#I think it smells great and I’ve been taking little bites of it recently whenever my dad makes it

[sunnibits]

hey, if you have arfid/any ed/any food sensitivity issues in general, do me a favor and reblog this and tell me these in the tags!: (as many or as little as you’d like - this is just for fun :))

- your current favorite safe food

- your favorite food in general

- one food that you can always manage to eat no matter what (if you have one!)

- one food that isn’t currently safe, but that you WANT to like or think you would like if you tried it

- the most recent new food that you have tried, and did you like it? (I’m so so proud of you either way!)

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 6. high

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[warnings: SMUT (it's female receiving oral), weed]

"i think of you in colors that don't exist." — Watching Sal shift repeatedly in his seat and squirm uncomfortably the entire way home is almost comical. You watch him shorten the distance between his thighs and then spread them over and over again as he drives, smiling to yourself.

"Doing okay over there?" You ask, a giggly lilt to your voice as you sit still in your spot.

The feeling between your legs is still buzzing and the engine rumbling your seat beneath you is a bit.. overstimulating.. but you're decent.

"Hmm," he hums in response, squinting your way. "Stop baiting at me," he teases.

When you pull into the parking lot at Addison's Apartments, the both of you remain seated for a silent moment, after Sal pulls the keys from the ignition. The high from moments ago has dulled down, and you're left to soak in what exactly had happened.

Except you don't. You don't even think about what had happened—you barely meet Sal's eyes, nervously grin and reach for the passenger door handle. "Alright, see you tomorrow, let me know what your dad says, text me, goodnight!"

Before the blue-haired boy even has a chance, you've opened the car door, hopped out, and gently shut it behind you. You weren't looking for him to catch up to you, either—so you ran like mad into the apartment complex and took the stairwell instead of waiting for the junky elevator.

When you'd gotten home, you were light on your feet and tiptoed through the living room towards your bedroom. You'd took note of Sal's earlier tactic (taking his shoes off before he entered the apartment) and mirrored it.

When you'd finally gotten to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, comforter beneath your back, and stared up at the ceiling.

Your mind was blank. You couldn't even mentally conjure the words to describe what had just happened.

As you ran the earlier events through your subconscious, you remembered the feeling of his teeth and mouth on the flesh of your neck—and how he'd sucked on it until it hurt. You jumped from your bed, ran (lightly) to your bathroom, turned the light on, and peered into the mirror.

You pushed your hair from your neck—which was stuck to your skin from sweat—and gasped in horror at what you saw.

Sure, they weren't fully formed and hadn't reached their full potential, but those were hickeys. Blood red, slightly purple, forming hickeys. And, from what you remember.. you'd attacked his neck worse than he had to you.

The boy was practically translucently pale. You burned with shame at yourself because of the purgatory you'd subjected him to. He'd have to hide them for a week.

You closed your mouth after hanging your jaw open for 30 minutes and breathed out slowly. Despite the nightmare they'd be to hide.. it was almost nice to see on you. Something of him was left behind. At least you had something to remind you that what had played out tonight occurred and hadn't been a dream, or something.

You pressed your fingers on the marks and winced. They were sore.

After a shower—a cold, icy shower—you retreated into bed. You were so exhausted, you didn't dream.

What felt like moments later—you knew better to say it was, though, because there was early morning light shining through your blinds—you were jostled awake by a cold hand on your shoulder. You groaned, turning to the person and squinting.

"Mom?" You slurred tiredly, taking in Michelle's dim silhouette looming over you. You almost couldn't tell who she was at first before you'd rationalized that the only person who'd be shaking you awake in this ungodly hour would be your mother. Also, you could tell by the work uniform she wore. "Wha'?"

And although you were half-awake, your mind was rational enough to remind you to pull the covers up and conceal the bruises on your neck, which you knew had probably worsened.

"The school called," her words are like a bite. You expected this, but hearing her confrontation is sort of scary. "Not only did you receive detention yesterday, but you skipped it. You're lucky you weren't suspended—I had to lie and blame family emergency for your disappearance."

You didn't say anything, staring up at her and into her eyes.

"I can't believe you. You'll still be attending detention—they've rescheduled it for today. If you pull a stunt like this again, you'll pay the price, got it?"

You couldn't remember the last time she'd scolded you. It's not like you did much to warrant it. You never had someone before recently to play hooky with—or to cheat answers off of in class. You never had friends before.

"Okay," you reply, breaking away from her eyes and looking anywhere else. Eventually, her dark gaze rips from your face and she leaves the room.

You watch your bedroom door that she'd closed behind her—listen to the muffled shuffling and jangling of keys in the living room, and when she finally shuts the front door, you breathe out a sigh of relief and roll over onto your back.

And you smile. Because it's funny. Because she has no idea what you did with a boy last night.

You reach beneath the covers and fish for your flip phone (which you'd started sleeping on, a habit spawned from paranoia) and open it. You know it's early, but you slept before receiving any texts, so maybe...

There's nothing. He hadn't messaged you.

Eventually, you roll back over and give yourself another hour or two of sleep. It's too early to start getting ready.

When you woke up again, you got ready—threw on a black halter top, along with an a-lined, purpley-blue plaid skirt. Slid your feet into over-the-knee black socks and rolled them up your legs and to just below your thighs. Topped it off with a chunky black shoe.

After that, you spent a moderate amount of time on your hair and a little on your face.

You made it a point to wear flavored lip gloss. For no particular reason.

The hickeys were still a bit visible, so you topped off your outfit with an oversized denim jacket. You didn't think that much about it. Whether or not that was a mistake would be decided later. There wasn't much you could do—you didn't own all of the makeup necessary to cover them.

You meet with Sal in the lobby first. You approach him before he's noticed that you're even there—standing with his eyes on his feet, kicking the ground and toeing at nothing.

"Hi," you breathed, unsure of yourself.

His head raises. When he meets your eyes, the light fixture over you flickers. "I can see them," Sal says, stepping closer to you and inclining his head to examine your jawline and below.

The actual is a bit abrupt—you're momentarily started. That is until you've processed what he'd said.

"Yeah," you agree, shrugging. He looks back up at your eyes, his gaze widening. "I can't do anything about it."

He laces a hand through his hair and genuinely looks panicked. That's when you decide to examine him—and his neck.

"Holy shit, Sal," you breathe, a laugh of pure disbelief slipping off of your tongue. "You look like someone choked you."

Sal groans. "Yeah, pretty sure you used teeth."

"What're you going to do about that?" You choose to disregard his prior statement.

"I have an easy way out. I'll claim Travis did it yesterday. Super suspicious because I wasn't bruised this way at the time.. but-"

You meet his eyes with a deadpanned expression. Internally, though—it's almost humorous.. the fact that neither of you are even questioning what you'd done together. But you knew that would bite you in the ass. You'd only done what you'd done once—maybe it shouldn't happen again.

"I don't know, Sal." You press your lips together, smooth the gloss around. You taste artificial cherry flavoring on your tongue. "They look like hickeys."

"No one is going to believe I've been given hickeys, Y/N."

"They'll believe it whenever they see we've got a matching set!" You exclaim, meeting his gaze warily. You struggle a bit. Before, it felt so easy to make eye contact with him—but now you could barely lock eyes without looking away.

"Matching set?"

You jerk, breaking your staring contest with the floor and sliding your eyes upward. Larry was a few feet away, speedily approaching as his long legs closed the distance. Quickly, you split your hair in the back—separating it into two sections and placing one on either side of your face.

You watched Sal mess with his in the corner of your eye.

Nervousness made your heart drop what felt like ten stories when Sal spoke in reply. "Hey, Larry," he says. "Is Ashley driving again?"

"Uh, yeah," He replied, running lanky fingers through his lengthy brown hair. "'Was thinking we could all do something after school."

You hold your breath.

"Oh," Sal takes a moment to swallow thickly. "Y/N and I are doing detention—so we can't."

Larry's dark brows draw downward, casting a shadow over his deep eyes. He glances over at you, examines your face, and then locks eyes with Sal like he had been moments before. "Again? Didn't you guys do that yesterday?"

You decide to give your response this time. "Must've been a misunderstanding. We did go to it yesterday—we just, um.. have to do it again. Today."

Before he can further question the situation, you all hear the beeping of a car horn outside of the complex. It sounds familiar—it's Ashley's car. You all step outside.

Looking at the pale silver Ford Fiesta leaves you with mixed feelings. It's nice to look at—but now it just reminds you of the fact Larry tried to get into an altercation with Sal inside of it.

This time, Todd is in the back seat by himself. It's almost comical. You raise an eyebrow and look towards Ashley in the driver's seat. She rolls her window down and acknowledges you with striking green eyes.

"Shotgun?"

You almost feel bad for leaving Sal in the backseat, knowing he's probably on edge with those marks on his neck. But you can't help yourself as you run around to the other side of the vehicle and climb into the passenger seat beside Ashley.

"It smells great in here, Ash. I forgot to tell you that last time," you smile as you breathe in the familiar strawberry scent.

"Thank you!" She grins. "Yeah, I really like these car fresheners."

The guys get into the back seat—Sal's in the middle, having climbed in first, to Todd's left, and Larry entering last.

Once the doors are shut and all hands and feet are inside of the car, Ashley shifts gears and gets going. She looks to you, then throws a look over her shoulder toward Sal. "How was detention, troublemakers?"

Your eyebrows furrow, about of stupidity washing over you. Even having discussed this with Larry and Sal only moments ago, you've completely forgotten that they thought you'd attended detention.

"Huh-"

"It was great," Sal cuts in. "We sat for hours and did nothing. A lot of fun."

You come to realization quickly, and look up to meet Sal's eyes in the rearview mirror. He's shaking his head in lighthearted disappointment—a glint of amusement in his blue gaze.

"Yeah," your laugh trails off. "Sal couldn't sit still. It was funny."

You smirk deviously. That was an obvious reference to last night, on the way back to the apartments.

He meets your eyes once again in the mirror in front of you. "Don't bait at me," he warns, but you hear his grin. That's what he'd said when you'd laughed at him last night.

You smirked, shifting in your seat. You smelled cigarette smoke and guessed Larry was smoking again. It doesn't smell regular, though—smells a bit grassy.

"You're fogging up the car, Larry! It'll be your fault if we crash!" Ashley confirms your suspicions as she yells over the sound of rushing wind. He's rolled down the window—it fails to eliminate the smell but clears your line of sight.

"Sorry," he grins around a cigarette. It was nice to see him in a better mood.

"Have any of you decided on the plans for after school?" Todd speaks up for the first time day, absentmindedly fiddling with his flip phone. It's not any of your business, but you wonder who he's texting. Every time you see him, he's playing with his phone.

Larry laughs, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. "No. Thought Sal or Y/N would have some ideas, but they can't even go. They've got detention again."

Ashley looks toward you, awaiting your confirmation.

"We always had detention again. It was a miscommunication.." you trailed off, telling a lie. They didn't know that, though.

You watch Sal fiddle with his rings in the rearview mirror. "It's my fault, really."

You're not sure exactly what he means. He could be talking about the reason you'd even been given detention (attempting to share quiz answers) or maybe he was talking about the fact you'd even ditched detention—because he'd proposed it.

You disliked how easy he was to blame himself. You'd agreed to it.

And it wasn't something you found yourself regretting—not only had you received the pleasure of grinding Sal into oblivion in the driver's seat, but you'd came while you were at it.

Something you did regret, though... was doing that while you were so unsure of yourself—and what exactly it was that he wanted from you.

Not only that, but what did you want from him?

What was this?

"No, not really," you replied, after momentarily zoning out. "I agreed to it—to you... um- giving me those answers, Sal."

You hear his rings clack, keeping your eyes on the road, and on the broken white lines in the middle of the asphalt that pass beneath the car. You assume he's pressed his hands together harshly. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't proposed it."

This conversation wasn't really about test answers, was it?

You hear the crackle of a cigarette. No one else seems to assume anything about the conversation—just two people who refuse to blame the other person.

"The only thing I care about is the fact that you have to deal with the repercussions, Sal. I wouldn't care if it was just me having to do detention."

That shuts him up. He doesn't say anything after that.

"It's okay." You say, one last time.

After that (thank god) Ashley reaches towards the radio and turns to a channel. Heavy metal plays through the speakers—not too loud, though—and although it's a bit unsettling considering your mood, the distraction is welcome.

As soon as you've stepped out of the car in the school's parking lot, you regret the fact you hadn't worn a heavier jacket. The denim jacket is oversized, yes—but it's lightweight and breathable and you can feel the autumn wind fluttering against your skin.

Goosebumps rise on your arms. You involuntarily shiver.

You, Todd, Larry, Sal, and Ashley begin the walk inside of the school. You still smell smoke, and a glance to your left confirms that Larry is still smoking that cigarette.

"A teacher will see," you warn lightly.

"Eh, it'll be alright." He looks at you inquisitively and raises it toward you. When you meet his eyes, they're bloodshot. Your lips part in surprise.

"Are you... high?" Your gaze flickers to the cigarette again. Turns out, it's a joint. Larry is smoking weed. Figures.

He doesn't answer the question. It's not like he has to. Instead, he raises it toward you again, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.

You swallow the thick saliva that had begun to pool in your mouth and look toward the rest of the gang as they continue on.

"Why are you looking over there?" Larry calls you back from your reverie. You look up to meet his blown pupils again. "You don't need anyone's permission. If you want to smoke it, smoke it."

You bit your lip, raising a hand. Your digits twitched as you reached to pluck it from him. As you took the blunt away from his grip, and your fingers brushed, his eyebrows twitched upward.

Nervously, you inhale like you'd done with the cigarette. You don't feel it enter your lungs until you've ripped it away from your lips. You don't want this to go like the first time you'd ever smoked, so you hold it in. Those few moments feel like forever—but eventually, you cough, and allow yourself that relief.

You don't feel high, per se. You've only just smoked it, but it was a big draw, and you're already feeling the effects of lightheadedness.

Your head spins as you absentmindedly drag from it again. You don't realize how long you've been inhaling until lanky fingers have grabbed the blunt from you and pulled it away.

You blink slowly, looking up to Larry in confusion.

"Holy shit," his red eyes widen, before laughing comically. You find yourself giggling as well, experiencing a high that wasn't from weed—but from the rush of trying something forbidden and new.

"You're going to be so fucking high," he laughs again, passing a hand through his hair and looking down to the blunt. "It's... gone."

You can't even remember how long you'd been smoking that shit. How long had you been walking? How far back had Ashley parked?

Conveniently, as he examines the used-up joint, you pass by a green trash bin. He opens the lid and throws the useless blunt inside of it.

A few moments pass as you step onto the concrete leading up to the school. You vaguely feel Larry's large hand gripping your shoulder to steady you. Even though you felt a bit woozy, you remember to keep your hair in place, covering the hickeys Sal had left on your skin.

When you've stepped into the halls, the amount of people walking all around and bumping into you feels a bit overstimulating.

You hoist your bag tighter over your shoulder and follow after your friends. You feel Larry's arm bump into yours every so often, reminding you of his presence.

When you reach your locker, you put your books away, arranging them accordingly, etc. Once you've shut the locker door, hard enough for the cage to rattle—you sort of.. just- stand there. It feels like your consciousness is somewhere completely different, and yet all of this noise feels like too much.

Your heart is beating way too fast and it hurt to stand up straight.

It didn't feel bad—but you'd certainly rather snort salt and pepper than have to function an entire school day like this. You felt way too floaty, like everything was swaying—you honestly couldn't deter up from down.

You don't know where the rest of the gang is, and you're too high to care. You wander down the hall, and continue like that, even when the bell rings and everyone steadily begins to file off and into their respective classes.

Desperate to be alone, and sitting down somewhere, you find a door. It looks like the door handle is growing dust, and there are no signs or labeling on the wood. So you turn the handle and try your luck.

Of course, it's locked. Why else would a school keep an unused room unlocked?

You dig into the denim compartments of your large denim jacket, blinking away the blear in your eyes as you search between the seams at the pit of your pockets. Eventually, you find a stray bobby-pin. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you stick it into the keyhole and wiggle and force it accordingly.

There were multiple reasons you knew how to do this. Your mother used to accidentally lock you out of your previous flats. It wasn't a hobby you'd picked up—it was something you were required to learn. At least, so you wouldn't have to sleep in the hallway at night.

The door eventually gives. When you've entered, you find yourself in a storage room. It makes sense. All of the junk was stored here.

Still high as shit, and becoming a bit nauseous, you close the door behind you. That shuts out any light, and you feel a chill roll over your skin. You couldn't see shit.

You make haste as you reach into your pocket again and rip your flip phone out. You pop it open, and soon enough, your eyebrows raise in surprise. The messages are a bit unclear, but they're visible once you focus.

Sal :) Missed Call (2)

Sal :) where r you?

Sal :) i'm looking for you. class is about to start

Sal :) larry's gone too. you're with him?

Before you type out a reply, you use the phone's light to search the room for a light source of some kind. Eventually, you find a shaded lamp. You feel around for a cord, and once you've found it, you pull a bit. Thankfully, it's already plugged in.. somewhere.

You return your fingers to the lamp itself and turn it on. Soft yellow light fills the dusty room, and you sigh in relief.

You try to disregard the floating dust particles, and sink to the ground, pressing your back against a wide, wooden desk. As you adjust on the floor, the cold tile momentarily presses against your bare thighs. You breathe in sharply, allowing yourself a moment before going to reply to Sal.

You are you in class?

Sal :) No

Sal :) where are you?

You i'm not with Larry. m alone. DK where he is

Sal :) sure he's skipped to smoke. where are you

You allowed yourself to look around the dimly lit room before replying. You swore you felt the dust sticking to your skin, and the skirt hugging your lower half felt too tight.

You shakily breathed in, and then breathed out. You repeated this process, shaky fingers gripping the phone tightly.

You bobby-pinned my way into some storage room i'm sitting on the floor so high rn lol

Sal :) i know where that is. coming rn . it's at the end of a hall, right?

Sal :) what did you smoke?

You blinked slowly, wiggling your thighs back and forth.

You you're correct.

You smoked weed

Before you could comprehend what was even happening, the door directly in front of you had opened. You blinked as white light constricted your pupils before they returned to their expanded state as the silhouette closed the door. While he did that, you reached up to the desk, slid a drawer open, and placed your phone inside of it.

You could've just put it in your pocket. You didn't know why you didn't.

He sunk to the floor in front of you, sitting criss-cross applesauce. His shoes were a breath from yours as you hugged your bare knees tightly. Your lazy eyes followed his movements as he clasped his hands around his ankles. He seemed to be watching your eyes—because when you looked up to make eye contact, he'd already been looking.

"Can barely tell what your eye color is," Sal says nervously. "Your pupils are blown."

"Is' just the dark," you chide softly. "I'm fine. My heart's just beating really fast."

"How much did you smoke?" He asks, his blue eyes—ever vibrant, even in this dingy lighting—searching your face. "Larry gave it to you, right? Jesus.."

You genuinely think about it. It seems you think about it too hard because the room began to rotate.

Maybe that wasn't just the high. You'd fallen onto your side. Luckily, you'd been sitting already—so it was a gentle collide with the cold tile. It felt nice against your cheek. You closed your eyes and watched the floating colors and shapes that look like nerves flash across the backs of your eyelids.

You fully press your side against the floor snuggling into it like it's the softest blanket you've ever slept with.

"Hot," you breathe. "Get this jacket off."

Soon enough, you feel purposeful hands sliding the denim off of your arms. It takes effort to get it off of the arm beneath you, but Sal manages. He balls the jacket up and slides it beneath your head. When your cheek meets the cool denim, you feel at total peace.

"Better," you open your eyes. He's watching your face. You can tell he's concerned, but there's something in his gaze—a look that tells you that he knows he's got this handled. He was confident in himself to take care of you.

He's probably experienced this before.

You roll onto your back, holding your eyes open to look up at the ceiling. Your eyelashes ghost your eyebrows as your imagination forms clouds in the shapes of the floating things you see.

Your skirt rides up your thighs a bit. You don't pay attention to it until you feel Sal's ring-clad fingers gently fixing it for you. You look at his face and smile.

"We need to do it again," you mumble. You don't feel the sickness of the high anymore—only complete clarity.

"Do what?" He asks, curiosity lilting his words.

"What we did in the car."

After those words roll off of your tongue, all that meets you is the intaking of breath. It's so quiet in this storage room that you can hear him licking his lips. You hear shuffling, the clacking of rings, and your breath—and for a moment, you believe he won't say anything back to you.

"I," he starts, swallowing hard. "You.. when do you.."

"How about now?"

You grin, meeting his eyes. He blinks a few times.

"Y/N, I-" he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh. You don't know if he feels nervous—or he just genuinely cannot believe this is happening. You wouldn't blame him, because you can't process it, either.

It's the weed boosting your confidence like this.

Then and again, you'd been confident with him during your first sexual encounter. Maybe the high just amplified that.

"As much as I'd like to," he starts, voice tight, "I don't know how well walking around the rest of the day having... uh— would go. I know it'll happen. We've got detention to sit in, too."

You pouted sadly but accepted it. He didn't want to, and that was fine.

"But, I, um.." his eyes flickered across your face. "I could go down on you."

The words surprised you so much you jerked upward and into an upright position. Your shock had also made you a dumbass, it seemed, as well—because you smacked your head straight into the wooden drawer you'd left open, which you'd put your phone in not even a few minutes ago.

"Ow," you winced, hand reaching up to rub the sore spot.

"Holy shit," Sal says, now closer to you. He closed the drawer (something you should have done way earlier) and blinked down at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you breathed, meeting his gaze. "You'd.."

His eyes shifted to the left momentarily. "Yeah. If you don't want me to, that's fine. Your decision. I mean, I have no experience, besides things I've heard before."

You felt a bit giggly all of sudden. Your forehead was pulsing but it was fine. "I can always teach you. I mean, I've never had someone go down on me but I know what feels good."

Sal's demeanor seems a bit nervous as he glances around the storage room. "You want this to happen in here?"

You let out an abrupt laugh, holding your upper body weight on your elbows and arms. "Yes."

He chuckles along with you. "Alright."

Once again, you thank whatever intuition it is you have for swaying you into choosing to wear a skirt again today. You feel Sal's eyes burning holes into your skin as you grip the hem of your skirt and pull the material of your skirt higher on your thighs until it's bunched up at your hips.

His eyes—which, moments ago, were so blue and clear—had now grown a bit darker and looked as though a shadow had been cast over their pretty sheen.

"Did you lock the door when you came in?" You breathed, the ache between your thighs painful as he stares you down.

"I don't think it locks from the inside. We'll have to make it quick."

You're heart's never beat this fast before. And it keeps crashing against your ribs when he slides his fingers up your legs. He pulls your knees away from each other, and shifts so he's a bit farther between your legs.

You watch him slide every silver ring off of his digits, collecting them in a palm and sliding them onto the wooden surface of the desk beside him.

Your blood pumps in your ears so loud you feel like your brain is going to explode. That is, until you feel the pressure of the pads of his fingers right between your thighs, over the fabric that separated his fingertips from the burning heat there. Every other sense diminishes as your entire body focuses on what you'd just felt.

You instinctively gasped, never having been touched so intimately before.

You can tell he's shocked, barely having to glance at his face. You know he's nervous, but you don't believe he has reason to be.

"You're.."

"Wet?" You finish the sentence for him shyly, feeling completely dirty about insinuating something like that out loud. "The fabric is thin, but.."

"I haven't even done anything," he murmurs.

"Yes, you have," you reply, giggling quietly through your chest. "You're torturing me. Get on with it."

His hands shake as he reaches his hands behind his head and unclasps the buckles that hold the prosthetic onto his face. Before you can even take him in, he's turned the lamp above you off.

It's completely dark in the room.

"Can I.."

You know what he means when his hands brush the sides of your thighs. "Yes," you reply, instantly.

Sal hesitates. "Are you sure?"

You smile to yourself. "I am. Are you?"

"Absolutely," he mumbles, hooking his thumbs around the lace of your underwear and pulling it down your legs. You can't hear your heart anymore, thank god—you can only feel it. It beats unmercifully against your ribs as he daintily finishes sliding the fabric off of your body.

Sal barely moves after that. You guess he's put your panties in his pocket.

Before you know it, he's flattened the tip of his middle finger on the place between your legs. You shakily sigh as he barely dips a finger into the place your dampness had collected. He then slides his digit upward, spreading the wetness up and through your slit.

You know what he's doing—preparing you for what's to come—but you can't help it when his touch ghosts your clit. It takes a lot of self-control not to clamp your thighs around his hand—so you hold yourself back with a whine.

Sal stops when you make the sound, but his touch remains. "There?" He asks lowly—like now you're more at risk at being caught. There's no way, though. When you'd picked the lock, the doorknob seemed like it hadn't been used in forever.

"Yes," you whisper, barely lifting your hips to press into his hand. He uses more fingers this time—passing them through your wetness again. Eventually, he makes it back to that bundle of nerves, and gently circles it. You feel your gut tumble as he presses on it just eight.

"God, please," you sigh, settling on your back and raising a hand to grip at your hair. "Sal, I want-"

"Okay," he murmurs. You hear shuffling, feel him move. You know he's lower when his hair tickles the flesh between your thighs.

His breath fans over the apex of your thighs. You'd expect breath of this proximity to be hot—but it's cold and feels minty. It makes sense. That's how he smells—and whenever you'd kissed him last night, that's how he'd tasted.

What broke you from your musing was the feeling of his warm tongue flat on your sex. You throw your head back, dropping your jaw. You'd been waiting this whole time for that feeling—and now you'd gotten it.

Your skull feels like it's rattling (you had just thrown your head back and into the hard flooring) but you disregard that and focus on everything else.

"F-fuck," you stutter, as he rolls his tongue up and over your clit. You knew his memory was basically photographic—but you didn't realize he'd be able to find that spot every time.

He flicks his tongue over your clit in a way he hadn't been like he was experimenting. And it worked because you'd cried out and reached between your thighs to grip his blue hair.

He pulls away from your sex, exhales cool air onto the junction of your thighs and pants. "Gonna need to be quiet," he reminds you, his voice thick.

"I'm sorry," you swallow, before feeling him duck back down.

You shiver in anticipation as his mouth closes over the slope of your inner thigh, sucking onto your skin. You whine as he nibbles your flesh, barely closing his teeth over it before pulling away and returning to what he'd left.

Your spine arches off of the painfully hard floor as he closes his lips over your cunt again, flattening his tongue again and rolls it upward and back into his mouth.

It's not like he has a technique—he's just reacting to your reactions.

Your eyes are watery and fill with tears as you close them too tightly. Your fingers interlace with his hair, gripping close to his scalp and pulling just a bit. He hums in acknowledgment against your clit, and you feel that coil that had been steadily tightening in your gut began to tighten excruciatingly.

"Close," you breathe. "Please. Gonna cum."

Surely enough, he smiles into you, passes his tongue through your slit one last time before flicking it over your clit, and with purpose. He feels your legs spasm against his shoulders, so he flattens his tongue over the bundle of nerves.

That's when that coil in the deepest pit of your stomach unraveled.

"I'm coming," you whined. The feeling stuttered, you felt like you were teetering off of a cliff before it finally crashed over your body and through you harder than anything you've ever felt before.

He rode you through your orgasm—and it was hard not to clamp your thighs around his head.

"Fuck," your legs twitched as you came down, sighing as he pulled away from your sex. He panted, taking in the air quickly, before reaching up and turning the lamp on.

You met his eyes, pressing your thighs together as they shook.

"Oh my god," you exhaled, allowing yourself to soak in your shock. You watched him lick his lips before passing the back of his hand over them.

Sal seemed a bit lost for words himself. "Was that- um.."

You sat up—hiking your skirt back down with one hand while catching him by the nape of the neck with the other. You captured his mouth with yours, kissing him with fervor and want and appreciation. It took less than a second for him to reciprocate.

You didn't care if you could taste yourself on his tongue—it didn't matter much. It wasn't even bad, thank god.

After passing your tongue over his lip, you pulled away, eyes wide with shock. "I should.."

"I know what you're going to say," he cut you off, reaching into his back pocket with a smile. He hands you his underwear, and you close it in your fist. "And I'm alright. We've spent way too much time in here, anyway."

Your knee accidentally nudges between his thighs. Of course, he's hard. He was a teenage boy and he'd just made a girl come in a dingy old classroom at school during class. You felt bad.

"Another time." It's not a question. You're promising it to him.

"I.. okay." He murmurs, nervous in a way he hadn't been when he'd been eating you out moments before.

You watch him slide his rings back on, buckle his prosthetic back onto his face—and pretend not to notice how he adjusts himself as he stands up. You slide your denim jacket back on, slide your panties up your legs, and move to stand. You nearly fall back down when your legs spasm.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern dripping off of his low voice.

"Fine. A little shaky," you breathe, gripping his arms and rising to your feet. You let go of him a few beats later and move toward the door. You forget your phone, but Sal grabs it for you and slides it into your pocket.

And as the both of you go to leave, you think about how the rest of the day will play out.

[saphirered]

The Wizard and the Warrior

Boy it’s been busy. Double shifts whenever I’ve been free and uni starting again have really been a hassle but I managed to get in some writing so I hope you enjoy this final instalment of the Eldritch Knight series! Was going to split this one in two parts but didn’t work out so sorry for that. Hope you like it! 😘

You didn’t know what to expect when you were pulled through the world away from the homey Xhorhaus but you definitely didn’t expect the sound of waves in the distance and seagulls, the subtile smell of salt water and sand and an ocean breeze to hit you when you reappeared. Upon your vision taking in the new surroundings you find yourself standing under one of the opal archways looking out over a covered market selling all sorts of goods from street foods and drinks to knickknacks and jewellery, merchants calling for the attention of the people strolling about, negotiating prices or shouting their latest discount to pull in new customers. You’re in Nicodranas. 

Essek knew he made the right decision when he sees the joy and excitement on your face. His feet tap the ground and he walks instead of floating, not wanting to draw any more attention that necessary and instead just enjoy these moments with you without the possibility of people finding out who you really are. Today you’d just be normal people without the weight of the world balanced on your shoulders. Today you got to be ordinary tourists exploring a city you otherwise never could. Nobody knows you’d be here. 

You stroll about the market arm in arm moving from shop to shop and stand to stand inspecting wares, admiring them and listening to the stories the merchants tried to sell you. Both of you knew better and were able to easily distinguish truth from lies but that didn’t mean you didn’t like playing along every so often. 

When you reached near the end of the market square the canopies started leaving gaps and eventually disappeared. Essek did his best to hide his winces whenever the sunlight was particularly bright. The sun was setting but it would still be another hour or so until it was fully set and he might have underestimated the brightness of the light. He didn’t let it bother him and pulled through. The slight discomfort is one-hundred percent worth looking upon your face as you bartered with another merchant. 

Essek was partially blinded from where he stood while you browsed the wares of a man selling all sorts of curiosities but he couldn’t really move elsewhere without leaving your side or stepping into the path of walking people so he stuck and stayed relying on his hearing instead. You were bartering with the man as he put prices to the things you showed interest in and you tried to get a better price because you were fully aware you could get something similar if not the same for much cheaper. Essek couldn’t do anything but admire your skill and careful navigation of this encounter showing you had not left your wits with your armour back in Rosohna.

Once you got a good deal you bought your findings; a wide sheer shawl more like a thin blanket to wrap around your shoulders as you knew upon nightfall the breeze could bring a chill, a decorated silver bracelet with an inset purple gem that showed silver specks like stars whenever it caught the light just right and something else… Once done you pulled Essek aside into the full cover of one of the canopies and Essek was thankful for the break.

You’d expected Essek to have broken or admitted to his discomfort before when you noticed him wince every time the canopy lifted upon the wind and allowed the sun to bleed through right where he stood. You knew drow senses are attuned to darker spaces and in turn therefor experience a sensitivity to daylight. 

“Will you stop being stubborn and just admit when something bothers you?” You say sternly as Essek rubs his eyes to get rid of the dark spots clouding his vision. When he sees the look you give him he bites his lip in shame. Apparently he hadn’t done such a good job of hiding it after all. 

“I may not be able to do anything about the sunlight but I can do this.” You take out a parasol of a dark grey almost black colour with ornate lace designs added to it. It does enough to shield those under from the light and should prevent Essek from experiencing downsides of his drow heritage. Before he can protest you link your arm with his again holding the parasol above the two of you and shield yourselves from the light. 

“Don’t worry. You can thank me by providing your company over a meal with me until the sun sets and we can go outside again without you burning off your retinas. I know just the place.” You smile as you begin leading Essek away to a different part of the city. You may not be the most familiar with Nicodranas but you know how to get to most places you’ve been before. You know your way from this market square to the Lavish Chateau so you begin leading Essek in that direction. 

“There’s a great fish and chips shop on the way near Tidepeak I don’t think that kind of street food is really your style.” You say as the Tidepeak comes into view. 

—————

Meanwhile the Nein and Verin stumble out into the teleportation circle room at the Tidepeak. They cracked the code and figured it out based on the list of places Verin had found among Essek’s notes. They knew exactly where Essek was going so it wouldn’t be much effort to find you two right? What harm has a little spying ever done to anyone? Maybe don’t answer that question. They had come for their own reasons be that to watch an epic romance unravel, dig up some dirt to tease or blackmail either of you with, or simply to keep the others in check. 

“Shit. Should we have send a message?” Jester panics looking around for the goblin that usually helps them on their way and informs Yussa of their arrival. 

“Not again.” Beau exclaims in exasperation. Yes again. And again they explain to Wensforth this is a matter of the utmost importance and expediency and they couldn’t have sent a message beforehand or lost too much time. Wensforth luckily for them didn’t have it within him to question their strange reasonings as he escorted them out of the tower and left the to their business.

—————

Within the Lavish Chateau you found out Essek had made a reservation and the guards and servers seemed to be extremely welcoming and attentive to the both of you for some reason you raised an eyebrow when a top shelf bottle of wine was brought out and left at your table once your glasses were poured and you awaited your food. 

“Do I want to ask how you did all this?” You swirl your finger around gesturing to your surroundings. “Because last I was here, not even the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea and her friends get this kind of attendance.” 

“Then perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.” Essek smiles proudly. 

“How many of the Nicodranian nobility have cleared their debt with the Dynasty or reminded of their indiscretions then?” You ask giving him a look over your glass as you take a sip of delicious wine. Top shelf really is worth it. 

“I thought you weren’t going to ask.” You hook your ankle around his from under the table and pull your leg back, Essek briefly loses balance but not enough to throw him off and fall from his seat. He gives you a disapproving and teasing look as you laugh. Food is served and just like everything, it’s perfect. Essek really put in the work to make this all happen and if the sunlight hadn’t thrown you off his schedule you can’t even fantom what else he had planed for your date. Though, he didn’t seem to mind the change of plans a single bit. 

Pleasant conversation about everything and nothing all the same, asking questions so trivial you didn’t think Essek would ever even have been capable of being so relaxed and free of responsibility. When it falls silent for a second and Essek catches you staring at him in thought he studies you closer.

“What?” Essek asks as you hum. 

“Just thinking?” 

“A copper for your thoughts then?” Essek puts his glass down. He doesn’t want to pry or ask out of turn but he is curious as of what got that dreamy expression on your face when you retreated within your own mind for that moment. 

“All of them?” You grin.

“If you are willing to reveal them.” Essek returns to your surprise, fully aware of the meaning behind your words and yet he still plays along. These kind of moments are rare with Essek unless you are completely alone so you’ll revel in the fact that he lets go like he does right now and hope you’d be able to see this side more often.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get all flustered upon my voicing certain thoughts.” You tease, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans in on his elbows on the table and tilts his head amused. 

“Then perhaps keep it limited to your most recent ones? For now at least.” You snort and almost choke on the sip of wine you took bur recover quickly. You definitely didn’t see that one coming.

“Oh so he does play the game in public without shame. You are full of surprises today, aren’t you?” You drop the teasing and turn to your observation. “I was just thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree. I’d love to see this side of you more often if you’ll let me.” The teasing drops from Essek’s face and his expression turns into one of genuine affection. 

“I’d love nothing more.” Your glasses are refilled as the crowd begins gathering for the performance of the Ruby of the Sea.

—————

The Mighty Nein and Verin follow Jester leading them from place to place on the list but no matter how much they search they can’t find you. Last they heard you were seen buying some stuff from a merchant and then nothing so they had resorted to going down the list until they’d found you but still nothing. Over an hour had passed and the sun long since set, lanterns lit to lead the ways.

They search high and low following the list Verin had found but don’t find you and Essek anywhere. Nicordanas is a big city and turns out finding a buff pretty person and a hot boi drow are a lot harder to find than they initially thought. So, having given up the search they instead turn to a place to drink and wallow in self pity for not spying on the date. Jester knows just the place… No better place than the Lavish Chateau. Maybe her mom will even perform tonight! 

When they reach the Lavish Chateau the crowd’s already gathering but with sheer determination and the threatening of some they make it through and find a table, their drinks served as Jester goes off to say hi to her mom before the performance. Then of course Verin and Beau ask about a couple, describing you and Essek having come through here. Instead they’re pointed to a private table out of the direct sight of the entrance but in full view of what is to be the Ruby’s performance space, and if Beau knows anything, a really really expensive bottle of wine shared between the two of you as you sit around laughing and engaging in happy conversation.

As they watch, Essek and you suddenly being the most interesting thing in the entire room they notice a blush creeping up your face as you twirl one of the flowers in your hair returning an equally daring comment of your own, your fingers dancing over the back of Essek’s hand outstretched towards you until he closes his hand and grasps them. You gasp and giggle as he intwines your fingers with his and you making a comment that sends a deep purple crawling up the wizard’s cheeks. The Nein watch, some swooning at the cuteness, the others in surprise and a hint of disgust akin to that of watching your sibling be sugary sweet romantic with their partner you do not want to witness, and the rest like encouraging friends glad their friends have found happiness within each other. 

The performance is about to begin and you spot a blue tiefling running down the stairs as quick as she can darting to one of the tables. You already had the feeling you were being watched for the past fifteen minutes but thought nothing of it as since no action was taken yet and the crowd grew, if it were assassins or the likes again, they’d have come for you before as to not make a scene. Getting confirmation your friends had tracked you to Nicodranas and found you here. You’re not surprised but rather impressed and the addition of what clearly looks like a drow soldier of some repute with features similar to Essek lead you to believe this must be his infamous brother he’d been complaining about plenty of times. You move your chair as if to get a better view of the performance to come and sit right next to Essek. You weren’t the only one who noticed them.

“Do you think they know we know they’re here.” Essek leans into your shoulder as he speaks.

“No. Not this time but if you weren’t so caught up in admiring me you’d have noticed them first.” You lean in closer, whispering into his ear as you speak. 

“You are quite distracting.” Essek defends with a laugh. 

“I’ve seen Beau and your brother gag and complain twice now. Is this the point where we return the favour and give them a show to remember?” You suggest with a glint of mischief within your eyes. 

“How could I refuse?” Essek’s word are enough for you to further provoke the Nein and take it up a notch, or several. 

“Tell me if something makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop.” You halt your teasing and allow your tone to turn more serious. Essek does the same when you do. 

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Essek doesn’t know if it’s the wine or your shared desire to make them suffer for interrupting your date like they did. Probably the latter. Most definitely the latter. Let them squirm. 

The Ruby comes down the stairs singing and everyone hangs onto her every word, her entire being like she’s a siren from the depths ready to lure in hopeless sailors. As her performance continues you move yourself closer to Essek until your sides are pressed together. Essek’s arm wraps around you pulling you close into his side and to your surprise, onto his lap. You lean your head against his shoulder and whisper sweet nothings, as you play with the fingers of his free hand lovingly. You pay attention to the performance, little attention needed for this display of affection as it comes surprisingly natural and unrestrained to the both of you. 

You lift your head and lean towards Essek, but an inch away from his lips, making eye contact as you whisper something to him but the Nein can’t hear over the singing and you’re too far away to lip read for anyone. It’s so frustrating but holy hells, they never knew Essek had a romantic bone in his body, let alone the guts to drop his composed and emotionally constipated side completely around you. They definitely didn’t see this coming and even Beau could relate to Jester’s possible ideas of turning this into some kind of smutty romance novel because that’s what it looked like. 

When you leaned back, always teasing and never close enough to actually kiss, you watched the performance more. Both you and Essek admired the show the Ruby was putting on. Her song as beautiful as she is but you might have connected with her a little more than anyone else in the room because when she passed your table and saw you and Essek she gave you a knowing smile. A knowing smile that showed she knew exactly when a performance was being put on, the courtesan’s ability to read people shining through once more when she winked at you before she turned around and found her way to the table of the Nein, distracting them from you and pulling the attention to herself. 

Essek was surprised and didn’t really know what to make of what just happened but next he knows he’s being pulled away from his seat by you and dragged to a side exit, abandoning the table mid performance. Out in the street you take off running and then it hits him; a moment of privacy. You played everyone, even him in the end when you appeared to have your attention fully on the Ruby of the Sea but instead you had a nonverbal agreement with the woman. Regardless of his thoughts you kept running towards the eastern edge of the city, through the gates and to the beach. Freedom. 

The moon and stars and city lights within the walls as your light source you pulled Essek along to the shoreline, laughing your asses off. You’ll have to remember to give Marion a big thanks next time you see her. Once safely away from the city sure you’re far enough away from the city you slow your pace and walk side by side along the beach.

“As clever as ever.” Essek compliments as you bump your shoulder into his with a grin. You offer Essek a hand as you climb over some rocks blocking your path. Essek takes it but instead of climbing he just hoovers over without any difficulty. 

“While, I’d gladly take credit I think you deserve at least half. Did you see the looks on their faces?” Your laughter rings like chimes in reminisce of your friends. It’s music to Essek’s ears. 

“I could never forget.” You stop and lower yourself onto the sand, gently pulling Essek’s arm inviting him to join. He does and sits down next to you as stare at him.

“Today was a good day. We should do this more often.” You sigh in content. There’s just something about the drow and the starry night sky behind him that makes him look so ethereal, you could look at him for ages and never get bored. 

“Being run out of a city by our friends for a moment of privacy?” Essek deadpans and you playfully shove him.

“While it was certainly eventful I think I could do without uninvited company next time.” In comfortable silence you both watch the view. Moon reflecting on the ocean, sound of gentle push and pull of the water against the shore and the thousands of stars scattered throughout the sky giving the both of you a sense of warmth and comfort. 

“You certainly found your courage tonight. I never thought you capable of such intimate displays of affection.” You comment and Essek turns his gaze to you. Despite the low light you notice the slight darkening of his cheeks a he takes in a breath. 

“I partially blame the determination to push my brother’s buttons.” You snort.

“And the other part?” Essek decides to humour you with and answer even though you hadn’t expected one. 

“You, as my partner in crime as some might say, made it easy to put on such a display. Though, I will admit to not being so open and frivolous in my affection with an audience, I did enjoy them nonetheless.” 

“Well then, I’m glad my frivolous affection brings you joy.” You say and Essek is about to correct himself for his words but stops when he notices you holding back your smile. You know exactly what he meant and when Essek notices it’s his turn to gently shove you. You gasp even though you’re physically unmoved. 

“Aren’y you all courage tonight? Careful now or I’ll toss you into the ocean.” You jest. 

“It seems both of us have not been lacking any courage this night.” Essek comments and he’s right. With the antics of the day, and your grand escape, you might never have had it been any other situation. You really did enjoy it and wouldn’t change a single thing. Well, maybe add something but there’s no time like the present so maybe you’ll just ask. 

“Then, in a bout of courage, I will ask you this. May I kiss you?” Essek does a double take in case he heard your words wrong but the expression written all over you confirms he has in fact heard you loud and clear. Still he doesn’t miss a beat in his answer. He’s already made up his min. 

“You certainly may.” With that you close your eyes and lean in placing your lips onto Essek’s in a gentle kiss. No pretend, no faked lust or intimacy but honest, clear and unrestrained emotion. When you pull away you’re both smiling like fools. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You whisper as Essek leans in carefully to kiss you this time, lips moving together in a slightly deeper kiss. His hand finds your cheek holding your face lightly caressing a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“I could say the same.” Essek speaks when you pull apart for a moment, foreheads leaning against each other. Many more kisses follow, varying from gentle and sweet to passionate and deep, whatever suits your needs. You have no intention of getting off this beach near Nicodranas any time soon nor do you have anywhere to be so here you’ll stay enjoying each other’s company until the sun rises. 

From behind the rocks not too far away, eight people watch the wizard and the warrior finally do what some of them had hoped they would in the months they’ve gotten closer. Others are turning away while maybe peaking through at times, solely to see their friends happy with each other despite the chaos of the world but not without going right back to quieting their gagging noises of ‘not wanting to see the people who they consider their family making out’. 

“Oh my god! This is going to be so good, you guys. They’re so cute!” Jester whispers already taking notes and working out the story in her head. It’s going to be an epic love tale of two star-crossed lovers for sure. Maybe she can question you on the more spicier details later, get this book to sell at the Chastity's Nook some day? 

“Ugh. Let’s go. I can’t watch this any longer. Drinks?” Verin doesn’t resist and follows Beau, Yasha and Fjord back to Nicodranas. Caduceus has a bit more difficult of a time to drag the cleric and rogue away as the latter enabling her actions instead of giving you some much deserved privacy. He succeeds eventually leaving you and Essek behind to enjoy the rest of your night with a smile. Nothing better than people finding their own happiness. 

[mrwinterr]

Die Happy

Pairing: Ghost!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader; tiny hint of Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: You summon a really friendly ghost.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual vibes all around, masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral [female receiving]) and language. Dabbling into the occult (use of a Ouija board).

Disclaimer: I’m a spooky bitch, I like how Ouija boards look like, but I would NEVER mess with them.

Title Inspiration: “Die Happy” by Dreamers  

A/N: I was on Reddit and I stumbled across an erotic audio that inspired this, so I definitely owe it to them. I’ve just been dying to write a ghost AU. I decided to hold back on the smut on this for now and maybe save it for later. This can be turned into a series, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Idk. You tell me! Enjoy!

It’s here.

It’s finally here. The package that would help you find the answers you were so desperately looking for was finally here.

Package in hands, there’s a skip to your steps as you happily make your way back into the living room of your somewhat new home. You had moved in almost six months ago, but it still felt so surreal. You, a homeowner. All those years of saving up and house hunting - you finally did one of the most adult things you could do in your life.

The small house had been in the neighborhood for decades and owned by plenty before you, in fact, too plenty, but for a home in Brooklyn, New York it was surprisingly affordable. You’re still patting yourself on the back for how you managed to score this place at such a bargain price.

It was the ideal place, really; surrounded by friendly neighbors and with a great home association. It was at a reasonable distance from your workplace and the city. Furthermore, cosmetically, it was your dream home. You never took a second to ask why someone would quickly put this home back on the market...until recently.

The realtor had assured you that everything in the house was functioning properly before you signed away. There was little to no refurbishing on your end, which was part of the dealbreaker, but now you can’t help to wonder if the realtor was duping you. A young, pretty woman and a first-time homeowner? That was easy bait for them, right? There had to be a catch or information that they were withholding and well, you weren’t about to wait any longer to find out.

Lately, strange things had been happening and while at first you brushed them off as mere coincidences, they were becoming almost too outstanding to ignore.

First, it was the air conditioning unit acting all wonky. You kept the house at a reasonable and comfortable temperature, but you found yourself often sporting hoodies even during the warmer seasons. The technicians couldn’t find a single problem with it and besides whenever you scheduled a visit for inspection, it was magically working just fine. Never mind the breeze that blew past you here and there…

Next, much like the AC unit, the electricity started to have a mind of its own. Before you could flip the light switch or press the button on your remote, it was always one step ahead of you. It was almost like you were living in a smart house, but instead of acting on voice command, it read your mind.

Not to mention, things disappeared and reappeared every now and then. Small things like the morning paper would vanish from the coffee table and if you couldn’t locate where you last left your keys, you never searched too far.

Then the eeriest one of them all was the unexplained smell. There was a distinct yet alluring scent that would waft by when you felt that breeze pass over. You had deduced that it wasn’t any like of your fragrance collection nor was it from the only friend that visited you. It was a pleasant odor and almost calming to you.  

You didn’t want to believe it, but these weren’t just common occurrences - these were tall tale signs of a haunting. The spirit wasn’t vengeful, that much you gathered since it didn’t make attempts to harm you in any way. Sure you could just either ignore these oddities or relist the home, the latter which wasn’t in your favor because it wasn’t that simple. Instead, curiosity won the best of you and you opted to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

“Whoa!” You hear your close friend Sam Wilson exclaim and watch as he scoots to the other end of the couch as far away as he could when you pull the Ouija board out from the box. “Shit, girl. I knew you liked Halloween, but I didn’t think you were that spooky!” He said, his eyes bugging out in disbelief that you’d ordered such a thing.

You roll your eyes at him and place the board on the coffee table. He immediately gets up from his spot and sets what he deems is a safe distance from it as if the object was cursed. You’re not deterred by the Ouija board at all. It had quite the opposite effect because you were all too fascinated with the supernatural.

“You really shouldn’t mess with that kind of stuff,” Sam warns as you handle the remaining piece, the planchette.

“I don’t know why you’re so scared,” you respond, blowing him off and kicking away the now empty box.

“And you’re not?!” He says incredulously, “trying to speak to the dead is not right!” Well, it certainly wasn’t normal, but so weren’t the things that were happening in your home lately.

“I need to find answers, Sam!” You bite back, the volume of your voice matching his. You didn’t miss the hint his exclamations gave off and it bothered you. “What do you expect me to do? Continue living like this? I’m not in control of my own home.”

Oh, he knew. He was your closest friend and you trusted him enough to share your theories about your home and the experiences in it.

“You really think this place is haunted.” It comes off as more of a statement because he can see you’ve clearly made up your mind on how you’re going to prove the theory.

“Why do you think I can’t have Sarge or any pets over?” You absolutely adored Sam’s dog Sarge, but he made it apparent that he didn’t like something about or in your house.

Before Sam could try and spit out an explanation you’ve already heard, you stopped him, “I’m not going crazy! And I certainly am not going to spend another fee on having a technician tell me there’s nothing wrong with the units again.”

“Look. Why don’t you just come spend the night at my place and we can think of another way to approach this?” He offered and you knew that offer all too well. It had always been on the table. When you decided to move to Brooklyn and were looking for your own place, Sam had offered you a room, but you were hellbent on making it on your own. You were proud and independent...and weren’t sure about taking the next step with him.

Sam was everything your past lovers weren’t and you while you both weren’t official, a couple of dates happened here and there, something was holding you back. You cherished his friendship so much and a part of you feared finding out what it could be that you weren’t willing to jeopardize what you two already had if anything more came out of it and then failed miserably. He made it clear how he felt about you, but you brushed it off casually each time. Sam knew you simply weren’t ready.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” You reply, breaking away from seeing the look of concern on his face and back to the planchette your hands were fidgeting with. You knew he was a skeptic on these kinds of things and only worried for your safety.

The nights he had spent here nothing strange ever happened. It’s like these occurrences were only happening about you. Sam wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts or not, and he deeply cared for you, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out. He knew that you could be stubborn, but there was only so much he could do to change your mind from where he stood and he just hoped he hadn’t lost you yet.

The small crack of thunder in the sky indicated a storm was coming and you took that as a sign to convince Sam to leave for the day. You didn’t want to fight with him about this. The few times you did talk about a possible haunting were just humorous conversations to Sam, but you were always being serious. It was evident that you two were not on the same page.

“You should probably start heading home before the rain comes,” you advise, standing up to walk over to the front door, hoping it’d sway him, but he knew what you were doing. Sam wasn’t mad. He was always very patient with you.

He only nods in false agreement before following your lead. “I’m coming back first thing in the morning to check if you’re still alive though,” he jokes, before pulling you in for a hug and giving you a kiss to the side of your head. His words elicit a light chuckle from you, but is mostly muffled against his biceps, then you’re playfully shoving him out the door.

As soon as his car disappears from the end of the street, you jolt and head snaps quickly at a sudden crash from the kitchen. You make your way in that direction to find the mug gifted to you on your last birthday from Sam shattered in pieces all over the kitchen floor.

The last roar of thunder must’ve been a strong one or the elevation of the shelf had been slightly off or maybe the house didn’t like Sam…

You shook your head at that last silly thought from your mind and sighed preparing to clean up the mess. Once that was done, the gloomy weather quickly casted a blanket over the sky and with a remix of fast raindrops against the windows and pavement and the lag in thunder, you didn’t waste time on the mission.

What better time than now? It set the mood. Were you scared? You weren’t sure. You were already convinced you were living with a spirit. You didn’t ponder long enough to think about the aftermath. Was this all just a bunch of hocus pocus or pseudoscience? Would you get possessed by a demon or would he be like Casper?

The use of a Ouija board, especially by someone inexperienced as yourself, was highly not recommended and very much frowned upon during your upbringing. If only your parents could see you now...

The spirit in your home couldn’t be that bad though, right? If they wanted to possess you, they would’ve done so by now; unless they were just waiting for an invitation. Well, there was only one way to find out.

You dimmed the lights and lit a few candles around you. Was this insulting? You did some fair share of research, but most of what you knew about Ouija boards were credited to horror movies.

You take a deep breath and begin to summon your supposed roommate.

Bucky felt bad as he watched you clean up the mess he made in your kitchen. He knew you liked that mug, but he didn’t and he certainly didn’t like how Sam made you feel. Sam made you feel all sorts of things and Bucky knew that, which explained why Sam never experienced anything unusual in the house because Bucky didn’t like seeing you with him.  

He was aware of how silly it was. A ghost jealous of two living humans. He had his turn, but it was tragically cut short. He was so young. He left everything behind to fight a World War. There was a high chance he wouldn’t come back and he was sadly part of that statistic.

But why did his afterlife have to consist of seeing the most angelic living human being just waiting to fall in love with the perfect living man? He didn’t get a chance to live out that part of his life, so was he bitter? Yes. And especially outraged at any distress that was brought upon the current tenant of his old home.

Bucky wasn’t sure why he was able to roam around his old stomping ground over the last couple of decades. He tried his best to communicate with the previous owners but he always ended up scaring them off. When you moved in, if he wasn’t already dead, and you could’ve seen him, he just knew he would’ve been as pale as a well...ghost. He made sure to not send you running for the hills.

He tried to help you with everyday things, trying his best to be subtle. He didn’t even spy on you during private moments like in the shower or on those lonely, needy nights. He proved himself to be a ghostly gentleman.

He even tried to not eavesdrop on your conversations and almost always disappeared when guests were present, but he heard you raise your voice earlier at Sam. He wasn’t sure what you two were arguing about and sure it was petty on his part, but before he could summon enough energy to knock over the mug, Sam was already gone.

Bucky followed you back into the living room and watched as you lit the candles scattered around. He lightly smiled believing you were attempting to relax. If only seeing you in peace was enough to put him to rest - permanently - but when he sees you take a seat back on your couch his expression fell and he swore his heart would stop again if it could.

“Oh no,” he says as he watches you stare at the Ouija board on the table before you. Bucky starts pacing in front of you, his hands over his head. Anyone that set foot and stayed long enough knew this place was haunted, and he knew you weren’t stupid and besides he wasn’t as subtle as he’d like to have been lately.

“Is anyone here?” He hears you ask the first question. He looks over your direction and sees your eyes are closed with both hands on the planchette.

“Oh my God,” he barely whispers and realizes, “she’s really trying to talk to me.” He couldn’t believe you’d be so brave to risk such a thing and importantly willingly reaching out to him.

“Yes! I am! I’m here!” She can’t hear you, idiot. “Fuck, of course she can’t hear me.” Bucky argues with himself on what to do before he remembers how Ouija boards work.

He almost can’t believe it when he does it, but he’s able to delicately move your hands and slide the planchette over to the word ‘YES’.

Your eyes pop open and you gasp when you see that you got an answer. You're frozen and look up in front of you half expecting the spirit to show itself to you, but you don’t see anything.

At least that’s what you think. Unbeknownst to you, you’re staring right at Bucky or rather through him. His expression mirrors yours - complete and utter shock. He was never able to easily move or touch anything solid in years. The incident with the mug earlier, that kind of stuff usually required a lot of concentration and energy on his part. He’s also scared that he’s frightened you with that move, but at the same time excited that he’s successfully communicating with you.

You’re unsure if you should continue. You were half expecting this to be a bust, but it moved. It actually moved! While you were excited that this worked, the tiny voice in the back of your head had you considering that maybe you shouldn’t go any further, but who ever really listened to them? You blink a few times and refocus your attention on the task.

“What are you?” You ask.

“What am I?” Bucky repeats the question, “I’m dead.” Wait. He starts to spell the letters ‘D-E-A-D’ with your hands on the planchette. He compares the sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, amused at that response, of course he was dead, as to what angels must’ve felt like when they earned their wings. If anyone believed in that sort of stuff...either way he felt very blessed.

“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Bucky said more to himself with a big smile on his face. He loved this! It was like he was having a conversation with you. It was something he only ever dreamed of for the last six or so months.

A particular flash of lightning followed by a thunderous sound startles you and you breakaway from the Ouija board. You weren’t going to lie. You were still absolutely spooked out and decided that maybe that was enough contact with the dead for the day.

When your heartbeat finally returned to its normal pace, you got up and turned on the lights, made sure you blew all the candles out and turned in for the night. Before you left, Bucky watched you look around the room and bid goodnight to seemingly nothing, but he knew it was meant for someone - it was meant for him.

The days that followed, you were growing curiouser and curiouser that in your spare time, you started digging into how much can come out of the Ouija board, but first you needed to figure out who you were dealing with.

With as much access as you were granted, you found out about a man, who was around the same age as you, that had died during World War II and the hauntings that would start to occur after the first tenant took residence upon this home.

The house belonged to a man named James Buchanan Barnes, but signed it under the name Bucky. How cute. You thought to yourself over the nickname, then you saw an accompanying photo of who you assumed was living with you. It was in black and white and the quality wasn’t that up to par, but from what you could make out you could determine enough. Cute name for a cute guy.

You read the experiences of others that lived here before you and they all seemed harmless. They were just spooked and you didn’t blame them. They had every right to be scared, but you didn’t scare that easily.

You’re so engrossed with your findings, you barely paid any attention to Sam, even when he’d come in to check on you. He had the spare key in case of emergencies, and you ignoring most of his unreturned phone calls and missed texts, uncharacteristically you, to him was deemed as an emergency.

Sam was only less than thrilled to see your enthusiasm on all this. Normal people didn’t go around poking at the dead. He pointed out you were lucky you didn’t get possessed, not paying any mind or adhering to you claiming he was probably a friendly ghost.

“This isn’t an episode of Casper!” Sam says fed up again. His face falters as he watches your shoulders visibly slump. He hated killing the vibe, especially when you were excited, but you were excited about something all too unreal and that shouldn’t be messed with at all in the first place.

“What if I can help him?” You try reasoning with him, “What if I can help him pass on? Then I can live in peace...and so would he.”

“You’re already lucky that you’re unharmed,” Sam reminds you, “I’m just worried about you.”

“I know you are, but I’ll be fine,” you assure him, hoping you could keep that promise. After all, you couldn’t even confirm you were really communicating with Bucky.

You were relieved that the conversation with Sam didn’t take a turn for the worse like it easily could have. You understood where he was coming from and you were lucky to have someone like him care so much about your wellbeing. The realization never fails to punch you in the gut for not allowing yourself to give in.

So why were you more scared to commit than of willingly reaching out to a ghost?

Take two.

You sat perched up and ready to communicate once more. Bucky, on the other hand, is more than ready and the cool familiar breeze that passes you by lets you know that he’s here.

“Who are you?” There weren’t exactly formalities with contacting the dead and your heartbeat starts to pick up as you’re slowly spelling out ‘B-U-C-K-Y’.

“Bucky,” you whisper. Boy, did Bucky like the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“How did you...die?” you had to swallow in between the last word in that question, hoping it wouldn’t trigger a negative response. Even in the afterlife, death couldn’t be an easy topic.

The letters ‘W-A-R’ and the number ‘2’ gives you your answer. It was him! Internally, you’re overjoyed that you’ve figured out your ghostly John Doe, but you try to remain at ease.

“Did you knock down my mug?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at that, but swiftly moves your hands over to ‘YES’.

“Okay. I mean that wasn’t very nice,” you couldn’t just bite your tongue as the sass flowed right out of you.

‘S-O-R-R-Y’.

The apology takes you by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t mad about the mug anymore.

“It’s alright. It was just a mug,” you try to assure him. You’d just have to explain to Sam another time that the ghost broke it. No biggie. Yeah, right. What with the tiny arguments, he’d most likely believe you destroyed it out of anger and frustration at him.

Your arms were getting tired from the position they were in. Several minutes had passed since you last said anything to Bucky and you weren’t sure of what to ask next.

Where does this end? Do you ask him to leave? This is his home. No, it’s not anymore. It’s your home now. But he doesn’t belong here anymore. How do you help him pass on? Did you have that ability? Do you hire a medium? Enlist the help of a priest? Call a ghostbuster? Your mind grew tired all too quickly, you slumped back in your seat, breaking away from the Ouija board.

Bucky watched as you rubbed the muscles of your sore arms. He felt helpless. He wishes he could ease or take away your pain. Instead, all he could do was watch and make sure you were okay until you were ready to start talking again.

With your hands back on the items, you ask, “are you still here?” Bucky responds with ‘YES’. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself, before proceeding with the next question.

“Can you show yourself to me?” There the ultimate question and Bucky can’t help but ask why? Why were you interested in seeing him? He was a lost cause.

“No?” you ask more to yourself, still staring at the word through the eye of the planchette, and frown at his response.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to show himself to you, but he didn’t know how. For decades he was nothing but a gust of air. No matter how hard he tried to show himself to previous owners, he was never successful.

You pull your hands back away and place them in your lap, unsure of where to go from here. Well, you couldn’t force a ghost to do something they didn’t want to do, but you hoped that maybe perhaps seeing him would make it less taxing while communicating.

There’s a sudden iciness that covers the side of your cheek, sending a chill down your spine, causing you to flinch and your hand rising quickly to warm the spot.

Bucky almost disappears at the sudden reaction. He can’t believe it. You felt that. You could feel him. It was different than pushing your hands in different directions because this time, neither of you needed the help of the Ouija board.

You’re not sure where he is as your eyes scan the room, you wanted to feel that again. Sure, the cold was a bit alarming, and as sharp as his icy touch was, so was the surge that flowed through you. It was unexplainable, but soothing.

It sucked for Bucky because he couldn’t keep your eyes trained on just him.

“Are you sure you can’t show yourself?” You ask again, this time convinced you didn’t need the Ouija board anymore.

However, Bucky needed the board to reply. You sigh in defeat as you watch the planchette slide across to the word ‘YES’. You couldn’t allow yourself to get mad. You just couldn’t understand how it was possible for him to do all these other things, but not be able to show himself. Whatever it was, you’d just have to accept that you’d never understand ghost logic.

The sound of the planchette scraping against the board, offers you the word, ‘F-E-E-L’.

Feel? You definitely felt a presence, but now it was confirmed. It was him. He was trying to communicate through touch.

“Yes, I felt you,” you let Bucky know quite eagerly. The planchette remains unmoved after that and instead of what would appear to be awkward silence, the seconds that were passing by could be more appropriately compared to that of a ticking time bomb.

“Touch me,” you request.

Bucky’s stunned. If he were alive and well right now, he’d no doubt be on his knees for you with a command like that. He floats over to you and is only more than eager to touch you again, but he’s not sure of where. Feeling a soft anticipation of a ghostly tingle, he hesitantly places both hands on the underside of your jaw, in a cradle-like fashion, hoping it'll stop your wandering eyes.  

You stand still, frozen in place, now seeing the breath of air that escapes your mouth in a cloud of smoke. He’s definitely here and in front of you.

“More,” you say barely above a whisper.

Fuck. Bucky inwardly swears at himself as you unintentionally egg him on. Testing his limits, what more could he already lose? He was already dead.

He goes all in. He leans in and presses his cold, dead lips to yours in the most gentle and light kiss ever. When he pulls away, he sees that your eyes have closed and he can’t help immediately start to wonder if you actually felt that or not. He sure as hell felt it. He can’t be certain as he tries to gauge at the expression on your face. Shit, why did he do that?

“Do it again,” and this time with a more affirmative tone, Bucky doesn’t question anything anymore and obeys. His lips dig deeper against yours, you let out a small moan and purse your lips to respond. You don’t think about how silly it must look to be making out with practically nothing, not knowing what to do with your hands because there was nothing to hold onto, but despite that it all felt too real. He was real.  

Bucky’s mind is reeling at the sound of pleasure that spews from your mouth, he can’t comprehend how this is even possible. He’d been dying to know what kissing you felt like - what you felt like at all.

When your lips start to get numb and turn blue, you reluctantly pull away. You open your eyes to a dark room and wish you could at least hear him, the sounds of ecstasy played a pivotal role in intimacy.  

Your body temperature returns to normal, blood rushing, mind a haze. You stand up and head towards your bedroom without another word. Would he take the cue to follow you? You can’t be sure. You can’t see or hear him, but your actions say otherwise and make you both feel as if he wasn’t dead at all. It was now a game of cat and mouse.

Bucky or not, you were unabashedly turned on. In moments like these, it was hard to be in control of your own body and the only thing you could do was give in to the desires. In this instance, your body couldn’t make up its mind because as if you weren’t just freezing your ass off while kissing Bucky, you were suddenly hot all over.

Flustered, you pulled down your shorts, tossed them carelessly across the room, perhaps a little too harshly. If he wasn’t going to help you out, then you would do the job yourself. A mad smile on your face, surprised you weren’t the least bit embarrassed if he was going to watch you or not. It only added to the thrill and the excitement.

Trying to regulate your breathing, you lie down on the center of your bed and run your hands over your face down to where you needed them the most. Your fingers experimentally graze along the wet spot of your panties, groaning in acknowledgment of the sudden arousal. There’s no sense in conjuring up a justifiable explanation as to how something so seemingly innocent as the kiss you shared with Bucky got you so crazed. Not wasting any time, you lift your hips up and bend your legs to slip the flimsy garment off.

No longer a thin barrier between, your entire body shivers slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, when your fingers make first contact with your clit and you begin to rub slow slow circles over it. Your stomach sinks in with each relieving exhale, your breathing growing heavy. Your fingers run off course and dip into your folds, past the floodgates, your fingers resurface coated in your own wetness and you use it to an advantage in invigorating your clit.

Eyes closed, you start to think about Bucky. You want to feel guilty or believe this was all wrong. Instead of getting off to someone like Sam or someone real for that matter, you lied there baring yourself to a ghost. You try to picture that baby face of his, and all that you could based on the lone image you found of him on the Internet.

The curve of his full lips that you were fortunate enough to feel on yours moments ago. You already knew they were soft, but what about his other features? Did his eyes sparkle or were they like black holes? What color were they? They had to be of a set that could hypnotize someone. Maybe it was okay that you couldn’t see him because if you had you just knew that you’d be at his mercy.

And that was just on the surface of it all. How was he like in other areas? How would his tongue feel against yours, on your skin, in you...The simulation causes your thighs to clamp up, knees involuntarily knocking into each other; your other hand clutching onto the bed sheets. He made it that easy, but you needed one more good push to dive in the deep end.

A thin layer of sweat coats your skin from the increase in body heat, then an abrupt familiar cold sensation runs through you, his alluring scent filling your nostrils, your legs forcefully separate; all tells you that Bucky was here. You pick up your head, always a small hint of disappointment flashes through your features at the fact you still and won’t be likely to ever see him.

It shoots a wild pang through Bucky’s chest because he doesn’t miss it; never knowing he could read someone so openly. He missed out on a good chunk of his life. He missed out on someone like you. Life was so cruel.

Your thoughts aren’t as far away from his as you start to wonder, why was it all so easy - seamlessly flawless - with him? Running with only first-party information and two silent conversations, you were already willing to go headfirst for halos for Bucky. Was it pathetic? You didn’t care anymore, whatever would ultimately bring you to him, you just knew in the end you’d die happy.

Your head falls back in defeat and you try to keep your emotions at bay, until you feel the hem of your shirt being lifted, exposing your midriff. Your lips cave in and you wince at each uncalculated cold peck Bucky’s lips leave on you. Whereas you felt a minor sting at how cold his touches were, for the first time, Bucky felt like he was on fire at how hot to the touch you were in this moment. This moment with him.

His lips create a path down to your core, and the contrast in temperature feels good. Not knowing what to do with your hands again, your arms lie sprawled on the bed on either side of your body, then you mentally curse at another sad truth that you had no one to hold on to.

A cool breeze brushes past your folds and your heartbeat spikes up again. Bucky never imagined he’d ever be able to make someone feel this way. It was pointless for him, but he dreamt about it countless times. And then he wickedly thinks how he was dumb to not spy on you during those nightly sessions. He was missing out. You were absolutely divine in his eyes.

“Bucky,” his name slips past your lips when his make contact with your swollen clit. It started off so innocently, but when he pulled his lips back and ran his tongue over the wet spot you left on them, giving him a taste of what you had to offer, he wanted more.

The cold, with each bit of contact from Bucky, was no longer a thing as your body quickly acclimated to it. Bucky uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and allows himself to get a better taste. Your head lulls back, sinking in deeper into your pillows.

There’s only so much you could do to communicate with Bucky, you want to feel his hands all over, but instead you pick up on the slack as you grab and squeeze handfuls of your breasts, massaging them and adding onto the sensation. Your groping proves to be successful when you draw out more noises.

Bucky’s eyes never tear away from watching your reaction, the way your body moves from pleasure - pleasure he’s bestowing on you. His mouth doesn't require guidance as his tongue pulls all the right moves, weaving its way through and between your folds. He drags out a long moan from you when he dips his tongue in and then captures your folds between his lips, tugging as he sucked on them.

“I-I need,” you try to voice out your desires, but you’re reveling in so much, especially in being able to feel Bucky’s fingers digging into the sides of your hips; you bite down on one of your fingers, trying not to let out a crazed scream.

Bucky doesn’t want you to hold back though, so he introduces his fingers into the mix as they take turns in you. You wished you could hear him and all the sounds of his onslaught. To hear those pretty boy moans, the filthy pops and slurping noises. Was he a dirty talker? God. Imagine the things he would say.

He gets the message loud and clear. You want to come, and so he quickens his actions until your body goes into overdrive. When you reach your peak, your eyes snap open, pupils blown, and your back arches up in perfect bridge-like fashion. It almost looks like you’re being possessed before you come back down releasing choppy gasps of breaths.

Exhausted, you struggle to stay conscious wanting to communicate with Bucky one last time, but it felt like the orgasm almost sucked the life out of you. The puffs of cool air against your pussy are an indication that Bucky is still present and he wasn’t going to go anywhere just yet. He hasn’t moved from his position and is short of breath, in awe of seeing you coming undone for him and more so the fact that this happened. This wasn’t just another one of his dreams.

For as long as he’d been an apparition, he’d hoped to be able to finally pass on and if this was his actual last day on Earth, then he’d gladly accept it because one night with you was enough. 

Bucky would die happy.

A/N: Yeah, the ending wasn’t strong, but I wanted to leave it open for interpretation. Let me know what you think! A simple like and reblog is enough to help a sis out! Thank you for reading! 

[moonlitdiane]

Hello! I moved from my old blog, @dianethus​ to here, you can probably call this a re-intro!

Diane | 18 | Filipino-Chinese | She/They | Pansexual | Scorpio | xNTP | Neurodivergent | Psychology Major | Graphic Designer | Practicing Wiccan

I’ve been trying to write since I was around 12 years old with silly little k-pop and percy jackson fanfics. Even though I cringe now whenever I think about the things I wrote, I still believe it was a necessary phase that all writers have to go through to become better.

I mainly write for the #OwnVoice movement that focuses on the South East Asian experience and especially the experience of being queer in an Asian environment. I aim to give the queers of Asian history whose stories never got to be told a voice. I write to expose the world to Philippine Mythology and the stories passed down from ancestor to ancestor. I also aim to conjure up nostalgic imagery in the readers' minds.

low fantasy. I'm not that really good at world building but I'm in love with the idea of everyday magic.

supernatural.

historical.

angst. I'm SORRY but writing and describing pain is a different kind of joy for me.

found family. I'm gay.

cosmic motifs.

enemies to lovers. oh for someone to see all my worst parts and still fall in love with me. also consider: childhood friends to enemies to lovers.

religious trauma & guilt. I went to a catholic school what did you expect?

The Revolution Will Not Be Vilified.

Evil Is Sexy.

Trapped In Another World. I want to be Isekai-d so bad.

Song Fic. Most of my titles are actually song lyrics or my basic outlines follow the structure of a song.

“Slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl,”

Somewhere In Limasawa Street is a queer historical fiction story set in 1898 when the Philippine-American war is just beyond the horizons and 19 year old mestiza, Lucena Candella is in the middle of a war with herself. Sheltered and painfully aloof, she meets brave but brash, Urduja Kalangitan, who is as emotionally aware as a rock and who happens to be the Revolutionary Army's best gunman—maybe that's what pulled quiet Lucena to her.

Between paper planes, porcelains, and battle scars, Lucena slowly learns to love, and that scared her. It scared her because she wasn't allowed to love that woman with the scarred smile and wild hair.

This is my main WIP and my passion project. I really wanted to write something that I can dedicate to the queers of history, the indigenous and people of color whose queerness is never told.

The title is a reference to Limasawa Street by folk pop band, Ben&Ben, I actually used the album and a few singles as inspiration for the plot. 

WIP Playlist. This story will be unapologetically Filipino.

“Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil,”

The Devil’s Choir is a low fantasy story following the adventures of seven unlikely friends who just want to go apeshit and run away from their shitty town. That is until they’re thrown into a you-need-to-save-the-whole-world mess without their written consent. Lucifer and Dionysus show up at their door step, dragging them head first into an abyss that even the Gods refuse to fall into. A war between the golden age and the future, it’s now up to this peculiar gang to save the world from the real threat.

The seven deadly sins but make them moody teenagers. this story has gone through so much revising for years! Found family, enemies to lovers, and unwilling heroes? check.

Unintentionally a copy of American Gods. It was too late until I realized the plot was kind of similar to American Gods. Help. 

WIP Playlist. I smell chaos, don’t you?

“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.”

Manila Encounters is a paranormal urban fantasy story unfolding right in the pearl of the orient seas. When the clock strikes 3 AM and the lights of the skyscrapers turn dark—when the city sleeps, the monsters roam free. Deep between the alley ways of Manila city, look out for kids with a certain glow and bite behind their smiles. Look for the ones with sunkissed tans who speak in tongues. Look for the ones whose feet barely dip into murky bay waters and fingertips grazing moonlight. 

A dummy’s guide to Filipino folklore. Manila Encounters was inspired by a hashtag on Twitter of the same name where people wrote their own twist to Filipino urban legends and folk stories.

Oh great, another Percy Jackson rip-off. the main characters are demi-gods or descendants of Gods. Original, I know.

WIP Playlist. driving at midnight sort of vibe.

"You may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us."

And I Love her is a queer romance story about a girl who just recently moved into an old but well maintained cottage in some seaside town in Europe—and she finds in the middle of dusty furniture and underneath cobwebs, a rotary telephone sitting there unused for decades. It rings unexpectedly one day and what greets her is a soft voice belonging to someone who lived 60 years ago.

a dreamnotfound fanfic inspired this. and the South Korean horror film, The Call. 

gay yearning agenda. so much yearning. so much. I’m projecting.

WIP Playlist. My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine, but it's been promised to another

A selected list of fics from my AO3 account. It’s gay.

I drowned a long time ago. Sakusa Kiyoomi isn’t in love. He’s devoted. Serial Killer AU.

Maaaring bang magkunwaring akin ka pa? A Tagalog Haikyuu fic based on the movie, Camp Sawi.

Marupok na puso ko. A Tagalog Haikyuu fic where they do the Filipino thing and get drunk.

My good puppy. My first try at writing smut. Jesus Christ.

Be my mistake. Where Kuroo Tetsurou calls up Tsukishima Kei one last time.

Make it hurt. The two times Atsumu Miya saw the entire universe behind Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes.

I still have a lot of stories that I hope to finish, I find it hard to discard or erase story ideas. So I hope one day, you can all watch me finish this list.

We Don’t Belong Here / Viva La Filipinas / Luna De Sangre Conspiracy / Lilith and Lysander’s Guide To Immortal Godparents / Lonely Hearts Club / A Lady’s Guide to Princes and Principles / Attack Block / Empty Thrones /  A Double Take / Stupid Cupid / Idle Town / Alice? / The 30 Day Deal / Lost Stars / The Apocalypse Program / Heartstrings  / Disastrously Danae

[natusvincere]

A Talk to Remember || Morgan and Vic

Who: @mor-beck-more-problems and @natusvincere Where: Morgan and Deirdre’s house When: Current What:  Vic wants her dagger back, Morgan wants to chat first. Warnings:  Mentions of suicide ideation

It was a familiar trip to Morgan’s home, but somehow, each time Vic made the journey there, the unfamiliar anxiety associated with the journey swelled a bit stronger.  Today was no exception.  She kept telling herself that the only reason she was even taking such a journey was to get her dagger back, but even she wasn’t so disillusioned to think that was the whole truth.  The multiple spare daggers she had back at home weren’t the only thing that proved it.  The things Morgan had been saying had been swimming in her brain, and she didn’t know if she wanted to hear more of it or set her friend straight for good.  She’d been mulling over it for weeks now, exhausted at the back and forth her mind was constantly flip flopping between.  One minute she’d be convinced Morgan was wrong and ready to write her off and the next she’d be drowning in guilt at the idea of Morgan being right.  The latter seemed to be happening more frequently. After several moments of internal struggle, she found herself rolling her eyes as she buzzed the doorbell, switching her weight back and forth to quell the anxiety.�� Her face remained blank when the door opened, but her stomach flipped uncomfortably. There was so much she wanted to say, but “I was in the area” was all that came out of Vic’s mouth.

 Morgan knew Vic had too much pride to come straight to the house as soon as they made their plans and too much pride to never show up at all. But it still came as a surprise when the doorbell rang and her friend, or once-friend, appeared on the other side. Morgan took several moments to process the woman’s presence and decode whatever Vic was hiding under, I was in the area. Maybe nerves, maybe agitation, but hell if Morgan knew what for, exactly. 

“Uh. Hi.” She said at last. “Can I help you…?”

 The silence between them was loud, and Vic was sure she’d squirm right out of her skin if Morgan didn’t say anything soon.  And then she did, and Vic wanted to squirm away even more.  She looked between Morgan and her car, contemplating if she should just turn and run back.  Instead, she said, “You have my dagger.  Did you forget?”  There was something keeping her from holding Morgan’s eye contact, her gaze instead traveling from her chin to the doorknob to the plants she kept on her porch.  “I just want it back.  Then I’ll leave you alone.”

 “No, I remember,” Morgan said, smirking. “Come on in, have a seat in the kitchen. I have to grab your knife from the shed anyway, so I can get stuff for a blood cocktail while I’m at it. Your kind can still taste stuff, right?” As frustrated as she was with Vic, she got some satisfaction in confounding her as often as possible. “That wasn’t a request. You’re gonna deal with my rusty southern hospitality or you’re not getting that knife back. How’ve you been, anyway?”

 Vic couldn’t suppress her eye roll at the sudden change of plans.  She had not expected to be invited inside, and it threw her off completely.  At the invitation, though, she stepped through the door, her eyes quietly searching for evidence of the girlfriend Morgan spoke so fondly of.  “That wasn’t the deal”, she said, hanging by the doorframe of the kitchen.  “First it was I have to come by to get it, now we have to chit chat?”  She blinked, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I’m not thirsty, thank you.  And I’ve been great, just dandy, Morgan.”  No existential questions coursing through her brain at all hours of the night. None at all.  Her voice held a bite of sarcasm that she usually shielded Morgan from. “How about you?”  She hadn’t planned on being cross, and yet here she was pushing away the only person who’d been patient enough to listen for years.  She wanted to rip her own hair out.

 “In Texas, it’s rude to turn down hospitality, Victoria,” Morgan said. “But, if you must know, I’ve been doing alright. I’ve recently become the guardian of a really great kid, I’ve just managed to hold onto my job for another semester, and my girlfriend and I are like, pre-engaged. I don’t know if that’s a word, but I don’t know what else to call deciding we want to get married but wanting to wait for a better time to do some fancy proposal stuff. Don’t know what we’ll do about the cats whenever we eventually honeymoon but--oh!” She squealed as Moira padded up and butted her head against her legs. Morgan laughed and picked up the little cat, smiling indulgently. “But we’ll figure it out. It’s a long ways away.” She held out the cat to Vic. “Do you wanna hold her while I get the stuff? She’s real friendly and with how much me and Deirdre carry and cuddle her, she’s used to cold bodies. Doesn’t bother her a bit.” 

 “We’re not in Texas.  But I’ll be sure to remember to never relocate there.  It sounds horrible,” Vic answered, though she was slowly losing the bite and bitter tone she had first entered the home with.   She blinked in surprise at the new information, letting herself leave the doorframe and enter the room further.  She was intrigued, admittedly, and desperate to know more.  “A guardian?  For a child?”  She couldn’t imagine how something like that just fell into someone’s lap- even someone like Morgan with all her southern hospitality and gentle charm.  The next bit of information Morgan fed her was perhaps even more intriguing.  “Engaged to be married?”, she asked, wishing to clarify.  The term was so different now than it was when she had been engaged.  Barely anyone was betrothed anymore.  Instead, young people of all classes and creeds had a choice in who they spent their lives with, and even freedom to leave when things became unbearable- and with barely any societal backlash.

She had been deep in thought when the cat was held out to her, and so she leaned back suddenly, looking at it in front of her with her eyes nearly crossing to refocus.  She wasn’t sure if she trusted that the cat wouldn’t hate her- she smelled like dog and death and any cat worth her salt might be wary of such a thing.  She looked up at Morgan hesitantly before she reached out to it, pulling it against her chest immediately.  “What’s her name?”, she asked, scratching behind the small beast’s ears and pressing her lips against its head.  “And where are your w- Deirdre and child?”

 “Well, a grown child but, yeah,” Morgan said with a shrug. It still felt weird to say, and her results were definitely mixed at best so far, but playing nonchalant while Vic sputtered to catch up with what a woman’s life could be in this time gave her a shot of confidence. “And, technically not engaged because no rings, which we both want, but, I guess we have what you used to call an understanding?” She put on her best BBC voice as she said the word. “We’ve done the grownup part, but not the romantic, fluffy part. You know that’s a thing two women can do now, right? We don’t have to surrender our happiness by default, and we don’t have to hide it either.”

Her voice tapered off, softer, as she watched Vic handle the kitten. The vampire already knew where to scratch, and how to hold her, and Moira was curious and interested as ever at the prospect of making a new friend. “Her name is Moira. She’s only a year and a half old right now. Still a big baby.”

As she backed away, ready to give Vic some time to get a little less tightly wound, she couldn’t help but choke down a snort. Did she just try to call her family her women? “Uh, Bexley, the girl I take care of, is out with her girlfriend. Deirdre has a thing.  Which means you’re stuck with me. When I get back in a minute, at least. I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage, right?” She winked, then backed her way out to the garden yard. She intended to take just a little bit longer than she needed to. She wanted Vic to have the chance to feel like a person and she didn’t know if there’d ever be another one after her sort-of-friend went home.

 “However did something like that fall into your lap?”, Vic wondered curiously.  There was no way the government could just place a teenager with a stranger to be raised unless they asked for it, right?  Had Morgan been seeking out raising a child all along?  Had Vic been too self-involved to even realize that it was something so important to her?  Her focus was brought back to Morgan, and she had to press her lips together to suppress a smile at Morgan’s silly voice. “An understanding”, she repeated with a nod after she pulled herself together. “It seems that that’s what most young people come to these days before engagement.  I know- I remember when the law allowing people to get married as passed”, she recalled nonchalantly.  In truth, she had sat by her television with rapt attention that day back in 2015, unable to focus her attention on anything else until she knew what the ruling would be.  “Have you ever hidden it?”

“Moira”, she whispered, pressing her forehead into the cat’s.  “You’re rather funny looking”, she remarked, giving the beast another scratch behind her ears.  “Winnie is 5 and still a big baby.  I doubt she’ll ever grow out of it.”  Vic had been wishing to see both Morgan’s new teenager and her… betrothed, for lack of a better word, but for now she’d just have to settle for groveling for her own dagger.  Her shoulders seemed to drop when she was left alone with the cat, as if tension had physically escaped her body.  She let Moira on the table, holding up a hair elastic she had in her pocket for her to swat at.  

Moira rolled onto her back, lazily grabbing at the elastic and the tips of Vic’s fingers, eliciting a small chuckle from the woman.  “How lucky you are to live without worries”, she whispered, playing tug of war with the cat. 

 Morgan left Vic’s questions linger in the air for when she got back. She wasn’t sure if ‘fallen’ was the right word, or how to tell what had happened without sounding a little conniving, even desperate. And then the other thing. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Vic assumed she’d always been out and confident. Vic seemed to think the best and worst of everyone, whichever way kept them as far away from her as can be. 

She plucked the knife off its shelf in her shed and wrapped it up in a nice cloth and put it in the bottom of a basket, which she then piled with some bottles and then filled with blood from the murder shed. No death should go to waste, not if she could help it. 

She lingered in the entryway when she returned, beaming as she watched Vic play with Moira. Animals had a funny way of revealing people, and Moira was showing a version of Vic that had been hiding for years. “Am I interrupting?” She said, beaming. “I’ve got everything right here, but that doesn’t mean there’s any rush.” She passed Vic a bottle of blood to make her point. Relax, make yourself at home.

“Also, I owe you some answers: the twenty-something kid is…complicated. We weren’t actively looking for each other, but we had similar social circles, she was my student for a semester, and she was staying with me here for a while before anything became even semi official. We just sort of…fit. Little by little. I feel kind of unfairly lucky to have her around.” Morgan shrugged it off, not wanting to get into her shortcomings. This talk wasn’t about her. “And as for the other thing: yes, I hid myself a lot and very well. The area I grew up in wasn’t kind to people like us, but thanks to ignorance, most assumed that a woman who likes flowers and dresses could never be one of them. And I say this casually now, because I’m out and I’ve slept around and dated, and now I’m this—” She gestured vaguely to the house, the frame of her life. “But that doesn’t mean those years didn’t kill little parts of me every day, parts that’ll never grow back. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t lonely and dark, or that I didn’t ever wake up hating the world almost as much as I hated myself. It just means the hurt has scarred over, and I get to be a whole person now. And I need you to know that you can be a whole person too, Victoria.”

 “Yes”, Vic teased, albeit pulling the elastic back from the creature, choosing instead to scratch behind her ears again.  She gazed inside the basket, her eyes searching for the dagger.  When the bottle was placed in front of her, she closed her eyes and swallowed, only opening them again to gaze at Morgan.  “Was this harvested ethically?”, she asked, her hand wrapping tentatively around the bottle.

She didn’t feed in front of people- she didn’t much like to feed at all, truthfully.  It felt animalistic and vulgar and monstrous to do it so callously, but Morgan seemed to expect her to drink right here, as if they were simply eating lunch in the park together.  Didn’t she see it was so much more horrible than that?

Her hand flexed and tightened around the bottle as she listened to Morgan explain.  “A found family”, she clarified with a nod, having heard the term more than once but never really grasping what it could mean.  “Is Deirdre also comfortable with this arrangement?”, she wondered.  Her explanation of her youth was a lot easier to comprehend- a life hidden and masked was definitely something she relate to.  “How old were you?”, she started.  “How old were you when you decided to let people know?”

She looked away as Morgan concluded her speech, leaning back in her chair in shaking her head.  “I’ve been hiding parts about me and letting them die since long before I realized I’m attracted to women, Morgan”, she explained, her eyes distant as if she were remembering some far away memory.  “It’s not just… that. It’s not as simple as you want it to be.  I can’t just undo who I’ve become.  Not after 400 years.”

 “It’s not human if that’s what you mean,” Morgan said with a roll of her eyes. “What kind of person do you take me for? It’s a very nice deer from yesterday, hit by a truck and left by the road. A fine vintage in the world of animal blood.” She watched Vic wrestle with this knowledge, or maybe just being treated as a person and a vampire at the same time, and sat back, making herself comfortable. 

“Deirdre’s fine. She’s...we’re not doing this particular thing together, per se, we’re in different places as far as that’s concerned, but she doesn’t resent me or the girl and she does care for her well in her own way. I don’t know what more I could ask for.” She sighed, feeling the space between all she knew she could have and all she wanted and all she dared not ask for. 

Vic’s next question took her out of her thoughts. She straightened and looked at the woman, her expression plain, her voice frank. “I was eighteen when I told my mother, because I thought my gayness was causing the literal curse that brought suffering to my family, that it was the reason my dad had died driving me to work. And I was twenty-four when I went to my first women’s only gay bar. And I was thirty, when I stopped being too scared to let women get close to me at all. It’s not something that happens all at once for anyone, I don’t think. So even if it is simple, or straightforward if you prefer, it’s not easy. A lot of straightforward things are really, really hard and that’s why we come up with complicated ways of getting around them. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, Victoria. You can always make new choices.”

 With a lick of her lips, Vic let herself fully grip the bottle at the new information, her fingers fully wrapping around it as the need to study it dissipated.  “Okay”, she said hushed and tentatively.  Her eyes watched Morgan’s as she brought the bottle to her lips, but she put it down before she let herself take a sip.  She didn’t like to eat in front of anyone because for one, not many of the few people she let into her personal life actually knew what she was.  It was easier to keep it a secret, because the opposite would most likely mean losing them anyway.  But two, there was so much wrongness associated with it.  So much death and hurt and pain and… shame.  It made her feel vulnerable in a way she didn’t appreciate, and vulnerability in front of anyone was a recipe for disaster. 

And then there was the issue of fangs and red eyes while she was feeding.

It was too much, especially for Morgan to see her like that.  Like the monster she was deep down inside.  She let go of the bottle, choosing to cross her arms casually on the table instead as Morgan explained more.  

“She seems incredibly understanding”, Vic remarked, sitting back a bit in her chair.  She wanted to ask ‘Do you think she would like me?’, but it felt childish to ask something so frivolous.  It felt childish to care.  

As she listened to Morgan, her expression crumpled into one of sympathy.  “It must have been an incredibly awful burden to feel that way, Morgan.  Of course it wasn’t, you know that now, right?  I mean… to me it seems…”, she paused, gesturing around Morgan’s kitchen, “that all of this is because of who you are, not in spite of it.”  Morgan had a way of waxing poetry with her words, an artist in her own rite.  But her poetry couldn’t bend reality, not always.

“New choices, like putting an end to turning vampires in to hunters?”  She knew this is the conversation they’d been dancing around all along- the reason why she’d attacked Morgan in the woods and the reason she couldn’t face her after.  She knew the whole truth now, besides the details, and it was clear she didn’t approve.  “I decided after ten years that I’d make up for the monstrosities that come with being who I am now forced to be.  And the only way I know how to do that is by doing what I’m doing, Morgan.  Who am I if I just let myself be one of them?”

 Morgan saw Vic’s hesitance to drink and met her eyes sympathetically. Apropos of nothing, she rose when the woman finished, saying, “I think I need a snack too, actually.” One Pyrex of brain balls later, she was back, and nibbling on them with the help of a kebab skewer. After some more silence, she found the words she was looking for, or at least the only ones she knew she was going to find.

“It was terrible, yes. And even after I found out that, no, we were cursed because my great grandmother Agnes pissed off the wrong witch, eighteen years of hating myself didn’t just disappear. Sometimes I wondered if the curse made me gay so I could suffer more, and worse. That isn’t true either, but my point is: it took time and therapy doing things differently for me to figure that out. And yes, I think not conspiring to murder every vampire you meet might help you figure things out. I think not lumping yourself in with the people who wronged you would help. What I really think will help is admitting that every sapient vampire is as different from each other as you and I are. You are smarter than reducing your world to a flat simplicity for the sake of convenience. And I think you can be braver than that too. I think you might even want to be.” 

Another long, thoughtful bite of brains.

“Who is it that you think you’re being forced to be? You’re in control of your own choices, what monstrosities are there for you to ‘let’ yourself do that you don’t want?”

 There were two deliberate blinks from Vic; the first one of confusion, and the second of understanding.  Morgan was showing her that it was okay, in her own way. Their diets weren’t all that dissimilar, and neither was the way of acquiring them, she supposed.  Was hers really all that worse simply because she was a vampire?  This wasn’t a question that would have even crossed her mind a month ago.  

Letting out a slow breath, she built up the courage to grip the bottle again, taking a sip before she had the mind to stop herself.  Her eyes changed rather quickly, she was sure, and she could feel the fangs sprouting from her mouth; always so ready to reveal what she truly was.  Her mind flashed back to the early days after she was first turned, when she would stubbornly stare into mirrors for hours at a time, as if looking long enough might change the lack of reflection that stared back at her. Later, when she’d finally succumbed to feeding, her sire taunted her with the description of how she looked during (a punishment, she was sure, for her insistence that she would see her own reflection again). She spent years smashing every mirror she found after that. 

She hoped Morgan wouldn’t bring attention to it.   

“But the curse… is it over now?”, she asked, concerned.  Morgan was right that years of self-loathing didn’t just go away because you wanted it to, but the thought of going to therapy about such a thing felt so foreign to her.  “I’m not murdering anyone.  I’m a middle man”, she insisted, her body becoming rigid.  “Do you think hunters are murderers?”

“Forced to be a ...vampire, I mean.  I didn’t ask to become this, Morgan.   I would have much rather… I was so close to d-...”.  Vic swallowed, closing her eyes before taking another sip from the bottle.  “This wasn’t who I was meant to become.  This isn’t the Twilight, Morgan.  We do not sparkle in the sun and attend high school classes.  You wouldn’t believe… the thoughts that ran through my head when I was first turned.  The ones that do now if I don’t feed often enough.  They’re not natural...they’re not right.  And what if stopping all vampires I can is the only way I can stop myself from becoming who those thoughts want me to be?”

 “Oh, yeah, it’s very over. Witch magic fades after death, so after the ghost-girl who cursed us killed me a year and a half ago—” Morgan made an open gesture. “No more curse. No more magic. Just one zombie girl. Also, I would like to point out that I said conspiring to murder. Which, you have to admit fits the bill, right? And yes, I think hunters are murderers. All of them. Even the ones I like. If they intentionally kill a sapient being, they’re murderers. Some murders are…’necessary’ for lack of a better word. Because some people will refuse any solution that doesn’t end in death. But just because Vampire Serial Killer Number One won’t stop until they make someone stop them, doesn’t make what happens to that vampire anything but murder. If you’re going to extinguish a life from this world, you need to admit it and carry it. And I say that as someone who has murdered several people.” The soft humor her words had started with faded as she went on. By the time she stopped to pause, she could barely keep her eyes on Vic. This was bad, bad, dangerous shit to be admitting to. And even though she could fight, even though everyone knew where she was and who she was meeting with, Morgan’s cold blood prickled into ice under her skin with fear. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat (guilt; even if she didn’t have regrets for all of her crimes, she definitely had guilt) and pressed onto everything else Vic had brought up. “What you are isn’t who you are. And I get it, I do. I didn’t ask to be what I am either, and I spent a long time wishing that I hadn’t. That I had just died. It wasn’t a bad death. It was better than whatever’s waiting for me now. And it would have hurt so much less. And I didn’t feel like Morgan Beck, witch and teacher and chronic mess. She died, and I—this person who used to be her and will become someone else—woke up. But who I am, Morgan Beck the Second, the Undead, is not defined or limited by what I eat or what happened to me.” Slowly, she reached out a hand for Vic’s. “I don’t know if you know this, but zombies are born starving. And when we starve, the world is…small and clear. There’s one feeling, something strong and powerful and good and sick, and all you have to do is try to satisfy it. The ground is just a path to feeding. The wind is just a hindrance, or something that carries the smell. We don’t even think, really, we just do. And the early cravings…sometimes, I could feel it coming. Like having a second voice in my head, another shadow, something that took people apart like they were pieces of cow at the butcher, something that remembered what parts taste best, after brains, of course. And I live in fear of that…impulse, that piece of me. But I also live knowing that it isn’t me.” Reaching out farther, in earnest now, she looked into Vic’s eyes, pleading, “Is there anything you thought when you were young and lost and hungry that’s so different from what I did? And—-who told you that exterminating someone else will change something that’s a part of you? It won’t. You can’t change yourself by killing or erasing other people. You can’t change yourself with all the hatred in the world. You’ve had four hundred years; if it was possible, that would’ve happened by now. So what if—what if the way to become someone you like and can be proud of is to accept that you’re a real person who can be kind of wonderful when she gets out of her own way?”

 “Oh, it was her who-...  That makes sense.”  Vic blinked, processing what Morgan was saying to her.  After a long pause, she responded.  “I suppose, if that’s the sort of cut and dry definition we’re using, that would make me a murderer, too.”  She didn’t break eye contact with Morgan until the other woman looked away, and even then she still studied her face.  “In the beginning.  I didn’t know there was any other way to be.  And, well-  ...I suppose I murdered my sire as well.”  Her eyes fell back to her hands at that, as if she could witness herself doing it all over again.  There was no shame associated with what she did to her sire, but her stomach did flip flops at admitting it outloud.  How sweet it had felt when her thirst for revenge was finally satisfied.  How sick she felt to revel in that sweetness.  With a look back up at Morgan, it appeared she might have been experiencing a similar back and forth about her own murders.

It would have hurt so much less.  That was a thought that Vic had never heard articulated into words before.  Wishing for death felt so morbid and wrong, but had she been allowed to succumb to it, the hurt could have ended right then.  And for so long, she was sure she was alone in that feeling.  There were thousands of vampires and zombies walking around as if everything were perfect- like they were happy their life had turned into an afterlife.  Vic couldn’t believe how affirming it was to hear someone share her sentiments.  She looked down at the hand that settled into hers and listened and listened and listened as more of Morgan’s experiences seemed to mesh with her own, mixing and swirling like paint on a paper, until you could no longer differentiate between the two unless you tried your hardest.

She looked up into Morgan’s eyes, fresh tears prickling at her own.  She shook her head at the question posed, though it was slight and small, and if Morgan blinked, she would have missed it.  Nothing was different about their origins, not really.  Not when you dug deep and looked at them transparently.  

There was a long, teary pause before she finally answered again.  It was a collection of composure, more than anything.  “I wouldn’t even know how I would begin to stop what I do, Morgan.  I’ve hurt… so many people.  And interacted with so many slayers who would do the same to me if they found out the truth.”

 “I know,” Morgan said, coming around close to Vic and pulling her into a hug. “I’m not saying it won’t be hard or that it won’t hurt in its own way. But I am saying that it will be better than where you are right now. And you are a person who deserves a chance of happiness and peace and love. And you can be forgiven. And you can choose different for yourself. I’m saying you’re worth trying for. Okay?”

Against her better judgement, Vic let herself melt into the hug.  She let Morgan’s words cover her like a blanket, warm and reassuring and hopeful.  She wanted to believe what she was saying- that if she tried hard enough, everything could be okay, somehow.  It seemed much more likely that Morgan was wrong, but in that moment, she didn’t care.  She was seen.  Her experiences, as wild as it sounded, weren’t only her own.  And as she and Morgan held each other, Vic realized that that might have been the biggest evidence of hope she could ask for.

“Okay.  I’ll try.”

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

Friendly Encounters- Chapter Three

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Fluff

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Mentions of sex, language, mature themes, mostly safe but not suitable for young audiences below the age of 16, and binge eating if you are easily triggered by that.

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 5.8k+

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jimin x Yoongi x Reader

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“My boyfriend actually called me his wife today.” “Oh yeah, well mine already proposed to me, that’s right, five years since we've started dating!”

“Oh, Lyric, you’re lucky. My boyfriend only ever invited me to his family’s tree trimming party and we got blessings from all of his great-aunts, uncles, and other relatives. His parents even call me their future daughter.” You roll your eyes at how unrelenting these girls are. They won’t even stop talking about boys for one second and you’ve been at this sleepover for five hours. It’s supposed to be the last sleepover of the decade as seniors, for everyone since you and this tiny group started planning in the seventh grade. Just because you’re all girls doesn’t mean boys are the only thing you have to talk about! It’s not an obligation. This isn’t a disney movie where the prince is going to marry the princess at the end, it’s real life and everyone is too fucking clingy to realize it. 

“Can we not talk about boys tonight?” You finally ask out loud, earning a gasp from everyone in the vicinity, including Bae, who happens to be a lesbian. Even she was enjoying the boy talk. 

“Why? That’s literally what sleepovers are about.” Your other friend, Joy points out. You sigh in frustration, falling back on the carpeted floor while hugging your soft ladybug plushie.

“Looks like someone’s having a bit of drama, we heard from Jessica. Now, tell mama River what’s really going on.” You take in a deep breath before slowly explaining your situation with the boys.

“And these boys are a gay couple?” Bae asks in a questioning tone.

“They are! But...after a certain encounter, I’m not really sure what to think. They’re older, and in love with each other, but I feel like I’m just intruding at times, you know?” Another girl that goes by the name of “Temoshika-san,” which is her japanese name nods in agreement, holding out a tray of foods for you to snack on.

“Eat. I binge whenever I’m stressed.” She says after you take a tiny bag of doritos. 

“Hon..I’m gonna say something but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Your most sensible friend, Toriel (oh yes I named her after an undertale character) says after a long moment of silence. 

“Shoot. I’ve already made plans with them for next week to see a concert so there’s nothing that can surprise me now.” You bite your lips. It’s been an entire month since that day when Yoongi demanded you to lick ice cream off his boyfriend’s cheek and things escalated from there. 

You didn’t have sex, but it was a close call. Your heart almost ran away from you. Yet, they don’t bring it up, so it’s safe to assume that they felt nothing from that encounter. 

Maybe Jimin didn’t anyways. Or maybe he was feeling just as horny as you! Who knows? No guy has ever looked at you that way before, so you wouldn’t even know.

“I think that both of these boys might be catching feelings for you. But they’ve probably never had feelings for a girl before, so they don’t know how to go about it.” Her theory makes sense. Suddenly, all of the pieces click in your mind.

“You’re a genius, Toriel!” You give her a hug before whipping out your phone to text Jimin. Right on cue, you get a text! But you’re surprised to see that it's not from Jimin.

“Damn, that's some cold shit right there. I didn’t know what you did to piss him off so much.” Bae chuckles at your misery as you put your phone away.

“Wanna spill the details?” A girl by the name of Cleo asks. You roll your eyes.

“It was just Yoongi. He said he and Jimin wanted to talk to me. As if things haven’t been awkward enough.” You feel like you’re walking on eggshells with the two, as you’ve stopped hugging Jimin for longer than 10 seconds. 

And you’ve stopped your musical obsessions with Yoongi as well, keeping the fangirling to a bare minimum. You just want everything to go back to normal, so you can continue onto your adult life without holding on so much to the past. And they aren’t the only things bothering you, but Jungkook has been desperately trying to fix your relationship.

Jasmine won’t so much as breathe in your direction, as she doesn’t need you anymore. She has everything. The popular clique, a hot boyfriend, and perfect grades. She isn’t bothering you at all, but you are tempted to scream in her face about keeping her boy toy in control. He keeps wandering out of her lane and onto yours. Which you think you can use to your advantage.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep with him or anything, you just think it’s the perfect opportunity to take back what was rightfully yours. And in this case, Jungkook is the perfect trophy. You don’t like objectifying people, but at this point you don’t even care if he used your name to impress a couple of underclassmen, you feel honored, actually, but you don’t actually care about him. He kissed you too, while he was dating her. That’s a sign that things aren’t looking too good for them. 

Who are you kidding?! You should let them go. As if you have the balls to actually sneak around Jasmine’s back and snatch her boyfriend from her.

“Girl, just talk to them. I advise you to tell them as soon as possible what type of feelings you may or may not have for them. It’s gonna be okay.” Toriel pats your back as you recover from the growing anxiousness in your gut. Something tells you, everything is not going to be okay.

“Moving onto our next sleepover activity….horror stories!” 

                         ༻• The Next Day, At Your House •༺

You sneak into your home early in the morning, around 7 or 8, to be exact, hoping that Jimin and Yoongi were away at work. Your mom is already gone, as she texted you that she would be going on a business trip this particular week. The slumber party kept you awake all night, and the girls had really scary stories to share so you weren’t exactly calm...even now you are on edge as Jimin frightens you from behind.

“Hi.” You jump back, startled because of how quiet and swiftly he came up from behind you.

“H-hey. I thought I was home alone.” He gives you a sweet smile, the same comforting grin you saw that day in the cafe after you almost embarrassed yourself while asking for his number. Those were the good times, when you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. A friendship with anyone of the opposite sex is complicated, after all. You convinced yourself of this since Yoongi and Jimin are 100% gay and show no signs of any lust or extra thirst after you but you still had awkward tension. Hell, even now after Jimin walked up from behind you like that, you still have a strange feeling in your gut.

“You thought wrong! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about

 how you almost peed your pants after I gave you a scare.” The mood is mellow, and you’re both comfortable around each other. Maybe Yoongi was the problem. But you don’t want to upset Jimin, as he’s your best friend at the moment and he’s been for you a lot more than anyone has been in the last decade.

“So, what’d I miss?” You ask, leaning in to give your best friend a hug. You inhale his strawberry-fresh scent, a little bit in awe as you’ve never gotten a waft of a nice-smelling boy. Jimin is an angel, a perfect exception. You hope you can find a man who’s as caring and attentive as he is, in the future.

“Yoongi and I have been thinking a lot about you recently, mainly how you opened up to the two of us about your life and leaned on us so easily, really it was crazy how you trusted us so easily when you barely knew either one of us,” You laugh sheepishly, mentally scolding yourself for being so childish in the first place. “But it was so admirable. And we thought, we could do the same for you. So you can learn more about the kind of people we are. We don’t like looking back on the past, but there are some parts that we just can’t leave behind. Like for example, our two exes,” At first, you think little of this. ‘He must mean the people that he and Yoongi dated before they found each other.’ That was your first thought. Just like he’s reading your mind, he answers your question, “We’re open to polyamory.” Your mouth drops to an “o” shape, and then you rack your brain for the correct answers.

You got nothing. You have no clue what the fuck a polyamory is.

“What’s that?” He chuckles at your innocence just as his boyfriend comes down the stairs.

“Hey, Yoongz, wanna explain what polyamory is to our good friend here?” You look up at the older man with curious eyes. You want to know.

“Multiple people in a relationship. Basically, Jimin and I used to invite over two other guys and we used to go on dates and do other stuff but it was really chill, nothing too serious.” You gawk as the two lean into each other for a kiss and then Jimin crawls into Yoongi’s lap before turning his head to stare at you. Two pairs of eyes are just on you, and you feel so vulnerable with all the attention on you.

“Anyways, I wanted to mainly apologize for what happened that night with the ice cream. You looked like you were enjoying yourself, and I thought I was too, until I realized I was gay. I just needed a reminder, I guess. So I thank you,” You don’t know whether you should laugh or cry, Yoongi’s expression was hard to read.

“Hyung...why do you gotta do her like that?” Jimin’s words throw you off guard. “You know what, instead of beating around the bush, I’ll just tell you: I’m bi, Yoongi was pan when I met him.” He rolls his eyes at the boy.

“Wait, didn’t you say you came out to your parents?” You ask curiously.

“I did. As gay, but then I ended up having a one night stand with a woman and after that I realized I liked both.” You take in the information very well, not letting it affect you one bit. “You know what, I’ll let you two figure out your shit…” You give Jimin a panicked look before turning to Yoongi with a fake smile plastered on your face.

“I don’t care what your sexuality is,” Your statement throws him off guard as his eyes widen quickly. “I just know what I felt was real. There was a weird connection, a moment where I wanted to kiss you.” He coughs before spreading his legs on the couch and putting his hands in his lap. You’re not gonna lie, he looks hot.

“Then why didn’t you?” You let out a small giggle before realizing that he’s completely serious.

“Because you and Jimin are dating...and I don’t like cheating.” He crosses his arms, this time scooting in closer to you. 

“But we were both there, and the vibes were all right.” You feel a slight pressure on your inner thigh when you realize that Yoongi is touching you. His hands are wandering up your thigh in broad daylight. You luckily have a blanket covering you, but the look of fear on your face is a dead giveaway.

“It’s because you wimped out.”

“You should’ve just done it anyways. I probably would’ve kissed you back.” He starts kneading your thigh, giving you an almost-massage, and just as you’re about to let out a moan, Jimin comes back, holding a bowl of popcorn and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Surprise movie night...er day.” He sits next to you, oblivious to what his boyfriend is doing. You glare at Yoongi when you feel his fingers pulling your leggings down and they wander into your panties. You’re damp. Completely soaked because of this stupid man that you’re attracted to and the fact that you basically just confessed to him. He smirks when he sees your eyes roll back in your head when he reaches your g-spot, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. You cling to him, pretending that you’re simply cuddling him as Jimin’s eyes stay trained on the screen, but you fail horribly at keeping things discreet when you moan into his ears. The movie blasts at a loud volume, so the speakers drain out your groans as Yoongi drives you to an orgasm.

“Come for me, babe. Don’t want Jiminie to see, is that right?” Yoongi knows the boy would probably just join in if he actually noticed. He still manages to upset you, as with all your might, you try not to scream from pleasure.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna come.” You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out the softest but sexiest moan he’s ever heard, as his fingers twist inside of you and you climax right then and there. He leans in and finally, you get a taste of his sweet lips. 

“Let’s continue this later?” He whispers to you, winking at Jimin as you sink into his arms, panting heavily and recovering from your intense orgasm. And yes, the boy knows what his boyfriend was doing under the blanket the entire time. 

After the movie, you quickly run upstairs to take a shower. You didn’t expect to get fingered on your couch. You didn’t think Yoongi would actually kiss you. And you certainly didn’t think things were going to return to normal ever again. They already had girls. How many did they date in the past? Obviously having a third partner didn’t work out for either of them so what difference would it make if you were part of the equation? You step out of the shower to find Jimin in your bedroom, playing games on his phone as he waits for you. You clench your towel, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you step into your bedroom, closing the door.

“Hey! I wanted to see what you might be wearing to the concert, have you picked out an outfit?” You walk past him, motioning him to come to your closet as your finger picks and chooses the cute dress you found at the mall.

“This one.” You can see his eyes lighting up at the thought of you wearing that dress, but then his gaze darkens when he imagines you out of it. Speaking of...there was only a thin towel wrapped around your body, even then it wasn’t enough to stop his imagination. You have nice boobs, can you blame the poor guy?!

“Nice choice. I’ll just uh...step out so you can get dressed.” Also known as code red: he has a boner. You quickly throw on some shorts and a sweatshirt, as you don’t dress modestly at home. You check yourself in the mirror, making sure it’s not too much in case the boys feel uneasy. 

Today’s a slow day. You finish up your homework before making your way to the kitchen for an evening snack. It’s only 5:00, yet you’re starving. What you see next surprises you, as Yoongi is on the counter while Jimin kisses him breathlessly. How do people kiss so long without breaking for air? As you observe, Jimin breaks the kiss, smiling at you as his boyfriend turns to look at you as well.

“Come here, darling.” Your feet are jello as you stumble to the two, trying to ignore the way Yoongi’s bulge is sticking straight up as Jimin’s hands are on either side of him.

“Wh-what?” You blush, unable to help yourself as the blue haired god in front of you looks so good. “I like your hair.” You whisper quietly.

“Thanks, although I’ve had this hairstyle for a while,” He removes his arms from his boyfriend, putting his attention on you. “Now, you’ve been a dirty girl, fooling around with my boyfriend when I’m not looking, is that right?” You swear if you weren’t holding onto the counter you would’ve fainted.

“What? Cat got your tongue? You have quite a mouth on you when my fingers are buried in your pussy but you can’t say a word when my boyfriend asks you a perfectly valid question?” You’re shocked, frozen, freezing. 

“Answer me, sweetie. Did you like it when he fingered you earlier?” You blush and nod, evading his gaze. “Look at me when I talk to you, Y/N.” When he says your name you look up, your eyes meeting his as you do. Five seconds barely pass when he smashes his lips against yours, in a desperate manner. Yoongi’s just watching, patiently waiting for you to break the kiss so he can continue the conversation.

“Y/N, we need to be honest with you. We’ve...taken a liking to you.” You don’t know how to process this information. But Jimin’s look of pleading is enough. They both want you.

“So please, will you consider joining our relationship?” You purse your lips. Every fibre of your body is screaming yes, but your mind is telling you to be reasonable, and think through this. You don’t need this right now in your life. You’ll hold them back, they’ll hurt you later, this is setting yourself up for failure.

Yet you want it so bad.

“Can I think about it? Please?” You don’t want to reject them right away.

“Of course. Take your time.” Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand before leading him to the couch. You hope they won’t ask you before the concert.

                                        ༻• At the Concert •༺

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The men brought you to a freaking J-hope concert. Not just anyone but the J-hope. He’s the most popular solo act on the planet. After he broke up with his boy band BTB, he went all crazy and started rapping about sex, and fame, and real life issues. Everyone loves him.

Including your two friends who dated him back before he was famous.

Yeah, they have a history together.

“You like it so far?” Jimin asks, leaning in while cracking open a can of pepsi.

“Are you kidding? You got premium seats to see the J-hope?” He gives you a cheeky grin before turning to Yoongi and conversing with him. You can’t seem to take your eyes off the two of them, even if you are at a J-hope concert. You feel lucky enough to be breathing the same air as him, but it’s thanks to the couple sitting beside you. Not to mention...they even dated him at some point.

“This last song goes out to two dear exes of mine…” You thought you imagined it, but he seemed to look up at your row, as if he was staring straight at Yoonmin.

“Last summer when you told me you weren’t feeling well, I thought it was just a little bump in the road, But now I know, It was all because of her, Ohhh my love, How I loved you way back then, But I was too blind to see, You really didn’t care at all,”

You don’t know how to react. Should you clap? Or laugh, or cry? It sounds like whoever he’s singing about cheated on him...with a girl.

“Now I don't care, it's all choices by my fate,  so we're here, Look ahead,  The way is shinin’, Keep Going Now,”

The song suddenly gets more upbeat and then the crowd goes crazy as he has an outfit change with a snap. Also, this man is glowing. The lights are perfectly bouncing off his slightly tanned skin, making him appear more heavenly. God, how did they live through this?

“That’s My Ego!” He sings the chorus cheerfully before finishing off and then fireworks light up the night sky, making some audience members cry. Jimin and Yoongi are both staring at you, though, as you watch with wonder. You look so innocent, and you’re so small...the two of them are already whipped for you, can’t you see that? Oh wait, you do.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask them, and they simply smile at you. As if that wasn’t heart-melting enough.

“Nothing. Let’s go backstage.” You blush as they both take either of your hands, leading you out of the crowded stadium so that you can visit J-Hope backstage. You were about to meet a celebrity, while being held by two guys that confessed their feelings to you just a few hours ago! As if things couldn’t get any better.

“J-HOOOOOPE!!!” Yoongi grins, throwing his arms around the celebrity as he walks into the room.

“Hey Suga. OH JEMIN!” Jimin and J-Hope share a handshake before hugging as well, and then he turns to you.

“Who is this beauty?” He turns to look at you, kissing your palm softly in greeting.

“Y/N.” You answer him, trying to conceal your uwus.

“Wow. You’re even more perfect than how they described you. You know, I’ve never seen them like someone more than they like you.” He whispers into your ears. You’re a little bit distracted by the fact that an IDOL is whispering in your ears right now. His breath smells so good. His sweat smells expensive, though.

“Y-you really think?” You ask.

“I know so.”

“Okay, if you’re done hitting on our friend, how about you tell us what you’ve been up to?” J-Hope holds up a finger, revealing the engagement ring to all of you.

“Who…?” J-Hope blushes before turning to his mirror.

“Remember that one producer? The girl who was older than me by 10 years or something?” Everyone nods, except you, who has no idea what’s going on.

“Turns out she was my soulmate all along. She proposed to me, and we’re getting married next month.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” You clap for him as the two men beside you look at you with love in their eyes.

“I’m so excited. She’s just a bucket of sunshine. Oh shoot, I’m almost late for the wine tasting. Bye guys.” We wave as the celebrity packs up his things for the day. “So, it looks like you guys lowered your standards for me.” “Oh, stop, he wasn’t even well-known when we met. And now, we’ve all moved on. The three of us are together and that’s what matters.” Yoongi cuts you off before you even start. When you get home, you’re less than amused that your mother is getting ready for the stupid marriage meeting in her room. She ushers you to change, greeting the boys but whisking you away from them just as quickly. You wave goodbye to them, in a dreary mood. “Remember to behave, poise and manners, Y/N. You want to look like a good wife.” “I don’t want to get married. I’m only 18, ma.” She brushes your hair, looking at you with teary eyes. “Your dad wants you to. And he gets what he wants. No matter what.” You sob the entire car ride, your father didn’t even bother coming home as the purpose of this stupid meeting was to make himself look good. You look up to see that the boy before you is an overgrown specimen of child. Not even a man, but just a buff baby. “Hi, how old are you?” You ask politely. The boy lowers his eyes. You already know where this is going even though you’ve barely said a few words. “15, you have nice tits.” You’re in shock, uncomfortable, lonely, and worst of all, your mom won’t even look at you. Your dad presents you like a trophy and then forces you to tell the other parents about your academic achievements before forcing you to sit down. You want to cry. But you don’t. Instead, you call Jimin. “Hey, what’s up? Is the dinner going well?” Your voice starts breaking before you even talk, making you suck in deep breaths before looking out the bathroom window. “No, Jimin. I can’t stay here. They’re gonna force me to marry a 15 year old that just said my boobs look nice. I have to get away, do you guys think you can get me away from my parents? I’m 18, so they can’t legally do anything about it.” You hear him talking to someone in the background, presumably Yoongi.

“It’s me, Jimin just told me...I’m so sorry. All of that is awful, but is running away really going to solve anything? I know things seem bad now, but wait until your mom knows about us, I’m sure she’ll be accepting.” Yoongi sounds confident in himself, so you don’t feel like putting him down.

“Her, maybe. But not my dad. He’ll disown me.”

“Y/N, you are no object. They can’t just marry you off to anyone. And if they do, we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. You should be allowed the choice of marrying someone you love.” You frown, seeing the tears falling out of your eyes.

“I’ll go out with you.”

                                       ═══ 🅣🅘🅜🅔🅢🅚🅘🅟 ═══

Your first date is at the cafe where it all started. The boys make sure to take time off at the same time so your schedules match up. It’s not the most conventional date, as the three of you start discussing where you’ll move in together after you run away from home.

Your dad hasn’t even spoken more than a couple sentences to you. Wow, so caring. You have no reason to stay with them anymore, as he literally forces you to go to stupid dinner parties and sets you up with boys that are too young for you. Even a 12 year old, like what the fuck?

“How was dinner last night?” Jimin asks. You roll your eyes.

“Horrible, as always. These boys are nightmares. I feel bad for their future partners.” You comment.

“Who cares? It’s just dinner. And you’re dating us now. Talk to us, babe.” You like being called “babe.” Especially when Yoongi says it, because he’s just so closed off to everyone else.

“Do you like it when he calls you baby? Because I’m pretty sure he likes it too.” Jimin giggles. Being with your best friend is really no different, except now you can kiss and hug and show affection romantically. He’s just a lot more cuddly with you. And Yoongi doesn’t mind it one bit.

He actually sometimes joins in, hugging you and Jimin lovingly. He’s so protective of you two. You love it.

And they’ve started picking you up after school, to take you out so you can be away from your house for a bit. But at the end of the day, you can always count on crawling into bed with them and dreaming your troubles away. You’ve been sleeping better with them cuddling right next to you. 

Sneaking into bed with them has become a habit of yours, and you especially don’t make it clear around your dad that you have feelings for them. Although, lately everything has been striking a nerve. He often calls you to awkward dinner parties and you can’t do anything about it.

Even your boyfriends agree that it’s a bit too much. So much, that one day, Jimin decides to suggest something crazy.

“Let’s make your dad think that you’re ruined.” This catches yours and Yoongi’s attention.

“What? What the hell are you going on about, Jimin?” Uh-oh, when Yoongi uses that tone and says his name like that, you know someone’s in trouble.

“I’m saying that we make her dad think she lost her virginity.” You cross your arms, gasping as Yoongi shields your face with his arms protectively.

“What are you saying? That’s absurd. Her father is already strict as is with us living here, everytime he sees us he crinkles his nose even more. We repulse him, Jimin. What makes you think that we aren’t gonna tick him off even more?” Yoongi makes a good point. Your father was very strict, and homophobic. Perfect traditional 1800s father of the year.

“He’s here because he wants to see his little girl get engaged, right? Well, what if she brought the engagement to him? Have him walk in on one of us sharing a moment with her and then having her dad say she has to marry us?!” You’re baffled. You didn’t think your boyfriend was that dense. 

“Idiot, he would probably disown her. And also, no. Maybe not marriage, he might just throw her out of the house altogether.” While you’re busy planning, what you fail to recognize is that your father leaves town again. He’s flying away, and you had no knowledge of it until your mother called you and you saw his packed suitcases as he hugged you goodbye. Looks like the meetings have come to an end.

“Jimin!!! Yoongi!!!! Come downstairs, I need to talk to you two about something.” My mother calls out to them.

“What?” Yoongi is the first to make his way down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with you.

“I’ve noticed the way you two have been interacting with my daughter as of late. The deep stares of longing everytime we sit on the couch and watch t.v together, the smiles of adoration that you only have reserved for special people, heck, even once I saw you holding her hands like she would disappear if you let go,” You can hear the nervous gulps come from the two men as they stare directly at your mom. This can’t be good. “You both have crushes on her, right?” Their eyes widen.

“What? No, I’m dating Yoongi-Boongi. My heart belongs to him and only him.” Jimin says a bit too quickly, making your mom raise her eyebrow in question.

“Your daughter is very pretty, I’ll give you that much, but I’m dating Jimin.” She clicks her tongue, not fully believing them.

“I know what it looks like when boys have a crush on a girl, seeing the way you act around her. So how about you tell me the truth straight to my face?” Jimin is the first to break under her intense stare.

“Fine, you caught me. I like her, okay?!” He says, blushing a brilliant shade of pink. When your mother sees that Yoongi’s expression is indifferent, she narrows her eyes at him.

“You know, don’t you?” He doesn’t say a word, instead taking your arm and pulling you beside him.

“Ma’am, I would like to get your permission to be your daughter’s boyfriend….along with Jiminie.” Considering you were secretly dating for weeks, now seems like the perfect time to ask. Go Yoongi!

“Yes, of course you can date her. You both are so caring and kind and I can’t imagine anyone more fit for the job….even though I didn’t expect two guys. It may be a little strange but I trust that you know your boundaries.” They nod, each of them hugging you tightly and giggling like children.

“We’ll make sure to treat our girlfriend with kindness and respect.” With Yoongi’s gummy smile, your heart melts. You really, really like him.

“You better, or else you’ve got another thing coming.” Your mother’s gaze is threatening enough, as the two men stiffen their backs and stand up straight.

“Loosen up, she’s just kidding. Right, ma?” She nods, laughing happily as she sees her ships coming to life before her eyes. She’s always wanted her daughter to be happy, instead of subjecting her to a life of unhappy arranged marriage. She wants to give her everything she didn’t have as a child.

“Yup. But seriously, break her heart and you’re dead.”

“Moooom.”

That night your mom leaves for work. She didn’t tell you, but you really noticed when you called out for her and she didn’t answer back, only leaving a text on her phone that she would be late. You knew this meant you were home alone with your extremely attractive boyfriends again for the second time this month. 

You’re excited, but nervous. The last time the three of you were in the house like this, they made out in front of you and then made you extremely horny. Now, you could only imagine what would happen with the three of you in an actual relationship.

“Y/N, come watch netflix with us!” Jimin calls you to his room, and your eyes widen. You’ve been in their room before, but never totally alone. Your mom or dad would be in the house, but now you’re stuck with these two. 

“What are we watching?” You penguin-walk to Yoongi, who hoists you up onto the giant bed. Immediately you fall back from the weight of his knees forming a little disbalance on the mattress. It’s just a tiny ditch. 

“I thought you were gonna fall, be careful.” He lightly scolds you, before sitting back and getting cozy with Jimin as you stay in the middle, right between them.

“You guys are so warm.” You inhale their scents, taking in their musk and surprisingly sweet cologne. The strawberry scent must be coming from Jimin. The axe must be from Yoongi. Either way, you’re comfortable.

“No, you are.” Jimin pulls you in between his legs, peppering kisses all over your neck. Normally, you’d be turned on in the situation, but it’s completely innocent. You giggle as he tickles you with his faded blue hair and then you both get lost in each other’s eyes. You love his crescent shaped eyes, how he is a perfect mix of masculine and feminine, breaking all traditional roles of what it means to be a man in the modern world of 2020. If anything, his soft features are what makes him more “manly.” There’s no correct answer. He’s perfect the way he is, and you love the way his lips form a tiny pout, even when he’s happy.

“Just kiss already.” You both look over at Yoongi, who is more concerned with the movie playing on the screen than his two partners sharing a moment right next to him. You give Jimin a look as he leans in and finally closes the gap between you two.

[musicprincess1990]

Sherlolly prompt please? “For science!” and Friends to lovers!

Taken from my Trope Duos prompt list (prompts are now closed).  #16: “For Science!” and, #17: Friends to Lovers.

Two of my absolute favorite tropes together, you’d think it’d be easy to write… but NO, I stared at this prompt for WEEKS before I finally managed this fluffy bit of Teen!lock.  Please forgive my tardiness, and happy reading! (I hope…)

*

For Science

Molly Hooper.

Yes, she would make the perfect test subject.

For some weeks now, Sherlock had been forming an idea in his mind, an idea regarding his future.  He had no desire for the staid and proper career paths to which so many of his peers, and his superiors, subjected themselves.  He much preferred the idea of working on a freelance basis, particularly in regard to his field of choice: criminal justice.  Scotland Yard was out of the question, the “detectives” there were lazy at best, incurably stupid at worst.  No, he would be their consultant, offering a second (superior) pair of eyes whenever they were out of their depth.  It was quite genius, really.

Using the new memory technique he’d learned, Sherlock had begun constructing a palace within his mind, storing any and all information that might be relevant to his career.  Most of it could be found in books, on the internet, or buried within his subconscious, but there was one area in which these methods fell short.  Social and emotional context was best studied on another person, and also in person, with the subject providing both something to observe, and their own descriptions.

Which brought him back to Molly Hooper.  As a young woman who typically wore her heart on her sleeve, the observation aspect would be fairly easy, and despite her being a year behind him, she was in his chemistry class.  Therefore, she would provide much better insight than the other dullards in the school.

Also, there was the matter of her being his only friend.

Not that Sherlock minded, he couldn’t care less what the rest of the idiots in the school thought of him.  They were, as previously stated, idiots, and he aimed to keep such people at as far a distance as possible.  That said, it would be difficult to convince anyone with whom he was not on good terms to assist him in any experiments, much less this particular one.  Fortunately, he did have Molly, and her innate kindness and similar interest in the sciences substantially increased the chances of her accepting.

His decision made, Sherlock waited until lunch and sought her out in the dining hall.  As usual, he found her seated in a corner table, isolated from the rest of their classmates.  Unlike him, Molly actually liked people, but her shy disposition kept her from reaching out to them.  The two of them would never have been friends, had they not been assigned to one another as lab partners.  The year had set off to a rocky start (Molly timid and stammering and occasionally clumsy, Sherlock aloof and insistent that he preferred to work alone), but over time, he had grown to respect her intellect, so obviously above the cattle surrounding them.  In turn, she had found her strength, no longer stammered, and was unafraid of standing up to him.  Granted, some things had been easier before she’d grown a spine, but he found her much more interesting now, and, most surprising of all, she never bored him.

The focus of his thoughts lifted her head as he approached the table, her usual grin curling her lips.  “Hello, Sherlock!” she greeted cheerfully.

He offered a nod of his head, taking the seat opposite her.  “Molly.  Enjoying the roast pork?”

Molly glanced down at the barely-touched meat and gravy on her tray, wrinkling her nose.  “Not particularly, no.  The potatoes are rubbish as well.  Still,” she added, “it’s better than nothing, I suppose.”

“Mm, debatable,” he countered, and she rolled her eyes with a fond smile.

“Well, most of us need to eat regular meals, Sherlock.”

He groaned dramatically.  “How unbearably dull.”

Molly sniggered, then took a purposeful bite of the roast pork, holding his gaze the entire time.  She grimaced, but did not look away, even after she had swallowed the disgusting food.  “There, see?  I’m not afraid of doing unpleasant things.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her in response, then used her bold statement as his means of changing the subject.  “Speaking of which,” he began, “I have rather an unusual experiment I’m hoping to undertake, and I’ll need assistance.  After some consideration, I’ve decided you would be best suited to help me.”

It was Molly’s turn to lift an eyebrow.  “Had to sit and think about that one, did you?”

“Yes, well, I never said it was a lengthy period of consideration, did I?”

Molly speared another bite of pork.  “Right, come on then.  What’s this experiment?”

“Kissing.”

The fork clattered onto the tray, sending several drops of watery gravy splattering in all directions.  Sherlock frowned and scooted backwards to avoid the spray.  “What the hell was that about?”

Molly’s eyes, already bordering on too big for her face, nearly doubled in size.  “Y-you… you want to… that is…”

“Really, Molly, I thought we’d gotten past the stammering by now.”

“Don’t be a git, Sherlock,” she snapped, and he noted with satisfaction that her voice was much steadier.  “Explain yourself.”

Sherlock sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table (thankfully, the gravy eruption had not reached his side of the table).  “You already know my career plans, of course.”  She nodded in confirmation.  “It has recently come to my attention that certain behaviors, certain… reactions… would be most helpful to understand.  Particularly the reactions following specific forms of sexual stimuli.”

Molly blinked a few times.  “So… you want to know what it looks and feels like to be kissed?”

“That’s rather oversimplifying the matter, but… essentially, yes.”

She fixed her eyes on a spot of stray gravy, gnawing thoughtfully on her lower lip.  Sherlock waited, mustering no small amount of patience to do so, knowing if he pressed the matter, she would be far less agreeable.  Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his.  “This is all just… an experiment?  Strictly for science?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

Molly inhaled slowly, deeply through her nose, and Sherlock saw the decision in her eyes before she vocalized it.  “Okay.  I’ll do it.”

*

Two days later, on an unusually sunny Saturday, Sherlock and Molly took the weekly bus into the nearby town, and made for the most secluded spot available: a little cluster of trees within the town’s small park.  The boughs of four fir trees, standing close together, created a nearly fully enclosed space, the gaps just wide enough to slip through sideways.  Molly grinned to herself at the smell of pine and earth, grateful for the memories and the brief distraction it brought.  Too brief, she mused, as Sherlock sidled in behind her, reminding her of the reason for this unorthodox destination.

Her nerves were sky-high as he invaded her space, his fingers gently closing around her upper arm to turn her around.  Molly didn’t meet his eyes immediately, opting to focus on his shirt buttons (bad idea, they were straining to keep their place against his surprisingly toned torso), counting to three in her mind before finally lifting her head.

…And finding the same nervousness in his face..

“Right,” he murmured, his voice breaking so slightly, she thought she must have imagined it.  “So… shall we?”

Molly swallowed thickly.  “Well, ah…  first let’s… let’s talk about some of the… chemical reactions.  You’ve done, erm, some research on that?”

“Yes,” he said a bit too loudly, clearly grateful for the delay.  He cleared his throat.  “Preliminary research indicates that the act of kissing another human being produces a flood of dopamine, serotonin, and, in cases of great affection in one or both parties, oxytocin.”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.  “What else?”

“Physiological signs of this release of chemicals include flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, elevated pulse, and labored, erratic breathing.  And, in the male’s case, there may even be an erection.”

Molly fought the embarrassed blush that bloomed beneath her cheeks at his use of… that word.  “Right, well… I think that, erm… just about covers it.”

Sherlock, whose expression had become passive as he recited the science behind kissing, snapped his gaze in her direction.  He looked… well, he looked properly terrified, to be honest, like she’d just told him his mother was coming for an impromptu visit (which had happened once, though the headmaster had been the one to inform him, rather than Molly).  Certainly not for the first time, Molly wondered if this really was such a good idea.  Yes, she’d secretly fancied Sherlock since she clapped eyes on him.  Yes, she’d fantasized about snogging him on numerous occasions, though usually in a more romantic setting.  And yes, she was also aware that this was as close to that fantasy as she would ever get.  But if he was going to be miserable the whole time… she couldn’t do it.

“Look, Sherlock, we don’t have to do this.  I know you want to gain as much knowledge as you can, anything that might help your career, but if you don’t want to kiss me—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted her, his eyes downcast.

“Oh… then… you do want to?”

“No.”

“No?” she parroted back, just a little bit hurt.

He hesitated, a familiar little crinkle forming between his brows as he pondered this.  Molly had a feeling that crinkle would become much more prominent in a few years, as often as she saw it.  Finally, he looked at her, his crystalline eyes wide and worried.  “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

Molly paused, waiting for the rest of his explanation… but after a few moments of silence, it became clear that that was the whole explanation.  “Well, I sort of knew that… I mean, if you had, you wouldn’t be carrying out a snogging experiment, would you?”

Sherlock was perfectly still for fully ten seconds, before finally asking, “So… you don’t mind?”

“Of course not!” she laughed, taking care that she didn’t come off as mocking him.  “It’s not like I’ve been snogging boys left and right myself.  I’ve only had one real boyfriend, and... well... you know how that turned out.”

“Hm, yes I remember,” he mused.  "How is dear Jim faring in prison, I wonder?"

"Who cares?" she muttered.  "My point is, you don't need to be self-conscious."

"I'm not…" he began, but cut himself off when he saw the look of annoyance Molly gave him.  "Okay, fine.  I may be the slightest bit out of my depth here "

Molly smiled.  "I should be recording this."

"Don't make jokes, Molly."

"Don't be a prat, Sherlock."

"I'm not—" he was cut off again, this time by Molly, who had abruptly grabbed his face and crushed her lips against his.  Sherlock instinctively closed his eyes as his mind raced to process all the new data and stimuli presented to him.

Warm… soft… smells like cinnamon… wonder if she tastes like it too?  As if reading his thoughts, Molly's lips parted on a breathy sigh, and Sherlock slid his tongue out to taste her.  Mmm, yes, tastes like cinnam—oh, God…  Her hands had drifted upward, fingers carding through his hair, and he simultaneously shivered and flushed, heat spreading all the way down to his toes.

In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that he was supposed to be doing something… but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was.  All he could think was, not enough.  She wasn't close enough, he wasn't touching her enough.  Well, he soon remedied that, firmly locking his arms around her and lifting her off the ground.  Molly gasped against his lips, and the sound sent another flash of heat through him.  A quiet groan met his ears, and as her wide, startled eyes met his, he realized it had come from him.

They remained still, eyes locked and panting for breath, before Sherlock slowly lowered Molly back to the ground.  His arms dropped limply by his sides, and she took a step backward, avoiding his gaze.  At one point, her eyes did stray in his direction, and the pink blush on her cheeks darkened.  Sherlock followed the trajectory id that embarrassed glance, and found—oh.  Well, he had been enjoying himself, hadn't he?

"I-I’m sorry," she stammered.

He frowned.  "Why on earth are you sorry?"

Molly shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at him.  "I dunno… I just… it's fine," she mumbled quietly as her arms wrapped around her middle.

Sherlock watched her begin to shrink into herself, and felt a painful tug against his navel.  In his current, befuddled state, he did not pause to think about what he was doing, he simply acted.  His hands found her shoulders, gently pulling her back toward him. She stiffened, and he held his breath, as if the slightest puff of air would send her running.  Her dark eyes lifted, and finally, the scientific portion of his brain kicked in, noting the physiological signs in her.  Eyes dilated… face flushed… breathing irregular… his left hand shifted slowly up along her neck… elevated pulse.

He couldn't help the gratified smirk he felt stretching across his face.  Molly's eyebrowed pulled together in confusion.  "I'm afraid the results of this experiment were rather… inconclusive."  Cradling her face in both hands, he bent his head, his intent obvious.  "Further study is required."

Molly grinned, all shyness cast aside, and her fingers toyed with the collar of his coat.  "Well… I suppose I can manage that.  In the name of science," she added with mock seriousness.

Sherlock dove in and captured her lips again, hoisting her up off her feet as he had before.  This time, Molly's legs wrapped around his waist, and she eagerly kissed him back.  And as the endorphins and hormones flooded his brain once more, Sherlock decided this was easily the best idea he'd ever had.

[softboywriting]

Ready | Shawn Mendes

Summary: Shawn is the love of your life, and it’s about time you told him. [anxiety talk] [fluff] [friends to lovers] [non-au] [inspired by Joy by Bastille]

Word Count: 1.7k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn has always been your light. He's the one person who can change your mood instantly. Everything about him is warm, inviting, cozy. His aura is so strong with love it's intoxicating. For this you are lucky, because you don't have that sort of presence, at least you don't think so.

It's morning, early judging by the light coming through the kitchen window. You stare at the tile across from you, eyes aching from the night before. Never thought you'd be here, this low, this down. You don't know when you decided to give up, not sure how you ended up on the kitchen floor. But here you are.

Your dog Bumble waddles into the kitchen, his nails tip tapping on the cold tile. He's a chunky little pug, always happy to see you, even happier when you're at his level as you are now. He walks over and plops down in the bend of your waist where your knees are pulled up.

"Hey Bum, what're you doing up so early?" You scratch under his collar and he lolls his tongue out. "You don't ever-" The sound of your phone ringing cuts you off and you look into the living room through the open doorway. Bumble being awake makes sense now. Your phone is still on the charger from last night and it's probably been ringing all morning. There is no doubt in your mind who's calling, because there is only one person who it could be.

You push up off the floor, body protesting as you do so. Tile does not make a great bed. Bumble follows after you as you head to the small living area and grab your phone off the arm of the sofa. Sure enough, two missed calls, both from Shawn.

"How do you always know?" You ask when Shawn answers your redial.

A chuckle. Such a sweet sound. "Because I know what you're like when you have an anxiety attack. You don't answer the phone and you disappear from your social media. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm stiff, but otherwise okay."

"Where'd you end up?"

You glance over to the kitchen and shake your head. "Kitchen floor. I must have laid down with Bumble. I don't really remember."

"That's not good. Have you been to the doctor recently?"

"No. It's been fine lately, I just...I just got overwhelmed last night."

Shawn sighs and you know he doesn't mean to sound disappointed. He knows the struggle of anxiety, he's been there and back. You have the same doctor as him and for good reason, she's the best and Shawn recommended her to you. "Can I come over?"

"You're home?"

"Yes. Can I?"

"Please."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Coffee?"

"Decaf." You stand and wander into the kitchen where Bumble is sitting by his food bowl. "Can you get a treat for Bum? I'm out."

"Absolutely. I'll be there soon."

"Thank you, Shawn."

"Always."

______________________

Opening the door to your apartment and seeing Shawn is a relief like no other. The rush of seeing someone you love is unmatchable. He's smiling, those gorgeous perfect teeth showing themselves to the world behind his way too pink lips. His little scar and dimples are beautiful, highlighted by the bright hall light. Gods above he is truly the most perfectly imperfect man you've laid eyes on. You're so lucky to have him in your life.  

"I mean this in the nicest way but, you look like hell." Shawn says softly, handing you a red paper cup of coffee. "You should have called me."

"I couldn't. You know how it is."

"I know." He tucks your hair back and cups your cheek. "I remember how it felt, hopeless, exhausting. I'm here now okay?"

You wrap your arms around him, careful with the cup in your hand and he holds your head to his chest. "I didn't even know you were in town. You've been in LA so much I was sure you were gone."

"I've been recording at Teddy's place. We've been doing so much it's crazy. The album is coming along so quickly, I decided to step away, come home and slow down a little."

You take a deep breath and relax into him, losing yourself in the familiar scent. He's like home. Warm, spicy, just Shawn. That's all there is to it. He just smells like him, like he always has. "Do you have plans while you're home?"

"Nope, nothing yet."

"No plans with your parents or um...the girl?"

Shawn pulls back and looks down at you. He tilts your head up and you stare at him. "What girl?"

"The one you were seeing. The one in LA? She didn't come back with you?"

"There is no girl." He chuckles softly. "What tabloids are you reading?"

"But you were seen out with someone, I saw pictures of you at a bar with Niall and some girl."

Shawn shakes his head. "Oh, you mean Brit? She's one of the ladies I work with in LA. A friend of Teddy's. We were not going out together, no, she's uh not interested in me."

"Oh but you're interested in her?"

"I mean she's cute and I might have been, until I found out she's got a girlfriend." Shawn smiles sweetly. "You're jealous."

You pull away, gripping your cup with both hands as you cross the living room toward the kitchen. "I am not."

"Liar." He says, following after you and cutting you off just as you walk through the archway to the kitchen. "You are, or you wouldn't have mentioned her."

"I was curious."

"Curious, jealous, same thing."

"Is not."

Shawn let's out a heavy sigh and sets his cup on the small dining table. "Was this about me?"

"What?"

"This," he gestures to you as a whole. "The anxiety attack. Was it about me? Because you knew I was in LA. You thought I was seeing someone. You asked about her as soon as I get here. It seems a little coincidental that it would be unrelated."

You swallow hard and bite the inside of your cheek. Fuck him. Fuck him for seeing right through you. You want to tell him he's wrong, that it was nothing, that it was just an anxiety attack from the stress of work and life. You want to shout at him, angry because he's calling you out. Tears sting your eyes, threatening to spill over and then they do.

"Hey," Shawn says quietly, taking the cup from your hands as they begin to shake. "Talk to me."

"I can't." You whimper, voice broken as you fight back tears.

"Am I wrong about my speculation?"

You shake your head.

"You know that you and I can be together. You know you hold the power to change this from a friendship to a relationship, I gave you that decision ages ago."

"But-"

"No buts." Shawn wipes your cheeks with his thumbs as he cup your face. "Are you ready to do this?"

"I don't know."

"What's your hesitations?"

"Distance. Fans." You sniff and he nods for you to go on. "Insecurity."

"What makes you insecure?"

"I'm not...like...y'know."

"No, I don't know." Shawn walks you back into the living room and pulls you down on to the couch with him. "Tell me."

"I'm not good enough. I'm not like a model or pretty or talented like Hailee or Taylor. I'm just...I'm me."

"You think I want them?" He slides his hand over yours, lifting it and putting your palms together. "I want a woman who knows me. Whose hand has always fit in mine. Someone who understands what it's like when I'm down and who makes me laugh without even trying." He slides his fingers over so he can curl them between yours. "I want the one who makes me feel like I'm home every time I hear her voice, and makes me think about her every time I see something she likes."

"Shawn."

"I'm not done." He brings your joined hands up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. "I want the one who says I love you by putting socks on my feet before bed when I stay the night because she knows they'll get cold. The one who makes my favorite pancakes whenever she knows I'm going to come home." He smiles to himself and shakes his head. "The one who reminds me of who I am and where I came from and grounds me faster than anything in the world when I'm stressed and spinning out of control. I want you. I've always wanted you."

You stare at him, eyes fixed on his. It's no secret that he's in love with you. It never has been, but you've never believed it. You thought one day he would find someone better, someone without occasional anxiety problems, someone beautiful and smart and funny. You never thought that it would be you, that he would actually mean the words he said time and time again. He knows this. It's why he gave you the power to decide what you want from him. Yet here he is, reading you like a book, knowing your thoughts as if they were his own. It's time you decide what to do.

"I know I've said it before, time and time again, but I'm saying it again. I love you, I always have and I always will."

You take a deep breath and look away. This is the part where you usually stay quiet. When you choke down the words he needs to hear. The words that will change everything. You clench your jaw, tears coming once more and you let out a soft sob. Say it. You have to. It's time. It's time to make him yours.

"I love you too." You say in nothing more than a broken whisper, eyes darting across his chest, looking everywhere but his face.

"Louder."

"I love you." You lift your head and stare him dead in the eye. He's crying. Your heart aches, hands shaking. "I love you Shawn. I always have."

"It's about time." He grins and cradles your face, leaning in to kiss you. "This is the beginning then?"

"Yes. Finally." You smile and he just smiles back, head against yours. "I took my time I suppose."

"You did." He kisses you softly. "But you're worth it."

End.

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

Thank you so much for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed, want to save it, or just b/c you read it. Thank you again! -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[before-we-get-started]

Dream Come True

Colin Shea x O/C Corinne MacAdam

Multi-Chapter Story - Complete

Summary: Colin Shea and his band Rock the Cradle are finally making it big - until something unexpected happens. When he meets a girl that makes him reconsider his player ways, he thinks his life may be coming together, until she blows it apart.

Warning: Bad language, smut, suicidal ideations - no one under 18, please

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please do not read if you are underage. I do not own the character of Colin Shea; the rest are my original characters. By reading beyond this point, you understand the disclaimers as posted.

Chapter Five

On Monday, she woke up with a new outlook. Today she’d start a new job, something much different than working for the events management company. Serving as personal assistant to a family friend, an heiress and philanthropist, eccentric and a spinster, but a very nice woman. Cori’s mother had reminded her that her new boss, Ms. Robbins, was prone to mood swings (and forgetting things), but that she’d treat her fairly and appreciate her hard work.

On a whim on Sunday, she’d decided to color her hair. She bought a kit and gave herself light blonde highlights, lightening the chestnut brown. She looked as if she’d been out in the sun, as if maybe she had a healthy outdoor lifestyle, not like she’d been holed up feeling sorry for herself for months.

She dressed in a chocolate brown business suit with a cream blouse, a bow tied at the neck. She put on her brown pumps and some with the crème filigreed toe accent and grabbed her purse. For good luck, she put on the pearl drop earrings her parents had gotten her for her 16th birthday. She’d prepped her lunch the night before and grabbed the thermal bag from the frig, along with her travel coffee mug. She had plenty of time to make the T to the Back Bay neighborhood where Ms. Robbins lived.

As she’d finished getting ready, “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves had been playing on the radio. She found herself singing it softly as she left the apartment. “I’m walking on sunshine – yeah!” she sang, a little louder than she planned, as the door to 6A opened. Colin emerged in his boxers. He bent down to pick up a newspaper, then stood up and took a good look at her as she walked by.

“Mornin’ 6C,” he said with that gorgeous smile. His eyes ran over her from head to toe and she could almost feel it.

She smiled back, gazing over her shoulder as she walked by. “Mornin’ 6A. Have a good day.” She kept walking down the stairs, her optimism bubbling up. What a great way to start the day – Colin in his boxers. She smiled to herself, descending the stairs, holding on to the wooden rail. She looked up just long enough to see Colin, arms on the railing, leaning over to watch her.

“You have a good day, too,” he said, lingering as she bounced her way down and out of the building.

Ms. Robbins lived in a huge terracotta brick home on Newton Street. The house had been divided up into condos and she occupied the entire first floor. It was just her and Yaz, her Yorkie (Ms. Robbins was a lifelong Red Sox fan). Cori had been to her home twice before – once as a child for a dinner party, and once a few weeks ago for her job interview. She entered the front door and rang the bell at the door on her left, the entry to Ms. Robbins’ home.

“’S open!”

Cori entered and walked into the main living area, adorned with floral wallpaper in greens and blues. Wood three-quarter round trim stained a honey color trimmed the room and honey colored hardwoods peeked out from a solid blue area rug. There was a Steinway piano, a Victorian couch and chair and a coffee table in the room, along with built-in shelves that held items from around the world, secured during Ms. Robbins’ travels.

“It’s Cori,” she said in a singsong voice. Yaz came streaking into the room, yapping ferociously. She bent down and petted the silky hair around the blue bow tied around a small tuft on his head. He returned the gesture with little licks to her hand.

“Good morning!” Ms. Robbins had cornered the market on brocade dresses. Every time Cori had ever seen her, she was in some type of beautiful brocade. Today’s was a kelly green/ecru paisley that was beautiful against her ivory skin and auburn hair. In her mid-60’s, she was medium height and quite fit, a few lines on her porcelain skin but they weren’t too noticeable with her impeccable makeup. She was holding a number of envelopes as she entered the room.

She hugged Cori and extended her arms, getting a look at her. “Cori, you look absolutely gorgeous. I’m so excited we’ll be working together.”

Cori smiled. “I am too Ms. Robbins. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

“I’m going to keep you busy,” she said. “Now let me show you around so we can get to work.” She led Cori through a formal dining room, complete with a giant ornate wood table and chairs, into a kitchen that had obviously been recently remodeled. Tall white cabinets, a beautiful light gray granite and a white subway tile backsplash, with larger square ceramic tiles and a beautiful mosaic tile providing a pop of color behind the large stainless Bertazzoni range. The kitchen was immaculate – Cori wondered if any food had ever actually been prepared in the room.

“You can put your lunch bag here,” she said, pointing to the giant SubZero frig, “and are you a coffee drinker?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Cori said, shaking her travel mug in front of her.

“Wonderful! I have a coffee station here, there are an assortment of flavors. Lots of creamer in the frig. Help yourself,” she said, waving her arm in front of the high-end coffee maker like it was up for bids on The Price is Right.

She showed Cori the powder room and where she could store her coat and any other items she brought with her. “I want you to feel at home. Help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. If you can’t find something, just let me know. Mi casa, su casa,” she said with a smile.

Cori felt a surge of excitement, for the hospitality and for the unknown opportunity that lied ahead.

They made their way to the office, just off the living area with beautiful French doors in the same honey wood. The walls were done in a green wallpaper with wide green velvet stripes. The honey floors carried in and there was a large mahogany desk, built-in bookcases behind it and a high-backed leather office chair.

“This is your workspace now,” Ms. Robbins said. “You’ll find a variety of office supplies in the desk and in the cabinet on the wall. If what you need isn’t here, make a list and – well – I’ll send you out to buy it,” she smiled.

Cori laughed. “Yes ma’am,” she said with a laugh.

“And how about if you call me Amelia. ‘Ma’am’ and ‘Ms. Robbins’ make me feel old.”

“Ok Amelia,” she said. “I love that name.”

“And I love yours. My mother’s name was Corinne. I’m named after my father’s mother. Thank goodness, my mother’s mother was Agatha.” They both laughed.

“I thought we’d operate this way – this new laptop is yours. You can use it here and take it home if you ever need to work after hours. In this book (she opened a leather-bound journal), there are sections. The first will be for your schedule. I’ve written what I’d like you to do this week here,” she said, pointing at a page behind the first tab. “The second section will be for lists. I’ve written this week’s date and a list of items I need you to purchase. The third section will be for your hours. Sign in and out each day, and be sure to include any evening or weekend hours, there will eventually be some. I’ll check it on Fridays, send the hours to my accountant and he’ll transfer money to your account on Monday morning, so pay weekly. Does that work?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “That works perfectly.”

“Great. Whenever you need to go out, Gerald will be available with the car. Let’s take today to get you familiar with the house, the neighborhood and the things I’ll expect you to do. We’ll have lunch on Beacon Hill today because it’s so gorgeous out and tomorrow will be your first actual day with work.”

And so the day progressed, Ms. Robbins doing all the things she promised. After getting familiar with more of the house and where things were stored, they sat in the office and discussed her upcoming calendar and events, and the other tasks she’d expect Cori to accomplish. At 11 a.m. they walked out front where Gerald and the car were waiting. They climbed in the back and Ms. Robbins directed the driver to “run the tour route.” They wove through the streets of the neighborhood and those that bordered. She showed Cori her preferred market, florist, office supply store and other shops. Cori made notes as they went. When they’d finished the tour, the driver stopped in front of a bistro in Beacon Hill with a low brick wall that surrounded a courtyard full of outdoor tables under bright red umbrellas.

“Ms. Robbins, so good to see you. Right this way.” The host showed them to a table tucked away in the back corner of the courtyard. Almost as soon as they were seated, a server set glasses of ice water and iced tea in front of them with a little bowl of lemon wedges. The host handed Cori a menu.

“Will you be having your usual today?” the host asked.

“Yes Phillip. But please give Ms. MacAdam a minute to look.”

“Of course.” The host left the table, passing another server who set a two baskets on the table, one with fresh hot breadsticks in a linen cloth bed and the other little pats of cold butter.

Cori inhaled the smell of the fresh bread, closing her eyes.

“A carb girl, a girl after my own heart,” Ms. Robbins said, pulling out two breadsticks and handing one to Cori.

“Maybe just one,” she said, using her knife to cut off a small wedge of butter and smearing it on the breadstick. She took a bite. “Oh my gosh,” she said softly.

“I know, right?” said Ms. Robbins. “Those breadsticks are my spirit animal.” They both laughed.

Cori chose a salmon salad with a lemon vinaigrette and Ms. Robbins got her usual Salad Niçoise and they chatted away, talking about Beacon Hill, their favorite Boston eateries, Cori’s family, and eventually, Cori’s recent past.

“I saw your mother last year at a benefit and she said you had found your dream job with Spalding Events. Was it not what you had hoped?”

Cori suddenly felt panicked. Ms. Robbins obviously didn’t know what had happened to her, or that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life when he banged her best friend the night before their wedding. Just the thought of all of it made her a little dizzy. She took a deep breath. Get it together.

“It was wonderful, but I was in an accident-“

Ms. Robbins gasped quietly and reached for her hand. “Oh dear, are you ok?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “I am now. I actually stepped off the curb and got hit by a cab.”

This time the gasp was much more audible. “My word! Cori! That’s horrifying!”

“It was,” she said softly. “I suffered some serious injuries. The folks at Spalding were kind enough to let me keep working from home once I was able. But I had to do a lot of physical therapy, I moved back in with my parents. Honestly, I just needed a fresh start.” She left out the part about Matthew and Amber.

Ms. Robbins kept her hand on Cori’s, patting it softly. “I’m so glad you’re ok. I can’t imagine what your parents must have gone through as well. Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I called. She said they’d have you back in a minute.”

“That’s really nice of them,” she said.

“Well, don’t worry. I know events are your specialty. We’ll start out slow but eventually, you’ll be planning my events. I love to entertain and especially to raise money for my foundation. You’ll be able to put that experience to work and for lots of good causes.”

Cori felt a rush of giddiness. Her own events. She loved the sound of that. This was exactly what she needed, what she’d hoped for.

“I can’t wait,” she said with a giggle.

“Good! Now, tell me, if I keep you late or ask you to work on weekends, will I be imposing on a relationship with your significant other? I understand that you have a life.”

The smile ran away from her face. “No, no significant other.”

“Well, then we’ll have more than one goal for our events, won’t we?” she said with a smile.

They finished lunch, which was delicious, and the driver took them back to Newton Street. The rest of the day was spent getting familiar with the office, files she’d need, Ms. Robbins’ rolodex and books from some of her previous events. There were photos and agendas and a list of all the companies used for each event. She recognized lots of them from working at Spalding.

Five o’clock was here before she knew it and she grabbed her bag and headed for the T. She left her lunch bag for tomorrow. The ride home was easy and she ascended the stairs of her apartment building, headed for the sixth floor. On Saturday night during the party, her neighbors said the elevator is almost always out. She was glad it was working when her father helped her move in.

She reached her floor and stared at 6A. She wondered if Colin was home, and if so, what he was doing. Impulsively, she knocked on his door. After a bit, he answered. He was in a Patriots t-shirt and athletic shorts, barefoot, his hair spikey and messy. He looked like maybe he hadn’t been awake for very long.

“Hey! How was your first day?” he said, smiling.

“Really good,” she said. “Very good. Hey, I was thinking, maybe you could come for dinner one night this week. You can tell me about your neighborhood watch program.”

He smiled. “You’ll be a good recruit and I never turn down a free meal. So yes.”

“Great, how about Wednesday at 7?”

“I’ll be there.”

As Cori walked away, she saw a leggy blonde coming off the last step and turning towards Colin’s door. She peered over her shoulder and saw him embrace her, then they shared a long, deep kiss. She noticed his long eyelashes laying on high cheekbones when he closed his eyes for the kiss. Cori felt her knees go weak. She wished for a second she was a leggy blonde.

“You came,” he said. “Nicole, right?”

“Nina,” the blonde corrected him.

“Yeah, Nina. Come on in.” He held the door open for her, placing his hand on the small of her back as she walked in. He looked over at Cori. “Night 6C.”

“Good night,” she replied. The door clicked behind him. Cori unlocked the door and went in, spending the rest of the evening thinking about that kiss. It wouldn’t be as good as the one she got from her mystery man, but she bet it was close.

Tuesday was a normal day, learning and exploring at work, then on Wednesday, she ran to the market after getting off the train to grab a few items. She was in by 5:30, giving her some time to prep dinner. She loved to cook. She wasn’t a chef by any means but she could hold her own. She’d decided to prepare a margherita pasta with shrimp for tonight, with a salad and strawberry shortcakes for dessert. She took a quick shower, put on a little makeup, pulled her hair up in a messy bun after dressing in jeans and an emerald green cold shoulder shirt and jeans and headed for the kitchen. She chopped tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil, seared the shrimp and boiled the pasta. She tossed the romaine salad with some vinaigrette. She set the table, opened a bottle of white wine and put it in an ice bucket, filled two glasses with ice water and as she was setting them on the table, there was a knock at the door.

She glanced in the mirror next to the door – she looked as good as she could, she supposed. She unlocked the door then opened it.

“Hey,” he said. She gasped softly. He was in a cobalt blue button up shirt, black belt, jeans and boots. There was a thin silver chain around his neck, a small silver medallion resting in the valley between his defined pecs. The edge of a tattoo peeked out where the shirt was unbuttoned. His hair was styled. He handed her a small bouquet of fresh flowers. “For you.”

She smiled, a smile that lit up her whole face, and took the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Come in.” She stepped out of the way and he walked the few steps in, making the step down into her living/dining room.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here,” he said, making a show of sniffing the air. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t in cardboard or Styrofoam.”

“I hope you like shrimp – and pasta,” she said.

“That sounds great,” he replied.

She pulled a vase out of the cabinet, added a little water and put the flowers in, setting them in the middle of the table. “Everything is ready,” she said, extending her arm toward the table. He sat down at one of the place settings and picked up the napkin, unfolding it and placing it in his lap.

“So how was day three?” he asked.

She pulled the pan of pasta from the stove and set in on the table. “Really good,” she said.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m a personal assistant for Amelia Robbins. She’s heir to Robbins Manufacturing. She has a house over in Back Bay.”

“Wow, nice neighborhood,” he said, eyeing the pasta she was putting on his plate.

“Very nice. She lives in a huge building full of condos. Her home is the entire first floor. It’s really pretty,” she said.

“So what kind of assistant stuff are you doing?”

“I run errands, do some shopping, manage her calendar. Eventually I’ll be her event planner. She hosts a number of fundraisers for non-profits throughout the year.”

He twisted the pasta around his fork and took a bite, stopping abruptly. He spoke but the words were unintelligible with a mouthful of food.

“What?” she said laughing.

He chewed and swallowed. “I said Holy Shit, this is amazing!” He loaded another fork full and shoveled it in. “Absolutely delicious.”

She was pleased. The evening would suck if the food was bad.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, taking her own bite. It did taste pretty good.

They talked a little more about her job and then she asked about the band.

“So, what’s the name of your band?”

“Oh, Rock the Cradle – like, Boston is the Cradle of Liberty, and we definitely rock.”

“If I wanted to hear you, where would I go?”

“Finnegan’s, O’Leary’s, Rap’s, local bars,” he said.

“Mm,” she hummed as she finished a bite of pasta. “I’m envious. I always wanted to be in a band. I took piano and played in orchestra in high school. It must be great to take the stage and play your own music.”

He sighed, smiling broadly. “It is,” he said as he put his hand over his chest. “It’s the most incredible feeling. I’m addicted.”

“I’ll bet! And I’m sure you have a pretty incredible stage presence.”

“Well, I don’t mind bragging but yeah, I can wrap an audience up, no problem.”

Cori was impressed. “Just think, when you get that record deal, you’ll already be great at performing live.”

His face dropped then. He looked down at his plate. “We took a break for a while a few months ago. There were some things I had to work through.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did the break help?” She couldn’t help but wonder – guys in bands were often partiers. Did he have a drinking problem? Drugs? He didn’t seem the type, but you never knew what someone else was going through. She stirred the fork around in her plate. “If you guys are that good, I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”

He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly, like a little boy. “It gave me some time to think, and yeah, exactly. I tell the guys that all the time.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

She smiled, feeling sad for him. He was obviously incredibly disappointed. That sweet smile was gone and she found herself wanting to give him a hug. “Probably get a better record deal next time anyway.”

He smiled. “Exactly. That’s what I told the guys. Everything happens for a reason.” He pulled the fork across his plate, scraping up the last possible bite.

She smiled, happy he liked it so much. “Dessert?” she said sweetly.

His face suddenly shifted and through hooded blue eyes, he smirked and purred, “I never turn down dessert.”

Cori felt the heat flush her cheeks. “Sorry to disappoint you, just strawberry shortcake.”

He laughed. “Ok, I’ll settle for that.”

He picked up the plates from the table and took them to the sink while she pulled the sponge cake, strawberries and whipped cream from the frig. She pulled two ramekins from the cabinet and with a knife, cut circles of cake to fit in the little cups. Colin stood next to her at the counter, peering over her shoulder.

“That looks so good,” he said, reaching over and sticking his finger in the whipped cream. She pulled the bowl away from him.

“Patience,” she laughed. “Go sit.”

He strode to the couch, dropping himself against the throw pillows.

Cori thought about how comfortable all of this was. Dinner together, easy banter, affectionate looks. Everything she thought she’d have by now, with Matthew.

She stared down at her hands and sighed. Colin was sweet and dangerously sexy, but he was just another Matthew. Having a variety of girls was his trademark. Besides, she wasn’t even in the league with the other girls she’d seen at his place.

She shook her head to clear the thought and grabbed two spoons, carrying their desserts to the couch.

Colin admired the sweet treat as she handed it to him. “You’re one incredible cook,” he said, dipping his spoon in and snagging a little of each layer. He hummed as he enjoyed the first bite. “Man, I could get used to this,” he said, smiling at her.

“Well, stay on my good side and I’ll fatten you up.”

He laughed. “Hey, the body is part of the show. But I’ll take my chances.”

They finished and she took their cups. She was so enjoying his company, she spoke before she could think about it. “So, I was thinking, if you want, maybe we could watch a movie or play a game or something.”

Colin glanced at his watch and made a face, then bounced off the couch up the step to the front door and peered through the peephole. “Shit.”

“Everything ok?”

He stepped down from the door. “Can I take a raincheck? I need to get out of here.”

She hoped the disappointment that washed over her didn’t show. “Of course,” she said.

“Great. You’re the best. Thanks – for the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” He reached for her to pull her into a hug and as he touched her arm, they both felt as if lightning shot through them.

Colin jumped back. “Damn, what the hell?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know. The two of us together are dangerous,” she said with a smile.

He grinned and looked a little sad. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks again.” He unlocked the locks on the door and left, pulling it closed behind him.

She was a little dazed, lightheaded even after the moment. She hadn’t noticed any static electricity anywhere else. That was an enormous charge. She stepped up to the door and peered through the peephole. Her heart dropped. Colin’s back was to her and he was wrapped around another leggy blonde. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her tongue was down his throat. He turned them around, never breaking the kiss, fumbled with the doorknob and opened the door, pulling her inside. The door closed.

She was right. Not even close to being in his league. She stepped down into the kitchen to clean up.

Monday morning’s alarm rang and she trudged through her normal routine. As she unlocked her door to leave, she heard voices in the hallway.

“I can’t. Look, I would if I could but I’ve got something else going on.”

“Colin, you always do this. I want to go on a date. A real date. You know I only want to be with you.” The voice was female.

She slowly opened the door, embarrassed to intrude on their conversation, but she had to go to work. She slowly stepped out, the conversation continuing.

“I appreciate that,” he purred, running his hands down her bare arms. She had raven hair that was pulled into a ponytail, tight yoga pants and a spandex workout top, her curves on display. “But there’s so much going on with the band, I just don’t have the time right now. You know I like you Brittany –“

“Brianna,” she corrected him.

He smiled that megawatt smile. “Yeah, Brianna.” He fidgeted a little as if trying to come up with what to say next.

Cori suddenly felt brave and started around the bannister. “Hey Colin,” she purred, smiling at him. “Tonight’s still date night, right?” She winked at him and kept walking, saying “See you at 7,” as she made her way down the stairs. She could still hear their conversation.

“You’re dating someone else! You said you weren’t!” Brianna was angry.

“No, she was just kidding,” Colin pleaded. “I’m not dating anyone. But my door is always open for you Brianna,” he said in the sexy low voice.

“As if,” she sniffed. “Goodbye Colin.” Cori could hear her stomping down the stairs above her. She stifled a laugh.

The week was going by quickly. Cori had joined her parents for dinner at one of their favorite spots and had just gotten home for the evening.

“I must’ve pissed you off pretty good, eating and running the other night.” Colin had opened his door and stood in the doorframe as she walked past.

“What do you mean?” she said with a smile.

“I mean telling that girl it was date night,” he said. She looked at him and there was a grin where she thought there might be anger.

“Hey, I was just doing you a favor. She left, didn’t she?”

“She sure did,” he laughed. “I’m sorry about the other night. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to do. You took the time to cook for me, I could’ve at least stayed and helped clean up.”

“Not a big deal,” she said, unlocking the door. She smiled at him, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. This was all they’d ever have, this banter back and forth, neighbors. She knew how big her crush was every time she saw him with another girl. Why was she attracted to guys she couldn’t have?

“You know,” he said, coming around the bannister towards her, “we could pick it up tonight, maybe watch a movie?”

She hesitated before answering. She had the luxury of the day off tomorrow, a three-day weekend. Ms. Robbins was going out of town and told her to take a break. She had turned the alarm off on her phone the moment she got the news, a Friday to sleep in. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him. “Sure.”

“Great!” he said and when she opened the door, she could feel him behind her he was so close. His woody, musky scent filled her nose. She felt something wash over, something she hadn’t felt for such a long time, a longing. She thought about the girls she’d seen wrapped around him, kissing him.

She’d never wished so badly she was someone else before. Would she ever be comfortable in her own skin, and not so desperate for her sexy neighbor?

As he walked past her into the living room, he ran his hand above her waist and once again, a shock went through them both that nearly knocked them off of their feet. Colin stumbled forward, catching himself on the sofa, Cori bracing against the kitchen counter.

“What the hell is up with your apartment?” he asked, rubbing his hand. “You need to have the super check your power. Something is definitely up.”

She caught her breath. “Maybe that’s my built-in ‘hands off’ alarm,” she said with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in a trap like those other girls and get all disappointed.” She’d tried saying it as a joke but her voice sounded sad.

“Look, I’m always honest with anyone I’m with. I don’t want anything long term. I like girls, I’m like any other guy. I just don’t have the desire to be with anyone for very long. I tried that once and it didn’t work. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Must’ve gotten your heart broken pretty badly,” she said, trying to hide the sadness from her own failure.

“Against my better judgment I got involved with someone I thought might be the one. I was wrong. We wanted different things. Brought me right back to plan A,’ he said, bending down to look at DVDs on her shelf. “Besides, when the band takes off and we hit the road, the last thing I want is to leave someone behind and not be able to enjoy myself.”

“Well, I’ll give you that. At least you’re honest. And you’re not playing the field while you’ve got a fiancée on the string.” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, pissed at the tears that were burning at her eyes.

He stood up, a concerned look on his face. “Did that happen to you?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said, barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, really meaning it. “That sucks.”

“It does. And with my best friend, no less.”

“Ouch.”

She looked at him, willing the tears away that were rimming her eyes. “Pretty much almost ended my life, at least it felt like it. All of this, the apartment, the job, it’s just me trying to get a fresh start. It’s like I don’t know where I belong.”

He gave her that adorable half smile. “You seem like a great girl Cori. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. And if you need someone to get you back in the saddle, I’m always available for a ride,” he smiled.

Her face broke into a smile. “That’s THE worst pick up line EVER!” she laughed and he laughed too.

“Yeah, that was bad even for me,” he said, running his hand through his spikey hair to the back of his neck, letting it linger there. Every move he made turned her on. This was torture.

“Ok,” he said, desperate to change the subject and spinning towards the TV. “I suggest a comedy, nothing too heavy tonight.”

“Agree!” She pulled two bottles of beer from the frig and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. When it was done, she joined him and they started the movie. There was no conversation, just laughter. He’d made himself at home on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. She tucked her legs up under her in the chair. She’d made a friend. That was the takeaway. It wasn’t sad, it was happy.

When the movie ended, he cleaned up the beer bottles and popcorn and headed for the door. “This was great, I hope we can do it again.”

“Me too,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?”

She wished she had a fabulous night planned, but the truth was it would be her, her jammies, some wine and a good book. “Nothing really,” she said.

“Great! Come down to Rap’s. The band is playing at 8. It’s just down the street.”

“I know it, Rapscallion’s, right?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a big weekend for us. We’re playing a festival Saturday afternoon and at Rap’s on Saturday night.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. I’m glad you’re back on track.”

“Yeah, it feels good,” he said. “So you’ll be there Saturday?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He clapped his hands together. “Awesome.” He stepped up to the door, gave her a wave and left.

Cori suddenly felt deflated. The biggest player on the planet just spent the evening with her and didn’t even try to make a move on her. Of course she’d been an idiot and acted uninterested. But she should be uninterested, she’d been down this road before.

Saturday would be fun. She’d get a friend to go with her. Who knows, maybe she’d meet someone more in her league.

[ariddletobesolved]

Friends Before Lovers

Pairing: Hans x Elsa

Fandom: Frozen

Rating: G

Note: Okay, after that major writing block, I finally write again, thanks to @ravinewreyn recent arts. Your arts did things to me. Also, sorry if this is too cheesy, it was unintentional xD I just wanna let it out of my system. Enjoy!

Helsa in Hogwarts AU (Told from 3rd POV Hans perspective)

He found her standing on that particular spot in the Astronomy Tower, with her eyes closed and her folded arms leaning against the railing. Her blonde hair, styled in a messy french braid, swayed along with the breeze, and her lips curved into a small smile. He knew he should be moving along, leaving her alone with the moon and the stars in the sky, and continuing his nightly patrol. But he wanted to talk to her, to apologise, to confess, and oh, that smile, which he rarely saw, was enough to petrify him on the spot. 

Surely, it was not the first time she made him feel that way.

The corner of his lips tugged upwards, his gaze softened when the girl finally opened her eyes then grinned to herself. What is she thinking about? He could only wonder and not ask. Perhaps she was thinking about building a snowman with Anna, her little sister (he knew it would bring her joy), or it could be about the dungbomb prank one of their classmates pulled during Transfiguration class earlier that day. Whatever it was, it must be a happy thought—one that didn’t concern him. His brows knitted at that thought. Of course it didn’t, he only brought a scowl on her face whenever they ran into each other. But the thought was quickly forgotten by the time she pulled out her wand from her black robe. So, she has yet to retire.

“Expecto patronum!” Her voice was clear, with a hint of happiness, as she conjured a white light that slowly turned in a form of a horse—no, a mare. Her patronus.

The mare danced in the air, before it slowly moved around her, making the blonde girl grin in amusement, eyes following the dancing lights. Realising that he could be seen any moment now, he quickly took a step back, making a creaking sound as he stepped on the wooden floor. The patronus dissolved into thin air, as her attention was now focused on where he stood.

“Who is there?”

Knowing that it was no use in hiding, he stepped into the light. His green eyes, bearing an unspoken apology, tried to search for her blue ones in the minimum lighting. He came to approach her, and with every step he took, the room grew colder. Perhaps it was the autumn night breeze that greeted him.

“Westergaard.” She spoke his family name in distaste, pushing herself from the railing. “What are you doing here?”

He was about to reply when the blonde shook her head. “Oh, forget I asked you a question! I shall take my leave.”

But before she could walk away, he quickly caught her arm, stopping her on the track. “Not so fast, Arrington!” He said with a hint of smirk. “You do realise that I can take some points from Ravenclaw, right?”

He watched her closely, waiting for her usual “Sod off, Westergaard!” to roll out of her mouth, along with that famous scowl. Much to his surprise, the blonde let out a sigh and looked away.

“Do what you want! I don’t care.”

His gaze softened, and a brow raised in confusion. Seeing Elsa Arrington acting that way towards him was unusual, and having known her ever since they were little, he knew something was wrong. Did something happen at home?

“Elsa?” 

She slowly looked up, staring at him with her big blue eyes. There was a hint of surprise at the sudden change of tone, and the moment their eyes met, he felt like letting his guard down completely. 

“Look, Hans, I’m not in the mood for a banter.” Elsa muttered. “I came here to enjoy the view, and to escape from,” she paused to bite her lower lip, before continuing, “nevermind, it’s none of your business, anyway. Now please, let me go.”

His grip loosened up, but Hans didn’t let go. Instead, he took a step closer. The close proximity allowed him to breathe in her signature scent, which had been haunting him ever since the first Potions class at the beginning of the term. The moment he stepped into the classroom with a strong scent of new parchments, dark chocolate, and vanilla in the air, he came into a realisation. Hans was no fool. He knew which potion that smelled like that.

“Sorry,” he gently murmured, after he realised that he had been staring. Letting go of her arm, he added, “You may stay if you want.”

“Do I even need your permission?” Her comeback did surprise him, but her friendly tone—was that friendly?—caught him off guard. Salazar, it has been years since the last time she used that tone.

“Of course not.” Hans scoffed, but he managed to end the sentence with a small smile.

Looking down with a smile, Elsa made her way towards the balcony, strutting as if she was certain that he would follow, which he did. Stopping at a respectful distance, Hans turned to her. The blonde had her gaze focused up above, and he mirrored her.

“Can you see it?” She asked, without breaking her gaze.

“See what?” Was all his clueless reply.

Elsa grinned, before moving closer to him. “Cassiopeia.”

His green eyes scanned for the constellation, but to have her this close, it was impossible for him to focus.

“There!”

She pulled his robe so his head was next to hers, before pointing her finger up, connecting the stars to form the letter 'W'. Hans knew that it was probably her enthusiasm that brought the gesture, but he couldn't help his quickened pulse.

“Oh.”

Shortly after, Elsa let go of him, keeping her hands close to her chest. The gesture reminded him of when they were little, how she often kept her guard up, not wanting to let people in. And he frowned, realising how distant they had become.

“Sorry,” she let out. “I,” she was hesitating, “nevermind. In case you haven’t noticed, the view is always beautiful from up here.” Her smile lingered on.

It was indeed a clear night, with millions of stars dusting the dark autumn sky. The view from the tallest tower in Hogwarts was breathtaking, but nothing could stun him the way Elsa Arrington did just by smiling. Yes, she could be the embodiment of the full body-bind charm.

“Beautiful.”

Hans didn't take his eyes off her, even when Elsa turned to face him. Guilt consumed him from within. He felt so stupid for not realising things sooner. His ambition to prove himself that he could be the best in everything had blinded him, and as the time passed it cost him a friendship. Their friendship.

“Elsa,” he began.

“Save it.” She looked away. “I don't want to hear it.”

“I'm sorry, please hear me out.” His hand was itching to hold hers, but Hans knew, touching her would probably not be the best move. “I am so sorry that it took years for me to apologise. I should've never cast you aside just like that.”

She scoffed. “I don't know what changed you, Hans. For all I know, this could be another trick you try to pull. It won't change anything.”

Her guard was up, he knew that for sure, but for whatever reason?

“I wanted my best friend, but you, you wanted a rival.” She was facing him now, her icy blue eyes glared at him with sadness and hurt. “I thought I,” there was a pause, enough to make him grow tense.

“You what?”

Elsa took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, as if her mind needed a taming. Seeing the state she was in took him back to the Sacred Seven Christmas banquet he used to attend in Aren Hall, the Arringtons' residence. With many people in the room, she could get overwhelmed, and he would ask her to sneak out and do a stargazing to calm her raging mind. So he did what he thought would help her.  He wouldn’t hold back.

His arms gently pulled her trembling form into his chest, his chin rested on her shoulder. Rocking her back gently, Hans murmured some words of apology, repeating them with sincerity. It didn't take long until she eventually calmed down. And much to his surprise, she wounded her arms around his torso, hugging him back.

“Elsa?”

“I've missed you, Hans.” The way she said those words pained him, but he knew he deserved it, for she had it worse than him. But she also gave him hope, a second chance. “So very much. I thought you'd never say that.”

Pulling back without letting go of each other, Hans placed his finger under her chin. He caught her gaze upon his lips, and although it was only briefly, he knew better than to close the gap between them.

“I feel so, so stupid, Elsa. I was wrong and selfish, but I am willing to make it right, if you give me the chance.”

When he moved to cup her cheek, Elsa leaned into his touch. Warmth spread on his chest upon the gesture.

“Hans,” she grabbed his hands and clasped them in hers. “I'll give you the chance if you do me a favour.”

“What is it?”

With a smirk, the blonde replied, “Let Ravenclaw win the house cup. I swear to Merlin, I've had enough of seeing green colour dominating the Great Hall.”

Hans grinned. “Deal.”

“Very well, then.” Elsa stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. “I'll see you in the morning, Westergaard.”

Before he could process what had just happened, Elsa was long gone. On his way back to his patrol, Hans couldn’t help but wonder about Elsa’s hesitation. She kept something from him, something she didn’t want him to know. The kiss on his cheek, the brief glance at his lips, were those vague hints? Nah, it would be too soon to tell. Only time would tell. Hans shook his head, knowing that he needed to earn back her trust first before anything else. And for that, he was willing to go at her pace. 

After all, they were friends first before they were lovers.

***

Will there be a part 2? I don’t know, tbh. Thanks for reading!

Also, it’s 2 AM, sorry for any mistakes.

[marvels-writings]

Hi if you’re taking requests plz consider this! Carol x girl bff are roomates in uni, and they totally act like a married couple and everyone can see that except them who are in love but just thing the other person is overly affectionate and flirtatious cuz they both think the other is straight. Things they do which they think is normal: (cuddle / sleep in the same bed , excuse they use the other bed for storage/carol puts her hand on the reader’s thigh in the car/ they peck on the cheek/ flirt)

Glamour Girl (1)

Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel Masterlist)

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’ve actually gotten a lot of UNI requests recently ngl, but like here you go.

“Carol, I really don’t want to go!” You whined, flopping down angrily on the couch of your share dorm.

There was a frat party Carol wanted to go to, but she refused to go without you. You on the other hand, loved parties but there were people you absolutely hated at this party, and you’d had a shit day. 

“Please?” Carol begged, moving to stand in front of you before standing on her knees, looking up at you with puppy eyes, short hair falling into her face.

“You’re begging?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, Carol nodded, clasping her hands together, holding back a smirk the best she could. Both of you knew this always worked on you.

“This is the last time your puppy eyes are working on me.” You stated, getting off the couch as Carol grinned at you, jumping up and hugging you from behind, pressing her face into your back.

“Thank you y/n/n.” She squealed, she was stronger than you but she allowed you to practically drag her into the main bedroom, the other one had too many things neither of you used in it.

You grumbled something and started picking out an outfit for the party, per Carol’s request, you picked one out for her too, telling her to get ready in the storage room while you got changed. Carol had whined until you’d finally picked out matching outfits, you were wearing a fav/color v neck top with thin gold stripes and a black denim skirt with a belt and black killer boots. Carol wore a similar colored tank top tucked into black ripped jeans and black vans. 

“Ready?” She asked, you nodded, tucking your phone in the back pocket of your skirt and trying not to stare at Carol.

While walking out the dorm doors, Carol gently linked her finger with yours, slowly moving to hold your hand while walking to her mustang, you couldn’t help the blush that was creeping onto your face. Carol had been your best friend and roommate for years now, you loved her and she loved you.  But you still couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach whenever she smiled at you.

“You look really great by the way.” You stated as Carol opened the door for you, she smirked and closed the door before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Not so bad yourself y/l/n.” She commented, revving up the car and grinning at the loud sound it made. 

“Watch it Danvers.” You joked, she laughed and you swore your stomach exploded in butterflies, switching on the radio.

Glamour Girl by Rodney Hunter started playing and you couldn’t help but grin at Carol, this was the song which played at the party when you two first met, you danced to this song and talked for hours before you revealed you didn’t have a dorm yet, Carol could barely help herself when she offered her place for you to move in to. You couldn’t agree fast enough.

You started humming to the song, looking out the window as Carol drove, she smiled softly at you and rested one hand on your knee comfortably, you glanced at her, seeing her soft smile before turning back to the window, trying not to pay attention to how warm her hand was. 

When your favorite part of the song you had to sing to it, trying your best to ignore Carol’s thumb stroking your knee and facing her while belting out the lyrics to the song.

‘You’re looking good to me tonight.’ You sang practically into Carol’s ear, she laughed and continued singing the rest of the song with you, sighing when she had to get out of the car to go inside.

“I don’t think you wanted to come to this party either.” You commented, opening the door yourself as Carol got out, she shrugged and started walking inside, you followed her, moving closer when you heard someone throw up to the left of you.

“Well this should be fun.” Carol hoped, you raised an eyebrow and turned to face her.

“I miss my bed already.” You whined, Carol laughed and threw an arm around your shoulders, you shuffled towards her a little more when you saw she was going to open the door.

“I think you mean our bed.” She whispered in your ear, treasuring your shiver at feeling her breath on your ear before walking in, the smell of alcohol and sweat invaded your senses, you wrinkled your nose as Carol pulled you inside, heading towards your shared group of friends.

“I see you brought a date Carol.” Natasha winked at her, sipping some blue drink in a red Solo cup.

“We aren’t dating.” You said, the words rolling off your tongue like the past 100 times you’ve said them

“Right, they are married, Nat.” Clint said, throwing an arm over Nat’s shoulders and mocking Carol who rolled her eyes and took a drink, offering you one and taking her arm off your shoulders, still staying close to you.

Another hour or so went by with talking and drinking, you had a few more drinks than you had intended to, the atmosphere of the party getting to you a little. Carol wasn’t nearly drunk enough yet, so she pulled you into the kitchen where it was a bit quieter, both of you leaned back against the counter, Carol scooched towards you when someone puked in the sink she was right next to. 

“You two definitely should date.” Tony stated, walking into the kitchen with his arm around Pepper’s waist. 

You rolled your eyes and groaned, burying your face in Carol’s neck as she held back a laugh, answering for you as Tony playfully teased you about how you two looked like a married couple. He even offered both of you jobs in his Dad’s company, which honestly you were considering.

“Honestly, you should think about it.” Pepper said, talking with Tony for some time more before disappearing into the rest of the crowd. 

“That guy keeps staring at you.” Carol said, trying to play it smooth by reaching behind you to get another drink, pretending she hadn’t just whispered to you.

“I noticed, isn’t he one of your exes?,” You asked, biting your lip a little, trying to ignore Carol invading your personal space, she nodded and turned around.

He had been a genuine asshole, so she’d broken up with him. The only reason she had dated him in the first place was because he had seemed similar to you, he quickly proved her wrong. Dating him would  be one of her biggest mistakes, it made you think she was straight. 

“I winked at him a while back.” You slurred with a playful grin.

“Well, go dance then.” Carol said stiffly, leaning back against the counter and looking at you with a hard expression, even in your half drunken state you could see she didn’t want you to leave.

“The only person I want to dance with is you.” You said, grinning at her and grabbing her wrist, dragging her to the center of the dance floor as the same song came on.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s about that time’

You’re looking good to me tonight’

You grinned and started dancing with Carol, the alcohol you had before giving you a bit more courage than you usually had. Carol loved it, she danced with you, glaring at a few people who even dared get close to you, the guy who had been staring at you came to the two of you, offering his hand for you to dance with him, you looked up at Carol, saw her jealousy and waved him off.

“You could’ve gone with him.” Carol shouted, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Did I want to leave my best girl?” You asked, then answered your own question. “No.”

Butterflies erupted in both you and Carol’s stomach at the statement, you moved to dance a little closer to her as the dance floor got more crowded. The DJ somehow made the song into a slow dance song, but it still sounded amazing. Carol took your hand and twirled you around, your back facing her chest as her arms slid around your waist comfortably.

“I was thinking,” Carol said aloud, mouth right next to your ear so you could practically feel the vibrations from her voice.

“Tony might be right about something for once.” She stated, hesitating at saying it as she swayed slowly with you, you frowned.

“We should work for him?” You asked, sliding your hands to hold Carol’s around your waist, unsure of what to do as you continued swaying with her.

“No,” Carol laughed before continuing, breaking contact to briefly twirl you, smiling at each other before pulling you back in. “I think we should, I mean if you want to we could date.”

“Are you asking me out Danvers?” You asked, smirking and turning around in Carol’s arms, wrapping your hands around her neck, noses touching softly.

“Maybe I am y/l/n.” She smiled nervously, you giggled and nodded, shuffling closer to Carol so you could feel a little warmer.

“Then maybe I will date you, but first,” You pulled away, eyes sleepily opening and closing as you looked up at the blonde. “Take me home?”

“Anything for you y/n/n.” Carol laughed, breaking apart and offering you her arm, which you ignored and instead snuggled into her side, Carol giggled again and started walking you out, waving a last goodbye to the group before leading you into the car.

The car ride home was fairly quiet, you were too drunk to say anything or have any sensible conversation, Carol was too happy and shocked you’d agreed to go out with her. Once you got home, Carol turned to find you asleep, a peaceful smile on your face as your head rested against the window.

She laughed lightly and got out of her seat, moving to your side and opening the door, catching you instantly so you wouldn’t wake up. Carol gently unbuckled the seatbelt and slid one arm under your knees, her forearm touching the skin on the back of your knees was enough to fluster her as she slid another arm underneath your shoulders.

Once you were safe in her arms, she kicked the door closed and locked the car, keys in one hand as her arms carried you into your dorm, thankful she had picked the ground floor dorm. Opening the door was a struggle, but she eventually managed it, opening the door to the dorm.

She carried you onto the shared bed, hoping you would wake up so she wouldn’t have to help you change. She quickly went into her room and changed into a sweatshirt and some sweatpants, realizing the sweatshirt was yours after she had put it on.

When she came back into your shared room she found you sitting cross legged, looking around with tears in your eyes, Carol panicked and instantly moved in front of you, kneeling in front of you and her hands on your knees.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly, reaching up to move your face so your eyes would meet hers, confusion increasing when your face lit up instantly when you saw her.

“I thought you’d moved out and I was alone.” You answered, grinning at her as she laughed, getting up and kissing the crown of your hair gently.

“You’re not alone y/n.” She said, reaching into the closet and taking out another pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, having no idea who owned it at this point.

“Here.” She handed you the clothes, you squinted at them and then started taking your shirt off, Carol’s eyes widened and she turned away instantly, a blush on her face as she heard you struggle to take it off.

“Carol.” You whined, Carol turned around to find your arm coming out of the neck hole and your head in the sleeve.

“Man you really are a lightweight.” She said, laughing and trying not the stare at the exposed skin and struggling a little to get your shirt on correctly.

“Thank you.” You exclaimed happily, reaching down to take the skirt off, Carol turned around again, this time not hearing you struggle.

After a minute, Carol was about to turn around when you threw yourself at her back, arms quickly wrapping around her waist as your face pressed into the middle of her back.

“Come to bed with me.” You whined into her back. 

Carol laughed at your drunken state and took your arms off her, smiling while she moved you so your head was on the pillow. You pouted at her until she moved into her side of the bed, you snuggled into her instantly, resting your head over her chest and wrapping your arm lazily around her waist.

“You’re cuddly when you’re drunk.” Carol commented, trying to ignore the blush on her face while she moved her arm to play with your hair.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone Danvers.” You slurred, eyes sleepily starting to close as Carol chuckled lightly, fingers twirling strands of your hair in her fingers.

“I won’t.” She stated, feeling you snuggle into her more as butterflies erupted in her stomach.

“I love you.” You murmured, seconds away from sleep, Carol’s heart skipped a beat as it always did when you said those words.

“I love you too.” Carol whispered, kissing the top of your head, meaning every word she said. She knew you would forget half of what you two shared in the morning, but Carol would have so much fun teasing you, she looked forward to the date more than anything though, she looked forward to spending the rest of her time with you.

| Part 2 |

A/N: Thoughts?

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart  , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[carelessgraces]

@clpdwings said: five times of not getting along and one time they did for kaz! ( five times | accepting )

one.

The first time she meets Kaz Brekker, really meets him, she’s sporting a bite mark on her neck that he will not stop staring at.

     Per Haskell sits at his desk, repeating the intelligence she��d brought back with her, and Kaz is listening, she knows, but he’s staring so intently at the bruise on her throat, almost as if he’s counting the individual teeth left visible in the mark, that she feels naked. It’s a strange sort of self-consciousness, one she rarely feels these days, a hangover from an adolescence spent in Fjerda. Astoria rubs a mindless hand over the mark, forcing her eyes back to Per Haskell.

     He’s finished by now, and is looking at Kaz expectantly. The Barrel has taken some getting used to; Ketterdam is so alien to her, with its constant noise and bustle, tourists and students littering the streets, merchants and buskers in a constant battle for attention. The city is never quiet, not properly quiet. Djerholm had been bustling, but not like this, didn’t smell so obviously of piss and liquor and sweat when she walked down the streets — which were wider, much less crowded. She couldn’t hear the sounds of jingling coins in a fool’s pockets and rutting in back alleys and fistfights every few blocks.

     She loves it.

     The men are different, too. No one holds a door open for her unless they’re trying to impress her; no one rushes to gather something heavy from her arms and carry it for her; when she wears something cut low, no one bothers to avert their eyes. And Kaz is the strangest of them all: dressed like some unholy mimicry of a merchant, the cut of his clothes always sharp, something at once unremarkable enough to escape notice and flattering enough to distract the eye. She had been attracted to him for about five minutes after the first she saw him, until she saw that venomous glare, and then she’d been too uneasy to think of it again.

     And now his eyes are on her neck, not with any sort of interest or desire but as if he’s estimating just how much force would be needed to break the skin and rip her throat out with his teeth should the need ever arise. It isn’t the potential for violence in him that frightens her so much as it is that she doubts he would be bothered by it, unless he spilled her blood on that pristine collar.

     Kaz drags his gaze to Per Haskell, considering for a long moment before he says, “And we can trust her?”

     “I spent eight months with him,” Astoria says, hand moving to her neck again. “He’s said plenty.”

     “Yes,” Kaz drawls, “men say plenty when they’re trying to keep a woman in their bed, but that doesn’t mean it’s always true. Especially if that woman is openly affiliated with his rivals. Unless you think you’re the first pretty little fool too clever to be caught?”

     “And men tell the truth when they’re flattered into believing that they’ve become the new center of a pretty little fool’s world.” Per Haskell had warned her about this, that Kaz could be infuriating, that Kaz would find her insecurities and vulnerabilities in a moment’s time and that he would poke and poke and poke just to see how far she could be pushed. She had smiled and said that she’d be on the lookout for it, but even now with it staring her in the face, she can’t help but rise to the bait.

     Kaz gives her a withering look that feels almost like a slap across the face. “And what makes you think that he wasn’t trying to draw you in in the same way?”

     “That’s exactly what he’s trying to do. But I’m doing it better, and we know because it’s my intel that saved you almost a million kruge this year alone, and everything I’ve told him has been calculated into that. Acceptable losses.”

     He looks back to Per Haskell for confirmation, and Per Haskell nods. “You have your spider,” he says, “and I have mine.”

     The comparison seems almost to offend Kaz, who looks Astoria over with a lip curled in distaste. Finally, he stands, one hand on his cane, the other held out for the papers on Per Haskell’s desk.

     “Then if it’s good intel, we’ll handle it.”

     “Yes, you will.” It’s a firm command, as if a reminder — the Dregs are my crew, boy, not yours. Astoria nearly shivers at that, but Kaz doesn’t react except to fold the papers and tuck them into his jacket.

     Kaz spares a last glance toward her, eyes flickering down to her right forearm. “She has the crow and cup?” he asks Per Haskell.

     “Yes,” Astoria snaps, “and you can speak to her directly.”

     Beside her, Per Haskell shakes his head, amused by the bickering. He stands, resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly.

     “Take Astoria with you — she’s useful in close quarters.”

“I don’t think we’ll need her on her back for this one.”

     “He preferred me on top,” Astoria offers sweetly, though she’s glaring daggers, and Per Haskell only laughs.

     “She’s Grisha. Good in a fight. Take her, just in case, and make sure Elzinger can see that bite. He’ll have a hell of a time explaining all of this to Geels.”

     Kaz’s eyes fall on Astoria again, and he sighs, gesturing toward the door. Per Haskell taps her lightly on the back, an indication for her to do as she’s told — and, like a good little soldier, she obeys.

two.

She needs to practice her pickpocketing.

     She’s functional, but occasionally clumsy, more reliant upon misleading a mark than nimble fingers. Per Haskell had pointed her to Kaz, much to both’s dismay, no doubt in an attempt to make them learn to work together. She’d sulked outside Per Haskell’s office when he’d told Kaz, and caught snippets of the conversation whenever Haskell moved too close to the door. ...useful for more than just securing shipments. I have another TIdemaker I can send to Novyi Zem, but you should learn to... if you like her or not, but I don’t want to waste an asset... your spider can only do so much at once and I have a perfectly useful one.

     Per Haskell had opened the door at that, bringing an end to the discussion, and Kaz wasted no time in leaving the office. She could read the disdain in every line of his face, and it had almost amused her that the great Kaz Brekker had deigned to reveal his thoughts, all on her behalf. He’d stopped, looked at her, and then jerked his head irritably, gesturing for her to follow. She’d cast a despairing look at Per Haskell, who’d clapped her on the shoulder.

     “Do what you’re told, girl,” he said, though there was no real heat in his voice, and Astoria obeyed before he could get angry with her.

     Which is why she’s with Kaz now, trying to pay attention to what he’s telling her and failing miserably, caught up in the oppressive heat of Ketterdam’s so-called spring and her own self-indulgent misery. She’s managed to pick Jesper’s pockets, only because Jesper was being kind, and a few strangers; no one’s caught her as she’s done it, but Kaz has been able to point out every movement, every gesture, no matter how crowded the space between them or how far away he stands.

     And if she must deal with him, then she will, at least, annoy him. Astoria toys with her own gloves — lace, covering her fingers and only part of her hand, the height of Ketterdam’s most recent shift in fashion and bought with, yes, pickpocketed money, thank you very much — and she lets out a hum. “Do you dislike all of Per Haskell’s indentures, or am I lucky?”

     He doesn’t answer.

     “Ooh, is it Grisha you have a problem with? That would be foolish, for you, to carry on a prejudice like that, especially when you know how valuable we are.”

     Still nothing, though he’s starting to look as though he’s considering throwing her off the edge of the harbor when they get there.

     “See, with all your judgment about Elzinger, I figured it was one of two things. First, that you want to fuck me yourself, and were bitter that you weren’t, but that was easy enough to rule out. Would have been very funny to me, though, if that’s all it was. Typical, nonsensical jealousy would have been beneath you.”

     “How flattering,” he says dryly, but she pushes forward as though she doesn’t hear him.

     “Second, you wish you’d thought of it yourself. Isolating Elzinger as a weak link and exploiting it by any means necessary. But I did it first, and it made you look slow on the uptake, and it gave Per Haskell a chance to catch up to you a bit.”

     “You’ve found me out,” he drawls, monotonous. “I only wish it had been me to spread my legs for Elzinger, and now our love can never be.”

     “Prude.”

     “Heartbroken.”

     Saints’ asses, he’s funny. She never would have guessed. Astoria lets out another little hum, and she folds her hands together primly, the very image of a respectable lady with her lace gloves and the high neck of her blouse and the careful curl of her hair. “There’s really no reason we shouldn’t get along.”

     “Did you join the Dregs looking for friends, little runaway?”

     “Absolutely. At night I go home to the Slat and I weep because not enough of you like me.”

     “I think,” he says, and the worst part of it is that he says it so casually, as though he’s observing something unimportant and not peeling back every layer of armor she’s tried to build around herself, “you joined so that someone would be able to identify your body when you got yourself killed. You’re reckless. You’re half-suicidal. You want there to be consequences to someone else killing you, hence the indenture agreement — ” So he’s seen it. She’s not sure how to feel about that. ” — but you’re desperate to die for something. It makes you a liability. Learn how to survive this place or do us all a favor and stop wasting our time.”

     He points to a couple, Ravkan tourists chattering excitedly, and he looks back at Astoria as though he hasn’t just torn up every last secret she’s ever kept.

     “Them. Do it right, this time.”

     They do it again, and again, until Kaz is satisfied enough to leave her be.

     It’s not safe to walk the West Stave alone at night but she does it anyway; her anger at Kaz is enough to push her forward, though she can’t quite articulate why it infuriates her so much, to be laid bare before him in this way. She’d studied the Dregs before approaching them, and had chosen them specifically; she could have had it easy, with Pekka Rollins — no need to change her hair — and even the Black Tips or the Razorgulls would have taken her and found a good use for her.

     But she’d chosen the Dregs for a reason — she’d chosen the Dregs in no small part because Kaz’s name was on everyone’s lips. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. A monster, a demon, a creature out of nightmare. The sort of man you want willing to protect you. And there’s something horribly shameful about being seen without any sympathy, though she’s starting to wonder if she deserves any sympathy, or if he’s right.

     Learn how to survive this place or do us all a favor and stop wasting our time.

     She feels Elzinger’s hand on her shoulder. The night is humid and sticky and she almost feels as though she’s swimming; there’s no jacket protecting her, only the layer of her shirt to cut through, and then his knife is in her, and deep, piercing into her body just below her right kidney. He pulls the knife out; her ears are ringing, there’s something warm rushing down her back and she recognizes it only vaguely as her own blood, and he says something she can’t quite catch, and he hears Kaz Brekker.

     Learn how to survive this place or do us all a favor and stop wasting our time.

     She twists her right arm to press her hand over the wound, and with a twitch of her fingers the blood begins to slow and clot. She reaches out with her left arm until she’s grabbed Elzinger’s face, and she pulls him close enough to kiss.

     Learn how to survive this place.

     She grins when she feels the flesh blister beneath her hands, and she tips her head to the side, and she squeezes as tightly as she can. “Sweetheart,” she murmurs. “make sure you mean it when you kill a woman,” and she releases his face only when he screams, catching his wrist with her bloodstained hand when he moves to stab her again.

     When she releases him she shoves him back, watching with satisfaction as he raises his shaking hands to his face to feel the extent of his burns. Just a little bit, not enough to kill, but certainly enough to leave a mark. She’s not sure what boiling only a little blood only a little bit does to a body, but she’s intrigued to find out. She’ll have to keep an eye on him. Astoria peels off her bloodied gloves and drops them in Elzinger’s lap, and she leaves him there without another word.

     Survive, says Kaz, and for a moment she wishes he could see her.

three.

“Matthias tells me you told him not to come for me.”

     “I did.”

     “But you knew he’d come for me anyway.”

     He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know whether to thank him or scream.

     “Damn it, Brekker.”

     “You’re too eager to die.”

     “It’s not about dying.”

     “Dress it up however you want, call it selflessness and loyalty and love, but you’re still useless dead.”

     It’s the closest she thinks he’ll ever come to anything resembling a kind word to her, and she’s horrified to find that she’s moved by it. Her voice sounds unsteady, almost wet, when she speaks.

     “I know. I know that.” What else is there to say? She’s working on it? She’d thought she’d moved past it, but here she is, trying to sort through why she’s so shocked to have lived through Fjerda, when she’d promised herself once that Fjerda would never have the privilege of taking her life?

     “It’s enough. Come back to Ketterdam willing to survive or don’t bother coming back.”

     She’s never hated anyone more in her life. She would be lost without him.

     “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

     He lets out a snort, turning his back to her. “Apologize to Helvar,” he says as he walks away. “He’s the one who had to come get you.”

     ( But, she thinks, maybe Kaz would have come for her, too. )

four.

How did he handle things?

     “Very well, sir. Better than I might have expected. He was calm and levelheaded throughout.” ( She doesn’t mention the dangerous panic on the Ferolind, when they thought they would lose Inej. ) “He kept to the plan without hesitation, and when he had to improvise, he did it effectively.” ( She doesn’t mention how often the plan fell through and they had to come up with something new on the spot, or how dangerous it was for her, in particular. ) “He works well leading a team. He was very receptive to our concerns.” ( She doesn’t mention the Ferolind. )

     Did he have any trouble with one of mine going with him?

     “Not at all. He was understandably cautious to introduce a new element into a functional team’s dynamic, but he understood the necessity of having someone there to represent your interests.” ( She doesn’t mention that the functional team is an inner circle that extends beyond Kaz’s precious Wraith, that the functional team could easily topple Per Haskell’s control of the Dregs, or that she’d help them. ) “There was no trouble beyond the initial adjustment period, and even that was mild.” ( She doesn’t mention that Kaz threatened to throw her overboard. )

     Kaz is waiting for her when she’s finished with Per Haskell, and he greets her with a huff of humorless laughter. “Do you have to practice lying like that, or does it come naturally?”

     “Every morning I wake up, I brush my hair, I lace myself up, and I tell myself ten lies in the mirror until it feels natural. Were you waiting for Per Haskell?”

     “No. You. Walk.”

     And she does — less because she likes following Kaz’s orders than because she can’t think of a good reason not to. They’re silent until they get out to the floor of the Crow Club, through the patrons and out into the humid night air. When they’re a fair distance from the door, he holds a folded piece of paper between his index and middle fingers for her to take.

     “What’s this?”

     “I can’t give over more shares while Rollins has any, but once we have them back, a percentage will go to you, as part of your take.”

     Astoria looks up at him sharply, taking the paper; when her eyes fall to it she sees that it’s a contract, legalese she barely understands, but there it is, a percentage ( however small ), set aside for her to purchase, once the shares have been bought back from Pekka Rollins. Slowly, her lips curl up in a smile, and when she looks back up at Kaz, she’s sure she looks as pleased as she feels.

     “Thank you,” she says, because it’ll be better received than I could kiss you right on that terrible mouth of yours, you glorious little bastard. He lets out a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, though he seems a little wary, as if he can hear the unspoken words in her tone.

     “Don’t thank me. We had an agreement, and you carried out your part reliably enough.”

     “Careful, Brekker, or I’ll think you’re starting to like me.”

     He snorts, raising his eyebrows. “Perish the thought. I’ll need you tonight — we’re sorting out a plan, and I want you there in case Nina isn’t able to do her job.”

     Nina. Sweet, vibrant Nina, whose battle with parem seems to have drained the life right out of her; she barely eats, she barely laughs, she barely flirts. ( Astoria has been trying to forget the way Nina lashed out at them all on the Ferolind, in the throes of her withdrawal; she’d brushed off the insults aimed at her, but had heard enough of what was said to the others. There’s some fight in her, at least, and Astoria is grateful for that much. )

     “I’m sure she’ll be fine, but yes, of course. I’ll be able to help however you need.” And she pauses, frowning. “Do you think she won’t be able to handle it?”

     “I’d rather be prepared than overconfident.”

     “Fair enough — but won’t it undermine her confidence, if she knows you have someone there to take over if she’s unsteady?”

     “I don’t particularly care about her confidence. I care about the job’s success. If she wants to sort out her feelings, she’s welcome to find a parent or a priest.” Kaz’s expression is inscrutable, as always, though there’s a mocking edge to his voice now, and it makes Astoria clutch the paper harder. So much for starting to like me; he looks at me like I’m a troublesome child he can’t shake. “There’s no winning with you, is there? First you’re sore that you’re not a real part of the team, and now you’re tripping over yourself trying to spare everyone’s feelings when you’re offered the chance.”

     “She sacrificed a lot for us, Kaz. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be a little concerned about her.”

     “Mm. The same concern you felt, I’m sure, when you told her to, what was it? Find a way to watch that tongue or I’ll cut it out?”

     “That was different.” But her cheeks are hot with shame; she hadn’t been proud of the threat, but it had happened all the same, when the craving for parem doused Nina’s tongue in poison.

     “Yes, how could I forget? You were defending your drüskelle’s honor.”

     “It’s — ”

     “I don’t care. You want in? Earn it. This is how you earn it. Mind your manners, don’t ask stupid questions, and do as you’re told. Be at the Black Veil tonight, by midnight.” The Black Veil?

     He turns his back to her and walks away without another word, and Astoria scowls after him — but she grips the contract tighter in her hands, and she makes no plans to argue.

five.

“On one condition.”

     Astoria’s eyes flicker towards Nina in surprise; it’s rare someone’s fool enough to try and negotiate with Kaz. It’s not something she’s often willing to try, and she’s the biggest fool of them all.

     Kaz drags his gaze to Nina and arches one eyebrow in that infuriating way of his. “This is not a negotiation.”

     “Everything is a negotiation with you, Brekker. You probably bartered your way out of the womb. If I’m going to do this, I want us to get the rest of the Grisha out of the city.”

     “Forget it. I’m not running a charity for refugees.”

     “Then I’m out.”

     “Fine. You’re out.” And Astoria knows what’s coming next, Kaz’s dark eyes flickering towards her, ignoring the look of anger on Nina’s face, the way she opens her mouth to argue.

     At Astoria’s side, Matthias stiffens, as if anticipating a fight, and Astoria folds a hand carefully over his and squeezes gently.

     She hesitates, and then, before he can ask, she clears her throat. “I can do it.” She’s not half so skilled as Nina when it comes to calming the blood, but she can make do. And more than that, there’s a fury building in her at the thought of being chased out of another home, of being hunted again. She knows Kaz well enough by now to know that he can expect to rely on her anger; it is the only thing she has left of her mother, of the girl in the snow, a family heirloom she keeps close to her heart. Nina whips her head around, her expression caught somewhere between anger and betrayal, but Astoria doesn’t look away from Kaz.

     “Fine. A distressed Fjerdan, new to the city, looking for work in the warehouse district.”

     “Astoria,” Nina warns, and Astoria tears her gaze away from Kaz to look coldly at Nina.

     “I’m tired of running, Nina. Aren’t you? How long until someone else comes looking to kill us?” Astoria’s jaw clenches without her noticing, and Matthias turns his hand up under hers to lace their fingers together and squeeze back, as if to try and calm her. She’s just a little too far gone. “How many of those refugees are going to end up Second Army conscripts? Save a few Grisha just to throw them at military conflict, where they’ll, what, die in a nice coat, carrying out a foreign king’s commands?” Carrying on the ever-present war with Fjerda? She’ll rail against her homeland until she draws her last breath, but it makes her no less protective.

     “That’s not what it’s about. It’s about saving lives.” Nina’s voice sounds almost dangerous, and Astoria leans forward, Matthias gripping her hand even tighter as she does.

     “Enough.” Kaz’s voice cuts clearly through the argument, and he turns his cold eyes on Nina. “You’ll still get your share of the money for your work on the Ice Court job, but I don’t need you on this crew.”

     “No,” said Inej quietly. “But you need me.”

     And that’s enough to quell the dissent, Inej’s interference and the strength of her unwavering gaze. Nina turns deliberately from Astoria, whose jaw has yet to unclench, and Matthias releases Astoria’s hand in favor of winding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer, as if to comfort. She doesn’t escape the way Kaz’s eyes flicker up to them, or the twist of his lips at the sight of Astoria’s continued anger.

     “Do you think this makes me a Crow, now?” she murmurs dryly to Matthias in Fjerdan, voice soft enough not to be overheard amidst the conversation, and Matthias lets out a humorless chuckle. “Being willing to turn my back on old friendships for the sake of the great Brekker masterplan?”

     “I think that’s the initiation ritual,” Matthias mutters back, and it prompts a smile, at least, her clenched jaw relaxing.

     It occurs to her how unbelievably stupid it is to want his approval — demjin, says a voice in her head that sounds like Matthias’, but there’s a fondness there that’s entirely Astoria. In another world, they might have been friends. Here, now, she’s not sure it’ll ever be possible, but the weight of what if hangs in the air around him.

     Kaz steps out to get a breath of fresh air, and Astoria follows quietly; he looks as though he expected this, and she leans against the wall of a mausoleum, arms crossed over her chest. 

     “You couldn’t have known Nina would make that threat. You couldn’t have known about the kidnappings. But it feels like you were prepared for that all the same.”

     “I’m prepared for most things.”

     “I’m starting to see that.” Astoria hesitates, then — “Jesper’s leaving. Going back to Novyi Zem with his father. Wylan wants out. Nina’s going to want to leave too, if it’s not safe to stay. It’ll be her chance to go back to Ravka and the Second Army. Inej is going to pay off her indenture, isn’t she?”

     “If you have questions about what Inej is doing, then you should ask Inej. Am I her keeper?”

     Yes. Even she can see how he looks at her, when he thinks no one is looking. She can’t hear heartbeats but she can hear the movement of blood in the body, and it has much the same end result. “Why don’t you expect me to leave?”

     “Where will you go? Back to Fjerda, with Helvar in tow? You’ll both be killed within a year. You wouldn’t last in Ravka, either. He’s not going to tolerate the Wandering Isle or Shu Han, when both are so dangerous for you. And you’d get bored in Novyi Zem.”

     Damn him, but he’s right.

     “No home but this one, pigeon. Where will you go?” he asks again, and Astoria uncrosses her arms, only to fist her hands in her skirt. “You’ll stay in Ketterdam, sell more years to Per Haskell. You might go back to Fjerda once or twice. Helvar loves a mission. But you’ll come back to Ketterdam every time, because you’ve put the Barrel in your blood.”

     Why is he always right?

     “And what if I’d had a conscience?”

     He laughs at that, a sharp, almost feral bark. “Astoria,” he says, and she thinks that might be the first time he’s used her name, “when have you ever cared about someone else more than yourself?”

     “The Ice Court.”

     “Ah, that’s right. Your drüskelle makes you soft — and if I ever need to ask you to double-cross him, then I’ll worry. But you’d let every Grisha in this city burn if it meant your survival, and no amount of lovesick sacrifice will change that about you. Conscience gets you killed. You’re not that stupid.”

     She hates how well he knows her. She hates how well he understands her, in ways no one else could — not Inej, whom she admires; not Jesper, who makes her laugh; not Nina, who hears her; not Wylan, who sees her. Not even Matthias, who loves her.

     But Kaz Brekker understands her. Kaz Brekker sees through her. Kaz Brekker could crack open her skull and make a map of her brain, could split open her chest and make a map of her heart, with terrifying clarity. There’s the self-preservation. There’s the selfishness. There’s the ambition. There’s the greed. He’s right; the Barrel is in her blood now, feasting on the foundation of rage her mother had given her when she was just a girl.

     She feels exposed. She feels furious. She wants to wrap her hands around his neck. She wants to run as far as she can. She wants to tell him that she is tired of life wearing a choke-chain, but that if anyone must be on the other end of it, she hopes it’s always him. What a mortifying intimacy to share with someone, she thinks, cheeks coloring in the dark, almost like a twisted sort of love. A brother she never imagined, the monster under her childhood bed come to teach her how to shoot straight and pick a man’s pocket.

     He watches her impassively for a moment more before turning back toward the crypt. She has to try twice before she can manage to speak.

     “I’ll stay,” she says, because of course she’ll stay. “And when the others go, I’ll still be here — but this has to go both ways. You have to be as willing to protect my interests as I am to protect yours.”

     He turns back to face her, expression still painfully neutral, and then he says, as easily as if he were giving her directions through the West Stave, “I found your mother. Where she is, the name she’s using, how she’s been. Get us through this and I’ll tell you everything, and not a moment before.”

     She lets out a sickly laugh, chokes on it, as he heads back into the mausoleum, and she remains leaned against the wall, fingers pressed to her lips and staring at the sky, until Matthias comes to fetch her.

     Nina still won’t look at her. She finds she doesn’t mind it this time.

...and one.

She’s never been so pleased with a broken nose and a gash across her cheek, but there’s some undeniable relief in knowing that, for once, she and Kaz are on the same page. 

     He’s been watching her closely, and she’d initially chalked it up to his distrust. No doubt looking for any way in which she falters or fumbles. She wonders now if he’d been watching to see if she could do this, if she could be trusted to get them in. If she could handle this, in particular, this greatest fear. Kaz, in his drüskelle uniform, looks as fierce and terrifying as always, but Matthias will draw attention, and that is a danger. ( A danger to all of them, but a danger to him specifically, and it’s become clearer and clearer that she cannot, will not, tolerate such a thing. )

     “Anyone have a handkerchief?” she asks pleasantly, and Matthias shakes his head and Kaz raises his eyebrows, and Astoria sighs, because this would be easier with something to muffle the sound. She supposes biting her lip bloody will have to do, and she takes in a deep breath before she wraps her right fist around the middle and ring finger of her left hand and yanks back as hard as she can. The crack of her bone is audible, and Matthias looks as though he might be sick, but Kaz almost looks impressed.

     “Feeling theatrical?” he asks dryly, and Astoria, face white with pain and chest heaving, takes in a shaking breath.

     “The drüskelle bind our hands so we can’t use our power,” she says, voice strained. “Particularly dangerous drüsje see their hands or fingers broken, so that even if we can manage something without all that gesturing, we’re not a threat. It’s an ever-honorable tradition of giving us a fair shot.”

     Kaz listens with the mild interest of someone hearing a weather report, and he only says, “Shame we tailored your hair.”

     Matthias almost moves to touch Astoria, but seems to think better of it, and he whirls on Kaz instead. “Do you often strike unarmed women?” he says, his voice nearly a snarl, and Kaz shrugs.

     “Less a woman than a weasel,” he says, “and she did ask.”

     Weasel. She hasn’t heard that one before. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Kaz was starting to like her. For his part, Matthias looks rather as though he wishes they’d left him in Hellgate, and he takes a few steps away from them and shakes his head as if trying to shake loose his knowledge of what’s to come.

     And for a moment, they’re alone, Kaz watching as she tries to tangle her hair with one working hand. A better man might ask if she was sure, might encourage her to be patient until they find another way in. And perhaps there is another way in, but this saves them precious time. ( Hadn’t she realized it, on the Ferolind? Her role was, has been, will be, as a sacrifice. The six of them will make it out, Kaz and his precious Crows, but she thinks there’s some poetry to it. Dying here, as much on her own terms as anything can be. )

     Her stomach is turning somersaults but she clears her throat and meets Kaz’s eyes. She wonders, stupidly, if he’ll miss her. She’ll miss him, him and his stupid haircut and his horrible smirk and his cruel hands in their leather gloves, for whatever time she has left. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and she clears her throat to try again.

     “Spare me the goodbyes,” Kaz sighs, and Astoria shakes her head.

     “Don’t let him come back for me.”

     Of all the things Kaz might have been expecting, that doesn’t seem to be on the list, though he only shows it with a raise of his eyebrows.

     “It’ll waste time. And wherever they’re taking me, it’s going to be well-guarded, and very, very hard to reach. If he goes in, there’s a very good chance he won’t come back out. Do not let him come back for me. Tell him whatever you have to to make it happen, but — I think you owe me, just this once.” Astoria’s eyes flicker towards Matthias and she knows she softens when she sees him. “If I’m doing this, I need to know he gets out of this godforsaken country alive.”

     She expects an outburst like on the Ferolind. She wonders, for a moment, if this is why he’d encouraged her to flirt with Matthias, but that seems a bit much, even for Kaz. When she looks back at him, though, he only nods.

     “He’ll make it out,” Kaz says, and she doesn’t push for the words. The deal is the deal. She’s not Kerch anyway; it doesn’t mean much to her. Besides, just this once, she trusts Kaz Brekker to do the right thing.

     Matthias returns, a look of grim determination on his face, and he looks towards Astoria. “I cannot change your mind?” he asks, and Astoria shakes her head.

     “It’s time.” Kaz’s voice is clear and certain, and Astoria takes in a long, slow breath before she nods.

     “It’s time,” she agrees, and she lets them guide her as she takes her last steps.

[ancientmagusbride23]

Dark Nights ch.1

by ancientmagusbride23

Summary: (Explicit sexual warning)

When Chise sold herself she didn't care who bought her or why. She didn't care what they did to her. Then the creature known as Elias Ainsworth bought her and said he would use her fluids whenever he wanted, even sell some on the black market. It's a sound investment and he plans to teach her about carnal pleasures to help her juices flow. What if Elias is a part-fae magus who's also a sex addict?

Notes:

I don't actually know how this story began. Too much time in my head, and dealing with some dark themes that I'm working through. Being stuck inside too much can mess with your head. I also wondered what if Elias was like a raging horny beast? No one would be safe from him? Why not buy a girl at a black market that you can train to be your own personal sex toy? Yep, pretty dark. I know. But it could've happened. We didn't know why he wanted a girl the first time we read the manga or watched the anime. Tell me I'm wrong.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Management

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Chapter 1

: First NightNotes:

Chise has Stockholm syndrome, that is the only real explanation.

Chapter Text

She didn’t care what happened to her, so she sold herself. Chise Hatori was soon amazed by the creature that stood above her that had paid a large sum and bought her at the auction. Dressed all in a black suit with bolo tie, and black shoes and tall, large, and intimidating, yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of what might happen to her or body. Nothing mattered to her anymore. He, she was pretty sure it was male, had large powerful looking wolf -jaws covered by a red veil and long spiraling horns jutting out from the top of his head, perhaps he would eat her and then her miserable existence would end. She hadn’t expected to be brought to a cute country cottage, nor like the lady in pink who greeted her at the door and seemed very kind. After the kind lady in pink bathed her and put new clean clothes on her, Chise was taken to the living room to sit with the man who purchased her.

“You are very valuable,” he began to say sitting in a tall chair in long black robe, legs crossed, with the red veil still covering his large skull-face and wearing white gloves. He sat so straight in his chair it made Chise think of an English gentleman, and even his voice and way of speaking were very proper. “You are a slay vegga. That is to say a human that is also a magical battery. Like all your kind, you'll most likely burn out soon, but until then I will keep others from hurting you or trying to eat you or use your power for themselves. I, of course, will partake of that power whenever it pleases me. Your juices are especially potent and delicious to my kind.” She could only stare at the large head as she got the impression, he truly did want to devour her, she swallowed nervously as the Lady in Pink gave her some tiny triangle sandwiches and hot cup of tea.

He waited seeming to want all of that to sink in. “I-is that why they always tried to eat me?” Chise asked quietly.

“Of course, even just your smell must have driven them quite made with hunger, but rest assured I will not eat you. I will only partake of your body’s fluids from time to time. You will live in relative comfort and safety the rest of your life as part of my household. All other creatures are intimidated by my power. I have barriers and wards to keep the unsavory riffraff out. I also plan to harvest some of your fluids, and hair to sell on the black market. People of the magical realm will pay handsomely for any part of you, witches, alchemists, and mages, such as myself. We can use your parts to aid our magic. As I said, you are very valuable, and I paid a great deal for you. There are not many of your kind that live to be your age and are still whole and relatively intact. I will make back 10 times what I invested in you this way. Do you understand all of this?”

She looked down at her lap and nodded. Although, not taking it all in really. Besides, she’d already accepted any fate, even death, torture, or dismemberment as her end. “I..I understand.”

“Come,” he told her and motioned for her to come to sit on his lap. She did so, reluctantly. “Hmm, you are too thin and frail. You will need many weeks of treatment before I can begin collecting samples. And I have a long waiting list of customers already. Well, they will simply have to wait,” he ran his large hands down her legs and back up to her stomach and breasts and squeezed as she squirmed. He laughed as she struggled. “Chise Hatori? Have you ever had experience of the carnal variety?” he asked.

Chise blushed feeling uncomfortable for a different reason, knowing what he meant. She looked at his massive chest as she shook her head. “N-no, sir.” He laughed again his large bony snout coming close to her neck and sniffing making her cringe with recent memories of things biting, and, trying to get to her and eat her.

“I like that! How enjoyable! To be the first to break you in. My name is Elias Ainsworth. You may call me that or master, whatever you prefer,” his hands never stopped caressing Chise, but his grip was too strong for her to break away from him as she tried a few times.

“Yes, Ainsworth-san...?” she replied, wondering if that was appropriate.

“Hmm,” he made a deep rumbling noise inside his chest. “Yes, that will do, nicely,” he said quietly as his jaw opened and a long tongue crept out to lick Chise’s cheek startling her. Then his tongue roved down her neck causing her to gasp and try to pull away again. “I’m only teasing you, Chise Hatori.” The tip of his tongue crept under her shirt and into her bra as it moved across her nipple causing her to cringe.

As she cried out, she struggled not liking this sensation at all. No matter how she tried Chise could not break his grip, he was so strong, but suddenly the Pink Lady appeared beside her and stared at the man holding her. Ainsworth, her master, sighed and released her. The Pink Lady pulled Chise into a tight hug. It was the first true affection Chise had felt since her mother killed herself and left her all alone in the world. “Arigato, um I mean thank you,” Chise told the lady. The Lady in a puffy pink old-fashioned dress had blonde hair, a pink bonnet, and white gloves. She only smiled at Chsie, but did not reply. “Can you talk?” Chise asked wondering, since she had helped her bathe and change earlier but never responded.

The Pink Lady only tilted her head with a smile and patted Chise’s cheek with her gloved hand. “She refuses or is unable to speak. She understands you, though. I call her the Silver Lady, she is a brownie or a creature that is bound to a location, like this house. She is more of a landlady, as it were, and keeps the house neat and clean. Thank you for reminding me, Silver Lady. Please show Chise how to prep for bed and then show her to her room.” The Silver Lady nodded and pulled Chise along with her up the stairs.

Chise was shown where all the soaps and hygiene products were in the bathroom along with a toothbrush. Afterward, Chise was taken to a room down the hall. It was large and clean with a good sized bed by the window. “Is all this space mine?” She asked the Silver Lady. She only responded by smiling and nodding. Then she showed her a set of drawers with some clothing in it. Chise let her help get herself undressed and put on a white pajama dress. “Are you sure I can wear any of these clothes?” Chise asked the Silver Lady who only nodded again.

The Silver Lady turned down the bed for her and even tucked her in and closed the window. She wagged a finger in front of her back and forth. “What? Don't open the window?” She nodded. “Oh, okay,” Chise yawned as she settled into the soft bed. “This is so nice and soft. I always had to share space with other kids and usually slept on the floor. Thank you, Silver Lady.”

Then Chise was alone and fell asleep quickly as she'd been through a strange and long day. Sometime during the night Chise's disturbing dreams were interrupted by a tapping sound. She woke to look around the room afraid something was coming for her. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and why. Then she heard the tapping again. She looked around to see creatures at the window with glowy eyes and wings. Pixies or Fairies is what she thought immediately. “Sweet Robin, let us in! Or come play with us in the forest. All your dreams will come true. Come away with us to play before the Thorn spears the Robin! Come!”

Chise was intrigued as she sat up on her knees and looked through the glass at the creature. “I've never seen anything like you before. Sounds like a familiar promise the yokai would give to the unwary in ancient Japan.”

A deep chuckled reverberated from behind her as she looked backed, “Very wise of you, Chise, they would lead you into the forest and play with you until you died or let other creatures devour you. It is all fun and games to them.”

The little green fairy growled, “Grr, Thorn Mage, you ruin our fun! And hogging our precious Robin all to yourself. Wait till the Queen of the Fae hears about this!”

“Begone!” Elias Ainsworth commanded. And Thorny vines covered the window from the outside. Chise stared at him for a moment seeing he's veil was gone and only dimly could she see the white skull-face and two red glowing eyes.

“I-I have never seen those types of creatures before. We have a lot of kinds in Japan, but not those,” Chise said, very aware of Elias's towering presence in her room as she covered herself with her blanket.

“They are called arials, and exist all over the world. Be assured they, nor any other fae creatures may enter my domain,” he sat down heavily on the bed. “Come,” he opened his arms for her to sit on his lap again. She hesitated a moments, but slipped easily from her covers to his lap and looked up to stare at him in the moonlight. “You have many scars from past encounters with lesser creatures?”

“Yes. They always come. Especially at night,” she said quietly.

His gloved hand gently picked up her arm and pushed pack the sleeve to see a fairly fresh wound that had scabbed over. The large skull leaned down and sniffed several times and he hummed as his tongue slipped out and he lapped at her wound. Chise's instinct was to pull away, this was strange and scary. He would not let go so easily. Then the scab was pulled off and she flinched from the pain. Fresh blood pooled there quickly. He lapped it up slowly with his tongue. His bone white jaw open wide. His glowing eyes seeming to be even brighter and fiercer in the darkness. Elias Ainsworth pulled her closer and held her tighter as he made noises. Chise wondered if they were from pleasure. “Oh, Chise! You are delicious! I will have a hard time stopping myself. It is like...a drug. You are quite intoxicating.”

As the slow lapping continued, Chise squirmed and gasped but knew it was no use to try to get away. And anyway, what did it really matter if he devoured her.?Soon his tongue had moved from the wound and began inching it's way toward her neck. One of his gloved hands tugged her night gown down off her shoulders to reveal her pale skin and small breasts. His tongue found it's way there and wrapped itself around her nipples. Beneath her lap she could feel something poke through his pants making a tight tent.

Chise began to make noises. At first, in protest because the sensation was so weird and intense and she didn't like it. Soon she found the continual licking of her breasts made her feel something new. Something she'd never felt before. She felt a warmth start to spread in her body. She grabbed at his robe and held on with tight her fists. His tongue moved back up her neck slowly and then got to her mouth. “Open your mouth, Chise,” he said quietly. She did so and was shocked when he inserted his tongue into her mouth as his large jaw moved closer to her face. She tried to pull back but his gloved hand came up to hold her head still. His tongue sought hers.

At first she was disgusted, but as his tongue massaged hers gently she began to relax. It wasn't completely unpleasant. She let her tongue timidly reach for his making him gasp. He made deep moaning sounds as his hands caressed her back and bottom, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, he withdrew.

Elias Ainsworth closed his jaw and looked down at his plaything. Her face was wet with his saliva and her nightgown was disheveled. He chuckled at her. “Your face is red, and your pulse has quickened. I think you will be a fast learner. Have you ever touched your privates to bring youself pleasure?” She looked away embarrassed by the question, and shook her head. He replaced her nightgown to its rightful place. And moved her back to the bed as he began to straighten his clothing. “Well, goodnight, Chise,” he said, walking to the door and opened it.

Standing there was the Silver Lady. She was looking very concerned as she looked past Elias over at Chise. “She has not been harmed, nor deflowered, yet. I assure you, Silky.” The Silver Lady looked at him and nodded as they both backed out her Chise's room. She heard footsteps heading away from her door. Chise relaxed then feeling her ordeal was over for tonight. Her body still hummed with the sensations that man or creature had brought on her body. She felt her breasts tingle. She reached out to touch them and they still felt very sensitive to the touch. She felt between her legs and felt more moisture than usual. She'd never felt this way before.

Chise had expected to have strange experiences in her new life after auction, but nothing like this. It was not what she'd expected. And her owner was not what she'd expected. Was this her new life? She wasn't getting attacked and bitten by random creatures she mused. However, this man, Ainsworth-san, might be the one to bite and molest her from now on. Not that it mattered to Chise really, nothing mattered, she reminded herself.

Chise lay back down and covered herself to get some sleep. As she was drifting off to sleep she heard strange sounds. Someone was moaning. It sounded like Ainsworth-san. They were the sounds similar to the ones he'd made when he was licking her and clearly enjoying himself. Another voice joined his in their moans, a female voice. Chise also heard rhythmic thumping. Chise wondered what that was. She listened carefully for awhile to see if it would go away. It was clearly not coming from outside, but from inside the house. Chise got up from her bed and walked to her door. She opened it just a crack, but saw nothing in the darkened hallway. Across from her was another door and underneath she saw light and shadows moving to the rhythm of the thumping.

A moment more and a loud groan echoed from the room into the hall, and the thumping stopped. Chise heard the door handle turn. “Thank you, Silver Lady,” said Ainsworth-san as the Silver Lady stepped out of his room. She was fixing her bonnet and pushing down her dress. She nodded to him as she quickly made her way down the hall and down the stairs. Chise didn't know what to think. What had just happened? “Goodnight, Chise, please get some rest,” he told her as he moved back into his room and closed his door. Chise went back to bed with many unanswered questions floating in her head.

[7-wonders]

Shatter Epilogue

Summary: Months after Cordelia’s execution, you’re ready to be formally presented as Michael’s wife and queen.

Word Count: 2156

A/N: Y’all requested it, and here it is! Damn, this is it. Thanks for sticking around for Shatter, and I sincerely hope you’ve all enjoyed. I have plenty more that I’m working on; you can find my work on my blog or my masterlist.

Read Part One HERE | Read Part Two HERE | Read Part Three HERE | Read Part Four HERE | Read Part Five HERE | Read Part Six HERE | Read Part Seven HERE | Read Part Eight HERE | Read Part Nine HERE | Read Part Ten HERE | Read Part Eleven HERE | Read Part Twelve HERE |

The smell of hair products fills the air as Mr. Gallant works his magic on his favorite client. He’s completely in his element, staring at his work in the mirror as he thinks about his next steps. The atmosphere reminds him of the small, high-end salon he used to run in the heart of Los Angeles: an important event, a VIP’s head of hair. Of course, this isn’t just any VIP. It’s his best friend.

“Y’know, I was going to try something a little experimental, but why mess with perfection?” To some, Gallant may come off as cocky. To those who know him, however, it’s a sign that he’s proud of his work.

“I love it, Gal, it’s perfect. Simple, yet put-together.” You grin at the man who is basically your brother through the mirror, giggling as he spins the chair around so you’re facing him. 

After Cordelia Goode had been properly disposed of, your first order of business had been sorting out at what point in time the timelines deviated, and what events changed. Although your memory hadn’t been wiped by vindictive witches in this timeline, it seemed that you and Gallant were destined to be best friends. You had met him on one of your many trips to California to visit Michael when he was still a warlock at Hawthorne, dragging your lover into a Gucci store just so you could see what such a store was like. Gallant had also been inside, buying a new ascot to celebrate the opening of his salon. He had gawked over Michael’s hair, laughed at your teasing “back off, mister,” and the rest was history.

“Good, I would hate to have to face your husband if he were to hear that you hated the way I did your hair.”

“I wouldn’t let Michael throw you around too much,” you joke, watching with glee as Gallant’s eyes widen for a split second before realizing that you’re joking.

“I still can’t believe you guys didn’t even invite anybody to your wedding. It would have been the wedding of the century! Harry and Meghan who, am I right?”

You can’t help but smile fondly at the memory of your wedding. It is, albeit, a recent memory, considering your wedding was less than a month ago, but a memory nonetheless. With Michael being the Antichrist, there was no need for a traditional ceremony in front of a hundred or so guests. Instead, it was a small, intimate ritual, in which your everlasting union and devotion to one another was received under the watchful eyes of Satan. Gallant could complain all he wanted, but you wouldn’t have had your wedding in any other way.

“Just think of today as one giant, belated wedding reception!” you note cheerily, leaning into Gallant’s touch as he nervously flits his hands around your hair.

“How are you not nervous? You’re being presented as the fucking queen of the world today!” You shrug coyly, but hold up your hands so he can see how badly you’re shaking. “I stand corrected.”

A quick knock on the door is your only warning before the love of your life walks into the room. There’s only so much you can wear for the duties performed as the rulers of the world, and both you and Michael are wearing slight variations of the outfits that you wore for your wedding, as well as what was worn when Cordelia was killed. The only difference between the execution and the events that have taken place since is the smile that refuses to leave Michael’s face whenever he sees you.

“My angel,” Michael greets, merely holding an arm out before you’re up and in his grasp. “Your beauty, as always, astounds me.”

“Well I had a little help,” you gesture to Gallant, who sheepishly waves at your husband. Even after almost two months of living at the Sanctuary, he was still terrified of Michael. 

“Nonsense, Gallant just knows how to accentuate your features.” The man in question lets out a quiet squeak at the compliment, busying himself with cleaning up his supplies. “Half an hour. You sure you don’t want to back out?”

You chuckle. “Michael, I’m already married to you. Why would being presented officially as Queen be the dealbreaker?”

“I am just making sure you’re aware of your options, love.” You kiss him quickly, embarrassed, as always, to be showing affection in front of other people.

“Rest assured, it’s never even been a thought to turn away from you. This is our destiny, and the will of your father.”

“Ooookay,” Gallant awkwardly gets your attention, “the sexual tension here is palpable, so I’m gonna head out. (Y/N), I think Mal has a present that she wants to give you before the official events.”

“Thanks for everything, Gal. I love you.” You let go of Michael to hug Gallant, your best friend squeezing you tightly.

“Love you, (Y/N),” Gallant mutters in your ear, pulling away and nodding at Michael. “Mr. Langdon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gallant. You’re a very dear friend to my wife, and I take comfort in knowing she has such great support for the times that I cannot be directly by her side,” Michael says, causing a blush to rise to Gallant’s ears as he bustles out of the room.

“You just like embarrassing people,” you chide, lovingly hitting his chest.

“Maybe so, but you have to admit his expression was pretty funny.” He laughs at the look of begrudging acceptance on your face, hugging you to his chest as he relishes in this moment. “I’ll leave you so that you can see Mallory, but is there anything you need prior to that?”

“A kiss to ease my nerves?”

Michael smiles at you. “There’s no reason to be nervous, my angel. Like you said, you’re already married to me. Winning my father’s approval was the hard part of this ordeal.”

“I know, but I just--I want people to like me.”

“They are going to love you, just as much as I do,” he pauses momentarily. “Actually, less than I do, because I would be concerned if they were able to love you with their entire soul.”

“I love you, Michael.” He finally gives you your requested kiss, his forehead lingering against yours.

“I am yours, (Y/N). Body and soul.” Michael teasingly tilts your crown before pulling away from you. “I’ll see you out there.”

“I’ll be there.” His eyes meet yours once more before he disappears from the way he came, leaving you trying to catch your breath from the whirlwind that is an encounter with your husband. 

Mallory comes in barely a minute later, as cautious as ever when she’s not entirely sure of a situation. Bounding over to her, you hug her tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” you mutter against her shoulder.

Mallory laughs. “We saw each other yesterday!”

“I know, but it’s nice to have my sister with me in the middle of this huge event.” Mallory strokes your cheek comfortingly, her soft smile prevalent as she fixes the tilt of your crown.

“How is...everything?”

“Good, I think. I’m nervous, but the hard part’s over.”

“Well, Mrs. Langdon, you look every part the Queen that you are.”

“Gallant said you had something for me?” Mallory nods excitedly.

“Yes! Do you remember the last night we were together, before Cordelia wiped our memories?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was wearing a necklace that Cordelia had given to me, one that had been passed down through the line of Supremes. I found it last month, when I was cleaning out my old room at Robichaux’s. Since I’m not the Supreme, there’s no reason for me to have it, so I’m passing it on to the Supreme.” 

Mallory produces a necklace from the pocket of her dress, handing the jewelry to you. It’s more like a choker, the delicate, black lace band held together with two small clasps on the back. The large green emerald that sits in the center of the necklace seems to be capturing the light, with the bright flashes swimming in the jewel.

“Oh Mal, it’s beautiful.”

“The brooch is Mimi DeLongpre’s. When she was fading, she decided she wanted this to be sort of an heirloom for Supremes.” Grabbing Mallory’s hand, you give the necklace back to her.

“I want you to have it.”

Mallory looks at you in shock. “(Y/N), no! It’s yours; it’s your right as Supreme to have this.”

“I have so much jewelry as it is. I wouldn’t be able to wear such a beautiful piece as often as I would want to, and green suits you. At least hold onto it for me for safekeeping?” You know that’s the only way that she’ll accept it, but you truly think that this belongs to Mallory. No matter your feelings towards Cordelia, she had given it to Mallory with the intention that this would be hers.

“Alright, I’ll hold onto it for you. But once your baby’s old enough, I’m going to give it to her.” Now it’s your turn to be shocked as Mallory bites her lip, smiling conspiratorially.

“How--how did you know? I haven’t even told anyone yet, and I only found out last week.”

“Call it intuition.” Upon your searing look, Mallory chuckles. “Okay! You can only ask me for the same food so many times in such a short period of time without me getting suspicious. Plus, your boobs have already grown.”

You cross your arms over your chest at the mention of that, thinking back to at least five separate times you asked Mallory to go with you to get fried rice. “Damn, you probably knew before I did.”

“Congratulations!” Mallory hugs you once more.

“Don’t tell anybody, okay? It’s still really early, and Michael will be pissed if he finds out someone else knew before he did.”

“Ma’am?” A voice calls from behind the door. “It’s time.”

You meet Mallory’s gaze. “That’s my cue.”

“If you get nervous, Gallant and I will be in the front row. Just look at us if it’s too much for you.”

“Thanks, Mal.” She walks with you out to the main hallway, where the doors to a large event hall are tightly shut. 

In the short amount of time that you’re left alone after Mallory transmutes in and before you see Michael, your nerves start to bubble in your chest. It must be a sixth sense of Michael’s, the ability to sense when you’re nervous, because he appears right as you’re starting to consider biting your nails.

“Miss me?” Michael asks.

“Every second I spend away from you.”

“Are you ready to meet your subjects?” Michael lifts his hand, preparing to open the doors.

“Wait!” You pull him towards one of the large pillars that holds up the ceiling, out of view of his servants.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, actually. Michael, I’m pregnant.”

Michael’s frozen expression as he digests this information would be laughable if it weren’t for the fact that you dropped a bombshell on him. Finally, after an agonizing minute, he blinks rapidly.

“You’re...when?”

“Well I only found out last week, but I’m guessing it happened the night of Cordelia’s execution, or maybe the days after.” Michael can’t help but smirk at the reminder of just how well you christened your new home after officially becoming Supreme. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” Michael repeats before a large smile breaks onto his face. “(Y/N), you’ve made me the happiest man in the history of the world. I could not be more happy about this. We’re going to have a baby!”

You squeal as Michael places his hands on your hips, lifting you up for a moment before setting you back on your feet and kissing you. “I was so worried that you were going to be upset.”

“How could I possibly be upset? You’ve given me the greatest gift; we’re starting our family, continuing our lineage, and ushering in the first generation of our new world. I love you.”

He kisses you once again, his hands going to your abdomen. “I love you too, but I’m only a couple months along, at most. There’s not really going to be any bump or anything.”

“Our baby’s still in there, regardless of if you’re showing or not.” You stroke his hair as he looks down at your stomach, trying to comprehend the fact that there’s a living, growing human inside of you, one that you both helped to create.

“My lord,” one of the servants calls from near the door, “are you ready?”

Michael straightens up, reassuming his cool demeanor after kissing you one more time. “Yes, we’re ready.”

Taking your hand, Michael leads you back to in front of the doors, as you both prepare to step into your new roles in this new world, with the knowledge of a new life that you’ve both created.

//

Tag List (as well as my everlasting thanks): @sammythankyou​ @queencocoakimmie​ @girlycakepops​ @ajokeformur-ray​ @pastel-cloudz​ @nana15774​ @lichellaw​ @ultragibbycentralworld​ @grim-adventures58​ @dandycandy75​ @trimbooohgodplsnoooo​ @everything-is-awesomesauce​ @ccodyfern​ @jimmlangdon​ @langdonslove​ @omgsuperstarg​ @nsainmoonchild​ @mrsnegan25​ 

[shutupandshipit]

Little Life - Ch.9

Summary:  A baby could ruin his career before it had even started. If anyone found out, he would be kicked out of the Hero Course at the very least and UA at the very worst. Even then, how was he supposed to care for a baby once it arrived? He was a fucking seventeen-year-old boy, not a twenty-nine-year-old omega with their shit at least somewhat together.

…..

Or where Katsuki get pregnant, but is determined to make it to graduation. No matter what it takes.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 9/16

Previous <- Chapter 8

Chapter 10 -> Next

Master Post

Chapter 9: 7 Months

Katsuki glared at his reflection in the floor length mirror Mina had mounted on her closet door. His pants hung low on his hips, open so he could stare at himself. Between his hip bones, he could see the small bump gently distending his abdomen like a very small tumor. A very, very small tumor that at any point in the next two months could blossom into a full fledged beach ball, but he doubted that it would this late in the game. Thank god for that.

His jeans didn't fit like they used to anymore, both because of his still rather rigorous workout schedule, but also... There was a squishy layer of fat around his waist. He was fucking developing love handles, and wouldn't stand for that.

Not only that, but his chest had begun to fill out more. It distressed him every time he pressed against his pecs and felt the squish instead of immediately meeting firm muscle, and his nipples had started to leak a watery white substance every time he did. He knew it was just his body getting ready for the baby that would be welcomed to the world soon, but it didn't make him happy.

He didn't have to be happy about any of the changes to his body, much less almost-milk leaking from him. He'd hated the whole concept and process of pregnancy before, and he still hated it now. Like he'd said to himself multiple times, 'The joys of pregnancy, my fucking ass.' He was absolutely not thrilled that he'd had to improvise pads to soak up his weird nipple liquid so he didn't leak through his everyday clothes.

"Bakubro, what are you doing over there? Don't you, like, have a date or something?" Kirishima asked from the bed where he, Mina and Ochako were spread out agonizing over the mass amount of homework Aizawa had assigned for the weekend. He's already finished it, and Kirishima and Mina had dragged him down, grabbing Ochako on the way when they spotted her in the halls.

An impromptu meeting of the 'Baby Boom Protection Squad' as Mina had started calling them.

"I'm getting fat," Katsuki growled, still staring at himself. Even his face had lost a little of its sharpness, and not to puberty. He couldn't handle it. Catch him the very day he gave birth pressing weight like a madman with a newborn strapped to his chest. He couldn't live like this.

Ochako lifted her head from where she'd been face down against her book, blinking blearily up at him. "I don't see anything, Bakugou. If there is something different, then I can't tell. You look the same as ever. Which is to say, hot. Which is not fair. I'm not going to look that hot when I'm pregnant."

"Then I guess you can't see this baby bump either?" he growled, turning to pull down the waistband of his briefs a little lower for their appraisal.

The three aspiring heroes scrutinized his abdomen before sighing in unison. "I don't see anything," Mina whined, rubbing at her forehead, "I'm still a little bitter about being robbed of big pregnant Bakubro, to be honest. How are you not even showing?"

"That'd be so weird if he were though," Kirishima said, dropping his head back down.

Katsuki sneered over at them. "Just because you're alphas doesn't mean you get to slack on knowing what your omegas' pregnancies are going to be like. Everyone's bodies are different and every baby is different. That goes for betas and female alphas too. Not everyone is going to look like a pregnant woman on television."

"Right," Ochako piped up, "My aunt is small like Jirou. When she was pregnant, she didn't show until the second trimester, and even then, it only looked like she was carrying around an apple under her shirt."

"Point made. I'm most likely not going to show at all. Thank god for that. And I don't want to show. Fuck all of that."

"But come on," Mina wheedled, "You would look so cute all big and round. Imagine how dramatically Mido would die seeing you like that. He wouldn't be able to stop touching you."

"Like I'm ever going to let him touch me again after this," Katsuki sniped back, zipping up his pants with finality.

"You're such a liar."

Ochako jumped in before the conversation could veer too far off track, and returned to the original point. "Anyway, if there are any changes, it's no wonder you notice them. It's your body after all. You would notice any small changes first. Well, you and Deku maybe."

"Yeah, don't remind me. I've been avoiding that fucker like the plague whenever we get back from school so he doesn't smell this tit juice on me."

"Ew!" Mina screeched, sticking out her tongue in disgust, "Why did you have to describe it like that!"

Kirishima sighed. "Or you could just tell him, you know, as the father of your child? Solve one of the problems?"

Katsuki snarled and glared at him as he pulled on his improvised padding and then his undershirt before layering over his button-up. "Yeah, no thanks. That shit would give the game away, and I'm almost at the finish line."

"Okay, whatever you think is best," Kirishima conceded, but the look on his face told Bakugou all he needed to know about what his best friend thought of that particular course of action. "Stubborn ass."

"Whatever."

"On the plus side, you look great!" Ochako chirped, smiling.

"I always look great." God, he was hungry. He wanted ice cream, and he glanced down at his phone for the time. There was still another thirty minutes before Izuku was supposed to come back from his errand. He turned for the door.

Eyes wide at the sudden change of pace, Mina asked, "Where are you going?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "To get ice cream."

The three scrambled after him out the door.

.....

"Waaah?! You guys are eating ice cream without me?" Kaminari cried indignantly when he found them in the common room crowded around a table with an empty carton of ice cream and four heaping bowls. "And you ate it all too!"

"Should've gotten here faster instead of having a disgusting PDA session with your boyfriend and girlfriend," Katsuki said as he deliberately stuck his spoon in his mouth.

"You're one to talk!"

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize my boyfriend was sitting in my lap. You guys should have told me. I would have shared."

Ochako snorted into her bowl and smacked around fruitlessly for a napkin. Katsuki silently pushed her napkin against her searching fingers.

"That's not fair!" Kaminari shouted before grumbling, "Should you even be eating that? You've been putting on some weight recently. Right around the middle." He indicated the region, sweeping his hand over his stomach and waist. "And here." He pointed at his own cheeks.

Katsuki stopped breathing as anger boiled up. Mostly anger at the liars sitting at the table with him.

"Man, who says stuff like that?" Kirishima complained before Bakugou could blow up and ruin the whole treat they'd been enjoying.

"Yeah, that was so mean, Denks," Mina chimed in with a frown, "Bakugou is as fit as ever. Where did that even come from? Did the date not go well?"

"It went fine!" Kaminari uncharacteristically spat defensively, but tears were bubbling up on the rim of his lashes.

Thinking about it, Katsuki hadn't seen him come in with either Jirou or Shinsou. His omega whined plaintively, and with a growl, he kicked out the chair near him. "Get a fucking spoon, sit the fuck down, and don't start crying. If you get tears in my ice cream, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

Kaminari slouched off to the kitchen to grab a spoon and slumped into the chair before scooping out a small bite from Katsuki's offered bowl. They ate in repressed silence until Izuku came through the doors with Shinsou, looking surlier than normal, and Jirou, looking rather put out with wet eyes, behind him. Kaminari didn't look up, and Izuku sighed as they got to the table.

'Here come the class alpha, pack leader, whatever the fuck, to the rescue.'

He took the spoon with a mound of partially melted ice cream that Katsuki offered him before leaning in for a kiss. Their mouths were sweet and minty, and Katsuki could have stayed there forever.

But Izuku pulled away after a moment. He handed back the spoon and gripped Kaminari's shoulder. "Come on, Kaminari. Let's go talk, all four of us." He looked to Katsuki apologetically. "Can you give me another thirty, Kacchan?"

Katsuki waved him away, shoving the rest of his bowl at Kaminari before diving into Ochako's proffered bowl.

The four walked away, Izuku in the lead, and back outside the way they'd come.

"I wonder what happened," Mina mused.

"I know. Those three always get alone so well, I thought," Ochako piped up around a full mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, gremlin," Katsuki scolded before waving his spoon around, "Isn't it obvious? It's pre-post-graduation drama bullshit. Most likely. None of them are applying for the same agencies or even in the same city, and with all three being alphas, it's probably mate related too."

Mina and Kirishima glanced at each other. They'd dated back in second year, but had decided to see if they could find omega mates before settling down together. Katsuki was pretty certain that no matter what happened, they'd still end up mated with a gaggle of pups in tow. Alpha-alpha matings, fundamentally different from alpha-omega and alpha-beta matings, had a low success rate primarily due to their biology telling them to go fuck themselves. If any alphas could make it work though, it would be those two.

"He never talked to me about any of that," Mina mumbled.

"Yeah, well, you have shit hearing. It's not that hard to figure out if you just pay attention. That and he only ever talks to Deku about that shit as far as I can tell. I just happen to be there sometimes. Perks of being mated to the pack alpha." Katsuki also knew how to keep his trap shut, clearly.

Kirishima sighed. "That'd be too bad. Kaminari is head over heels for both of them."

"Yeah," Mina sighed as well, and Katsuki scowled as the mood soured.

"Hey, sad sacks, quit with that shit. My hormones are too high for you all to be sad."

Ochako interjected before either of the pair could shove their foot in their respective mouths, opening up a conversation for what they thought finals would be like and what agencies they'd been considering.

Katsuki fell into the rhythm of conversation, but was out of his seat when Izuku finally came back inside with tear stains on his shirt.

He huffed as he wrapped his arms around Katsuki. "Let's get out of here. Everyone is too emotional right now. I'm drained."

"Agreed."