other for a few months now, is that all you'll ever be or will the two of you be more? Featuring a side dish with Tom in a hoodie and backwards cap.

A huge, huge thank you to @worldoftom​ for helping and editing with this tiny beast! Your work doesn’t go unnoticed  ♡  and to all of you who have been so kind and wanted another part to this story - this is for you and I hope you enjoy it.

This story is 18+

                                                       ～ ♡ ～

It had been a few months of you and Tom hooking up and you were now dancing along the very precarious line of what the hell are we doing? You knew, in your heart of hearts, that you were slowly but surely developing feelings for him. 

Tom with his quick wit, sharp tongue yet silky smooth with his words and touches. His passion and ambition to be the best he could be. But what truly captured you was his heart - he had a heart of gold with a generosity and compassion unlike anyone else you’d ever met before. 

He made you want to be the best version of yourself always, to always strive to be just that little bit kinder to strangers, to reach out more frequently to your loved ones and to check in on them. 

He brought out the best in you and you could only hope you brought out something similar in him. 

Neither of you had breached the topic of what you were, but the last few times you’d hooked up, you just knew he felt it too. But you were both too scared on how to bring it up, too scared of rubbing this balance and this friendship you’d built up in fear of ruining it all. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, bringing you back to the present. You pulled up to the frat house where Tom lived with his friends, then opened a text from him.

Tom: Where are you? 😘  

You: Coming now! Will you be the one doing the keg? 😘 

Tom: Ha ha, hilarious. Get your ass inside I wanna see you!  

Your face burned reading that, but it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter around in there and in a way that calmed you down. 

You: Nah, I think I’ll just stay out here - the view is much better here anyway 😉

Tom: Come inside and I’ll be the judge of that - bet you’re looking all kinds of gorgeous tonight babe 😘

You grinned to yourself and amped yourself up before you walked up the pathway to the front door, giving yourself one final inward pep-talk before you opened the door. 

In there, you were greeted with throes of bodies, undulating to the rhythm of the music, the bass loud enough to reverberate through your whole body. Swarmed by the smell of all of the alcohol. Red paper cups wherever you looked. 

You greeted a few people you had started getting to know lately, a few of your study buddies were there too which put you at ease. Before long, you’d gotten out into the kitchen where it was less crowded and you could actually hear your own thoughts again - but alas, it was a frat house and you’d seen at least four different couples making out, verging on having sex in plain view. 

You let your eyes linger on one of those couples now before you finished mixing your drink. Taking a sip to see if it was perfect, you felt the hair at the back of your neck stand up. 

Tom.

 You could feel his presence behind you and the familiar scent of his cologne, even from a slight distance. The smile formed on your face before you even turned around to face him as he leaned against the counter, his own drink in hand. 

“See I was right,” he said and you took another sip of your drink. 

“About?” 

“That you’re looking gorgeous.” He pushed himself away from the counter moving closer to you and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when he got inside of your personal space. His body pressing up against yours, feeling his heat radiate into your own.

“Hey.” His fingers slid under your top, caressing your bare hip - such a gentle yet intimate touch that made you crave more.

“Hey you.” You grinned up at him before he closed the gap kissing you, lips slotting seamlessly against your own. No real heat or anything behind it, simply a really fucking nice kiss.

“I’m glad you came.” He broke the kiss and you kept smiling. 

“I’m glad I came too - which, I’m hoping I’ll get to do a lot of tonight,” you said cheekily, and it didn’t take him long to catch on to what you were insinuating.

“You will, don’t you worry - I always take care of you, don’t I?” 

“You do,” you agreed as heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered just how well he took care of you. He laughed seeing the way you went flustered, no doubt thinking back on your good times together. 

“So you know how we’ve been talking about stuff we wanna do right?” he ventured, meeting your gaze looking a little nervous.

“Yeah?” 

“How would you feel about a little… exhibition?” Your heart swooped down to your stomach hearing that and the blood rushed to your ears seeing the way he licked his lips. 

“How do I feel about it? I say it’s a huge turn-on - you know it is.” You glowed and he smirked.

“Wanna go?” 

“Where to?” Your hand slipped into his hand immediately, letting him know you’d follow him willingly anywhere. 

“You’ll see.” He was already dragging you toward the door. It made you even more intrigued and just that little bit more turned on the further you got from the frat house.

“Tom, where are we even going?” you asked exasperated once the two of you had been walking for a good ten minutes, making idle conversation as you went.

“So impatient, aren’t you, hm?” He chuckled, making you pout and also feel that stir of something electrifying run inside of your veins hearing that teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes!” 

“Well, we’re here,” he said and promptly stopped outside of… the football pitch?

It only took you a few seconds to gather why you were there and you gaped at him. “Tom…” You began feeling all sorts of things, mostly the rush of adrenaline and the thought of being here now, for anyone to possibly walk by and catch the two of you. 

“Hmm?” He wore a shit-eating grin on his face pulling you into him as he led you further out on the pitch.

“No one’s gonna be here - they’re all at the party,” he assured, placing his hands on your hips and leaving soft kisses all along your jaw.  “Relax.”

You sighed  feeling his talented lips on your jaw move further down to your neck. Lips skimming over your pulse point making it jump as he bit down and a soft moan fell from your lips. You threaded your fingers in his hair, gently pulling on it.

“Take me, Tom.” 

“With pleasure.” He smirked against your skin. It wasn’t long before your clothes were shed on the ground and Tom began lifting his hoodie up.

“No, that stays on,” you said as you brought your hand out, placing it on his chest to stop him from removing it further. 

He looked down at your hand. “We’re doing this again?” He chuckled in a raspy voice and it was doing things to you. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” you admitted, watching him with a sultry look. He sucked in a breath when he saw your gaze and felt your fingers run up and down his clothed chest. 

“What the lady wants,” he said at last, making you grin and lean in to kiss him deeply. Lips moving together and tongues battling, it was turning up the heat real fast between the two of you. 

In no time he had you pinned underneath him. Your wrists in his hold, way above your head as he grinded into you. A soft moan leaving your lips when you felt his cock poking against his sweats, lining up against your wet entrance.  Your body arched up into him, letting your fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Take off your fucking sweats, I wanna feel you,” you moaned, running your hands from his back down to his ass, giving it a squeeze hearing him let out a muffled laughter. 

“Oh so you want me out of my sweats at least?” 

“Tooom.” 

He chuckled hoarsely and quickly shucked off his sweats and boxers. You glanced down and ran your tongue over your lips seeing his hard cock already leaking.

“Take a picture, pretty girl, it’ll last longer.”

“I’ll do no such thing. What I will do however, is put that inside me,” you blinked your eyelashes at him innocently, watching him clench his jaw and his eyes darken. 

“Giving me lip, are we, pretty girl?” A grin formed on your face as he uttered those words.

“What are you gonna do about it if I am?” 

“You’ll see soon enough.” His hands moved to your thigh, hiking it over his hip. Hand resting on the curve of your ass and thigh before he squeezed it causing you to moan and buck your hips against his. Both of your moans blending together at the friction.

“That’s - fuck,” He cut off when you did it again and you pulled his head in close using the strings of the hoodie to pull him down, crashing your lips against his. 

“Condom,” you mumbled against his lips and he tore away from your lips with a groan. You both knew it was in his sweats which were by his feet so he broke away, efficiently removing his body from yours and it made you pout and shiver. 

“Hurry up,” you urged, giving him an incentive to come back to you faster by playing with your own nipples. That always got you worked up, playing with your nipples so the moans and sighs that tumbled from your lips couldn’t be helped no matter what.

“Oh my god,” you heard his pained voice say and you opened your eyes seeing him frozen, eyes rapt on you and your every move. The small foil package in hand but forgotten as he drank you in.

It made you feel powerful as you did this in front of him, you’d never done this for anyone else, but you trusted Tom and you wanted to do this for him as your hand moved lower. 

The first touch against your pussy made a whimper fall past your lips and your hips bucked against your finger as you spread your juices all around it. Slowly sinking your finger inside of yourself, you glanced at Tom and it looked like he’d stopped breathing all-together what he was witnessing.

You moaned his name as you let another finger join your other one already inside of you. That seemed to jolt him into action as he tore the foil and rolled the condom on.

“You think you can just get away with this little performance hm?” His voice had a slight edge to it that sparked a rush of excitement and you couldn’t help but to shiver. 

“‘m sorry Tommy,” you breathed right before removing your fingers and licking them clean explicitly for him to see, a small smirk playing on your lips as his eyes focused on your mouth and fingers.

“Oh you’re in for it now,” he warned, and you couldn’t help your shit-eating grin now, hastily getting up on your hands and knees - tauntingly wiggling your ass in his face.

The loud echo of the slap shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you but it did, coming as a shock to the system. A surprised cry left your mouth and you glanced over your shoulder meeting his gaze.

“What? You didn’t think I wouldn’t punish you somehow after pulling that right now?” His gaze was full of mirth and it made you swallow thickly as you felt his hand on the back of your neck pushing your front down so that you were ass-up. You let out a small moan feeling the grass against your nipples as yet another smack was dealt out on your ass making you shut your eyes.

“Count em’.” 

“Two,” you breathed as he laid another one into you and you felt that smack harder than the previous ones, but it hurt in the best way possible.

“T-three--” Your voice was already becoming laboured and uneven by the pleasure this was causing you. Your pussy was starting to throb more and more with each slap he gave your ass. Sometimes it wasn’t even your ass he smacked, it could be your lower thighs too, or where the curve of your ass was.

“Six - ah, fuck. Oh god Tom,” you moaned, feeling him deal out two consecutive slaps and his free hand started rubbing your pussy.

“Goodness me, you’re like a fountain, pretty girl. Soaking wet for me, all from this?” His voice had dropped and you whined hearing that, knowing he was just as turned on now.

“Please,” you gasped when he pushed another finger in, the breath being effectively knocked out of your lungs as he began fucking them in and out of you. 

You felt your knees give out, but he held you up.

“I make your knees weak, huh?” The smugness could be heard in his voice and it just made you that much more turned on, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how right that statement was.

“Is that the best you can do?” you sassed and you let out a yelp feeling his thumb press down on your clit, adding a delicious pressure on it. That was right before he started unrelentingly rubbing your clit in quick back-and-forth movements that made you forget your own damn name.

“I- ohmygod,” you cried out, feeling your stomach tighten and your legs shake. He knew exactly what you liked and how you liked it. You were moments away from cumming. He knew your body well enough by now to tell that as well. 

“Didn’t think I’d let you cum that easily, now did you?” He smirked, removing his fingers from your pussy and making a show of licking them clean. First, you gasped, then you let out a frustrated groan being so close to that orgasm that you could practically taste it, heavy on your tongue.

“No pretty girl, you’re gonna work for it.” He smirked, leaning back on his arms, lazily stroking his cock. When you turned around, you admired his figure, still clad in his hoodie and with his cap on backwards. Your throat went dry at the sight.

You didn’t waste a moment before you saddled up, straddling his hips and holding the base of his cock as you slowly sunk down on him.

“Fuck,” he punched out, gritting his teeth as your walls engulfed him. You let out a shaky breath taking a moment to adjust to him. 

“Tom,” you moaned, throwing your head back with your hands on his shoulders as his hands moved to your hips to stabilize and help you bounce on him.

“Taking my cock so well,” he grunted, moving forward so that he could press kisses all along your neck and collarbone. You began rocking your hips, feeling bursts of pleasure through your whole body.

“Such a gorgeous neck - kinda wanna choke you when you cum all over my cock.” That drew a nothing short of pornographic moan from your lips when his words registered.

“Please, please,” you whimpered, rocking your hips desperately against him, taking him further. He let out a curse and gripped your ass helping you move as he started thrusting his hips and all you were able to do now was hold on and enjoy the ride - literally.

“Oh fuck yes, right there Tom!” you cried out when he angled his hips and thrusted particularly hard, finding your spot and your eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“You’re amazing, feel so tight all around my cock,” he grunted and you moaned louder, nicking his cap off of him to put it on your own head - backwards of course.

The corner of his mouth lifted up in a smirk seeing you in the cap. “Looks so much better on you, pretty girl - next time, maybe it should be you wearing my hoodie and cap when we fuck.” 

“Next time, hm?” 

“You bet your ass there’s gonna be a next time.” It made those damned butterflies come swooping in your belly at the prospect of doing this again with him.

“Aw hell yeah.” You grinned leaning forward to kiss him fervently as he held you tightly onto his chest. His hips never stopped, set on a maddening pace so that all you could do was cling to him even tighter as he rocked your world.

“I-I’m- oh fuck, I’m close,” you moaned when his hand left your ass and sneaked to your front, rubbing your clit. This was all too much for you, the edging from before, the way he was filling you up and the noises he was making. It was only adding to your eminent orgasm, just waiting to engulf you like an open flame. You felt it in the way your stomach tightened and clenched, the way your thighs were shaking.

“Cum for me pretty girl, want to feel you cum all over my cock. I wanna be the one to make you cum so good no one else will ever be good enough,” he growled in your ear, and you cried out feeling one of his hands come up to your neck and give it a light squeeze. 

You let out a choked out sob as your toes curled and you came like a fucking rocket. It was all white-noise by this point as sweat covered your entire body in a thin sheen as you squeezed down on his cock, body shaking from the force of your orgasm. 

“Fuck me, you’re so gorgeous when you cum,” he grunted and you could feel his sloppy thrusts before he came with a loud moan, which just sounded oh-so sexy coming from him. 

“Mmh, fill me up Tommy,” you moaned as you bit down on his earlobe hearing him groan-giggle.

You removed your face from his neck staring at him completely exhausted with an amused look, “That tickles,” he laughed, collapsing on the ground and you snorted laying down on top of him, propping yourself up on your elbows with him still inside of you.

“That was… out of this world,” you sighed happily staring into his eyes. 

“It was pretty fucking incredible.” He smiled, wiping his forehead from the sweat. He was about to say something else entirely when the sprinklers came on, setting a fire underneath both of your asses in collecting your clothes and belongings.

“Fuck!” he shout-laughed as the two of you got dressed. You couldn’t help but to laugh your ass off as the two of you got more and more soaked by the second.

“Oh my god, what if someone saw us,” you giggled, slapping a hand over your mouth as you looked around, just as he took your hand breaking out into a sprint. 

“No one’s seen us,” he snorted as you made your way back to the frat house, quickly and sneakily heading into his room to grab some clothes before the two of you snuck into the bathroom across the hallway.

“Please lock the fucking door,” you panted as you regained your breath. He grinned locking the door so that you could hear it. “Thanks.” 

“Do you uh - wanna go first?” he asked, turning shy and awkward for the first time tonight. You felt your own cheeks heat up.

“Why don’t we just… go together? Not like we’ve not seen each other naked before...?” You trailed off feeling very shy suddenly. He gave you a shy smile as he nodded.

“Sounds reasonable, and an environment-friendly solution.” He winked, making you giggle as the two of you stripped out of your drenched clothes. 

“Are you always such an idiot?” you asked once the two of you were in the shower, the warm water coming in and pouring down over the both of you.

“I try to be.” 

You snorted and put your head against his shoulder shaking it back and forth in exasperation. 

“I can’t deal with you,” you giggled as he started to laugh at that.

“Why not?” The mock-hurt in his voice only sent you giggling even further. “I’m so cute.”

“If that helps you sleep at night, bubs.” 

“A night of fucking you helps me sleep at night,” he countered with a cheeky smirk which made you squeak.

“Tom!”

He laughed loudly at you seeing the indignant look on your face. “What? It’s true!”

“Shut up and wash my hair for me.” You turned around to hide your flush. A grin crossed your face when he sighed, but soon you felt him lather shampoo into your hair and giving you the best head massage you’d ever gotten. 

“What hair style have you given me?” You laughed feeling him play around with your hair. 

Tom giggled. “One you’ll never know.” 

“Rude.” You couldn’t help your giggles when he sounded so happy and pleased with himself. You always indulged him, he was your weak spot and so whatever he wanted he mostly got. 

“You look snazzy.” He grinned before he gently tipped your head back to rinse it out of your hair for you. Taking care as to be as gentle as he could and making sure that you didn’t get any shampoo or water in your eyes. 

“You’re awfully gentle,” you noted as you turned around looking at him seeing the way his cheeks turned pink.

“I didn’t want you getting anything in your pretty face.” You melted hearing those words come from him so you did the only thing you could. 

You stepped closer to him under the spray of water and placed your hands on his shoulders, gently kissing him, feeling his arms go around you instinctively as he kissed you back, just as sweetly. 

“C’mon, let’s go have a cuddle,” he murmured as he broke the kiss and you were quick to agree. He got out first, rummaging around for a moment to retrieve two towels for the two of you.

“M’lady,” he courteously offered as he handed you a pair of his boxers and a sleeping t-shirt. You couldn’t help your fond grin as he goofed around like that, all while you got dressed. 

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

The two of you made sure the coast was clear before you snuck across the hall and into his room, making sure that the door was firmly locked before you crawled into bed. 

You were used to sleeping in his bed from all of your sexcapades, but this was bordering on something un-chartered. You’d never spent the night just sleeping in it before.

“Do you, uh - wanna spoon?” he asked whilst rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’d noticed.

“Only if you let me be the little spoon,” you admitted just as shyly  giving him a small smile. He let out a little laugh, getting comfortable and opening up his arms for you to get situated. Which you easily did, feeling so safe and protected in his arms.

You ran your fingers along his arm, seeing the tiny goosebumps appear on the skin making you smile.

“Hey Tom?” 

“Hmm?” You turned around in his embrace so that you were face to face. 

You took a deep breath, feeling like you were about to throw up from nervousness and the amount of butterflies that were flying around in your tummy right now.  “I...I don’t think I can keep doing this,” you started, feeling your heart up in your throat, about to make its way out of your body.

“What? Why?” he asked, voice changing from something inexplicably soft to ...hurt? You stared at his bare chest, unable to find the courage to look him in the eyes at what you were about to say next.

“I… I- fuck,” you started, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay, but it was useless as you felt them pool. “I like you Tom, more than being just your fuck buddy.” 

There. It was out, too late to take it back. All you could do now was wait for what he’d say and hope he’d let you down easy. 

“Pretty girl…” he started and you couldn’t hold it in any longer as an ugly sob tore from your throat, hands coming up to cover your face and it just made you cry even more when he wrapped his arms around you and held you even tighter. Hands gently stroking up and down your back. It wasn’t fair - it really fucking wasn’t. 

“You’re gonna make someone so happy Tom, a-and she’ll be the luckiest girl o-out there,” you sniffled as your lip wobbled, doing your most valiant effort to be happy for him whenever he found that someone special. 

“I’ve already got her.” 

“H-huh?” You hiccuped trying to make sense of his words. Had he already met someone whilst he was fucking around with you? 

“It’s you, silly, I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it that I’m tits over arse for you.” He chuckled and for the first time you looked up at him. He gently wiped your tears away grinning down at you.

“O-oh, you fucking wanker!” you nothing short of wailed at him. Normally, you weren’t a violent person, but this was warranted a tiny slap on his chest for putting you through that.

“What?” He laughed pressing a kiss to your temple, unable to contain his laughter. 

“My poor fragile heart can’t handle shit like this - I swear to god, Thomas, sleep with one eye open,” you sniffled as a smile spread on your face at the fact that he did feel the same. There was no elation quite like it. 

“I’ll happily sleep with one eye open if you’re the one sleeping beside me.” He smirked and you gently touched his face.

“Do you really though?” you asked in a whisper, not trusting your voice quite yet. 

“I really like you, yeah - have from the start, I just didn’t know how to tell you… not really. I didn’t want you to think that I was only in it for the sex. I mean… At first it was, but then we got to know each other and everything just… changed, for me at least,” he explained, stuttering through his words, and you knew that there was nothing you could say to top that, so you kissed him.

You poured everything you had into that single kiss - every ounce of love and emotions was poured into that kiss, hoping it would be enough to convey what you felt for him. 

“I really, really like you too, Thomas, if you couldn’t tell,” you whispered against his lips, pulling him on top of you, letting him crush you with his weight as he deepened the kiss.

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strike-through means I can’t tag you :(

[otonymous]

(Otonymous’ Follower Milestone Celebration): From the Pages of Le Comte’s Diary (IkeVamp - NSFW)

Description: You happen to find le Comte de Saint-Germain’s diary by chance.  Do you dare to take a look inside? Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: very mild hints of somnophilia & dubcon (without actual violation), mentions of death.  SPOILERS for something minor noted in Leonardo’s MS. Author’s Notes: Hey everyone!  This piece was heavily inspired by a personal headcanon I have of le Comte’s backstory and, for all intents and purposes, can be seen as a continuation to an earlier fic I wrote for him, Bitten.

(SPOILER ALERT!!) I also noticed while playing Leonardo’s route that he sometimes refers to le Comte with his name in quotation marks.  It happened so frequently that I was inclined to think that this was no mere typo.  This observation will figure in the following piece as well.

I’ve never played le Comte’s route before in the JP server and I try to stay away from spoilers, so the rest is just pure speculation on my part!  That being said, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Tagging the following lovelies: @ambrosiallkiss​, @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons​

All characters & Ikemen Vampire owned by Cybird.

17th of May, XXXX

She sleeps; soft skin taunting beneath the gossamer silk of her nightgown - satin ribbons and blush pink and almost coquettish in how it barely concealed anything of the wonders beneath:

Breasts exquisitely tipped, nipples hardening like jewels beneath the heat of my stirring breath.

Hourglass curves limned in silver moonlight spilling into her room (for even after lifetimes apart, she maintains the habit of retiring with the curtains open) — lending her the ethereal cast of the goddess Diana herself.

The shadows between her legs, darkness undulating every time she shifted upon the bed; thighs parting...then closing…then parting again as her lips dropped in a wisp of a moan that reverberated nonetheless like an orchestra in my ears.

For she had called to me.  

Writhing upon her bed in the throes of what seemed a particularly feverish dream, she had uttered my name — that which had never been revealed to her nor any of the mansion’s other residents aside from Leo.  And there is no other man I trust more with a secret.  Yet, there it was like a miracle…spilling unbidden from those perfect lips.

How long has it been since I was last addressed as such?  Not “le Comte de Saint-Germain” but by the name of my birth.  Not since she was in my arms last, hundreds of years in a past when I knew her by an entirely different name and face.

Different, yes, but beautiful no less.  And though she returned to me changed, I recognized her immediately by scent — fragrant blood ripe with the sweet spring of life, pulsing hot beneath delicate skin that flushed when I approached her that fateful day, palm outstretched like a hopeful supplicant to return what she had lost:

An earring of amethyst.

The same precious stone as the one in which I had carved the elegant profile of her face; the cameo the very first gift I had given her...and the very last piece of jewellery I adorned her body with the day they laid her to rest all those grey seasons ago.

But my lover has returned.  And though many say our kind walk in darkness, God has revealed itself to me by this very act of faith.  For she is the light: the spark in her eyes more brilliant than a thousand suns, the warmth of her soul the very fire of a hearth, forever burning.

Yes, she has returned.  And I am home once more.

Yet, I linger at the threshold, paralyzed by the thought of her dissipating like smoke before my very eyes.  Could this much happiness be allowed for one such as myself?  Would Cupid’s arrow be tipped with sympathy for a creature’s plight, striking twice like lightning bearing down upon the selfsame tree?

Alas, caution, caution.  To be exercised constantly.

I remind myself, always, to stay the haste that would urge me to reveal all, as fantastical as the story may seem to a woman both worldly and hailing from a time that, I’ve learned, has very little tolerance for things incapable of being stripped away by science.

Thus, I must find contentment in observation, watching the slow procession of my bride as she fumbles among the great men I’ve gathered.  Waiting…hoping for the day that she’ll discover her place by the side of one who has loved her and only her since time immemorial.  For I would never force her hand.  If she is to love, it would be completely of her own accord.  

Such is my situation: to look but never to touch.  Never seeking to interfere.  It is torture of the most acute degree.

In a stark reminder that I, too, was once a man possessed of love and passion, jealousy and lust, I almost succumbed tonight.  Her soft moans had drawn me to her bedchamber, and when she failed to respond to my inquiries as to her well-being, I entered her room without express permission, fearing the worst.

And there…a sight to rival Venus’ birth upon foamy shores:

Tresses of silk fanned out upon down pillows as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, ma chérie had thrown off her bedcovers and continued to writhe under the influence of a dream.  Her lashes fluttered long like butterflies in flight, and I was captivated by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the perfect flesh of supple breasts visible beneath the gauzy layers of her nightgown.

I pressed a hand to her forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch and tried to keep from being distracted by her tongue as it slipped out to wet pink lips from corner to corner, as if fighting to quench some unfathomable thirst.  I wondered from which well of desire she had drawn in the hazy web of sleep to excite her so.

I wasn’t left ignorant for long, for it was then that she moaned my name, beckoning like the goddess of love herself and impossible to ignore as the sound stirred something deep in my enraptured heart and loins.  And just when I gathered every last shred of willpower to pull away, she grasped me by the wrist, fingers curling tight and with surprising strength.

Selfishly, I yielded.  Allowed her to draw me in any direction she saw fit until I was positioned over her sleeping form on all fours, like the basest of beasts.  I told myself that I did not wish to disturb her slumber, but the heart knows its own darkness.  For I was hopelessly drawn to the flush of her cheeks, the way her hands sought purchase in my hair — pushing my head lower and lower, allowing my gaze to take in every glorious inch of her body as it moved towards the heat between her legs.

She stopped then, spread herself even wider and lifted slightly off the bed as if seeking the warmth of my breath.  It blew shaky upon bare skin, for she had worn no undergarments.  Her heady scent wafted towards me, a bouquet delectable and sweet, as if deliberately fashioned to please my palate, and I smiled to remember the times I’d feast upon her until the candles burned low.

She glistened — rosy flesh trembling as her arousal beaded to drip from her entrance, leaving a salacious trail that ended in a growing spot of moisture on the bed beneath her.  She called for me again, the wanton whine of her voice mixed with a desperation I only knew too well, and it would’ve been so easy to take up her invitation with the tip of my tongue, lapping at the nectar offered up by her beautiful flower in bloom.

It would have been easy, yes.  But I am not one unaccustomed to hardship.

And so, with the greatest care not to rouse her, I extricated myself from her grasp, pulling the covers over her sleeping form once more.

On this night, I allowed myself this: the gentlest press of my lips to her forehead.  The slightest touch of my nose to the tip of hers.  Then I bade ma chérie “bonne nuit” as I closed the door behind me.

She will come to me once more, awake and willing.  And when she does...

…she will know my name.

(End of Entry)

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📓