#a lady dressed like a fairy told me she liked my shirt

[ghstslut]

i don't belong anywhere without u on my arm!

[edenalieth]

Tricked pt.2

Pairing: pixy!hyunjin x afab! reader — read part.1

Genre: faery!au, based on « the cruel prince » universe, smut, slight angst

Warnings: he’s still short tempered his dad is too, unprotected sex (they're fairies, they struggle to have kids and are immortals, you're not), oral m!receiving, fingering f!receiving, orgasm denial, bit rough/jealousy, y'all are a bit tipsy

Summary: At first, he thought he was hallucinating but he could recognize your delicate gestures, the plump of your lips, your hand engulfed by the stranger’s one and the way his free hand was sneakily brushing over your butt. Who was this asshole ? Rage setting his blood on fire, he couldn’t stop staring at you, making him stumble over his partner's feet. He apologized to the lady he was dancing with and headed towards you. Little did he know that you were waiting for this reaction. 

Words: 4.7K 

A.N: hi, it's cami! im back with the second part of this faery au. it's actually a first for me to write a sequel, i recently read the stolen heir so it helped going back into this universe haha. sorry for the eventual mistakes, i hope you will like it ♡ — 231206

His shirt was barely buttoned up, his hair untied and soaked after swimming with you on the lake and he unconsciously hummed a song on his way back to the manor. He felt delighted by the time you had spent together. Of course, he wasn’t forgiving you for the way you had played with his feelings, the way you made a fool out of him but he would let you go with it, for now. And, after all, it was your secret. Just like the place where you had sealed your passion to. He shivered thinking about how your hands touched him, how your soft lips crashed on his. He let his fingers brush against his lips, his steps guiding him towards the white rocky structure he called his dwelling. 

When the heavy wooden door opened at his arrival he heard his name being announced by the guards and some servants rushing towards him. 

« My lord, what happened to your clothes ? Please, you should wear some shoes and get dressed properly. » urged an old woman called Mona. She used to be his nanny and was always making sure things were perfect for him. Since he grew up, he was seeing her less and less as she was busy directing other attendants. However, she always showed up during important times. Today was no exception. 

Hyunjin raised a brow looking at the fae. He checked his white shirt. There was some green stains here and there because of your little fight. His feet were dirty after walking in the woods. Fine but what now ? Were the guests still here ? Even so, he didn’t care. The high society had seen him in a far worst shape than just being underdressed. And, after all, even a cruel and perverted man like Cardan had been able to access the throne. People would not be shocked for so little. 

The woman clapped twice and domestic servants swarmed over him, dusting his shoulders and feet, handing him a clean doublet and boots. He rejected them, annoyed by all this fuss. « Could you at least tell me why I should do this ? I would like to retire to my apartments. » the black haired pixy grumbled, his tone iron cold, looking at them with no mercy. The old fae sighed, not impressed by his temper. « Your father is waiting for you in his office. » 

His shoulders got tensed and he clenched his fists, the muscle of his jaw suddenly prominent. He pulled the clothes off the hands of a brownie, while an other one was helping him to put his boots on. Once ready, he headed towards the office. 

As usual, his steps were echoing on the empty corridors. In the fading daylight, the last rays of sunshine were illuminating the walls of different shades of blue, making the shadows dance. He stopped at the doorframe, took a deep breath and knocked.

« Come. » his father’s low voice seemed calm, too calm. 

Hyunjin entered the room. He bowed and said « Father. Mona told me you wanted to see me. » 

The place wasn’t really big and quite off-centered from the crowded rooms of the manor. Mountains of books were surrounding the huge oak desk, skillfully engraved with pixies and ivy. The young man was about to sit on one of the armchair facing it but his father stopped him, raising his hand as a gesture for him to wait. « No need, I won’t be too long. »

Hyunjin had difficulties to stay focused and he was trying with all his might to not let his wings buzz. His father was writing on some papers, not even bothering to look at his son. When he finished, he sealed it with blue wax, stamping the coat of arms of their family using his signet ring. Hyunjin had a similar one on his left index. « Today was your last tantrum. » his parent stated. 

The boy scoffed, tapping his feet on the floor. « A tantrum ? Maybe it would not have happened if this incompetent » and he insisted on that word, gritting his teeth « was doing his job properly. He humiliated me in front of the guests. » 

His dad stood up, overlooking his son. « No! You did that yourself and a multiple times! » he seethed. Hyunjin could feel his body getting hot from all the rage he was holding back. Controlling his wings was now a wasted effort and it didn’t go unnoticed. The older man looked at him with disdain. « Look at you. You’re dressed like a peasant and can’t even discipline your emotions. You almost hurt a domestic today, you put on a show during our dinner with the duke and your reputation is well known in Insmire. » he paused, analyzing Hyunjin’s reaction to the statement. He continued. « Get ahold of yourself or I will have to interfere myself. » he threatened. The pixy was fulminating. « I dare you to try. » he spit, his body few inches from his father’s. Not getting the time to react, he felt a loud pain on his cheekbone. His mind went blank, something warm dripping along his face. 

His dad pulled out a tissue from his pocket and cleaned his ring. « A ball is going to be held in four days. This is your chance to show the true values of the Hwang family. Understood ? » Hyunjin didn’t answer. « I said, understood ? ». 

« Yes, father. » 

When Hyunjin came back to his room, he had the urge to break everything around him. He checked himself on the full length mirror, his cheek was red, with some hints of purple and dry blood on the cut. Despite his anger, he could tell this argument made him come back to his senses. He deserved to be respected and feared but he also needed to behave a bit more to reach that goal. Not to be the capricious heir and to be able to surpass his dad. First, he would try to control his emotions. Second, he would avoid people making it harder for him to reach his first goal and having a bad influence on him, such as you. He could tell his heart had soften the second he took interest in you. It started when you arrived at the court and exploded after your afternoon together. He would not meet you the next day, breaking his promise. Nor the other. He didn’t need a weakness. He didn’t need to like you. 

Servants were helping him to get ready. He was wearing an all white outfit. The tip of his boots was covered of dark silver and Mona attached a brooch made of sapphires as dark as the night sky. His cloak, also white, was covered of tiny diamonds looking like the morning dew. His former nanny handed him a mask made of tulle. It wasn’t totally covering his face, just enough to hide his bruise and eyes. He was playing with the ring on his index, adorned with his coat of arms. It represented several pair of pixy wings, intertwined with ivy forming a H. Hyunjin often played with it to relax or, at least, try to. He perfectly knew that you would be here tonight. It would probably be difficult to ignore you, he was scared of your reaction. However, it was a masked ball and maybe you would not recognize him in the crowd. He hoped so. 

Once ready, a knight came to escort him and his family to the castle where the ball was taking place. The great hall was beautifully decorated. Fresh flowers were dripping from the ceiling expertly mixing with the high chandeliers where small fireflies were trapped, diffusing a dim light. The tables were covered with food and drinks going from grilled fish accompanied with a lemony sauce, fae fruits and exotic ones, some mortal dishes and different types of wine. 

A small orchestra was playing and a lot of people were dancing dressed with their prettiest gowns or totally naked. Spotting some acquaintances, he followed his family, greetings several people. Trolls, mermaids, elves. He had to go through this if he wanted to get some freedom from his father’s constant monitoring. Which, after what felt like hours, he got. His mother was busy gossiping with court ladies and his father needed to discuss some serious topic with a duke. Hyunjin wasted no time and decided to join some of his friends he had noticed earlier and took a glass of green wine. The alcohol going down his throat burnt him but the taste of it was incredible. 

« Look who is joining us! What have you been up to ? You didn’t come to Xylia’s party this week. » immediately questioned a young sidhe named Jisung. Him and Hyunjin used to hate each other until the pixy helped him out of a really bad situation. Said situation implying his friend having an affair with a married woman. 

« I’ve been on thin ice with my father’s patience lately… Staying at the manor was my best option. » 

Jisung pouted not truly convinced and took a bite on a fae fruit, some of its golden dust slightly covering his mouth. « Better make up for last time then » he mischievously replied with a smirk, pouring another glass of wine to Hyunjin. The latest smiled and let himself go a little while said Xylia, a nymph who had been interested on the black haired man, came up to sit on his lap. 

« Hwang Hyunjin is finally honoring us of his presence! » she purred, sliding her arms around his shoulders. « Missed me ? » he arrogantly said. « Of course ». She chuckled, revealing pointy teeth, then proceeded to come closer to sensually bite his neck. Jisung laughed and looked at them avidly. It wasn’t the first time he was seeing them acting like this but it surely aroused him. Hyunjin used to love it, playing with Xylia, flirting with indecency, teasing his friend. He thought that giving in to his old demons would help him get you out of his mind but everything seemed bland. The nymph strong flowery scent was overwhelming, his mouth felt furred because of the wine and the sidhe’s reaction annoyed him. 

« Stop… » his voice was barely audible. The girl kept on going, sliding her hands along his torso. « I said stop. » he growled firmly, trapping the nymph’s wrist in his hand. His gaze was icy, giving cold sweat to Xylia. « What’s wrong with you ? » she was visibly offended. The pixy man rolled his eyes « I’m bored staying in your company ». He stood up and went towards the dancing crowd. He heard Jisung trying to convince him to stay and could feel the nymph’s angry eyes boring holes into his back. He didn’t care, now that the alcohol was doing its job he could only think about one thing: finding you. 

How came you didn’t cross his path yet ? Yes, all those masks and textile fluttering all around him were making him dizzy and harder for him to notice you. However, it couldn’t be impossible, right ? Unless you weren’t invited… Unthinkable. Your family was freshly part of the high society, they needed to shine among it to get the recognition from their pairs. Hyunjin let himself be drawn into a waltz, changing partners and spiraling according to his thoughts. Until his eyes finally landed on you. At first, he thought he was hallucinating but he could recognize your delicate gestures, the plump of your lips, your hand engulfed by the stranger’s one and the way his free hand was sneakily brushing over your butt. Who was this asshole ? 

Rage setting his blood on fire, he couldn’t stop staring at you, making him stumble over his partner's feet. He apologized to the lady he was dancing with and headed towards you. Little did he know that you were waiting for this reaction. 

You had noticed him rather quickly. How could you do otherwise, anyway ? He was shining like the purest gem among the nobles and courtiers. The tulle mask was doing nothing, you could tell right away that it was him by the way he elegantly walked, his dark blue wings, his pearl earring he seemed to never take off from his pointy ears. The second you saw him in the crowd, you almost ran to him, desperate to know why he never came back to the lake. However, you needed to find the right time for it because you weren’t going to be nice and you couldn’t tarnish your family's reputation. He seemed like a different person when it was only the both of you. You thought he had a soft spot for you. What an idiot you had been. You felt betrayed. Maybe it was his revenge for the little play you had pulled on him and it felt like getting a taste of your own medicine. Bitter. 

He had probably used you and would laugh about it with his friends. This feeling increased the moment you saw that beautiful creature devouring his neck and touching him lustfully. You clenched your fists at the sight of it and regretted not cutting his throat when you had the occasion. In the end, he was like any other fae, directed by his impulses. You went to the closest table and grabbed a drink. You coughed a little because of the high amount of alcohol. And this is how you joined the dancers, well decided not to cry over that mouth-of-nectar. He wanted to play that game ? Oh, you wouldn’t loose and seeing him almost crawling in your direction gave you some smugness. 

« Y/N. » he called out, trying to get your attention as you ignored him thoroughly. People were on his way and he started to push them away brutally — getting death glares — as you danced away from him, still in your lure’s arms. Even if his gaze was blurred by the light fabric covering it, you could tell the same anger was burning inside his eyes, the same one you had witnessed when he discovered the trickery you had played on him. Finally reaching the both of you, the pixy stopped, trying to keep his composure. « May I ? » he asked the man, showing his palm. « Can’t you see I’m… » your partner was about to protest until he saw who he was talking to. Hyunjin was giving him a beautiful grin but not a single cell of his body seemed welcoming. « Lord Hwang I… My apologies, the lady is yours. » he sheepishly said. The pixy looked at him leaving and his smile instantly faded once the man was out of sight. You rolled your eyes and tried to escape but he strongly grabbed your waist and pulled you close to him. 

« You suddenly remember me, Hwang Hyunjin ? » you scoffed, annoyed to not be able to detach your eyes from his. He intertwined his fingers with yours, making you twirl. You were stunning in that dress. It was visibly made of a pearly shaded silk where actual pearls delicately dangled on your chest and arms, like rain drops. A similar mask was adorning your face. It gave you a strong aura and suited the hint of purple in your eyes. « Why are you doing this to me, half-blood ? » he whispered in your ear. Feeling his breath against your face gave you goosebumps. 

« D-doing what ? » 

Damn it! You couldn’t help but stuttered and he smirked. 

« Playing with my feelings all the time. » he replied. Oh wow! So, it was your fault. 

« I’m the one playing ? You seemed to have a good time with that freshwater slut earlier. » you spat, unable to restrain your venom. He recoiled, surprised. 

« Are you talking about Xylia ? I actually pushed her away because I wanted her to be you. » he grumbled. You felt his nails digging into the tenderness of your waist, giving you a small ache. « And you think I’m going to believe you after you broke your promise. I bet you told all your friends how you made a fool out of me, letting me think I had won. »

Your words annoyed him and he frowned. This is what you thought and why you were doing all of this, trying to make him jealous and it worked. His wings started to tickle and his mouth was reduced to a thin line. 

« You truly think I’m a monster when you’re the one who started all of this. » he stated calmly. Surprised, you looked at him but you couldn’t say he was wrong… 

« What do you want from me Y/N ? » 

His intense gaze made you look away and you were glad the mask was hiding your cheekbones which were probably red. You weren’t going to say how much his loss hurt you, how addicted you had become after only one day together. You had too much ego for that. Gulping, you came closer to his ear and murmured, « Prove me I’m wrong, prove that you sincerely desire me. »

He put a halt to your dance, weighing the pros and cons of your demand. Accepting would go against his resolutions, yet, it couldn’t let you insult him without giving you a lesson. « Your wish is my command. » he replied with a sly smile. 

Cutting through the crowd, he guided you upstairs. You weren’t surprised to see some wasted people laying on the floor or hearing laughs coming from other rooms. What surprised you is how easily he found the entry of a boudoir room. Must not have been his first time coming here which made your body get tensed. 

It was small and pretty. The furnitures were scanty. An alcove full of fluffy pillows and beautifully crafted blankets overhung by a large window offering a night view of the garden. A meridian couch and a coffee table, few decorations. You removed your mask, wanting to face him correctly. You looked even more gorgeous and he could feel his body warming up. He carefully locked the door and walked towards you, trapping you against the edge of the alcove and himself. The sudden proximity made your core ache. You wanted to touch him badly but he was the one who had to prove something. After all, he accepted the challenge. 

« Well. Tell me Hyunjin, are we going to stay like that or are you actually going to do something ? » you teased. He scoffed, letting his hand run along your thigh and going up your breast to grasp the dangling pearls. He played with it, looking at the light reflecting on it. Your breathe was faint, anticipating. Not bothering to lift his head up, he spoke 

« I will make you mine, Y/N. You will be my thing, my doll and you will never dare to flirt with some idiots ever again. » You frowned. His thing ? You would never let that happen. 

« You’re all blabbering but you dont act much and, most importantly, you don’t own me. » 

What you thought would be a nice time was turning into an upsetting one. This was ridiculous and, despite your aroused state, you needed to leave. Obviously, the young pixy didn’t let you go, pulling hard on the pearls and making the threads holding them break as they fell on the ground. 

« Really ? » 

You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking because of the tulle and you wanted him to get rid of it. Before you could complain about it, he grabbed your butt and made you sit on the alcove. Adroitly, he left your dress up so that your bottom was fully exposed. « I’m sure of… » you couldn’t finish your sentence, feeling his thin fingers sliding down your folds. You gripped his shoulders and moaned on his neck. He removed his hand, looking at your glimmering arousal and said with a husky voice « Seems like your pussy is telling me otherwise. »

You felt tears forming in your eyes. Why your body had to betray you like this ? You bit your lip, sulking. However, Hyunjin didn’t plan to give you any rest. 

« You wanted to know how much I desire you, uh ? » he growled, leaving incandescent kisses on your jaw and neck. You hummed, too concentrated on his touch. 

« Speak. » he ordered. 

« Yes. » 

A smirk appeared on his face as he closed the gap between the two of you. You sighed in relief, finally feeling his lips on yours, it tasted like green wine. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your core meeting the fabric of his pants where you could feel is hard-on. He grabbed the back of your hair, making your head fall backward. He missed your scent, the softness of your skin and he absolutely wanted to ruin you. 

You tried to find some friction but he was holding you back strongly. The tip of his nose brushed against the crook of your neck when you felt his warm and wet tongue tracing lines on it. « Hyunjin, please… »

As an answer, he harshly sucked on your skin. The pain made a small cry escape your mouth. Fuck. He was bolder than the first time, getting comfortable around you. You heard a pop when he let your sensitive take some rest. 

« Satisfied ? » he asked. Oh, he had to be joking right now. 

« Not at all. » you answered, sulking. His laugh revealed his teeth, making him low-key predatory. 

« Always greedy. » he sighed. His fingers caressed the pulsing point of your neck, travelling down to the valley of your breast to finally reach where you needed him the most. He cupped your sex, making you mewl. « This belongs to me. » 

You wanted to protest but the pressure he was applying on your clit was driving you crazy, his thumb forming small eight figures on it. 

« Say it. » You resisted, shutting your eyes and digging your nails into his shoulders. Loosing his patience, he inserted a first digit inside you. You moaned his name loudly and Hyunjin had to take deep breaths not to fuck you raw.

« I-it’s yours. » you panted. 

He dipped another finger inside your dripping pussy. « Again. » 

« It’s yours, I’m yours. » you chocked when you felt his digits curling. 

« See. It wasn’t that difficult to admit it. » he mocked, his lips crashing against yours. You bit on his lower lip, making him grunt, soon met by an iron taste. The black haired man lightly jumped, his wings quivering. 

« Behave. » he whispered. « I’m sorry… I got carried away. » you immediately apologized, afraid that he would stop. Unfortunately, what you feared inevitably happened. After few more pumps, he could notice how lightheaded you were, how your walls were getting tighter. However, he didn’t want you to come around his fingers. You whined. 

« Keep going, please. I was so close. »

« I know. » he sighed. « But it’s my turn now. » He stepped back a little, putting you back on your feet as he was taking your place and unzipping his pants. He looked sinfully handsome. Totally absorbed by the view, you didn’t notice how he made you kneel down before him. His length was right in front of your eyes, precum glittering on its top. You licked your lips. « Suck on it. » 

Another order you gladly complied to. Him towering you like this, in all his glory, was another type of turn on. You delicately seized his dick before giving him some kitten licks. He let out a loud moan, his hands gripping the edge of the alcove, his knuckles turning white. 

« Stop playing. » he huffed. Searching for his gaze, you seductively put his member into your mouth, your lips perfectly fitting around it. Damn it. He would never be able to avoid you after seeing you like that. The sensation of your tongue twirling around his shaft, the delicious pressure every time you sucked on him. Gripping your hair he gave you light thrusts, until he couldn't stop his increasing pace, the tip of dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. Tears formed on the corner of your eyes and your jaw started to ache so you had to make him stop. Both out-of-breath, he helped you to stand up, your legs being sore from the kneeling position.

« You did amazing, sugar. But don't you think it would be too bad for me not to come inside you ? » he mused, cupping your chin.

« I want you all. » you whined, already lifting your gown up. It made him chuckle, his eyes turning into crescent moons. Wanting to be more comfortable, he finally removed his cloak and mask. You never thought it would make such a big difference but everything seemed more intense now. You could perfectly admire his features, his dark eyes, the mole under his left one. Something was new, though. You carefully approached your hand from the bruise on his face. You frowned and asked « What happened ? ».

He had totally forgotten about it. He put your hand down and made you turn around. « Nothing much, now bend over. » You started to ask more questions but got easily distracted when he unlaced your dress, letting it slip on your naked body. You felt the palm of his left hand applying pressure on your bare back so that your torso was totally flat against the pillows and blankets of the alcove. He cupped your butt cheeks, slightly spreading them to look at your dripping core. You couldn't see what he was doing, only hearing some wet sounds. Hyunjin pumped himself hastily and, without any warning, penetrated you. You being soaking wet helped him a little but you were so tight that it was difficult for him to put his whole length inside. Gripping your waist firmly, he started with light thrusts, growling with any frictions.

The stretch was a bit painful at first, still, you quickly got accustomed to it, your butt trying to meet his hips and loving how he manhandled you. Seeing you so desperate to feel his dick made him salivate. He could see the side of your face as you bit on your lips, trying to muffle your noisy whimpers. You looked so fucked up and gorgeous at the same time. Inch by inch, he finally buried the totality of his shaft inside you, immediately hitting your sweet spot. « Fuck... Y/N... » one thrust, « I told you... » two... « You are meant to be mine. » His pace was increasing as you nodded, unable to create a proper sentence, your hips continuously hitting against the wooden edge of the alcove. The mixed pain and pleasure made you press your legs together, which didn't go unnoticed. Growling louder, Hyunjin bent over you to get a new angle, his thrusts becoming sloppy and slower. You felt one of his hand sliding down your heat to work on your clit.

« Hyunjin... » you mewl on his touch.

Surrounded by your scent and moans, he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it much longer, going feral as he fed your eager cunt.

« You feel so good. Even better than last time » he praised, probably because this time he was the one dominating. This statement sent electricity down your spine, your walls clenching dangerously.

« Hyunie, I'm really close... » you cried, your voice barely above a whisper. « Hold on for me, half-blood. » the pixy commanded. You simply nodded and grabbed the blankets under you. You couldn't think straight anymore. You were fighting against the threatening wave of pleasure increasing with each powerful thrust, each change of pace. He was doing you good, too good for your own sanity. You could feel his weight on top of you, his arms caging your torso, leaving faint bruises. Wet sounds were echoing in the small room, sounds of your sweaty bodies rubbing against each other, sounds of sinful sex. His breath was becoming hectic and heavier, your walls so warm and narrow that he felt sucked in.

« Fuck ! » shaking over you, he relieved his seeds inside you, coating your core white. The euphoric wave wouldn't stop as he kept feeding his high, throbbing inside you and spiraling into delicious bliss. Unable to hold back anymore, you were on the very edge of your climax when you felt him pulling out. Stunned, you were left clenching around nothing, your core aching.

« W-what ? » you asked, confused. You fell on the floor, too weak to stand up properly. Hyunjin was already dressing himself up, styling his hair and tying his cloak. Once ready, he took his mask and crouched down to meet your eyes. A smirk was adorning his face.

« Consider this a payback for last time. » he said with his husky voice, preparing to get up « Oh! Before I leave, don't forget that I better not catch you in the arms of someone else than me. » he was towering you, looking down on you and your submissive position. He caressed your cheeks as anger was suddenly knocking your brain, your brows furrowed and eyes darkening. Without a word he turned around and left the room. He put his mask back on, satisfied as he heard his steps and your raging scream echoing on the corridor.

[wormswurld]

hii!! do you have any headcanons/thoughts/woteva about transfem felix? also your blog is incredible, peace and love <3

of course i have thoughts about transfem! fem + thank you so much for liking my blog!!!! you’re so kind,, peace & love sent your way as well 💕🌟

- has always felt dysphoric about her height since she’s so tall and she’s always been the tallest person in her class though once college started she kinda just accepted her height& how it won’t change lol

- first started realizing signs of her feeling “different” from all the other boys in her class when she would gravitate towards hanging out with the girls in her classes, playing with different toys (literally throwing temper tantrums if she didn’t have the same toys / ability to play dress up with venetia), etc

- dysphoria really started hitting when puberty & middle school started…was always popular and thought to be a “ladies man” by his peers and teachers even though she would only hangout with girls / talk to them about typical “girly things” + having small little crushes on boys she would keep to herself

- venetia was the first person she came out to!! they’ve been close since birth so it was kinda impossible not to tell her,, probably told her after coming home from school (first time she was ever ridiculed for being “too feminine” or a “fairy” etc) and of course venetia listened and comforted her like a good sister would + she always wanted a sister anyway

- as time progresses felix starts growing out her hair a little longer, not thing too long, but shoulder length so she could start tucking hair behind her hair + wear headbands whenever it got too hot outside (no one in her inner circle really questioned it that much, of course there were some bad people though venetia taught felix to really start standing up for herself not letting “those” comments get to her”

- sometimes when it’s late at night (during the summer before meeting ollie) felix sneaks off to venetia’s room where she can snoop around and play with her makeup and clothes,, of course the clothes don’t really fit properly but being able to see herself in something she truly feels more comfortable in helps a lot

- starts to go out shopping with elspeth for more flowy linen shirts, maybe even snagging some from the women’s section to try things out in the name of “fashion” and of course elspeth is fine with it, she was a “fashionista” back in her day, and would ultimately kill felix if she dressed in anything “ill-fitting / drab” (aka no poor people clothes LOL) also felix’s gender isn’t really questioned by his parents all too much?? elspeth knew felix was always different but never felt any sort of way once she started noticing her “son” isn’t really her “son” if you know what i mean

- also (if this wasn’t obvious) felix is fine with her birth name! she doesn’t really get dysphoric from it, only ever really feeling insecure about her body hair & muscles (but i mean the people around her aren’t really complaining about how nice her body looks so she’s kinda okay with it,, she is felix catton after all lmao biggest attention whore of all time)

- manages to dress femininely without being “clocked” for being trans if that makes sense?? like ever since venetia helped her with standing up for herself she doesn’t really take shit from anyone plus no one can really say anything about her because of her status.. for example flowy women’s shirts, button ups etc are always in rotation in her wardrobe same with baggy pants because she really couldn’t be bothered lol though dressing up for dinner is quite literally the bane of her existence

- when first meeting ollie she is essentially head over heels (converse lol) because how could she not be? like ollie is the perfect example of a “save me” “my life is so tragic” story felix essentially gets off on it + she finds him extremely cute

- big jump to when it’s the summer of saltburn and the two are extremely close ollie discloses how he’s trans and felix feels so comforted!! because finally! FINALLY! she’s met someone else who is like her and really can understand what it’s like (to an extent since she’s more of a social butterfly than ollie is)

- cue felix properly trying on a well fitting dress in front of ollie for a party that’s being hosted at saltburn (i don’t know the theme though i know i want to see felix in a dress experiencing the biggest gender euphoria moment known to man) and she is just over the moon!!!!! her and ollie probably sneak off somewhere (even though everyone wants to be with felix) to talk more abt their experiences with gender, getting drunk, and ultimately making out against some wall of some kind)

- loves the way how ollie makes her feel when they are making out,, just treating her so gently yet not feeling scared to take control and hold onto felix’s waist & bite her lip and she’s never EVER had an encounter like this with someone else so being able to share it with ollie is just so special…ollie probably slots his leg between felix’s as they grind on each other making the most delicious sounds everrrrrrrrrr

I LOVE T4T CATTONQUICK !!!!!!!!! TRANS LOVE FOR THE WIN! 😵‍💫⚧️

[littleredwritingcat]

Mother, May I: Part 1

A John Tyler Fic - 18+ only; trigger warnings and content include rape/non-con, mentions of suicide, child abuse/neglect (slight), ghosts, the occult, kidnapping, mention of firearms, painful sex, dark fairy tale elements, dom/sub elements but nothing is safe, sane, or consensual because...well, it’s Tyler, innit? This is a dark one, my loves. Act accordingly.

The glare of flickering red and blue neon, television screens, and overhead bulbs catch the glittering gold, looping pink letters on a white satin sash that read "Bride to Be!" as a woman laughs with three of her friends.

They’re sitting across the bar now, near the pool tables. She’s just a slip of a thing - thick brown hair and blue eyes, delicate features and skin that’s mysteriously sun-kissed even though it isn’t even spring, yet – and certainly not warm enough for trips to the beach.

A flimsy white veil sewn through with plastic heart beads droops lopsided over one side of her head, and there’s a Midori sour in one slender fist, electric green and hoisted into the air as she all but screams the lyrics to a Taylor Swift song.

...Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet…

She looks, he thinks, a little like Jane had on her wedding day - the gray afternoon his baby sister, all dressed in white and newly hitched, had told him they'd never be a family again. That he couldn’t even be around his niece.

Miss Bride-to-Be is an easy target, and John Tyler can't stop staring at the cleavage in her loose and lacy little tank top - can't stop thinking of how easy it would be for someone tall and semi-dashing in a nice new plaid button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow to charm his way into her little circle of gaggling idiot friends just to ruin all those pretty bright white dreams…

"Nope."

John turns, mildly annoyed, and notices you leaning over the bar's wooden top next to the stool he's standing behind.

Your index finger and thumb are tipped with dark red polish that’s almost black. They’re wrapped around a clear plastic swizzle stick between your lips. Your hair is a startling sight, shining and swept up, and you’d look more at home in a three-star bistro, or at a gallery opening. The black knit dress you’re in is seemingly modest - long sleeved and reaching your knees. When you stand, the effect reminds him of staring at the stem of a black note on a printed-out sheet of music. The posture reveals an off-the-shoulder neckline that exposes a collarbone with divots so deep he could drink liquor from their hollows.

That’s what you are – good sipping liquor – Campari, maybe? And you smell of something smokey that’s edging around his memory, curling it up at the corners like burning paper. 

Coral red lips strike him as garish, and they’re so slick it looks like the seam between the top and bottom are bleeding - but your eyes, large eyes look frightened and serious, the pupils wide like a cat's in the half-light.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't, Kid. Just don't.”

"And what did you think...wait, 'Kid?' I'm older than you, young lady. Gotta be."

He smiles and the crows feet under his thick eyebrows crinkle; he’s taken aback. Amused. But then you arch one brow, because you’re not that young and you understand exactly who and what he is. You’re still sucking on the swizzle stick, eyes looking him up and down. You’re appraising him, and it’s insulting. Finally, you give a cursory glance around the bar and sigh.

"She's the prettiest girl here, but she's also getting married in two weeks and she's well past shitfaced."

"And you're implying that…"

John let his voice lilt in the way that people usually found disarming. Maybe you'd feel foolish if you spoke with him for a few more moments.

No, you’re nothing like an aperitif. You’re scotch. The good stuff locked away for years at a time. Smell of deep smoke, of myrrh and resin conjure the memory of head shops he’d visit for incense used in meditation.

Yeah, the good stuff – non-synthetic.

"I'm implying,” you continue, still afraid but a tiny bit bolder now, “that I've seen that look on a lot of men's faces. So here’s the thing - she might be Little Red in this situation, but I'm the woodcutter. You got it?"

Ha. Of all the bars, he had to walk into this one.

And all the women every night in every bar probably represented the wronged and maligned to you. In your imagination, he thinks, you’ve saved them over and over, trying to reach through the past and make up for what you thought of as your worst failings.

That, or you were still trying to recover from some horrible moment that still gives you nightmares – that one time when you hadn’t been able to save yourself.

He hadn’t seen you come in with the others.

It doesn’t matter, though.

John is patient – always patient - because a direct approach would set off a bevy of mental alarms for most people. But you? Well, you’re one of those women who stays vigilant after everyone else gets too far into their cups to give a damn about someone like him looking on from the shadows.

Tonight, he hasn’t been dancing with his demons but he hasn’t been putting up much of a fight, either. He usually doesn’t these days. Not anymore.

Yeah, John knows your kind and avoids you all like oil repelling water on leather.

“Excuse me, but you’re very rude and I don’t like rude people,” he growls while pushing away from the bar.

“‘Kid’ is absolutely the right word,” you say, a slant of desperation tipping your words.

In your gut, you’re afraid he’ll go through with the half-stitched intentions that are still forming in his mind, pulling at baser urges.

You can’t see them clearly.

No matter how long you work with the gift, the sight – whatever Auntie Tess called it - it’s never like watching television or seeing the scenes of a play.

You can feel them, though. That’s what it’s always been like for you. Just an impression or feeling at first, then color and sound and something visual that develops like still, solid images on photo paper -

Those intentions bubble up and around him. It causes a noxious chill, then floats on a green fog, smelling of copper. Your hand is flat against the wood grain of the table now, palm sweating. You’re trying to reach for something – anything – to stall what you’ve uncovered, destructive, sickening force that it is. You grasp at whatever is on the surface of your mind, trying to find what is useful among the bits of this and that all flowing in one steady current…

Aha.

And just like that, you’ve got the very thing to sink his little battleship.

“Janice sends her love,” you call at his back, loud enough to be heard over the crowd, the music, the televisions. You are steady, and merely conveying a half-hearted message relayed off-handedly from someone almost too far away to understand. You’re a satellite and you’re redirecting a signal. Just sending it towards the nearest tower.

The reception is good tonight, and you’re grateful for that.

He – the Wolf - stops in his tracks, but the motion of the room continues as his swaying gait almost three feet away from you goes absolutely still. It’s eerie, and for a moment you wonder who Janice is.

You don’t have to wonder long.

“She’s kind of upset you’re out so late. ‘Early to bed, early to rise, makes a good boy wealthy, healthy, and wise.’”

Shaky breath, fists clench and unclench. Wolf turns. His eyes are wide, his countenance unreadable. He wears lots of masks, and you’ve caught him in the middle of a costume change.

His facial expression will return after these messages from our sponsors.

“Who…who are you? Who…?”

“Who! Who!”

You mock him a little, your wet, bright lips turning upwards.

“I’m no one. Who are you, Mr. Owl?”

It’s a flip answer, and the grin on your face is too daring. You could lose a finger to jaws like the ones you’re looking at right now. Strong bones under a set of what you’re sure are teeth that can do lots of damage to a girl.

Suddenly, despite the crowd around you, Wolf lunges, right at where you’re sitting – almost lays hands on you, but you’re quicker than that. Reflexes of a cat coupled with decades of existing in the body of a woman has taught you speed.

It’s made you sharp.

So many of your counterparts had fathers, brothers, mothers, and lovers to protect them.

You’d had none of that during your formative years. But now you can protect yourself – and future brides in bars who didn’t even realize they needed protecting.

“Woah there, John Hancock, John Doe, diddle diddle dumpling, my son John! Keep those paws to yourself. Maybe go home like the nice lady wants and lick your wounds. Live to fight another day, eh?”

You’re already on the other side of the bar’s open room, using people as obstructions to place between yourself and Wolf. He’s mirroring your movements, following you with black saucer eyes that are more like hungry pits than God-given tools for seeing. You’ve observed animals in zoos pace alongside the steel bars with less rage.

Thank God for well worn-in leather pumps, your, um, intimate knowledge of Rick’s Bar on West, and a decently adept talent for basic glamouring skills. Maybe it’s not really mystical, what you do. Maybe you’ve always been able to wend and wind your way through a crowd without much trouble.

Bouncing Souls, Distillers (and you’d had a massive crush on Brody Dalle, so of course Distillers), and Fugazi – their mosh pits were your training ground.

You’re not twenty anymore, but damn – when you have to, you can still move.

And you do, behind the door reserved for employees. Rick yells at you, his rectangle specs with heavy blue frames falling down his nose and jaw dropping in a bluster of anger as you go through. He won’t stay mad for long. You do readings for his customers on the weekends, and he knows it brings people in along with all their cash.

It’s a win-win; folks love having their fortunes told after a few beers or glasses of pinot.

And no matter what kind of predictions you make, they’ll drink more afterwards to ward off unease or punctuate their feelings of self-satisfaction. 

Hmmm.

Still need to tell Rick those new glasses aren’t flattering, though.

You haven’t quite gotten around to it just yet, but you’d better do it soon.

No one else ever will, but you can because the old asshole is fond of you. He knew Tess – was always half in love with her, and you have her hair, her glibness – her skillset.

You peek through the door to the alleyway, but you know –just know because it tingles the marrow of your bones – that it isn’t safe to go down that dark path anymore, so doubling-back it is, and then right out the front entrance neat as you please.

You give the doorman checking IDs a casual two-fingered salute, arch your neck till it cracks, and then hail a cab. Once you’re in the yellow ABC Taxi, you can’t help laughing loud. The man driving – you know that he’s thinking about the chips and eggs his wife has set aside for him after his shift – he asks you if you’re ok in a heavy, musical accent.

Everything is beautiful, you tell him.

Everything shines, and holy fucking shit, it’s fun to outsmart silly over-important monster-men. It’s fun to play and win.

At two p.m. the next day, a tall drink of a man in red wanders casually into Rick’s Bar on West during the post-lunch lull. His hands force themselves into his khaki pockets as he tells everyone his last name is “Miller,” then starts asking the waitresses about the weekly events in the taproom.

“Yeah, I’m – well, you can tell, right? I’m new to town – and I’ve got colleagues coming in from Atlanta next week. Haven’t been in the city long, but I like the…general vibe of this place. It’s congenial without being too neighborhood dive-y. I was thinking this might be the right spot for - for dinner on the first night they’re in town. Good beer list - and the staff is pleasant. Best servers this side of the eastern seaboard.”

He’s kind of handsome in a gangling “Mr. Rodgers” way, so when he winks conspiratorially at one of the waitresses, she grins all big and hands him a laminated card with a QR code.

Trivia Tuesdays, Thirsty Thursdays (with two domestic drafts for the price of one), then Karaoke on Fridays and Saturdays from 8 to close.

But. It’s the very last line at the very, very bottom of John’s phone screen that make his mouth crack open into a grin.

     "FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD! Let me see yours on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings. Specialties include the deciphering of palms and oracle card readings. Reasonable rates, legendary predictions, and satisfaction guaranteed. Ask for Y/A at the bar."

He’d grown fond of so-called “mysticism” over the years. Everyone religious in his childhood used the word “occult;” said it was of the devil. It would put you in the pit, but it was a comfort. After his mom had died, he thought that perhaps there was still some tiny, silvery thread still connecting her to him. And he’d loved her so, so much.

“Ok, little woodcutter – little fortune teller, mystic, witch, or whatever you are,” John thinks to himself, biting his lip as the pretty waitress says something about the addition of ten cent taco Wednesdays to the menu.

It made order of things. Provided structures without the judgement of bibles and hell and fury.

John never had use for anyone’s fury but his own.

For years – decades – he’d tried to find a path to that connecting thread, through meditation, or other spiritual advisors. He just wanted someone who could talk to her, who could give him one more moment with the one who’d ripped him in twain by her going.

No one had yet. Not really.

But then he’d wandered into Rick’s and there’d been a nasty pretty brat with bright lips who’d said her name – had recited the sing-song rhymes from his childhood.

Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John -

His eyes have gone blank and he’s already making calculations.

Went to bed with his trousers on -

There are weaknesses in the windows and doors of your life he can pull and push on – the entrances you don’t lock or have perhaps even left ajar  – because maybe you do have a gift, and maybe you will feel him coming, but you’re not half as clever as you think. Not cleverer than him.

One shoe off, and one shoe on -

“I guess, little witch, we’re doing this the hard way.”

Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John -

You don't read tea leaves. That kind of conjuration just isn’t your bag.

Auntie Tess always told you “half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb at,” and you suck at kitchen witchery, so aside from the occasional sprig of Rosemary from the bodega two blocks away that you use in your famous roasted chicken recipe, you’re a stars-and-cards-and-skin-creases girl.

The day’s easy breezy.

Extra income is on its way this month as your client list picks up. That means you can fix the leaks in the old brownstone’s roof. You’ve inherited it from your aunt along with all its idiosyncrasies and broken down corners. But no more plastic buckets, pans, and plastic butter tubs in the entryway during rainstorms for you.

You’ll have all the money you need soon.

You sigh, and it’s a sound from your center that betrays the unsettled sparks you’ve been feeling in your limbs, stomach, and joints. There’s no reason for it, really. The sun is shining, you’re wearing a favorite pair of lose sage-green overalls with gaucho legs and your  favorite black crop top tank,

You’d applied your cat eyeliner perfectly – first try.

Your business parlor is also coming together after months of work – everyone said that black paint on the walls would look too morbid – that it wouldn’t do to have the set of purple satin wing backs near the fireplace right in front of the entryway.

It would all overwhelm.

But you think it’s got a sophisticated mystical quality. You hope your customers agree – besides, part of all your song-and-dance performativity hinges on atmosphere. But you don’t lie to people. You embellish a little here and there, but lying? That’s cursed. That’s disrespect.

Gold frames hold vintage pictures of Tess, her friends, their travels all through the years. Deco light fixtures, cast in frosted glass with delicate etching, lend the kind of quality you wouldn’t have been able to manage if you’d rented a downtown space.

Your aunt hadn’t known about you – hadn’t known you existed - until your late teens. Once your addict mother finally revealed your whereabouts, she spirited you away as fast as was humanly possible. Even though she was gone now, Tess used the time you two had wisely - had taught you how to harness what you’d inherited.

Now the chaos of stars and voices and satellite waves – well, it was still chaos, but it wasn’t as close. You could keep it to a low roar. It was like existing in a quiet room next to an apartment where conversations were happening – sometimes quiet, and sometimes loud. You just ignored it most of the time, unless you needed to hone in. Then you’d be a satellite – an empty glass to the wall.

You were brave now. So much braver than you’d ever been before.

Nevertheless, you’d brought your Ruger down from the bedroom this morning. Just in case.

During your afternoon tea break, you have a good black and cinnamon blend. A little lemon perks the loose leaves up, arches your brows for you. It will keep you alert. Warm. Ready.

But your stomach drops when you see a reflection in the brown and red liquid sloshing counterclockwise in the white bone china of your cup. There’s light at the top of the lip from above like the moon hovering overhead – some flame in the distance which might be fire or even lightening. Lunacy. Danger raging forward, fanned by what is foul.

Foul is fair and fair is foul.

Stars above.

You don’t know what you were expecting, really. No one that deranged would be willing to write you off – go away unsatisfied. You’d whetted his appetite, after all. It’s then that the smell of soggy dog fur and copper fills your nostrils.

You sigh, feeling so very tired.

It’s just a few minutes before your next booking. A woman from somewhere past the bridge on the opposite side of the city. She was worried about a financial decision she’d made and had set something up with your assistant yesterday morning.

Your personal assistant had added her to your calendar.

Emily, who has gone home early for the day – a pipe burst in her apartment, so she’d dashed out by eleven in an understandable panic. And now it’s your turn to feel unease. Had it been the simple wear and tear of time, shoddy plumbing, and bad piping that assured you were alone this afternoon?

Not fucking likely. 

There hadn’t been a booking at all - you know that now. 

You sit down teacup and saucer and reach under the heavy oak table you use for readings, laying hands on the Ruger. Shaking, you pull it up, fingering the thumb safety in anticipation. You’ve no more than flipped the latch when two hands emerge from behind, one gently taking the gun from you and setting it down on the table top.

“I don’t think there’s a need for that. You might hurt yourself.”

Then you’re being pulled, back and up until Wolf’s mouth is close to the shell of your ear.

Smell of copper, now so strong that you might be able to taste pennies in your mouth if you concentrate hard enough.

“Jeepers. You are the real thing, aren’t you?”

You try to throw an elbow straight into the waiting rib cage of the man you know is at your back, but it’s a futile move – there’s only a grunt, and then both arms are pulling you again, lifting your body as you struggle, limbs wriggling forward against the motion forcing you in the opposite direction.

“I should tease you. I mean, I’ve been here for around 30 minutes. You had to go upstairs to make the tea, remember? And Emily was so detailed about your routine after I…explained to her what I needed to know and why. I came right in.”

“If you’ve hurt her -”

“No, no, no,” and his voice goes a little softer. He might as well be comforting a child.

“She’s a little shaken. Not hurt. But you really should be more careful about who you hire. That one’s a real pistol, huh? Yeah, quite the past. It’s one I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want her parents finding out about it, so we made a deal.”

You twist and lunge, snarling into the air and Wolf makes more shushing noises from above your head. You’d already known about her second job at the club – it was actually a woman-owned establishment and is about as safe as those kinds of places can be. She’s working her way through nursing school, and you don’t care about the stripping.

Not that her ultra conservative Fox News-watching folks from Nebraska would’ve agreed. 

“A creep and a prude. Kid, you’re an utter dee-light.”

“Quiet. Be still for me, or this can get worse.” 

The last phrase grinds into the air, throaty and rough from a flash of annoyance. 

You’re hauled towards the front staircase, still kicking. In a last-ditch attempt to salvage your freedom, you manage to grab onto the railing - but long, dexterous fingers pry your hands from the wood, making your knuckles crack in the process.

You’re cursing so loud its almost screaming – long strings of punctuated sound forming into words that you’d know make the top of Wolf’s ears go red if you could see them.

The prick-and-pinch of a needle into the underside of your elbow – into a vein, you figure – almost goes undetected, but Gods, this is worse than you thought and he’s trying to sooth you – “Just let it happen. Just let go.” -  and the back of your head pounds once more into Wolf’s sternum before you start to slump into a dark, still place.

“There,” she says, her voice low and satisfied. Pleased with itself. She sits back up and twists the nob on the end of a lipstick tube, admiring her work.

   Then you’re sitting upright, ankles crossed, on a strange and uncomfortable couch with rust colored paisley fabric. It’s almost like the one Mom had in her trailer when you were growing up. You’d sit on that thing for hours, watching PBS and letting Trix cereal go gummy in your mouth while you waited for someone – anyone – to get home.

The light feels gold and dusty – it looks like late afternoon, and you’re sitting on this couch in a strange house on a quiet street somewhere in the past – but not quite. It’s a pocket you’ve been slipped into by an invisible hand.

The strong smell of stale cigarette smoke hits you, and a woman is leaning in, wiping something across your mouth…no, your lips.

“So much better than that garish orangy color you were in the other night.”

“Janice?”

You’re stunned - put your hand to your lips as she smiles. Her hair and eyes are dark except for little flecks of copper that you can see gleaming too brightly in the glow from an open window.

“If you want to know what lip color men will find most attractive on you, just take a look at the inside of your bottom lip - or your other lips…down there. You know. That’s where the skin can tell you most about your complexion. You’re better in a good glossy nude. Too bad I can’t actually sell you one anymore.”

She blinks, then smiles again. It’s a cold expression, and for a moment, you want to wash whatever part of your face she’s touched.

Gauzy cream-colored curtains dress the sill - match the couch.

“He’s going to start whining again,” she says, tone flat.

“Was always such a – well, I had to lock him in his room sometimes because he just couldn’t leave me alone. Jane was easier.”

You shudder. This had ceased being a cute homage to Donna Reed’s Mary Kay lady and had taken a hard right into Disturbia.

“Is…is there something you want me to say? To him, I mean?”

A dramatic sigh unleashes itself from the dark little woman’s mouth, and she looks upwards for a few seconds.

“I suggest,” she starts, “that you tell him whatever he wants to hear. He’s still going to hurt you, but maybe it won’t be as bad if you just…play along.”

You stare dumbly at this person you know isn’t actually a person anymore, and something icy in your chest begins to spread into the rest of your body. Your head hurts – Jesus, it hurts…

“And if he tells you anything about the cigarette, remind him that it was just ash. I didn’t mean to burn him.”

It’s the last thing you hear before the woman, the couch, the room, and the window are gone.

Moving your head feels like trying to do a pull-up in gym class.

  You come to and register the warm weight on your abdomen.

No real point in it.

So you stare through heavy-lidded eyes at your own ceiling and concentrate on breathing. It’s dark outside now, but the small table lamp next to your bed is on. Everything might as well be hidden by the cigarette smoke still lingering in your nostrils. Lines, edges, and shapes still blur, but you try to raise and crack your neck.

It’s gone stiff again. Your joints are more like hinges these days. If it’s not the conversations in your satellite ears, it’s the near-disjuncture of bone.

“No, no – still. Just be still. You slept a long time, but you’re not going to be able to move well for an hour or two yet. Just be patient.”

You swallow hard, drumbeat of your heart vibrating at the surface. Then you’re wrapped in what might’ve been a comforting embrace in other, better circumstances. You nearly cry, and dammit, if only you’d ever been held tight in a way you could trust.

Not like this, the shittiest substitute for true love in the universe. 

There’s no pan, sharp steel jaws, or the cut of an upper bow into your flesh but you’ve still stepped right onto the trigger of a nasty trap.

It takes a few moments to realize that someone is holding your right hand – rubbing your fingers and knuckles back to life, drawing circles thumb to palm -  mound of Venus, plain of Mars, sun line, heart line, the list goes on and you name each part as he touches the skin.

“I only wanted to talk to her – talk to you. Even though you were so rude and said mean things, I still just wanted to talk.”

Now a mouth and nose in your hair – deep inhale and hot breath out, still metallic but now there’s the choking fumes of nicotine, too.

“Easy,” he mutters, face in your hair again.

“Just lay back and relax. Just be my good little witch baby. You’re ok. You’ll see.”

You can’t help the coughing fit, and after a few moments of trying to breath, Wolf hauls your torso upright and positions himself behind you so that you’re lying on his chest, both of his thighs and legs boxing your body in.

Nope. Don’t like that.

Whatever term of endearment, nickname or fucked up turn-of-phrase he’s decided to saddle you with is unwelcome. In all the old stories, people only rename someone they have power over.

It isn’t fair. This is your home– you and Tess’. He doesn’t get to claim anything.

Begone, before someone drops a house on you!

You arch again, rise up.

He holds tighter, so no dice.

“You saw her. Spoke with her,” he says, a little dreamily.

“Did she tell you that she died when I was nine? Did she tell you that my sister and I came home after school and found her in the garage with the car running?”

You could feel his chest heave – heard a dam break, and felt Wolf’s head on your shoulder, lashes below salt-and-pepper curls leaving tears on the skin there. After a few minutes, you hear Wolf sniff, and clear his throat.

“I’ve only known you – known about you for, what, three days? But you already know so much about me. You really really really know me.”

Tell him what he wants to hear. He’s still going to hurt you, but maybe -

You lick your dry, rubbery lips.

He won’t believe she’s sorry. From the short encounter you’d had, you know that Janice – that Wolf’s mother hadn’t been an especially empathetic person.

You’ll try, though. Try to give him something. No lying. That’s cursed.

So you turn a key in the ignition of your voice box and wait  – at first there’s only a wheezing sound that comes out, but then you’re making words and the wheezing is at least audible. Still, it’s like someone else’s voice is traveling through your throat. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happening.

“She’s - she’s sorry about the burn. She didn’t mean to burn you with the ash from her cigarette, John,” you manage.

You feel him nod.

“I know,” he mutters.

“I know. Hey, do you want to see the scar?”

No, not especially – but he’s already undone his khakis and slid them off, one leg at a time. You’re left anchored against bare thighs, bunched up pants, and a pair of white briefs. You try to regulate your breathing - ignore a pronounced bulge poking your lower back. He takes your hand – your left hand, this time – interlaces his fingers with yours, and drags the digits over a smooth divot in the skin above his knee. 

The left hand symbolizes the past for most people. You wonder if he knows.

“It’s just there. Feel it?”

You try to nod, and there’s a surprised gust of quiet laughter above you.

“Oh my, your hands are so soft and warm. How do you keep them like that, Witch Baby?”

You think about all the times Tess told you to use coco butter on your skin, and how – to this day – the light, sugary smell reminds you of her. It’s not enough to bring you any real comfort in this moment, so you try to shrug.

“It’s swell to feel skin like this. I know you can’t move much, but -”

A verbal warning shot. It feels like a pang at the base of your neck that jolts you even further into consciousness. His pelvis presses forward while he hums a little to himself - you try to arch your back away.

“How long has it been, hmm? Since someone has touched any part of you, and it wasn’t at the bar – wasn’t just another day’s work.”

John’s hand is holding yours fast at your side now, and the other – the one at your right in what is already the future – still sits limp, a separate, traitorous thing disconnected from the whole.

“How long has it been since someone’s really touched you? My skin isn’t anything like yours, but- I can. I can touch you, Witch Baby.”

“Please,” you whisper, still forcing the sound.

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? No, that’s not the way this story goes.”

There’s a sigh and you feel the singular rise and fall of his chest. You imagine that he’s put out by your pleas. How many has he heard over the decades, anyway? They must all be like old songs now. He’s listened to them on repeat, the vinyl wearing down into the player bit by bit. There’s nothing particularly new about your song – just the woman singing it.

“Here’s the thing,”

You squint your eyes, recognizing the familiar turn of phrase from the other night.

“Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t really in danger. Might’ve been if there’d been more time, but some woman came along and got smart with the Wolf.”

John shifts again, and it’s like falling deeper below a waterline. Your heartbeat is the only rapid thing you have right now. Everything else is fuzzy, swimming.

“…But he forgave her because now he’ll never lose his mother again.”

Ah. There it is.

“It doesn’t work like that,” you start, but he hushes you, placing one finger over your lips, finally bending the first knuckle joint to trace the seam.

“The Woodcutter Witch Baby is good at saving everyone except herself. She knows things other people don’t – can’t. But I’m a seer, too. I’m the Wolf that can see in the dark. So she’s mine now and I’m hers. My mother would’ve told me so – showed up for a reason, don’t you think?”

He kisses your hair, smooths one side of it even as you jolt.

“I take care of what’s mine.”

And you knew this was probably coming, but you didn’t think it was going to happen quickly.

There had been at least…a dozen?

No, fourteen or more women and you can only catch impressions and flashes. It’s all on the river again, scraps floating with a current. You don’t try to fish for particulars - you don’t want to see or hear or understand more than you already do.

The most recent woman was from Missouri – was stuck on the side of the road. Less than a year ago. Her car had broken down, and she’d been thankful that someone in a suit with a nice, shiny, expensive red Dodge had found her.  

Money, manners – seemed like a gentleman if not awkward, but that was forgivable.

Any port in a storm was better than walking along the side of the highway towards town.

Her name was Miranda.

She’d had long, dark hair.

Dark eyes.

“I don’t want to go to the gas station anymore…”

Catching your breath and listening to your heart in your ears makes everything echo and split, then you feel something dripping down your face – tears? Sweat? It’s hard to know. There’s a low tutting, and the callused skin of one long hand wiping moisture away from the slant of your cheekbone.

“Don’t cry,” John says as he unbuttons your overall straps.

“This is our first time. Don’t ruin it by crying, ok?”

He peels your tank off next, and you curse your decision to forego a bra today. Next, he shucks your overalls onto the floor, leaving you shivering. Cotton panties – pragmatic and clean – are the only thing that cover you

Gently – so gently that it hurts, he works his way out from where he’s sitting, taking care to lower your head and torso against your pillow covered with your favorite set of sheets.

You’ll have to burn them now.

He likes taking what’s important, and he’s probably glad that the drugs haven’t worn off.

Yeah, consent doesn’t really seem like his thing. He gets off on the force – the bending of one will to another. 

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Stupid, but plausible. A last scatter-shot card trick to play.

Maybe it’s because you’re used to understanding what people want to hear, and therefore understand the inverse. Maybe it’s because your livelihood depends on the performance of grandiose suggestion. One more chance, then…

“John,” you manage, trying to make your eyes large and your voice pleading.

“This is exactly how I saw it – this is as it should be. We’ll be together forever and ever, won’t we?”

Everything stops down to the second, and you hold your breath to see if you’ve managed the most important performance of your fucking life. “You like me! You really like me,” cries Sally Field in your head. And anyway, why should he enjoy himself if you don’t?

Maybe this is as good as a kick to the groin. There’s a stopper in the bottle and a limp dick on the horizon, you know it in your gut. Ah, it’s fun to outsmart silly over-important monster-men, even now. Even like this.

…And that’s why you don’t expect the slap across the left side of your face.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls.

Cursed.

“You’re clever, but so am I. And you’re not a whore.”

“C’mon, Kid! What’s so bad about sex work? Oldest profession in the world…John.”

Another smack this time on the right side - then an index and middle digit straight into the back of your throat. His face is close, directly over yours so that both noses touch. John’s eyes are saucer-wide again, and he drips concern instead of fury. You consider how that’s somehow worse, then try to breathe through an obstructed airway.    

“It can get worse, see?”

He huffs a little, watching your reaction.

“I know - it’s going to take some time for you to get used to how things will be from now on, but you need discipline. Manners. I mean, just look how you’re coughing and drooling all over my hand.”

You vaguely register how he’s parted your thighs with his legs, one knee pressing against the gusset of thin fabric there as he finally removes his fingers from your mouth so that he can pull off his briefs.

He tugs – rips away - the barrier between his spit-covered fingers and your center, then works them into the scalding channel of your cunt.

No preamble, just control and the spread of warmth from some part of yourself that’s out of practice – the hindbrain whines, begs you to go pliant and stupid. The pace he sets all but orders your body to react to the twisting heat of his long fingers, now second-knuckle deep inside you – or, at the very least, have the grace to cut your losses and submit.

You refuse to make a sound and it’s hard with the force that he’s applying while pumping his digits in and out of you, but then you remember to lie back and think of England or the city park in springtime or the way you’re going to take a long, hot bath after this – plot and plan till you know just what to do.

He can have what he likes for now, but it’s not you. Not really.

Your body, horrible weak system of dumb nerves and flesh that it is - begins reacting to John’s ministrations – wet sounds and his low moans reach you in your daze. He cups the connecting space between your ass and inner thigh, then slaps it summarily - knows what spot to hit, damn him – then presses his fingers up and forward while watching himself work.

“You’re a messy girl, Witch Baby. Just – so, so wet. What am I going to do with all this? Does it taste as good as it smells?”

You’re fine – you really are – until he runs the flat of his tongue from where your opening to the top, then nips at your clit, worrying the nub with the edge of his teeth until you shout and all that’s left is the contrast between where he is, and where the air hits.

“She…she said,”

You can’t help it – there’s still some part of you that thinks the right information will make this stop. You keep feeding coins into the machine, hoping for a lucky pull of the lever.

“She told me that ‘if you want to know what lip color men will find most attractive on you, just take a look at the inside of your bottom lip or your lips down there.’”

And it’s just a satellite transmission like everything else you hear, but there’s a pause – there’s consideration. John hums from his position between your legs.

“Mmmm. Sounds right. It’s pink and brown. Mauve, maybe. Better than the shade you were in the other night.”

“Mah-auuu-ve? That’s not how you say it!”

The feeling is starting to come back to your limbs – you can tell because they twitch every time he hits someplace unused to touch. He’s laid your legs out nicely, all tidy like a good suit. Finally, he turns you on your left side facing away from him, then molds his body around you – part of the moon being swallowed, making shadows darker than pitch in the sky.  

“Shush,” he says, then slaps the outside of your thigh again hard enough to sting.

Your breathing stutters – it can’t be helped – frightened and unsteady in skin that does not feel like your own, and he’s much too close. His hardness and considerable heft angles between the crease where both your thighs touch, now sticky-slick against the skin there.

“So how does someone teach a Witch Baby manners?”

A moan or cry or both from your throat, and then John’s hips jut upwards. You feel the blunt touch of something solid at your entrance, pushing bit by bit until your body gives.

You’re pried open, fruit crushed and parted by someone who knows how to breach a rind – knows what such force can do to a woman. You think of little red, inside the wolf’s stomach, just like in the fairy tale. And you think of how greedy someone hungry can be. You aren’t used to this – to any man – but not this kind of length or hot girth, struggling to make room against your walls.

“It’s a lot, I know,” he purrs into your ear, kissing the side of your face. His arm is around your waist, pulling you flush – making sure there’s no squirming away, and you choke on a whine that leaks from your throat.

“It’s ok, though. You’re doing so, so good for me. And you’re going to lay here. And you’re not going to move. You’re going to mind your manners and be my pretty cock warmer. When you’ve earned it, I’ll let you cum. But you have to earn it.”

Not so bad, you think. You can do this. You can-

“Don’t clench, Witch Baby. I can feel you tighten. That’s cheating. Just lay here. Still – still. Let me feel you take me.”

Not enough salt in the wound yet, you think. He’s going to make you come undone. He’s going to make you hungry, just like him. You hiccup, trying to stay lax while your blood thrums and you feel something dripping from in between your legs.

“Soft and warm all over,” he muses, and absentmindedly cups one of your breasts, worrying the nipple with the rough pad of his thumb. Every so often, he readjusts – pushes a little deeper. You feel wetness seeping through the edges of your opening, then move, tightening ever so slightly - so he scolds.

“How long this lasts is up to you. Can you keep that mouth sweet for me? Can you be sweet for me, Witch Baby?”

Panic sets in – there’s a thrumming, hot pulse inside your cunt. There’s an itch that claws into the low part of your stomach. You want teeth on your clit again, God help you. You need friction.

And he’s not as clever as he thinks he is, either.

“Let me…t-tell you how this story actually goes,” you manage.

“You’re going to stop being a stupid brute and give me the orgasm of my life, or I’m never going to be the little go-between for you and her again.”

There’s a catch of the breath, and you know he’s heard you –hadn’t considered this outcome.

“Stars and fireworks, Kid,” you continue. 

“I better not be able to remember my own goddamn name. You worked hard to find a way to fuck me….so fuck me.”

You’re a little surprised when John laughs – like he can’t believe your cheek, his luck, or both.

He buries his face into the side of your neck.

“I don’t want to break you. Not yet.”

“I promise not to be disappointed when you can’t.”

He doesn’t need more goading.

Wolf snarls, then rolls the both of you over till you’re on your stomach, positioning you ass-up, violently slotting himself inside.

He pushes – battering-ram rough, and the air leaves your body; a snap of his hips back, and then another push on repeat. Fast – hard as he can make it. You (finally) bite your tongue; you can’t form words and now you know the taste of copper isn’t pennies but blood.

The wetness that built up inside you eases the friction – the hurt; he’s pressed so far in that you’re almost sure your cervix is going to break and bruise, but he hits just right and, oh, you hadn’t wanted this, but women who exist on high-up ledges and have conversations with the stars and maybe get burnt on pyres for their troubles – you all and must make the best of things.

He grabs part of your hair by the roots –  tugs up. Your eyes roll back, then go level - consider the headboard, the light from the lamp and distantly, you track each slap of wet skin and hear him getting breathy while a tightness in you builds. There’s no time to enjoy the climb – his fingers are circling your clit – lazily brushing around the nub then rubbing in mad circles. He’s unpracticed – doesn’t usually have to make an effort. He’s memorized the manual, but the muscle memory isn’t there.

It never mattered before. Making someone orgasm when they don’t want to – that’s the main thing.

But you…

His thrusts – they’re too hard and you can’t yet you can’t but there’s something just past what is pain and you lunge for it. Snap, crackle, pop; you tighten and release like a spring while spots cloud your peripheral vision.

Then your body sags, letting satisfaction settle in. Wolf eats the rest of his meal as you listen and watch from somewhere outside yourself. When the hot spurt of release coats your channel – when the sweating, heaving torso collapses onto your back, you know John’s finished.

The weight pushes straight down, so you place one cheek flat against the cotton sheet underneath while he catches his breath, takes his fingers and traces the length of your spine as if trying to read between the indented dip and the bones underneath.

 RCA TK-1test card pattern for monoscope viewing.

 We are experiencing technical difficulties. 

 The satellite glitches - everything goes darker than pitch in the sky.

 And John, the silly monster-man, mutters something that’s softer and kinder than it has any right to be – but then everything goes quiet.

Oh, Stars, palm lines, and space junk – just what in the hell are you supposed to do now?  

[celestialarchon]

Celebrating 1k+ Part 1: Zhongli x gn!reader

Crossover: Ancient Magus Bride

content: fluff, little bit of angst, romance

warning: themes of depression and mental illness, alluding to suicidal tendencies

The bath water was warm, soothing your inner turmoil and washing away the stress in small tides. What a day it had been, selling yourself off in an auction was strange enough but the man or creature that had purchased you was even weirder. As the auctioneer had said beforehand, you didn’t care about your own life, it didn’t matter who you were sold to. Even so, you were taken back by the sudden dragon like skull that appeared before your face on stage, bidding unreasonably high and sweeping you away in a noir cloak to his home. Calling you his apprentice, he had immediately invited you into his home and insisted you bathe.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a giggle, your neck snapped up and you were face to face with a strange creature. The creature was human like but much smaller with wings and long claws on it’s hands and fingers. It’s face was boyish, framed by two braids with traces of green and blue in its hair. Patterns of dandelions danced on it’s skin.

“Hello, sunshine,” his voice was clear as day, like a melody in the wind.

“What are you?” You breathed out.

His pointed ears twitched and he grinned, “I’m Venti! A wind spirit of course, nice to meet ya! ehe.”

“I see,” you tilted your head, remembering that Zhongli had told you it was impolite to call the fae as fae but to refer to them with familiarity. “Are you a neighbor?”

Two other humanoid creatures peered from behind Venti, the same viridescent wings sprouting from their backs and gold dandelions printed on their skin. One’s hair was red and her skin was a darker hue of green than the others. The other was blonde with a ponytail held by a flower stem.

“You know, ehehehe,” Venti giggled, and flew down, kissing your cheek. “That Morax is no good! You’re better off with us, we could cherish you truly, little sunshine.”

The fae left with those words, leaving you to your thoughts. Sighing, you emptied the bath and dressed yourself as the door shook gently with a knock. The door swung open just as you pulled your shirt over your head, finally clothed. The man stood in the door way, his gold eyes twinkling as he praised you for being patient with him and cleaning up so well. He shifted his weight and pulled something from his pocket, offering it to you.

Shyly, you took a step towards him, allowing him to slip it over your head, he chuckled, “Good puppy, this is a protective talisman. It’s a stone called Cor Lapis that formed close to a river. Over time the water from the river wore down the stone and created a hole in the middle, if you look through it you can see a fae’s true form.”

He patted your head and led you towards your room. The silver lady, Ganyu, darted into the bathroom to take care of your soiled clothing. Ganyu was a silky, a type of neighbor who liked to do chores and she looked after the house for Mr. Zhongli. She had already taken quite a liking to you.

Zhongli sat down on the edge of your bed, tucking you in, “From now on you will be my apprentice, and I your teacher, (y/n).”

His deep voice made your heart flutter just a bit, and you turned over to avoid that calculating gaze he always held. The bed squeaked as he stood, his footsteps were heavy as he walked out of the room, gently shutting the door.

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Zhongli watched your fragile figure walking away from the safety of his home and sighed, “I suppose this will make a good lesson.”

He creeped out, following you and hiding in your shadow. Venti was trying to persuade you to leave him. For some odd reason, this made Zhongli’s stomach twist up in a knot. Still, he maintained his composure and stayed hidden from the view of the troublesome fairy and you.

“Where are you from?” Venti asked you.

“A land far from here,” You sighed, “I was passed around by relatives so I was all over the place.”

“Oh?” a crooked smile formed on the fae’s lips, “Were they kind to you, sunshine?”

You grimaced, “It is.. hard to remember. But I think if I was loved by them and did love them I wouldn’t be here at this moment.”

It grew quiet as the fairy led you further into the forest. Zhongli was beginning to grow restless. You stopped and Venti turned to look at you, still hyper. He beamed at your emotionless face.

“We’ve been walking for so long, I might get lost,” Your eyes moved to the side.

“It’s fine!” Venti cheered, “You don’t have to go back there now. We have to go far to get to our land, and the others want you so badly you know.”

“What?”

“Ehe!” Venti grinned even wider as a gold light began to shimmer behind him, “There it is. A place for us, it’ll be lots of fun and we want you with us so bad, my sunshine. It’s okay, nobody’s waiting for you. You can come with me, come with us!

He continued, “Come along now, sunshine. Won’t you come with me?”

“It’s true that there wasn’t anybody waiting for me,” You began, seemingly entranced by the melodic words he spilt, “But..”

You swatted the floating boy away from you and stepped back. Your hand flew to your head as the forest around you spun. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t where you were supposed to be.

Venti screeched as you stumbled, “Sunshine! What’s wrong?”

“I don’t care if he throws me away.” You whispered, “Mr. Zhongli gave me a home and has taken care of me. He called me his apprentice and said he’d care for me like a family. Even if he does get tired of me or get rid of me, it’s okay. He’s already done enough for me.”

“Well, it seems my puppy already knows where home is,” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbled in your ear as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Morax! Eh? How did you find us?” Venti cried out, scowling.

Zhongli’s fingers went to your necklace, fidgeting with it as he held it in the palm of his gloves, “You see, this puppy did need a collar and bell if you would. It’s not as if somebody like myself wouldn’t notice a place so full of magic and energy like this.”

Venti shrieked in anger, flying off into the light. Shame filled you as you turned to your master, head down. He chuckled and patted your head, pulling you closer to him. His strong arms wrapped around you and your feet left the ground, a panicked gasp left your mouth as he carried you in his arms.

“Let’s go home now,” His long hair tickled your face.

You nodded in response, still taken back by his sudden affectionate side. He was a strange man.

“You have a scratch on your arm,” His eyes were piercing as they stared at the wound you hadn’t even noticed, “I’ll have to take care of that when we get home. As your future husband, I can’t allow you to get scars so easily.”

“Huh?” You grunted, craning your neck to look at him, “Husband?”

“Ah, I forgot to tell you. You are my apprentice but you are also to be my bride and I your husband.” He spoke with a straight face, his eyes never wandered from the path as he continued towards the house.

Your eyes widened, “Whaaaaat?!”

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Zhongli had insisted you find a familiar, and you had. Xiao was a wonderful familiar although quiet. Most of the time, he was in his doglike form just trailing behind you. Occasionally he’d switch to his humanoid form to gobble up some almond tofu. You sincerely cared about Xiao, and he you.

Zhongli, however, didn’t seem as happy about this. He had locked himself in his room for days now. You knew he was exhausted from the battle against Signora and her experiments at the church but still, you were worried. Silver had begun to grow worried too, frantically checking on the strange man constantly.

“Zhongli?” You knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door opened but before you could react, you were pulled into the dark room and heard the slam of the door shutting. From outside you could hear Xiao panicking and calling out for you. Zhongli was sitting in the dark, still stuck in a partial draconian form. You could feel his claws digging into your skin as he growled.

“Why?” His voice shook as he buried his head into your shoulder, “What is this?”

“Zhongli, what’s wrong?” Your hands brushed his, gently trying to pull his claws from you.

His grip grew tighter and you winced in pain, “Why are you spending so much time with him? Cant you tell I miss you? Why can’t you see I need you right now?”

“Zhongli,” Your voice shook, “You’re hurting me. Stop it.”

He removed his hands from you abruptly and pushed away from you, his back on the wall. Your eyes had finally adjusted to the dark room and you could see the outline of his body. He had horns sticking out of his head and a long spiked tail. His hands were almost normal but his nails were long and sharp like claws. Every so often a forked tongue would make its way past his lips. His expression was confused, lonesome even.

Taking a deep breath, you crawled towards him, pushing yourself closer to him. You faced him, taking his face into your hands and making his cold eyes look at yours.

“I think,” You squished his cheeks gently, “You are jealous.”

He frowned, “What is jealous?”

“Jealousy is a feeling. It’s when you care about somebody and you don’t want to share them. You want them to look at you, spend time with you, and care for you instead of others. It’s a feeling us humans feel a lot.”

“Hm,” He grunted, “Is that what this is?”

You chuckled, he was like a child in your hands right now. You pulled him closer, feeling the sigh of relief he let out at your embrace.

“Zhongli, you’re feeling new feelings and that’s okay. If you’ll be my magic teacher, I’ll be your human teacher, okay?” You squeezed him in your arms.

“Okay.” He agreed quietly.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that. Holding each other in the darkness, both of you were at peace even momentarily.

“You wanted me to have a familiar,” You kissed his cheek lightly, “As a part of my training. Xiao and I will spend time together often now. But you are my husband, my master, and that hasn’t changed. I promise, Zhongli.”

You pulled back to look at his face. He was blushing slightly which made a snicker leave your lips. His hair was loose and wild and his eyes were no longer empty but full of longing and adoration. The two of you had already seen so much together, your heart thumped even harder thinking of all the moments you’d spend together.

This man had taken you in and taught you magic. He’d sworn to save you from your curse of a short life span. He’d given you so much love and kindness. The time the two of you had spent together had only been a few short months but it filled you with joy.

His amber eyes bore into you, you could feel your face heating up as he continued to examine your infatuated expression. His palms trailed up to your face, and he pulled your lips onto his. The kiss was warm and sweet, innocent even.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

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“Where’s (y/n)?” Lumine peered at Xiao.

“With Zhongli in the garden,” Xiao grumbled, “Why’d you bring this brat?”

Lumine laughed as Aether climbed Xiao. She has brought cookies to share with her friend. Aether had also wanted to see the two who had saved them both only a year ago. Aether was obsessed with Xiao and his teal hair and tattoos.

Lumine smiled at Ganyu as she walked towards the back door. Ganyu nodded and opened the door for the young woman, letting her outside. It was a beautiful day, not too chilly and not too warm. The sun shone down and the blonde could hear your laughter from down the cobblestone path. She followed the sound, excited to see you.

As she approached the garden, she stopped seeing Zhongli twirl you around. She felt breathless seeing the two of you dancing in the sunlight. His long hair shimmered as he spun you around and caught you in his arms. The rings on your fingers twinkled and Zhongli took a flower and tucked it behind your ear. The tall man planted a kiss right on your lips and turned to Lumine, winking at her.

“Hey!” Lumine waved at you and Zhongli, “You’re finally back from the honeymoon. I brought cookies for you guys. Congratulations!”

You grinned and waved back at her. Lumine was overcome with bliss at the sight of your smile. Zhongli had really helped you grow more confident and you had opened him up more. The three of you ate cookies and laughed as Xiao barreled out, chased by Aether.

“Oh! How many kids will you have?” Lumine wiggled her eyebrows at you as you laughed at Aether.

“Kids?” Zhongli turned to you as you flushed at the question.

Lumine nodded, “Yes, when couples get married they usually have children and start a family.”

“Oi,” you laughed nervously, “We’ve only just got married..”

“Children would be nice,” Zhongli looked at you expectantly.

Xiao cackled at your embarrassment. As your familiar he could feel those strong emotions since you allowed him to. You glared daggers at the adeptus, but he only smirked. This was your karma for laughing at him while a child harassed him.

“Lots of them,” Zhongli muttered, “A big family.”

Your face only grew redder. Lumine laughed and Zhongli looked confused. You all spent the rest of the day talking of the future and munching on cookies.

[deadbiwrites]

hey, for the ask thing, can you do #9 under random: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

This one was so fun!!

--

Kara doesn’t drink, usually.

It’s not like, a thing, that she doesn’t drink. Some sort of moral or religious blah blah whatever, it’s just that she… doesn’t.

So when she’s dragged out to the bar for Nia’s 21st birthday, she expects it to be more of the same- her friends will get drunk, Brainy will dominate at the trivia game that’ll inevitably be crawling across a screen at the bar, Nia will flirt with Brainy, Alex will stare and sigh at Sam all night, James and Mike will inevitably get at each other’s throats (how they manage to play on the same team without killing each other, Kara will never know), Mike will flirt with her and be hurt when she shoots him down, James will pull out his camera and take candids that Alex will doubtlessly demand to see and then delete immediately, and Kara will eventually wrangle them all into her minivan and drive them back to campus.

A typical Thirsty Thursday with her closest friends (and also Mike, for some reason).

Except that tonight, instead of Al’s, the dive they usually flock to, they’re at some martini bar downtown. And though the reasoning makes sense (Nia can’t really openly celebrate her 21st at the bar she’s been frequenting for the past 2 years with a fake ID), and it is her birthday and she wants to go someplace-

“Swanky,” Alex murmurs as Sam lets out a low whistle behind them.

This is barely a bar, it more closely resembles a set from a 30’s noir movie, with the large chandeliers dripping crystal overhead and the rich, polished wooden floor underfoot. For crying out loud, there’s a live jazz band- not a quartet, a full band- across what is clearly a dance floor, and the waiters and waitresses are all dressed in vests and ties (and not the cheap kind Kara had to wear for the week she worked at the catering company).

In short, it’s gorgeous, and glamorous, and she’s infinitely glad she’d asked Nia what she should wear because her usual jeans-and-a-sweater combo surely wouldn’t fly here, but the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding this past summer definitely does.

They’re greeted by a friendly but slightly harangued-looking hostess, who quickly ushers their group to a large booth in the corner. Each of them peruses the drink menu, and quickly realize that they have no idea what any of the cocktails listed actually are.

"Yeah, great, this is- I love doing a Google search to get drunk," Alex grumbles sarcastically as she scrolls through her phone, pulling a face at something or other. "How many of these have absinthe in them? Jesus."

Kara laughs. "What, no green fairies for you tonight?"

"It was one time!"

"Aw, we still like you even though you're afraid of the mean, scary alcohol," Sam coos at Alex, smile tinged with an edge of teasing and Alex melts like so much wax before a flame.

Ridiculous. 

"Make out already," Nia jeers. When they both flip her off she turns to Kara, seemingly confused. "That was a legitimate suggestion, though?"

"I know. One day," Kara hums, throwing her arm around Nia’s shoulder and pulling her into a half-hug.

Their waiter appears, smooth and charming and managing to get Winn firmly under his spell in a matter of seconds. But in Winn's defense, he has a perfect smile, great hair, and a British accent.

Poor boy never stood a chance against all that. They each place their orders for a fancy drink, and when the waiter, Jack, turns his attention to Kara, Alex interrupts with, "She wants a Potion D'Amour."

"Oh, a love potion," he muses, smiling at Kara. His eyes catch on something and his smile widens. "I know just the lady to make it for you. Back in a tick."

And he's off before Kara can protest. Resigned, she turns to her sister. "Why?"

Alex rolls her eyes fondly. "Just take a sip. If you don't like it, one of us will finish it for you.”

“Fine, fine.”

--

So, as it turns out, Kara likes the love potion. A lot.

“It tastes like berries,” Kara marvels.

“We know, Kara, you told us when you were drinking the last one,” Alex chuckles.

“And the one before that,” Nia adds.

“You guys are so nice. I love you all so much.”

“Well at least she’s a happy drunk,” James chuckles.

“‘m not drunk,” Kara insists. “‘m always happy, ya butts.”

“Sure Kar, and the sky is red.”

Kara frowns as her friends all laugh. “Rude. Who wants another one?”

They all raise a hand, and Kara moves off in the general direction of the bar.

Or, well, she does her best.

“Hey there! Did you need something, luv?”

It’s Jack-the-waiter, looking at her with some bemusement.

“Yeah! Hi, sorry. Um, they all want more drinks, and I just, um…”

“Needed a break?”

She slumps in relief. “Yeah. Is that bad? Like, I love them and all, but I think I’m kinda drunk and they’re… a lot.”

Jack chuckles. “Trust me, I understand. If you want a minute of quiet, there’s a stool on the end of the bar that no one ever sits in. Got your name on it.”

“Thanks! You’re a very good waiter. Hey, d’you have any drink recommendations? Maybe one a little, um… lighter?”

“‘Course I do luv. Really fancy, too. C’mere, I’ll tell ya,” Jack says, motioning her close. When Kara is a few inches away, he tells her the secret. “It’s called ‘coffee’.”

Kara laughs as he winks and moves away to another table. She spots the empty barstool he’d mentioned and ambles over, dropping into it with a sigh. From here, she has a view of approximately nothing, given its location behind a pillar, and she leans back against the wall, the cool wood paneling chilly even through her jacket and shirt. 

“Long night?”

Kara’s eyes flutter open (when did they close? Maybe she is drunk…) and across from her is quite probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen in her life.

“Wow.”

The girl smirks, quirking a brow upward. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. I um, I think I just had too many love potions.”

“Oh, so it was you ordering those,” the pretty, pretty girl drawls. “They’re a pain in the ass to make, you know. Mostly the garnish, but still, I’m tempted to be annoyed with you, for being so high-maintenance.”

“Oh, Jack said he knew the girl for the job!” Kara says. “They were really good, I usually don’t even drink, but those were great.”

“Well well, keep talking, I thrive on flattery,” the girl jokes. She extends a hand. “Lena.”

“Kara, Kara Danvers. Wow, your hands are big.”

Lena barks a delighted laugh. “You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade, Kara Danvers.”

Kara flushes. “Oh, that’s- wow, sorry.”

“You’re fine. Like I said, I thrive on flattery,” Lena says, throwing her a very cute two-eyed wink. She turns suddenly, fixing a polite, professional smile on her face. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Another round for my friends. And your number, gorgeous.”

Mike.

Lena remains polite, face impassive even as Kara hastily ducks out of sight under the bar. “What drinks did you and your friends have?”

“I dunno, fancy stuff. The waiter guy probably knows- my friend was supposed to come get us another round, but she probably bailed.”

“Oh yeah? Not much of a partier?” Lena asks, eyes darting to (hidden) Kara.

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong, Kara can be cool, but she’s a little… uptight. Needs to relax every once in a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s your story, beautiful? You come here often?”

There’s a beat of silence before Lena drawls, “Well I work here, so… I’d have to say yes…”

Kara claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh she can’t keep inside.

This obviously throws Mike off whatever game he thinks he has. “Oh, that- right. Um. That was a joke.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll ask your waiter what your order was- do you know who he is?”

“Um… he has a beard?”

“Jack, his name is Jack,” Kara mutters under her breath.

“Right. I’ll ask him. Did you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s an extended silence before Lena says, “You can come up for air now, Kara Danvers.” 

Kara peeks over the edge of the bar, flushing again when Lena snickers at her.

“Good friend of yours?”

“No. He’s- I don’t even know why he’s here? Like one day we all hated him and then the next he was always around. Nia doesn’t even like him, and it’s her birthday.”

“Really? Good that she doesn’t- seems like a douche.”

Kara barks out a laugh, smothering in quickly and grinning behind her palm as Lena grins slyly over at her without turning her head. “He is a douche. He always asks me out even though I’ve told him no, like, a million times.”

Lena frowns at this, turning her attention fully to Kara. “Does he?”

“Yeah. My sister hates his guts, and so does our friend James, but somehow he just… sticks around.” Kara shrugs. “He’s pretty harmless, just really annoying.”

Lena hums, gaze narrowed. “He’s not worth your politeness, Kara.”

“Eh. Besides, I’m kinda doing the same thing to you, right? Just like, demanding all your attention?”

Lena bobbles her head side to side. “I’d say it’s a bit different.”

“Why, because I’m drunk?” Kara laughs. “‘m sorry about that, by the way.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re all that drunk,” Lena confides, leaning over the bar so . “Those drinks really aren’t all that strong. And secondly, there’s a difference because I am actually enjoying your attention, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Cool,” Kara mutters to herself.

Lena smirks. “So, Kara Danvers- even though I already know the answer to this-, do you come here often?”

“Um, no. But I think I might start…”

Lena’s sly grin morphs into a broad smile, dimpling her cheeks and making her eyes shine in the low bar light. “Good.”

[high-lady-of-earth]

Warrior Heart

Riven x Air Fairy Reader

Links: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Flashback ~ first year orientation

You walked into the great hall in awe. You had seen pictures of the expansive room in the pamphlet, but it didn’t do it justice. For the first year orientation, the faculty had decorated the room with growing vines, pretty flowers, and delicate fairy lights. It looked like Alfea had brought the garden indoors.

Stella dragged you towards the drink table. She was wearing a gorgeous pink dress that was firmly the opposite of your black one. While had glitter and frills, yours was plain with gold beads as the only embellishment at the neckline. In your opinion, the neckline was its best feature. It was low enough to make your (nonexistent) cleavage look good, but not low to the point where it was distasteful.

You picked out a pink drink, something that looked strawberry-like and turned around. Unfortunately, you bumped into a person. Specifically, their rock solid chest. And my, what a nice chest it was.

“You know, you don’t have to fall all over me to get my attention.” Said the person. You looked up. It was a brown-haired boy with startling green eyes. He was quite handsome.

“If that’s your idea of a pickup line, I can’t imagine you’re getting much action.” You replied with a smile. He smiled back and held out his hand.

“I’m Riven.” He said. You offered him your hand, expecting a handshake, but he brought your hand to his mouth and brushed your knuckles with his lips in a kiss.

“If this is your idea of seducing a girl, I take back my previous statement.” You said, only half-joking.

“And what’s your name, pretty lady?” Riven asked.

“I’m just the girl who won’t fall for your charms during the first meeting.” You said. This was definitely a boy you wanted to play hard-to-get with.

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to try again and again until you do.” Riven said.

“I think that I’ll be seeing you later, Riven.” You said with a wink. You dashed off to catch up with Stella.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

You opened your eyes, which felt grainy, as though someone had thrown sand into them. You were laying down on a bed in a dark room, and the only light on was a lamp that was pointing at your thigh. Your leggings were cut away at your thigh, exposing a bandage that covered where you had been cut. On the floor, in a bucket, were a couple of bloody rags.

You looked down at your arm, where a makeshift tourniquet was tied into place. Riven stood at his desk, opening something with a pair of scissors.

“Where am I? What happened?” You asked. Riven turned around to look at you. He was wearing a shirt that looked torn at the edge. That explained the cloth tourniquet on your arm.

“You came to me about ten minutes ago, covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. You tell me what happened, Y/n.” Riven said. Suddenly, everything came back to you: the suppressors, the attack, and your body in auto drive, walking you to Riven’s room.

“I was attacked by two people on my way to the Headmistress’ office.” You told him.

“Specialists. You were attacked by a pair of specialists. I recognized the knife you brought with you. It’s standard issue after you graduate and complete your specialist training. Why didn’t you use your powers to defend yourself?”

“Queen Luna’s scientists developed some sort of technology that blocks fairy magic. They are installing it all over campus. I was on my way to talk to the Queen when I got attacked.”

“It’s a miracle you survived. Two graduated specialists are almost impossible to beat.”

“Well, I got pretty banged up in the process, I guess.”

You took a quick inventory of yourself. You could feel your cheek stinging from a cut and there were other major ones on your neck, arm, and torso. Riven had already cleaned and bandaged the one on your thigh. You felt the bruises forming around your eye, where the man had punched you.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to cut off some of your clothing to patch you up.” Riven said.

“It’s fine, thank you for helping me.” You replied.

“Don’t worry about it. I just put some hydrogen peroxide on this piece of gauze. I need to clean the laceration on your arm and this will sting.” He said. You nodded and closed your eyes as Riven came closer. You hissed when the gauze touched your cut and killed of the bacteria. It was quickly over when Riven wrapped a bandage around your arm.

“I need to do the one above your hip next. I don’t want to ruin your sweater and shirt. Can you remove it?” Riven asked as he turned around to give you some privacy. You pulled off your shirt, too exhausted to really care that Riven would see your sports bra.

He turned around are walked over to the bed. He had a washcloth in his hand. Riven told you that he needed to wash away the blood and that it looked like this one would need stitches. He wetted the washcloth and gently placed it on your abdomen. You couldn’t help but feel aware of every time Riven’s callused fingers brushed your skin. Little sparks flew around whenever he made contact with you. It felt like some kind of torture.

“I don’t have anything to numb it with, so this will probably hurt.” He said. You turned your head away from Riven and stared at the wall. The pain of the needle came suddenly and you bit down to keep yourself from crying out. Riven put a bandage over the cut after he stitched it up.

“So, where did you learn how to do stitches?” You asked.

“I know how to do a lot of things.” Riven said. You rolled your eyes. Of course he would take this opportunity to crack a suggestive joke.

“When you’re a specialist, you learn how to patch yourself up.”

Riven cleaned and wrapped the cut on your arm and then moved to the deep cut on your cheek. He dabbed the hydrogen peroxide on it and then reached for butterfly bandaids. He carefully pulled off the backing and stuck two over the cut.

“Thanks.” You said.

“Are you hungry?” Riven asked. You nodded. You were really hungry. The adrenaline was wearing off and a feeling of weariness combined with hunger, pain, and exhaustion was settling over you.

“I think the cafeteria is still open. I’m going to go grab something for both of us. You put on one my shirts in the top drawer.” He said. Riven got up and left and you walked over to the dresser.

You opened the first drawer and did a double take. Sitting there, in the corner of the drawer, next to several piles of neatly stacked shirts, was a paper crane.

Hope you guys liked this chapter:)) sorry it took sooo long, school is getting rough

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @totaleclipse101

[21burritoseavey]

Hahah sorry 😬I meant y/n as the reader and Daniel are in a secret relationship

hey! I'm sorry this took so long. It's a little unedited and long...and for what?? but anywaysss i hope you enjoy it i kinda went a little crazy.

Hollywood Fix (d.s.)

Daniel always loved to spend time with his girlfriend, but since Why Don’t We’s album release back in January, all of his effort went into making music at the studio. Out of sheer love and passion for creating, his thoughts would be filled with new song ideas or random melodies he hummed quietly before bed. Daniel and Y/n only met up sometimes throughout the past few weeks. Y/n was busy herself of course. With homework piling up (literally) and work right after school, she hardly had time to come over, and when she did it was for a little while. Daniel would notice her slightly less cheerful mood when they’d FaceTime before saying goodnight every night. He wanted to remind his girlfriend how much he loved her.

With his Friday night free of work, he made a reservation for dinner, sending Y/n a fake urgent message to surprise her when she’d come over that same evening.

Y/n, I need you please come over

The door burst open just ten minutes later. Y/n leaned her arm on the door handle, tired and breathless as she scanned the kitchen and living room. “Daniel!” She called; her voice wavered in panic. The eerie silence of the house only made her more anxious. Daniel was crouched behind the grey L-shaped sofa in the living room, biting back the giddy laughter that tried to fall past his lips. Kobe squealed and squirmed as he saw Y/n and Daniel tried his best to shush the puppy in his arms as he watched her quietly.

“Daniel? Where are you? You got me all worried!” She yelled again, kicking her shoes off at the door out of habit. She walked over to the counter to set her keys down and as she lowered her gaze, she noticed Daniel’s phone sitting on the tabletop, readily showing the confirmation email for his reservation at the restaurant he’d talked about on their nightly call the night before.

Daniel lingered behind the couch a little longer than intended just to see her neutral lips curve into a toothed smile and he let Kobe leap out of his arms when he stood up. “Surprise!” He shouted happily, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Y/n shot back in surprise, wide eyed and open mouthed. After a few seconds of trying to wrap her mind around the fact her boyfriend was standing right there, she ran into his arms with a squeal, pressing her hand to her mouth as she giggled. “Dani!” She exclaimed, snuggling into his warm embrace. “I missed you!”

“Hey, my love.” Daniel kissed the top of her head. He dropped the flowers onto the couch and smoothed out the wisps of her hair with his free hand soothingly. “I missed you too.” He said quietly, learning back to press a few soft kisses to her lips.

Y/n stepped back and smacked his shoulder playfully, her joyous expression veiled with annoyed furrows. “You scared me, you dummy! No wonder that text was sketchy.” She tisked.

“Hey! I had to think quick, okay?” Daniel defended. He pulled her back into a tight hug and Y/n let them linger in each other’s arms for a moment before rushing over to the flowers she glanced at.

The bouquet of tulips slipped slightly in the brown paper wrapping, as fresh and soft as the sunset that bloomed outside. Y/n looked down at them fondly. Her fingers stretched out to touch the petals and she stared up at Daniel with a pout on her lips. “These are so pretty,” She pressed a hand to her heart and wobbled on the tips of her toes to give Daniel a kiss. He gladly accepted, sliding his arms around her waist and dipping her down just a little to kiss her deeper.

---

“Thanks for taking me out, Daniel. I needed this.” Y/n said sweetly, squeezing her grip of his hand as they sauntered down the footpath. He looked beside him and gave Y/n a warm kiss on the cheek, “don’t thank me yet," he whispered into her ear.

Daniel made a reservation at a newly opened restaurant downtown and as soon as he finally told Y/n, she ran to her brand new, emerald dress she hadn’t even touched yet, nearly ecstatic that she’d finally have an occasion to wear it. Daniel thought her excitement was cute, and on their extra slow walk to the restaurant - just to savour each other's presence - he complimented and flirted with her every chance he could. Teasing glares, blushing cheeks and light chatter filled their walk, until Y/n noticed...a crowd of people in the distance, near the restaurant’s entrance. She’d thought that they were merely there for dinner, since the place just opened and all, but they seemed like they...were waiting. Suddenly, it seemed all too familiar. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and peered at the large cluster of people through a narrowed gaze. Daniel stood beside her, confused. Y/n heard the high-pitched screams of what must’ve been excited fans and saw their small signs held up by flailing arms.

“Is that Hollywood Fix?” Y/n asked, gently tugging at Daniel’s hand.

Daniel met her gaze. His white button up shirt rose and fell with the soft evening breeze that murmured along the lit-up trees around them. “Very funny, Y/n.” He tisked.

“No, seriously. Look over there” Y/n shot her hand up to point at the bright blinks of light getting closer and closer.

Daniel lifted his gaze, noticing the black exterior of the cameras peeking through the mass of people. “Wh-what? What do we do?” Daniel paused in thought for a second, “Should we hide?” He puckered his eyebrows towards his girlfriend.

“No, you dummy!” Y/n slapped his arm. “Just let go of my hand...” She spoke gingerly, unravelling her fingers from his and she stepped further to the side of the footpath, “and... we’ll just have to stand further apart.”

Daniel nodded after a few seconds and wrung his hands nervously. “Okay, okay. Act natural.” He cleared his throat and raked a hand through his hair.

“You call that natural…” Y/n giggled, pressing a manicured hand to her mouth.

Daniel glared at her with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Baby-” He started, only to get cut off by the sound of photos and fans right in front of him.

The interviewer nearly ran into Daniel in excitement. “Hey, Daniel! How’s it going dude?” He spoke with a sort of enthusiastic haste, shoving the microphone just below his chin as he waited for an answer. Y/n walked backwards to follow behind the both of them. She left a decent space between the two young men who talked. She was silent.

“It’s going well,” Daniel started, “how are you?”

“I’m great. What’s going on with the band? Any music coming soon?” The interviewer pulled a grin towards Daniel as they both weaved through the group of young people. Multiple camera guys walked backwards behind them too, catching every word that Daniel uttered through the mic. Daniel paused at times to give a fan a hug, or take pictures and sign autographs, but Y/n kept her distance. She walked silently down the walkway.

“Yeah, yeah. You know, we’ve got some stuff ready..” Daniel shrugged with a cheeky smile.

“Anyone with you tonight, or…?” The interviewer piped up. Y/n couldn’t help but lift her gaze at the question and she turned to Daniel to hear his reply.

Y/n hoped with everything in her that he’d say the truth, what they both wanted to finally tell the world but felt too scared or anxious to say. She, at times, loved the secrecy of their relationship. It was freeing not to worry about what his fans would think, but at the same time, it felt almost humiliating, like she was a dirty secret that his management didn’t want to crawl out his band’s perfect boyband image.

Daniel looked towards the interviewer with a toothy smile and bowed his head as he racked his brain for a lie. He stuttered out a “Nah...n- not right now, the band should be here soon though.” and let a strained smile play on his lips.

Y/n gulped hard at his words and dropped her gaze to her feet walking over the cracks of the footpaths, precariously trying not to step on them. It was a little game she always played when she was nervous. Daniel and the interviewer exchanged conversation while Daniel continued meeting his fans. Y/n tried to plaster on a friendly smile as they talked just in case she might appear in the frame, but after a few long moments, she let her lips droop into a frown.

She quickened her pace and slipped past them with an expressionless glare that wandered anywhere but them. Daniel noticed her but shrugged it off, watching her walk to the host stand.

The autumn sky met Y/n’s gaze. It was the perfect shade of orange, coloured by the slanting rays of the setting sun and she let her face soften at the sight of it. “It says here the reservation for Daniel Seavey is for two people?” The hostess glanced up.

Y/n drifted her head back towards the lady and smiled. “Yeah, he’ll be joining me later,” Y/n replied quietly. The hostess nodded and continued checking her in.

“Alright dude, we’ll see you later!” The interviewer shouted.

“Nice meeting you, bye!” Daniel couldn’t have been more thankful that the conversation finally ended. He let out a relieved sigh and studied the crowd for his girlfriend, but she had already disappeared through the doorway. He huffed and walked over to the host stand, mindlessly tapping his foot against the concrete as another couple checked in. The cameras kept filming from a few paces away until they watched him enter the restaurant.

On opening night, the restaurant was bustling and glowing with overlapping chatter and vibrancy. Fairy lights were strung along the ceiling and across the freshly painted walls. Y/n had made her way over to the table Daniel had booked. She smiled down at the vase of tulips that sat on the centre of the table and stuck at her fingers to pick one out and smell it.

“Y/n!” Daniel called through the loud room behind her. His voice startled Y/n and she popped the soft pink tulip back in the vase, watching it slip back into the water as Daniel settled into the seat across from her. “Hey, where’d you go?” He asked, panting slightly from rushing in so fast.

“I...” Y/n paused and thought about what she would tell him, but merely sighed and shook her head seconds later. “Nowhere, it’s fine.” She said, fidgeting with the gentle, green silk of her dress. “I’m just so hungry that I couldn’t wait.” She pulled a smile towards Daniel, but of course, he wasn’t fooled.

“Y/n,” He glared at her teasingly. “You could’ve waited for me,” he said gently.

“Oh and watch you lie about our relationship?” She murmured, lifting her glare to Daniel. “No thanks,” she unfolded the napkin a little too harshly and watched the petals of the flowers shake.

Daniel frowned towards her. “Lie? Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You lied Daniel... said you weren’t with anyone tonight.” she mumbled. Daniel opened his mouth to say something but the waiter behind Y/n walking towards the table stopped him.

“You know I can’t say that we’re together, Y/n.” Daniel whispered as the waiter lingered between them, pouring their glasses of water.

“I know, but you said you talked to management about it.” She lifted her gaze to Daniel and met his eyes with an equally upset expression.

Daniel stayed silent.

“You didn’t talk to them, did you?” Y/n asked.

Daniel sighed and leaned forward in his chair. “It’s not that simple, Y/n. You can’t have everything the way you want it.” He slid his hand across the table to tuck his hand in hers, but Y/n drew her arm back and dropped her gaze to the table. “Y/n,” he spoke gently. “Hey, listen to me,”

Y/n didn’t look up.

“My love, please, I planned this date so we could have fun, and not have to worry about all this other stuff.”

“It’s not just all this other stuff, Daniel. This is our relationship. Doesn’t it upset you that we can’t post about each other? Or that I can’t be there for you when you perform? Or that I can’t even be within 3 feet of you when we’re in public ‘cos your fans will go crazy?!” Y/n hadn’t realised how loud her voice had become until she received awkward glances from other customers. She leaned back in her seat and huffed. A roiling anger took root within her, and even though she tried to hide it, Daniel could see the tears pooling her eyes. They both took a few moments to calm down amidst the lively buzz of the restaurant.

“Yeah, it bothers me, Y/n. You’re right, I’ll try...and talk to them. You know, maybe they won’t agree at first but I’m not gonna give up, okay?” Daniel spoke up gently. Y/n nodded and let a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. She let their hands meet in the middle and intertwine.

“I love you...and we’ll find a way to figure this out, okay?” Daniel said, pulling a fake pout towards her. Y/n giggled lightly and pressed her fingers to the corner of her watery eyes carefully.

“M’kay...I love you.” Daniel leaned in again and held her face with his palm. Their noses bumped lightly before their lips met. They kissed, softly at first, then as Daniel turned Y/n’s head slightly, their kiss intensified, kindled by the heavy emotions released seconds ago and love that radiated from them, as strong and vivid as the warm lights surrounding them.

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[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ MY OTHER HALF ❜

✨ REQUEST: nose si voy tarde però bueno, espero que no. i would like to request (obviously if that is okay for you) a headcanon with angel x reader of the day of their wedding, like súper súper fluffy.

✨ MADE BY: @artofvamps

WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ Especial thanks to my lovely @angelreyesgirl for helping me with this wonderful masterpiece 🖤✨

❚❙ GIF credits: to the amazing @angels-reyes.

❚❙ ANGEL REYES MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

Never in your life you could think about having a most perfect wedding, Angel didn't care about it too much, being enough for him to see you happy.

The most magical place you have ever been. Especially when the sun is almost falling, around five pm.

From the window of his room, you can see the backyard perfectly decorated by Creeper and Riz. They didn't lie when they told you that would be amazing.

White and red roses everywhere, forming vines wrapping the wooden beams of the altar. Over the guests' chairs, there are six fairy lights, giving some more intimacy when the night has come; and a red carpet in the hallway, over the grass.

All your friends are there, mixed with the Mayans, waiting for you.

Your hands are trembling, alone in Taza's room, while you hear some voices and laughs outside. You can't help but take another look of yourself in the mirror.

The white dress fits your body perfectly, falling from your chest to the floor.

The girl at the shop called it ‘a-line wedding dress’. You don't care about the name, but about the fact that you look like the most beautiful girl. Your hair is tied on top of your head, behind a delicate silver tiara and small red crystals in it. Soft make-up, that Bishop's Old Lady did for you, just like your future husband likes.

Felipe is run of words when he comes to the room, but you can see what he thinks in his eyes, about to cry.

You know that he would like that Marisol could see you marrying her son. She would love to see the man Angel turned himself into since he met you three years ago.

“Hey, I’m Angel Reyes, and you know what? You’ll be my wife one day”.

He wasn’t wrong.

But he’s not going to lie. He has been the whole night having nightmares about you running away from him; about you deciding that you didn’t want a life with him.

Ezekiel and Coco have been awake too, comforting him whenever the doubts hit his mind.

Holding Felipe’s arm, he guides you downstairs to the outside, feeling your legs shaking and your heart about to explode. You have doubts too. You’re scared of him taking a step back at the last moment.

Although every bad feeling disappears from the two of you, as soon as you lay eyes with each other.

Angel is about to cry. So are you.

For you, for him, there's no one else around your orbit. Just the two of you. Him waiting at the wedding altar, watching you walk over the red carpet perfectly placed on the ground.

And, damn. You thought that Angel couldn't look better, until you have seen him wearing that suit.

A black suit, covering the immaculate white shirt under a silver waistcoat with mayan symbols tissues in it. His hair is perfectly brushed to the back of his head and his beard is giving you desires of kissing it.

Seriously, it should be illegal to look this good.

But the detail that steals all your attention is the fact that he isn't wearing his characteristics rings. That big silver cross in his right pinkie and a signet ring with the Virgin of Guadalupe in his ring finger.

Felipe kisses your cheek, to intertwine his son's hand with yours.

You can't help but use your free hand to clean the tears falling down his cheeks, making Angel chuckles softly. You are always taking care of him with the most minimal details, showing him how much you love him, before leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

“You changed me. You changed my life. You came with that smile, illuminating all the darkness around me. You've accepted me, advised me, shown me the road to happiness, put me first. You've never, ever, judged me. You've healed me, you've healed my wounds, my soul, my heart. You gave me the opportunity I always thought I would never have… You, mi reina, have loved me unconditionally without asking for anything back. I don't have enough words to express how I feel every morning when I wake up with you under my arms, when I kiss you, when I see you dancing in our kitchen, when you… look me with these beautiful eyes as if I was the fucking Big Bang happening in front of you”. Bringing your hands to his mouth, Angel kisses every knuckle of them. “I can't imagine a single day without you, without hearing your laugh, without reading your texts desiring me a good day when you wake up and I'm already gone. I don't wanna live a single day without hearing you singing in the shower, without riding my bike with you behind my back, without you smacking my ass and screaming ‘daaaamn, this is all mine’! You make me happy like no one could do. You make me feel important like no one could do. And I promise you, fuck… I swear it to God, that I'm gonna give you all of me. Every second of every minute, of every hour of every day till the end of my time. I don't want to live without you”.

Now, it's Angel who has to clean your tears, causing some laughs between the guests. And he can't help but wrap you with his arms in a tight, tight hug. The warmest and dearly hug he has ever given you.

“I didn't know what love was until I met you. I didn't know which was the meaning of life until I met you. Mi rey. My other half. It was you, and only you, since I saw you the first time sitting on your bike, smoking and with that face of grumpy idiot”. The guests laugh again, because they all know that pose. “And then you standed up and started to walk, and I thought ‘what the hell is wrong with his leg’”. More laughs. The loudest comes from your future husband. “But I would never change you for anyone else. We've been through bad days and good days. Shitty nights and funny nights. I would never change my life with you for anything else. No one has ever made me happy as you do every moment of my existence. You're the most awesome, incredible, loyal and lovely man I have ever met. You fight for me, you take care of me, you protect me. You make me smile whenever I feel insufficient, whenever I feel sad, whenever I feel that I don't belong anywhere. My home, my life, my happiness is wherever you are, Angel Reyes”.

Then, Taza as the priest looks at the two of you, before guiding his dark eyes towards you. “Would you want to take Angel Ignacio Reyes in hol—”. He can't finish, being interrupted by the man in question clicking his tongue. “Of fucking course she wants”. Gently grabbing your chin with a hand and placing the other on the back of your head, Angel kisses you by pecking your lips, making you laugh.

But Leti breaks the moment, coughing exaggeratedly. You asked her to be the flower girl and she has been practicing the last month, to don’t mess up her task. The most important one, actually.

For the next two hours, you can’t stop looking at your hand tangled with Angel’s, and the two fresh golden rings in your fingers. To other people they could be just two pieces of jewelry, but for you it’s the purest way to show him your love, your support, and your unconditional trust in him.

And for the next two hours, Angel can’t stop kissing your face all around. Going down with furtive kisses on your neck, your shoulder, your knuckles; not being able to take off from you his other arm around your waist, tightly closed to push you next to him.

Coco and Gilly are in charge of the speech, knowing that it’s going to be more funny than you thought, when they get up from their chairs drunk as fuck after too many shots of tequila. “Yo, mami… you really got the golden dick”. “Man!” Gilly punches him on the shoulder, making him strumble with his own feet and having to grab the other’s jacket to not fall. “I’m speaking the truth! Who was gonna think that he would get the girl to this point, ah?” “Not me”. “Me neither”. “You jealous, ah, motherfuckers?” Angel tosses them a napkin, causing the laugh of everyone around you. “Seriously, girl… How you do it to st—”.

“Enough?” Leti whispers to EZ, sitting by her side. The younger Reyes nods in silence, getting up, making Creeper and Riz a sign to take them off from the center of the yard; between curses in spanish and in some kind of invented language because of the alcohol.

“Hey, brother, I just want to tell you that by far this is the happiest moment of my life. You don’t deserve anything but all the love and the affection, and we all know that only her can give it to you”. You’re starting to think that EZ’s purpose is making Angel cry, because his eyes are being filled up with a bunch of tears now. “Our lives haven’t been easy, you know that… And you have put all the weight on your shoulders since ever, but I’m proud of you. Of who you are. Of calling you my brother. Mi sangre. I don’t desire you anything but happiness, Angel”.

“Yeah, and God bless your patience, sister”. Leti can’t help but add that remark, trying to not laugh when she finds you nodding energetically, before kissing your husband’s tears running down his cheek.

The big toast echoes all around the ranch, in the meantime that the prospects from Yuma and Stockton bring the cake. One of them. That’s the main, a three-story cake of black and white chocolate with your names drawn in red. Canche’s wife has made it for you. She’s an amazing pastry.

And you thought that Angel wouldn’t do it. HE PROMISED YOU ONE HUNDRED TIMES.

But that piece of shit were lying,

Stamping a piece of cake on your face, your husband quickly grabs your wrists to avoid you punch him, or do the same to him. As you sob between chuckles, keeping your eyes closed, Angel licks your lips with the tip of his tongue. “Mi dulce, mi favorito”.

“You promised me…”

“Ah, ah… I promised that I wouldn’t smash YOUR face IN the cake. And I didn't”.

After cleaning yourself and changing the heavy dress for another one that fits your silhouette to the perfection, you are ready to give your husband the last surprise of your wedding.

“Are you takin' me to a dark corner?” “Stop asking, Angel… You'll see”.

At the front yard, a baseball bat and a ball awaits. “What's that, baby?”

“Sh… I throw you the ball, and you hit it, okay?”

So there you are, watching Angel in position as in his old times, when he used to play in highschool.

You throw it.

He hits it.

And in just one second, the distance between you gets caught up by a pink powder, almost staining your clothes.

Angel is in shock. The bat falls from his hand. Eyes widened. Parted lips. His skin bristled, as his cheeks got wet again because of the tears.

“Felicidades, papi”.

He can't stop crying, embracing you with all his strength to his chest. Your husband can't believe anything that is happening today. All he has ever wanted is happening in a sight.

“The day we met, you told me that one day I would be your wife. And I told you that you looked like the father of my future children”.

[gruviafan-forever]

A/N: Hello everyone, Happy Gruvia Week to you. I didn't expect that I would be writing contents for this year's event too. But I'm really happy to be writing stories about my favourite anime couples.

   Hopefully, everyone likes it. This year the prompts were very similar to previous years. It had me in fix how to write content without making it a repetitive fashion.

   Finally got an idea and tried to merge all those 7 prompts into a storyline. Hopefully, it convinces you all.

   Thank you for reading and spending your time here.

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

Main Pairing: GRUVIA

Summary:- Celebrity Gray x General Public Juvia, Modern AU

Words:- 2K

Currently, Fairy Tail Agency has arranged for a press meet to officially declare the facts of the new movie in which two of their most famous actors are going to be a part.

Gray Fullbuster, 25 years, tv artist turned actor and Lucy Heartfilia, 24 years, model turned actress, has signed up for this movie which is under the production of Straussl Inc.

As the reporters who out various questions regarding the details of this upcoming venture and some related to their personal life.

"So, Mr Fullbuster, tell us about how you feel knowing that you have been nominated for 3 categories of awards this year?" 

One of the reporters asked and was ready to note Gray's response.

"I'm sure that I will receive the awards for best actor and handsome face. Also, my last movie 'Icy Days' has been nominated for the best movie of the year. But not sure about the 'Gem of the decade' award." 

Gray confidently answered and smiled which made the female reporters squeal.

Lucy interrupted, "Not to ruin Gray's fantasy but my movie 'Starry Night At Stella' was a blockbuster hit. Myself and my co-actor Natsu Dragneel were praised by critics for our performance. So, Gray, don't forget that even we are on the race too." Lucy smiled which made everyone chuckle after hearing her opinions.

"Sure Lucy... All the best to you and Natsu" Gray told and looked at his manager, Erza Scarlet, who also happens to be Natsu's manager, to know when this press meet is going to end.

"Another 10 minutes" Erza gestured by hand signals. 

Suddenly, one of the reporters from Magnolia Times shot down a question that took Gray off guard.

"Recently, there was a photo of Mr Fullbuster with a child in his arms. Who does that child happen to be? And is it true that you are having an illicit affair with someone, Mr Fullbuster?" That reporter smirked. 

Gray remained indifferent and calmly answered him while his team members and staff panicked.

"Everyone in Fiore knows that it was a piece of fake news. In today's era of modern technology, it is easy to photoshop one's picture with anything and anyone, Mr Invel.

    Even my agency owner, Mr Makarov Dreyer and my manager, Ms Scarlet have clarified about it. So, don't go digging the old hoax rumours." 

Gray stood up and thanked everyone for their time and presence before dashing off to the exit where Lucy followed him back.

It was Erza and the production team who bid a farewell to the reporters before joining the actors in their cabin.

Once Erza reached Gray's cabin, she saw him tossing his coat and tie around the room while Lucy stood silently.

"Gray, I think you should disclose your relationship before it gets exposed in a bad way," Erza said calmly and patted his back.

"That's what I was thinking, Erza. I can't continue to hide this big news about my life for a long time from my fans. I will reveal this during the awards function." Gray looked determined and hoped that his fans would take it on a positive note.

"They will surely accept your relationship status just like how they received mine and Natsu's." Lucy encouraged him and patted his arms which seemed to make him calm down.

"Gray, tomorrow you have your day off then, on Wednesday, we will be going to Phoenix Mall for a fan meet up event where other actors of our agency will join us." Erza informed him and handed the invitation.

From the invitation, it was clear that this mall was quite near to his apartment complex. Moreover, it was arranged by Mr Makarov himself so there was no way of turning it down.

"Fine, I will get ready for this. Just send the car near the children's park no need to come in front of the complex." He informed Erza and thanked them both for their words of motive before he left them.

After half an hour, Gray reached the children's park and put on his disguise, cooling glass, mask and a cap to conceal his identity while he was dressed up in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

"Max, tomorrow's your day off. Pick me up here at 9 am on Wednesday. Bye."

"Yes, Mr Fullbuster. Bye, and Good night" The driver left him while Gray made his way towards his home.

The apartment complex in which he lived was one of the expensive housing in Magnolia. The higher the floor level, the higher is the cost and the higher is the security.

Till the 11th floor, the general public who did high order jobs lived while the next 10 floors were occupied by celebrities of various fields.

One of the perks of this housing agency was that their identity remains secret, not even their neighbours know about them until and unless the involved party discloses it.

Once Gray reached the 17th floor, which had two apartments where one was still vacant.

As he hit the doorbell of his apartment, Gray could hear voices coming from inside which brought a smile on his face.

The door opened and his eyes met the gorgeous lady who welcomed him with a beautiful smile that captivated him.

"Welcome home, Gray-sama"

"I'm home, Juvia," Gray said and got inside.

Soon, he removed the disguise and leaned forward to kiss her lips which she reciprocated back.

Once they broke off the kiss, Juvia hugged him and whispered, "I missed you, Gray-sama."

"Even, I missed you, Juvia. It's been a week since I last saw you and…." Before he could finish, both of them felt someone hugging their legs.

And it was none their 3-year-old daughter, Yuki Fullbuster, who resembled her mother but had father's hair and eye colour and his sharp nose.

"Papa"

Seeing his daughter's smile was enough for him to get distracted from his wife, then, have his undivided attention on his little munchkin.

Gray raised Yuki in his arms and kissed her cheeks and forehead who did the same to her papa.

"Yuki missed you, papa."

"Even, papa missed you, darling. Were you a good girl during papa's absence?" Gray asked her as they moved towards the living room.

Gray let her down who ran up to a table and tried to fetch her drawing notebook.

Juvia made her husband sit down and inquired him about his work as he looked tired and kinda depressed.

Gray convinced her everything was fine and told her about the press meet excluding the details of the rumours.

#

It had been 4 years since Gray started his acting career starting as an ad shoot model to tv artists then to movie star.

Gray, Natsu and Erza were childhood friends who did their schooling from the same institution till college.

It was during the 3rd year, Gray and Natsu got scouted to act as models for a tv commercial which they accepted readily as of then they needed some kind of part-time jobs to meet their ends.

Even, Erza thought that it was a good opportunity for them to succeed as the agency, Fairy Tail, was well known throughout Fiore and persuaded them to take up the offer.

Once, their commercials began to reach people mainly because of their handsome features and physique especially Gray got popular among the female fans.

It was during this time that Gray and Natsu had to move out of the college dorm so that they could work freely without time restrictions.

That's when Gray meets Juvia for the first time in his life. She was his neighbour whom he thought lived her boyfriend but it turned out to be her best friend, Gajeel Redfox, vocalist of Phantom Bands, an upcoming band.

Gray rarely started any kind of conversation with anyone. It was with the help of Natsu that they befriended Juvia and to date, Gray was thankful to his friend.

Until the moment he met Juvia, Gray was never keen on love or relationships. 

But to him, Juvia was way different from the girls he had met in his college. She was modest and shy but a kind person with a large helping tendency.

Gray knew her personality and beauty had beguiled his attention and wanting to know more about her made him fall for her head over heels.

Of course, they would exchange greetings whenever they met while leaving the house together. Slowly they deepened their connection and exchanged numbers.

Due to her friendly nature, Juvia would invite Gray and Natsu over to her place for small weekend parties which she would arrange for Gajeel to relieve his stress.

At first, he was reluctant to invade a party meant for Gajeel but the latter happily welcomed them.

That way, they got acquainted exchanged their work details and stress with each other.

It was after a few months of that weekend party that Gray had offered Juvia a dinner date which she accepted after a week of thinking.

By this time, Gray gained quite a lot of recognition. The reason he called her out on a dinner date was to reveal that he has signed up as the main lead for a tv drama which was produced by a well-known production house.

Juvia was elated and congratulated and wished him luck. It was during that time Gray confessed his love for her and waited for her answer.

To his surprise, Juvia readily accepted him. He still remembers her words from that time,

"Gray-sama, even I feel the same for you. I was afraid to convey my feelings to you as each day our world was getting apart. I was determined to tell you today after dinner.

     But to my surprise, I never expected even you would feel the same. I love you, Gray-sama."

After hearing her say those golden words, Gray got hold of her hand and kissed it lightly and asked Juvia to be his girlfriend which she agreed.

Once they reached their respective place, Gray kissed her lips and shared a hug before calling off that night.

The next day, both of them informed their friends about their relationship. Erza and Natsu were supportive.

But Gajeel was reluctant he wanted to tell Juvia how difficult it would be for her to date a celebrity.

She has to remain under the shadows. Moreover, if words go out then obsessive fans might harm her and she would be constantly under paparazzi's scrutiny if Gray's facing bad times.

But Juvia was ready to face any difficulties and wanted to support her boyfriend in his career.

#

Once the family had their dinner together, Gray tugged his daughter in her bed before planting a kiss on her forehead and wished her good night.

Juvia was washing the dishes when Gray snaked his arms around her waist and kissed her neck which made Juvia squeak.

Gray turned off the tap and turned his wife so that she could face him.

"Juvia, tomorrow's my day off. Even the night is still young. Moreover, I missed my wife…" He leaned forward and kissed her lips which made her moan against his lips.

"Gray-sama…."

"Juvia…." Both of their eyes were clouded with lust and decided to continue their passionate night inside their bedroom.

After an hour, both was them were under the blankets, Gray had his arm around his wife and hummed in her ears as she talked about her day with Yuki.

Juvia could sense her husband's hold around her waist getting tight. He did only when he felt insecure or paranoid.

Juvia turned around to face him who kept looking at her. She cupped his face with both of her hands which startled him.

"Gray-sama, what's on your mind? Spill it out. Don't go huddling up those stressful thoughts within you. Share it with your wife. I will help you lessen those burdens." Juvia conveyed her thoughts and smiled at him.

"This is what I'm beguiled about you, Juvia. You can easily find out my conflicting thoughts just by sensing my actions. I'm really lucky to have you as my soulmate, dear." Gray said earnestly and kissed her forehead which made Juvia feel special.

Then slowly Gray disclosed his fears about how the world will perceive his relationship and worried that this shouldn't cause any harm to either Juvia and Yuki especially.

After hearing his fears, Juvia cradled her husband and patted his back just like how she does it for her daughter whenever she has nightmares.

Gray seemed to relax from this action. Juvia assured him that nothing terrible is going to happen and just hope everything turns out well.

Suddenly Gray raised his head and questioned her, "What if things repeat? And this time to our Yuki."

Juvia's eyes grew wide, but she can't show her fear, at least, not in front of her husband for now, who himself was feeling paranoid.

"I'm sure nothing will happen. Let's have faith in ourselves and your fans, Gray-sama.

       I'm just worried that your fan number might get reduced once you reveal your married status." Juvia voiced her concern.

This time it was Gray's turn to convince her, "Nah! Just like you said let's hope for the best. I love you and Yuki. Remember that, okay"

Gray smiled and kissed her lips, "Juvia, you are still warm. Wanna continue from where we left?" He teased her.

It seemed her Gray-sama was back to normal for now.

A/N: Sorry for posting it bit late. Hope I will be able to update for the rest of the event.

[octania]

(ardent menage a trois anon) I got my period recently and everything feels sore and achy. Where's Obi and Benimaru to hold me close and make the pain go the fuck away?

Baby, I know it took a few days, but your ask inspired me to do this HEADCANONS, so I hope they will help you through your pain. 🥺 🥺 💗

______________________________________________________________

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader // Obi Akitaru x Reader HEADCANONS

Word count: 1.3 k

Warnings: None

Short description : How would Obi and Beni help you go through your painful period days. 🥺

Obi Akitaru

.Obi Akitaru is the type of man women have been dreaming about since they were little. All those stories about the prince charming coming in your most difficult moments, came true when he entered your life, showing you that fairy tales are real, and that he doesn't need a sword and a horse to be your savior, this hero comes dressed to the  firefighting uniform.... not bad when you think about it better, right?

You mood swings and nasty tamper do not intimidate this buff. Truth be told, seeing your face all flustered, nagging about most silly things and just roll around holding a pillow, mumbling how you want sweets gets his face all flustered and the corners of his lips curls into the most adorable smile. He sat down next to you on your peach colored  blanket, diving under the big pillow shaped like a fluffy cat that he bought you for your second date, searching for your cute little face twisted in a expression of dissatisfaction. When his caramel eyes caught yours, he pushed himself a bit further, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, sliding his hands under you and picking you up like you weight  nothing at all and landing you on his prominent chest, curling you up by cupping your ass in his palm and pushing you up so your scalp kisses his chin, as he starts playing with your hair with one hand and patting your back with the other. “What kind of snacks do you want? “- he whispers in a tender and caring voice, lowering his head so he can look at you. “Would you like some (your favorite candy) or something else princess?”- kissing the corner of your eye to wipe the tear of joy that got there from how emotional you’ve got releasing what a perfect man you have.

Obi would check the ways to make your suffering easier. First he would collect the knowledge on the field, meaning when your first PMS struck, he watched and listened carefully what you desired, wanted and how you acted, adapting to you needs fully. The other way he expended his horizons were just simply googling what do to make your pain go away and make you as comfy as possible.

 From the few things he gathered, one was to make the cramps go away, by heating the water and placing it in a rubber container that was shaped like a round pillow, maybe 10 inches wide, and placing the warm thing on your lower back. The feeling of it heating your back made the nasty cramps get less painful, soothing sensation taking over. You melted on his act like marshmallows in the steaming cup of coco he brought for you as well, to make your taste buds get the candy they crave and to make your insides warm as well.

He would decorate the bathroom with scented candles, making the environment relaxing while you take a hot shower, putting on your favorite music on his ipod and just creating a heaven of experience from nothing more than a simple shower. When you would be done, you would notice a brand new robe placed on the edge of the washing machine. It was pushy and smooth on the touch, in your favorite color. When you put it on you realized the hood had two cat ears on it. A familiar voice made you jump from surprise when he spoke just from the outside the bathroom. “Because you are my little kitty.”

 When you stepped out of the bathroom, he picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom that had only the small decorative light bulbs on, your bed filled with plushy pillows and blankets, table next to the bed covered in bowls full of snacks and candy, and next to it a freshly ordered pizza that had steam rising from the cardboard box. On the TV, you realized you favorite move was paused, waiting for you to place your head comfortably on his strong chest, while he massages your belly with his wide palm, making slow, tender circular motions to ease the tension inside.

Benimaru Shinmon

Believe it or not, Benimaru handled your tantrums from PMS rather well. Sure, at first he was confused, not sure how to approach you after you started yelling on him for stupid things or just being rude for no reason at all, but when he saw you placing your hand on your belly or back and suffering in silence for a few minutes, waiting for the cramps to go away, his heart sank, not being able to just stand there and do nothing while you were in pain. First thing he did, was slowly walking to you, placing his hands on your tummy and lower back under your shirt. You asked what he was doing, but he said nothing, just placing his chin on your shoulder. Suddenly, you felt a warm sensation spreading on your skin, making your pain slowly to fade away. You closed your eyes, leaning on his wide chest while he continued heating his palms and releasing you from the unpleasant feeling.

He would go to the market, approaching the wise old ladies on the stands, explaining how he needs something to cure your condition but still to be tasty. “I heard they like sweet things in that…um..time.”. Old woman laughed when he said it like it was a disease and he desperately wanted to cure you from it. But from the look on his worried face she suppressed the need to tease him, and packed the most delicious fruit tea made based on a traditional recipe.

In the evening, he made sure that the bathhouse was empty, taking you there by surprise. He turned all the lights off, leaving only a trail of torches around the bath itself. He uncovered his hand, slipping it under his blue haori, and releasing his flame, lighting the torches with ease like they were candles. “You have the place for yourself (Y/N). Relax and enjoy it.”- he placed a kiss on your forehead, shifting his hand from your shoulder to your back, cuddling you slowly, while he murmured under the kiss. “There is a teapot full of delicious tea. Woman on the market said it will help.”- he smiled, jerking his head in the direction of the small wooden platter on the edge of the bath. On it, there was  a beautiful porcelain teapot that was painted with sakura flowers, and a small cup with the same print. Tears almost fell from your glossy eyes when you saw how much he tried to make it easier for you.

He would cook for you, even asking Konro to help him so he is sure he does not screw this up. Older man accepted without saying a word, proudly gazing upon how Waka is giving his best to make you happy.

The dinner would be in your garden, as you sat in his lap and he was resting his back on the wide trunk of the tree. He fed you sushi and other delicious things he made with chopsticks, listing to you carefully while caressing your cheek with his. He would even go so far from his usual self that he would bite the mochi, pushing the other half towards your mouth while he was still holding the other part, making you eat it from his lips and when you bit the other half you two met halfway into a tender kiss.

 After the dinner, you placed your head on his shoulder, enjoying him stroking your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. In one moment he rose his hand, pointing with his finger to the sky, when fire started appearing from thin air, making small explosions that resembled the firework. He made you your own private little show, while he kissed the back of your neck and murmured along your skin that he loves you. 

[raddifferent]

I'm late but I'm in the middle of switching jobs so who cares! Here's Day Two of @rosemarymonth2021: Fantasy! This is Chapter 1; Chapter 2 will double as the Chapter 4 prompt because I want to finish this fic rather than do medieval with no fantasy elements. It's my writing project and I make the rules!!

Anyways, as usual the link will be in the replies and the fic is below the cut!

The esteemed Duchess Lepidopterina Dolorosa of the House Maryam, Baroness of the Misted Isles, Devotee of the Midnight Spiral, and Serene Lady of the Obsidian Blade, first of her name, was having a bit of a shit day. As some of her many fancy titles would suggest, she was an adept swordswoman, and she had been honored to be invited to the wedding of Duke Egbert’s daughter. She was more familiar with Lady Egbert than her betrothed, another Duchess of the Troll kingdom, despite being a troll herself. That was one of the side effects of spending an inordinate amount of time in the borderlands fighting off the blasted undead, as she found herself doing now.

Her traveling party had been journeying through the Cresting Mountains for a fortnight now, having crossed the mountain peaks worn oddly smooth by some ancient ocean and cracked in half on their tectonic ascent. The scraggly pines of its forests were dense in places and opened into large clearings in others, creating an unpredictable landscape full of pockets of zombies. Three of the party had fallen when the undead felled their horses, and she’d lost sight of the other two of her companions when the pack had separated them. Now, she fought the beasts alone.

Kanaya raised a shining hand, turning some of the undead near herself. She had a moment to catch her breath and assess the situation. A crowd of about fifteen undead humans and trolls had her backed against the base of a thick pine. At her feet lay a pile of bodies twenty-strong. Her black leather boots were shiny with rotting ichor, and splashes of guts, grime, and gore adorned her oiled outerwear. The Duchess twirled her twin blades, each a deep, midnight indigo sparkling with obsidian glitter, and also with a little magic. Her hands were covered with snugly-fit leather gloves, but beneath the animal hide Kanaya knew the sigils of the Church of the Midnight Spiral gleamed on the backs of her hands. Indeed, her skin itself glowed from the inside, although that was more of a side effect of being a Blessed Resurrectionist. Kanaya lived thirty five years, and died, and was brought back by The Bright Light in the Dark Sky to walk again some fifty more years. Those outside the Church would call her another, luckier undead. A vampire.

Her groaning, festering foes began to clamber close enough to swipe at her again. Kanaya whirled and sliced, removing limbs and heads as the undead shuffled within her reach. Eight more fell, leaving seven standing. Kanaya tried to wipe a smear of viscera from her face, but she feared the back of her sleeve only made the mess worse. She was breathing heavily. The dampness on her boots and the height of the bodies was beginning to impede her. She needed to reach high ground, and soon.

Just then, a golden light shone from deeper in the woods surrounding this clearing. Kanaya jumped to the side just as a zombie swiped at her head, leaving her in the perfect position to see a glowing arrow pin her assailant’s head to a tree. There must have only been one archer aiding her, as only one or two arrows came at a time, but they still landed more rapidly than Kanaya’s own battle maidens could achieve. In seconds, the battle had ended.

Still breathing heavily, Kanaya attempted to wipe her blades off on her jacket before sheathing them. She began to walk towards where the arrows had been coming from.

Kanaya was met at the edge of the clearing by a figure in a deep purple cloak. Her skin was a deeper, redder brown than Kanaya’s own, set in sharp contrast to their white-blond hair. Kanaya met her startlingly purple eyes, which were bright, intelligent, and a little mischievous. She had a golden lip ring down the center of her mouth, and a thin golden chain as a choker. Her clothing was modest but fine, Kanaya’s keen eye picking out expensive brocade in the shirt.

“To whom do I owe thanks for such gracious assistance?” Kanaya offered when the stranger did not speak.

The stranger spoke in a slightly raspy voice with a short, clipped affect. “Arrows rained upon your general area moments before, and yet you walk towards a potential source of danger? Moments after your own life was at risk? You must either be assured of your skill, or very stupid.”

“I like to think I am the former, although there is always time to prove the latter.”

The stranger smiled. “You think it is inevitable you will be proven unintelligent?”

“I find it imprudent to assume one will never make a mistake.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. “Ah, a pragmatist. We may get along yet.”

Kanaya pursed her lips. “I find I get along with people much better if we have something to call each other by.”

“You would still like my name, then.” It wasn’t a question. They seemed to be hesitating. “I suppose you can call me Briar,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m just a traveler in these woods. There’s nothing I have to claim that involves fanfare.”

Politely, Kanaya did not mention the clearly magical bow, or the fine clothing. “I do have a bit of a fancy title, but I think it best not to rattle off the entire thing. Suffice it to say that you can call me Kanaya.” Hopefully, her rescuer would be equally polite about her weaponry and dress.

“May I ask where you’re headed? I wouldn’t mind some company, and you certainly seem like you need the assistance.” The last was delivered with a smirk, which Kanaya bristled a little at.

“I have been traveling with several others, thank you; we just found ourselves separated after that large group of undead descended onto us. I had almost dispatched all of them when you arrived.” She made a sweeping gesture back towards the not-immodest pile of re-deceased zombies surrounding the tree she had been up against.

Briar smirked harder. “So my assistance is not desired?”

“No, that is not-” Kanaya broke off her objection with a huff as Briar began to laugh. “I would, actually, quite like your help locating my companions. However, I would like to know why you would want to help me. You seem to be taking great pleasure in needling me about needing it.”

The other traveler sobered slightly. “I just know what it’s like to be traveling alone, and the drudgery of not having someone to talk to, no stories to tell around the fire or on the road. It can be better to group up, even temporarily, just to kill the boredom.”

“Did you lose a companion recently as well?” Kanaya blurted.

Briar raised a thin eyebrow. “Not recently, as it were. But yes, I have previously parted ways with those whom I enjoyed sharing a story or three.”

“I would be happy to share tales with you, stranger. My companions would likely head towards the closest inn if they were sure they were separated from me, as that was our next destination. Does that align with your path?”

The other woman smiled. “That it does. When last I consulted my map, the next inn was a half-day’s walk up the road. Shall we?”

As they walked up the road, dappled light gently touched the faces of both travelers. Briar hummed an aimless tune, kicking up dead, brown leaves. They traveled in silence for quite some time, neither quite willing to speak up after such an abrupt introduction. About an hour into the walk, Kanaya opened her mouth and was about to begin some sort of small talk about the weather when they reached the top of a hill. Below them, the trees opened up to reveal a path curving down and around a small, ruined stone structure. What had previously been a large castle town now lay in disarray, the abbey wall crumbling and holding nothing at bay. The peasant houses must have been constructed of wood, as all but their foundations had long rotted away. All that remained was a small stone castle with a single, thin spire reaching high into the sky. Small was relative; the property would have held a baron comfortably in his keep with acres of holdings, but from the vantage point it felt like a child’s plaything.

“Well, that certainly looks interesting.” Briar broke the silence with a chuckle.

Kanaya did have to agree. Ruins such as this one, so deep in the woods, were possibly undisturbed, and might have strange and magical treasures hidden within. At the very least, there would be a few monsters to kill, and get some of her frustrations out. “We should explore it. There is still light in the sky.”

Briar’s smile faded slightly. “You know, I grew up not too far from here. When I was a little girl, we were told a tale in whispers. It was the sort of fairy tale that adults would laugh off, but forbid you from speaking about ever again. Would you like to hear it?”

“Right now?” Kanaya asked, the question coming out more incredulously than she intended. “While we’re stopped in the middle of the road?”

The smile was back. “I can walk and weave words, miss.”

“Well then, far be it from me than to stop you.”

“A long, long time ago, a young king killed what he thought was the last dragon in his lands. His fields were free from fiery terror, and his people lived prosperously for three decades. One day, a winged shadow drew over the land again, smaller than the scourge that had last plagued the land, but still enough to wreak havoc. One dragon spawn had survived, and had lived long enough to exact its revenge.”

Briar stopped to hop over a river, holding out an arm to steady Kanaya as she crossed. Her hands were warm, heat thrumming through Kanaya’s thick gear to her palm where she clasped Briar’s. She let go, and they continued. Kanaya’s hand felt cold.

“The dragon landed on the top of the castle of the now-middle-aged king, and told the king that he would leave the lands be, if only the king would offer his daughter. One life in exchange for the kingdom’s safety.”

Kanaya laughed grimly. “I suppose it was an easy deal to make with the dragon staring him down.”

“I suppose it was,” Briar replied. “He brought his daughter to be scooped up in the dragon’s claws and carried away. The kingdom was quiet and safe for another thirty years, until the king’s son had borne an heir and several daughters, and a new ruler was crowned. The dragon once again flew across the land, and once again sat atop the tower and demanded a companion. Every three decades, the dragon would return, larger than before, and more imposing.”

“And how long ago was the last time the dragon came to the land?” Kanaya asked, playing along.

“Well, that’s just the thing.” Briar held a branch up so Kanaya could pass under it. “The dragon hasn’t been sighted in over fifty years.”

“Do you know why?”

The first crumbling pieces of stone that formerly lined the road to the castle began to rise up from the sides of the road. “No one knows. Some of the bravest in our village once described traveling deep into the woods and seeing a castle with a tall tower, a sleeping monster curled around the top.”

Kanaya squinted ahead, trying to spot the castle. “Did you put much stock in their tales?”

“When I was younger? Not really. Now? Also no, not really. I think if a dragon had a castle, he’d sleep inside of it, not on top.”

Involuntarily, Kanaya burst out laughing. “That’s your justification for why they’re wrong? Not that your country doesn’t have a history of missing princesses, or that you happened to live close enough to the dragon’s castle to find it, but not so close that it bothers you?”

Briar put her hands on her hips. “Would you sleep out in the rain and the cold if you had the option not to?”

“I make a habit not to when I have the choice,” Kanaya ceded.

“Then you admit there’s some logic to what I say,” Briar smirked felinely.

Kanaya rolled her eyes, smiling. “Begrudgingly. At any rate, there was no dragon on that tower when we saw it from above.”

“No,” Briar said. “There wasn’t.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In the Palm of Your Hand (pt 1)

Based on This Prompt from the lovely @major-trouble

no trigger warnings necessary (1.4k words)

---

In the aftermath of the Great Shrinking Spell Incident, Geralt is endlessly glad that Jaskier was there to keep him safe. 

In the moment when both sorceresses scream a loud spell and launch their magic into the air with no consideration for the Witcher standing between them, however, Geralt wishes that Jaskier were standing in nearly any other room on the Continent. As the two opposing walls of chaos close around him and slam together, Geralt watches the world go wrong and wavy and odd around him. Everything inside him feels like it’s being compressed beneath two fully-grown wyverns. He’s being crushed. He’s being compacted. He’s being squished in on himself.

In the pain and confusion of two fully formed spells taking hold, Geralt’s body blesses him with sweet unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up things feel...wrong. 

His body is pillowed against something soft and warm and he’s covered from shoulder-to-toe with a huge, heavy blanket. When he sits up, his head spins and he groans, clutching at it with both hands and blocking out the light with the heels of his palms. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt!” 

The thing he’s laying on shifts and suddenly Jaskier’s scent is overwhelming. He drops back against the pillow (because that has to be what he’s resting on top of) and cries out in real, legitimate fear. His best friend and traveling companion is towering over him, looking nervous. “Fuck! Jaskier, what the fuck!?” 

“Don’t panic,” the bard soothes. His own lip is being bitten to shit between his front teeth and he holds up his hands as if surrendering. “I think it was those two crazy witches. After they did, uhm, this to you, they told me how to break both spells. It shouldn’t be too hard; we’ll just have to find our way to Yen sooner rather than later. We’ll get you back to your dangerous Witchering in no time.”

“Why do we need to see Yennefer?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier hated Yen. The two of them couldn’t be in a room together for more than five minutes before they started tearing each other apart either physically, verbally, or both at once. Then Geralt remembered that he was sitting down on the pillow as if it were a great bed. “Oh...right. She can probably undo it with some kind of counter-spell or something.”

“Not exactly,” Jaskier shrugs. “But close enough. The spells got kind of...twisted together, apparently. You’re stuck being pixie-sized until your true love can get her lilac and gooseberry lips on you.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm. I’m just glad your clothes shrunk with you. I’ve already started sewing up another suitable change for however long you’re in your current form. These need to be cleaned soon, anyway. I hope to be finished with your sleep-shirt by nightfall,” Jaskier rambles nervously. “But clothes aren’t that important now, are they? You see, my plan is to deliver you safely into Yennefer’s loving arms at that magically hidden manor house of hers and head to Oxenfurt for the remainder of the season. I figured that you two might want to have some nice alone time before winter arrives and chases you off to Kaer Morhen.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

The Witcher is thankful that his small size hasn’t seemed to change the pitch of his voice. If he had become a squeaky, pixie-like creature in all regards he would have died of shame long before getting to…

Well why had Jaskier assumed that Yennefer’s kiss would break the spell?

“Why do you think Yen can break the spell?”

“It’s True Love’s Kiss, Geralt. Try to keep up,” Jaskier’s voice is high and teasing but there’s an undercurrent of resigned sadness that the Witcher doesn’t understand. He breathes in deeply again, trying to find a clue, and notices that his companion’s usually bright and sunny scent has changed. Rather than the bard’s signature whirling notes of rose and lavender, the bard is surrounded by a cloud of bitter, acrid disappointment. Jaskier suddenly squares his shoulders and shoots Geralt a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes at all. The bitterness hasn’t disappeared from the air, either. “Surely nobody else will be able to break the spell, dear Witcher. You’ve been chasing after our good Lady Yennefere for nearly a decade, now, at least.”

“Hmm.”

“Eloquent as ever, Thumbelina.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest in an attempt to look menacing but he surmises that he must look rather adorable like this because Jaskier doesn’t look properly chastised at all. In fact, he looks about two seconds away from picking the minuscule Witcher up and nuzzling him like a kitten. Jaskier had referred to his behavior around small animals and children once as cute aggression. 

“I just can’t help but pet these puppies so ferociously, Geralt, they’re just too sweet and little!”

“Have you never heard the tale of Thumbelina and her handsome Prince? Or in this case, sorceress?”

Geralt crosses his legs underneath him and pats the pillow invitingly. Jaskier lays down and turns to face the Witcher, who’s reclining back against the bedding once again. The bard tells his tiny friend the story of Thumbelina and the Prince who gives her wings, adding in some extra cute bits that he knows Geralt will sigh about later when he’s alone.

By the time he’s finished telling his Witcher a bedtime story, Geralt is dozing lightly. Jaskier pulls a few of the nicest scraps of velvet leftover from re-trimming Sexy’s case a few weeks ago and layers them atop his tiny Witcher. He runs the tip of his finger up and down his companion’s tiny, delicate spine with the utmost care and focus. 

As Geralt slips into a relaxed and heavy sleep he thinks: I’m not sure Yen will be able to break the curse after all, Jaskier; but how do I tell you how I feel without losing you completely? 

---

Jaskier appears back in the room the next morning at dawn, having already gone and gathered up a large silver punch bowl and some other odds-and-ends. Mostly sewing supplies, it looks like. He pours a pitcherful of steaming hot water into the silver dish and gives his companion a sincere apology, “Sorry, Geralt, but this was the closest I could find to a fairy-sized bathtub. Here’s a sliver of my almond soap. I hope it doesn't smell too strongly. Uhm...yeah. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Geralt looks between Jaskier and the ‘tub’ he’s been offered. “I won’t be able to get out by myself.”

“Huh?”

“I can climb up just fine but don’t think I’ll be able to get out of this thing without some assistance,” the Witcher clarifies. Jaskier blushes furiously Geralt cannot fathom why. They’ve seen each other (and other people, he imagines) in their bare skin plenty of times. Usually the bard went about his usual business but now he looked like a deer caught in the light of a hunter’s disorienting lantern. 

“Do you need my help?”

“...Yes. If you don’t mind, of course. I’m afraid I might slip and fall headfirst off the table. Otherwise, if you don’t mind dampening a cloth, I’ll just wipe myself down in my smalls and consider it done with.”

“Oh no,” Jaskier insists. “I didn’t make up the world’s weirdest lie about moonlight druid rituals to borrow this ornate punch bowl bathtub for you, my little Witcher.”

“Fine. But turn away while I undress.”

Jaskier does, but wonders why. Geralt has never asked him to look away before. Has he offended the Witcher somehow? He hears a quiet, contented sigh and turns back to see that Geralt has managed to clamber his way into the punch bowl just fine. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

“You’re likely to squish me.”

“You’re probably right,” Jaskier sighs. He moves across the room and lays back down on the bed, curled in around himself with his back to Geralt. “Call when you’re ready to be lifted out. Don’t want you slipping and dying doing something silly.”

“Hmm. Thank you again, Jaskier.

“Of course, dear heart. Anything for you.”

---

When Geralt has been dried and dressed in the new, somewhat clumsy nightshirt Jaskier sewed for him, the bard lays him back down on the pillow. 

“Goodnight, little Witcher.”

“Hey!”

Jaskier smirks and covers Geralt up with his many layers of soft velvet. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

And if Geralt feels truly and unarguably safe for the first time in years, tucked in tightly and wrapped with scraps of material that smell so sweetly of his bard, then that’s nobody’s business but his. 

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now��no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[henryobsessed]

Baby Boy Henry - Chapter 37

Word Count: 2387

Previous Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Marnie chuckled softly, her man was getting daring. If the driver looked into the back all he would see would be a tired couple heading to their wedding night destination. Marnie's head was laying on his shoulder and Henry's head was resting against hers. But what he could not see was Henry's hand that was gently massaging its way up her thigh. Even though the sheer silvery dress the feel of his fingers sent heat through the fabric as he grew bolder and bolder. Holding back a gasp, she buried her face in his neck as his fingers found her pleasure spot. Too embarrassed at his brazen touch she reached out covering his hand with hers as she whispered, "Stop being such a naughty boy."

He grinned at her totally unapologetic as he whispered back, "what are you going to do about it Ma?"

Just as she was about to speak the driver pulled up to a beautiful hotel overlooking the water. Picking his hand up and moving it to his own lap she whispered back, "You'll see pumpkin."

Henry shivered at the warning in Ma's voice, he knew they were playing, especially as they both were their true ages. But his slip up of using her dominant name Ma was picked up and followed with her favourite name for him when he was little. He wondered if it was just her being tired and nervous about tonight. They had done a lot of exploring but they had discussed before that she wanted to wait till their wedding night if and when they had one, that was when she would celebrate by joining their bodies completely in union. Chuckling, he knew he needed to keep tonight light. Stepping out of the car he quickly walked around and opened it for Marnie as the driver handed them the small bag he had packed for the night. The driver wished them a fun night with a wink then left them as they headed into the reception.

Marnie gasped as she walked into the honeymoon suite, the room was beautifully decorated with rose petals, softly lit candles and a bottle of wine, but what drew her was the balcony. Walking to it immediately she stepped out to a stunning view of the moonlight glistening on the calm waters. It was cold but she was so entranced by the view that she startled as she felt warm arms wrap around her. "Princess, you will catch a chill if you stand out here too long."

She melted against him at his concerned tone. Turning she snuggled into his arms. "But you're so warm we could stay out here all night and I would not feel the cold."

Grunting a bit at her answer he picked her up, her squeal muffled by his chest as he pulled her inside. "You might not be but my balls are trying to hide up inside me from the cold and I need you to warm them up."

Pulling an arm free she playfully slapped his chest. "Henry! you really are being naughty tonight. Where did my prince go? He gave me a fairy tale wedding isn't he meant to give me a romantic first night too?"

He chuckled seeing the fire and mischief in her eyes. Walking over to the wall he switched the lights off, the moonlight and candles now the only light in the room. Looking at her face in shadow, he lowered his head capturing her lips gently then slowly increasing in his passion. He knew he had startled her as she had stiffened at the contact, but once she surrendered to his mouth then tongue, she melted matching his intensity. His hands sought out the zipper at the back of her dress slowly lowering it, his fingers caressing her soft skin as he slipped the garment to the floor. He felt his fire increase as her gentle fingers swiftly removed his shirt and started on his belt buckle. Their lips not parting as their clothes found the floor. The only thing left was their undergarments as Henry surprised her once more by lifting her bridal style laying her on the bed their lips still devouring each other.

He reached his hands behind her arched back unclipping her bra and releasing her breasts so that all that separated them was their underwear. Pulling away, he smiled cheekily at his bride, "Was that romantic, my lady?"

Whilst he waited for her reply he began to pull and suck the skin around her ears and neck. Panting Marnie replied, "I forgot what I was expecting the moment you turned the lights out, ooo there that's it keep sucking there ooo." The more he sucked her neck the more she writhed under him, her hips lifting to meet his. Stirring, his already hardening cock began to ache with pleasure.

Groaning, he pressed her down, halting her hip movements. "Princess settle down, otherwise you'll make me cum before I even get inside you."

Her lips moved closer to his ear whispering, "And what if that was my intention pumpkin?"

She laughed at his groan of frustration, she knew what she was doing. They had been playing near the edge for some time now, to the point she could read his body's ripples and shudders. But as much as she wanted to tease him and maybe even cause a premature finish tonight, she too ached to finally feel him inside her. Despite her fear of the pain, her mother had told her about, all those years ago. In fact, one of her final conversations had been about the birds and the bees before her untimely death. Her explanation of how painful that first moment could be had been a contributor to her hesitation to go "all the way" so far. But tonight, she would hold back no longer. She was not completely innocent and knew that once the pain was over there would be a lot of pleasure.

Deciding to remove temptation he shifted his hips away from hers. This made Marnie giggle, "Can't stand the heat, pumpkin?"

Smirking he pulled himself up on his elbows, looking down at her, he kissed her lightly before he breathed, "Just preparing the way for the final act, my lady." Before she had a chance to reply he leaned back down and seared her lips once more. Leaning his hips to the side, his hands explored, kneading her breasts before sliding down to his ultimate goal. Heat filled her cheeks and fluid flooded her as he began kneading and rubbing against the fabric of her cotton panties. Unable to hold it in her moan filled his mouth. Her lips slipping from his as she groaned, her head pushing back into the pillow as her hips pressed up into his hand.

Henry loved seeing his princess come undone, it was the most sensual and exquisite sight, one he knew he would never get tired of. As he continued to pleasure her, he felt the wetness seep through the thin fabric separating his hand from her heat. Her gasps and pants increased, rolling towards him, her hands sought out his throbbing cock. A mutual pleasuring ensued as he rubbed, and she pulled, until he felt her curl up into him a shuddering gasp falling from her lips as she fell apart. She stilled, trying to catch her breath. He pulled her close, gently running his fingers in circles across her back and kissing her neck as she calmed in his arms. They stayed that way for a few moments until his cock demanded attention. Rolling her onto her back again his hands gently slip the sopping garment off her lower body. Next, his boxer briefs found their home on the floor. Shifting his weight, he looked down at his precious bride, her cheeks flushed red from her orgasm, her lips plump and pink from their kissing. Her hair messed about the pillow, curls flowing around in ribbons down her neck. She never looked so beautiful to him than in that moment.

Marnie could feel his hot hard muscle sitting snug against her labia. Even just resting there the heat she could feel was exquisite. Looking up, she studied his blue eyes that seem to be shimmering with what could only describe as love. She reached up a hand to cup his cheek, "I love you, Mr Cavill, I love you sooo much."

The shimmer became more like unshed tears as he whispered back, "I Love you, Mrs Cavill." At that moment she felt him push into her. He was big, and she could feel the hardened velvet muscle pressing, gripping against the walls of her canal. Grateful for the lubrication she clenched anticipating the pain. Instead, she felt intense pressure and fullness as he seemed to come flush with her hips. He was all the way in, and it felt amazing, she could not help the giggle that spilt out.

"Princess, what's so funny?" A small frown formed on his face, his lips pouting.

Sorry now she cooed, "Sorry my love, but I was anticipating the sting of pain that I have been warned about my whole life. Instead, you feel so good, so big, I could feel you moving the whole way but no pain."

Henry breathed a sigh; he had been worried at her reaction when she giggled as he bottomed out. Actually, it was a good distraction. She had squeezed him so tightly as he pushed in he was surprised he had not cum as he hit balls deep. Softly he smiled at her, "Well, you're not a teenager, and a lot of things can cause you to lose your hymen. But that's not a bad thing, you feel so tight and amazing. Are you ok if I move?" She bit her lip then nodded.

Pleased, he began to pull out, he could see the pleasure then pout on her face as he pulled back until just the tip was left then pushed back faster this time causing her to groan loudly, "Ohhhh yes, Henry please do that again." Smirking to himself he started up a rocking rhythm that pulled more moans and cries from his bride.

It was almost too much, an overwhelming feeling. He continued to thrust into her, each time he would shift his body so not only was he filling every space inside, he was thrusting over her already sensitive clit. Her body heated, her middle pulling and contracting until she cried, "Henry I'm cumming!" Once again her body curled up into his, her walls clenching around him, a powerful rippling that pulled him in deeper causing him to lose his control. A deep guttural moan left his throat as he too began to orgasm.

Both bodies clenched together until each one released and relaxed. Henry fell to her side laying flat pulling her body on top of his still balls deep, he stayed inside her as she snuggled into his chest. Contentment flowed over them both as they fell into a light sleep.

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

Marnie rested her arms on the balcony railing, the sun catching the ring on her hand, its brilliant pink diamond glistening in the morning light. She sighed and looked out over the water; warm arms wrapped around her bringing a contented smile to her face. His lips gently grazed her ear sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Good morning Mrs Cavill, I missed you in our bed."

She chuckled as his right hand rested over hers, "I could see the sun rising over the ocean and had to come to look it was an amazing sunrise, but you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to wake you."

Henry kissed her neck and hummed into her skin causing warmth to fill her middle. "Wake me, next time princess, I would have loved watching that with you."

She rested her head back against his shoulder, her body aching from their night of fun. She had woken earlier in the morning he was still hard within her. Rocking against him had been a fun way to wake him up as they had repeated their earlier build of pleasure. Her body now sore she wondered aloud, "So what are we going to do today?" He chuckled, using the newly given access to her neck the opportunity to suck gently causing uninvited moans to break from her mouth, "Henry, please."

Lifting his head he looked down at their hands now intertwined. "You know there is one thing we should do before we step out of this hotel together. Something nice for my Cavillers," smirking he lifted his phone.

Henry had woken to an empty bed, looking to the balcony he had seen a vision. His wife was surrounded by sunlight giving her an almost otherworldly glow. He quietly found his phone and had taken a picture before moving out to join her. Now his arms wrapped around her he hovered the phone over their hands as he took a photo, "What do you think wife of mine? Does it look ok?"

She looked at the photo, the sun causing the rings on their hands to sparkle in the photo, "That looks magical".

He uploaded it to his Instagram with the caption, "Wanted to let my Cavillers know something incredible happened last night. When you find something special don't let it get away." #IgotHitched #Kalsgotanewmommy #MrsCavill. Marnie laughed as his phone blew up with messages of well wishes, crying faces and angry rants.

Amazement and unease filled her face as she realised how sheltered she had been from his celebrity life. Seeing the frown he squeezed her tight and whispered, "If we could survive the last Little adventure, we can survive anything. So let the new adventure begin."

She smiled at that, leaning her head back against his shoulder she looked out over the expanse of the ocean. Yes, this would be a new adventure and together she knew they could overcome anything big or Little.

The End      

Masterlist

A/N Ahhhhhh another story finished. I always feel excited and sad when I finish a story. I can move on and start something new but a piece of my heart will be left here. Thank you for sharing this journey with me see you soon  Selah

Tagged people are those who have liked this story so far, if you wish to be added or removed please let me know :)

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[thebadboyfanclub]

I Quite Enjoyed It (Elijah Mikaelson x Reader)

Dance was something that ran in your family, it was in your blood. Your mom was a ballerina and your dad was a ballroom dancer, so naturally you followed to their footsteps although you were more fond of salsa and bachata, it was more of an up close and personal, it gave such passion and intimacy with a twist of fun.

You gladly accepted the offer on working as one of the dancers at the new bar in New Orleans, it was one of places you’ve never had the opportunity to visit, so you packed up your stuff and went all for it.

“Brother I know this is not something you would have chosen to do on your evening but try to enjoy it at least”

Niklaus teased his older brother. Elijah loved dancing but he had not done it in years, also he didn’t find the fun in dancing with a stranger, dancing to him was something you did to honor your woman, show off your partner. So he just sit back, drank his alcohol of choice and listened to the music, trying to ignore his brother that looked for his next prey

“Well well well, the mikaelson brothers decided to honor me with their presence, I hope that it’s not a cover up and you are actually planning to take me out once again”

Marcel appeared in front of them with a drink in his hand and had worked up a little bit of a sweat, his open white button shirt sticking to his body. Klaus put down his glass and stood up from his stool.

“Oh I can assure you that tonight is pure entertainment, we wouldn’t want to give the new bar a bad reputation from it’s start”

“I’m happy to here that, on that note let me introduce you to my most precious employ. AY (Y/N), COME HERE”

He waved someone over and then it hit him, his eye got caught on an amazing creature, the woman that walked confidently towards them, Elijah could swear she was engulfed in a white light around her. The beautiful tight red dress, with feathers around the hem that was dangerously close to her underwear but still held on and made men hold their breaths, it complimented her figure perfectly, her legs looked like they were made of silk, glistering against the light,her hair up in a ponytail and a few loose strands to frame her face, oh that face, Elijah had seen many beautiful women but her, her bone structure, her strong gaze, the pink painted lips, her strong nose, everything made in harmony.

“Well hello there”

Klaus was the first to greet her, of course. Marcel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to him, she smiled brightly at the men she had never seen before.

“This is (y/n), the star of all this. (Y/n) these are my dear friends, Elijah and Klaus Mikaelson”

“It’s very nice to meet you”

Her voice was like the most melodic thing Elijah had ever heard, it almost made him wonder how this woman was mortal, maybe she was a creature cut out from a fairy tale he had never heard before.

“So I see you’ve had a drink or two so you are all ready to dance right?”

“Of course love, but you see my brother here is a bit shy”

Klaus saw how Elijah’s posture had changed when she approached, how his eyes scanned her and the smile on his lips showed that he was intrigued. 

“Oh nonsense, come with me”

Before Elijah could defend himself (y/n) had grabbed him by the arm and led him to the dance floor, passing by couples or couples for just tonight. She stopped and placed one hand on his shoulder and the other found its way in his, Elijah took the lead even when he was sure she would have done a much better job at it.

“How long have you guys been living here”

“It feels like a thousand years”

She giggled at that before Elijah lifted his arm for her to spin, her body swaying seductively to the beat of the song that was blasting through the speakers, she looked so comfortable, like she was born in dance shoes.

“For a shy man you seem to know what you are doing”

“My brother likes to tease me, I’m just very picky when it comes to dance partners”

“Well you sure know the way of making a lady feel special”

She came closer to him, her body almost touching his, her perfume took over his senses and made him feel dizzy, she smelled like sweet vanilla, like frosting of a cake, so... mouthwatering. The man that was known for his self control felt like he was walking on eggshells.

The song came to an end and (y/n) smiled before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. It had been years since Elijah felt nervous, he hugged her back and as she pulled away he wished he could have hold her more.

“You are an amazing dancer mister”

“Well not as good as a professional”

“Oh bull, you got the leader gene in you”

She walked with him back to the guys. Klaus had a devilish smile on his face, feeling proud for his older brother, being side by side for so many years he had learned when his brother was flirting or interested in a woman.

“Well I would love to sit here and chat but my boss told us to have mingle with all the customers”

she joked as she gave a little jab with her elbow on Marcels ribs making him laugh.

“We’ll see you around baby doll”

Marcel said to her as she walked away, her hips swaying making her look like a runway model.

“Correct me if i’m wrong but I think my older brother will become a regular here, what do you think Marcel?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but... I quite enjoyed it”