#also bad sign that i like round glasses now apparently

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

really wish i’d got new lenses for my ugly round glasses instead of my square ones now - i’m starting to like them

[the-lonelybarricade]

Caught Up In You - Feysand Month

Summary: Feyre finds a polaroid picture on the ground, and soon that small little photo will change her life entirely.

@feysand-month Day 7: Celebrity

Read on AO3 ・Feysand Month Masterlist

-

But.

Feyre hated the weight of that word.

I like your art, but…

I think the concept is interesting, but…

But hours of hard work were suddenly down the drain because the client said Feyre’s character design was lacking oomph. Coincidentally, oomph was also the sound he’d make if she kicked him between—

“Breath, Feyre,” she muttered, rubbing at her temples in slow circles.

There were still positives to focus on. He had liked the storyline and her art style, he was willing to take her graphic novel onboard. Just with a few changes.

Not that it wasn’t a significant change.

“The main character is too stiff,” he’d said.

Apparently, there was nothing distinguishing about Tamlin’s blonde hair and green eyes and aloof disposition. They wanted a character of intrigue. And the worst part is, Feyre didn’t necessarily disagree. She just wasn’t looking forward to telling her boyfriend why her character design was rejected. Unlikable, they’d called him. Feyre winced. Better to get it over with, she thought, retrieving her phone to deliver the bad news.

As she looked down, something reflected in her periphery. Feyre paused.

There, laying on the ground, was a small polaroid photo. The sun glared against its laminated surface, obscuring the picture’s subject. Until Feyre threw her shadow over it as she crouched down, revealing the most beautiful man she had ever seen, smiling at her through a row of perfectly white teeth. Maybe it was the poor quality of the camera, but Feyre could have sworn his eyes looked purple. They were staring at her with a mischief that was just impish enough to be considered charming.

Intriguing, she thought. That word could be certainly used to describe this man.

If there was a higher power, then it must be winking at her.

It felt more than a little odd to tuck the polaroid of a stranger into her wallet, but Feyre thought he would make a perfect reference and she wasn’t about to question the seemingly divine intervention.

-

The polaroid had turned out to be a blessing.

For over a month she had studied the handsome purple-eyed man, memorizing every slant and curve of his face. The cupid’s bow of his plush lips, the high cheekbones, the way he grinned like he knew every one of her secrets. It had been fun wondering what kind of man he might be and restructuring her graphic novel to follow the much more elusive Dark Lord.

The Clients had loved her changes.

“To your first publishing deal!” Alis squealed, clinking her shotglass to Feyre’s. “The first of many, I’m certain!”

Feyre laughed. “Let’s get the first one out of the way before we think about that!”

She brought the rim of the glass to her lips and tilted her head back. The tequila warmed her throat, then her chest, then her stomach. Making her feel lighter, allowing some of the elation to push aside her anxiety of god now what. Now it was pages of work, and revision, and—

Celebrating. Now, and the rest of the weekend, it was celebrating. Monday it was work.

Feyre slammed the glass back onto the table, flashing Alis a loose smile. “Let me get the next round.”

“Don’t be silly,” Alis protested, scrambling for her clutch, but Feyre was already walking towards the bar.

The shot had been nice to loosen Feyre up and chase away the anxieties that were still lingering from getting the contract signed. But now Feyre was feeling a little freer, and was in the mood for something fancier. A cocktail—the kind that had a pretty garnish and a clever name.

Feyre rested her elbows against the bar as she waited for the bartender to finish serving someone else. She’d given Feyre that one minute look that made it seem as though the bar was overwhelmed, so Feyre tried to give her more time by paging absently through the cocktail menu.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Someone asked at her ear.

She turned her head, meeting a pair of warm russet eyes. The man had long scarlet hair neatly pulled off his face with hairband, and he wore a charming smile.

He was handsome—if she didn’t have a boyfriend, she might have agreed.

Before she could give him an answer, someone cleared their throat, and Feyre turned to see the blonde bartender glaring at her, then at the red haired man.

“Oh.” Feyre’s cheeks heated, feeling embarrassed for making her wait. “Sorry, can I start a tab?”

The bartender raised a perfectly trimmed brow and held her hand out expectantly.

Feyre stared for a moment, processing what the blonde woman was apparently too busy to say with words. “Oh,” she said again, scrambling for her wallet.

“Put it on mine,” the man beside her said smoothly.

The bartender rolled her eyes.

“No.” Feyre pulled her card out, frowning when the polaroid tucked behind it came loose and fell to the counter. She ignored it in favor of pressing her card into the bartender’s palm. “Please, I want to pay for my own drinks.”

The blonde’s eyes fell to the photo, studying the picture of that breathtaking man who had won Feyre a business deal.

“Is that your boyfriend?” She asked pointedly.

If it would get them both to leave her alone, Feyre didn’t care about telling a little white lie. “Yes.”

The bartender was still staring at the photo. Feyre could have sworn that was recognition in her eyes. Recognition and… something else. Something that made Feyre shift her weight uncomfortably as she watched the blonde look from the polaroid, to the card Feyre had just handed her.

“Let me go create your tab, miss Archeron.” She smiled in a way that made the tequila in Feyre’s stomach suddenly lurch.

Feyre swallowed it down, staring at the back of the bartender’s head as she walked to the register.

“So, Rhysand, huh?” The man at her side said.

“Huh?”

The man cocked his head curiously, gesturing to the photo still on the counter. “Rhysand?”

Oh shit. Feyre hastily snatched the photo back, sliding it into her wallet. “Uh, yeah.”

“What did you say your name was again?” He asked.

Feyre shook her head. “I’m not in the habit of sharing it.”

“Of course,” the man said easily, holding up his hands. “But you might want to be careful, because now Ianthe knows it.” He sent a glare to the back of the bartender’s head. “And I don’t expect her to do anything good with that knowledge.”

Feyre had no idea what he was even talking about. All she wanted to do was go back to the table, drink a cocktail the size of her head, and forget about these people and the man in her wallet they supposedly knew.

So she did just that—ignoring the blonde’s haughty attitude and the redhead’s cryptic words. These people had no idea who she was, and the minute she left the bar, her little white lie about Rhysand wouldn’t even matter.

-

Feyre woke up with a pounding headache.

She winced as she sat up in bed, holding her hand to her forehead like it might do something to magically alleviate the throbbing.

But the pounding—it turned out—was coming from more than just her head.

Bang, bang, bang.

Someone was aggressively knocking on her front door.

With a groan, Feyre forced herself out of bed and fought back the spell of nausea that begged her to run towards the bathroom instead.

She shrugged on a dressing gown before ambling towards the door.

The brightness stabbed through her retinas as the door creaked open, forcing Feyre to flinch against the light on the other side.

“Hel—”

“Feyre Archeron! Is it true that you’re dating Rhysand Nox?”

“Wha…?”

A microphone was shoved into her face and Feyre squinted against bright flashing lights to a dozen people crowded on her front step with their cameras pointed at her.

“Where did you meet him?” Someone asked.

“How long have you been dating?”

“Is there a reason you two have kept this relationship secret?”

Feyre stumbled backwards into her house, quickly slamming the door and locking it shut.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

She rushed back towards her bedroom to find her phone. It was blown up with texts from friends she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Omg?? Feyre you’re dating Rhysand?

How did you guys meet???

Can you introduce me?

Feyre! It’s been so long we should really…

Ignoring the onslaught of texts, Feyre quickly opened her search engine and typed in the name everyone seemingly knew but her: Rhysand Nox.

And there he was—the man from her wallet. Rhysand Nox. A star so big she’d apparently been hiding under a rock not to have heard of him. The top of the results were flooded with tabloids and clickbait articles.

Rhysand’s Secret Romance!

Rhysand’s Mystery Woman Revealed!

Did a Normal Girl Win Rhysand’s Heart?

��Shit!” Feyre dropped her phone as Tamlin’s face suddenly flashed across the screen. She watched it vibrate in abject horror, making her feel more and more guilty with each buzz. Should she pick it up? What would she even say to him? If old friends were reaching out to her about this, she could only imagine what people were saying to him.

The call went to voicemail. She took a heavy breath.

Then the phone started ringing again. This time it was a number she didn’t recognize and—knowing no good could come of having the stupid thing on—Feyre turned off her phone. She needed a shower, a glass of water, and an Advil at a minimum before she tried to deal with this mess.

Under the hot water, she could almost pretend that this was all a strange, vivid dream. By the time she stepped out, there would be no paparazzi at her door and no notifications blowing up her phone. No tabloids putting her name in a million teenage girls’ burn books.

It didn’t matter, she decided. Once Rhysand made a statement clearing the rumors up, people would lose interest. All Feyre needed to do was wait it out, then this would all be a funny story to tell.

Remember when the world thought you were dating a celebrity?

Likely because a bartender was being petty and left a tip to some reporter that spiraled into… this. So much for girls looking out for girls.

Feyre stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel tightly around her body as she stalked through the house. Next order of business was Advil and a coffee, and only then would she be prepared to deal with Tamlin. Surely he would understand that this was all a rumor blown out of proportion? It was ridiculous to even think that she would know Rhysand, considering until this morning she had thought he was just an ordinary man in a photo.

But no, he was a celebrity. A celebrity that was…

Sitting at her kitchen counter.

Feyre shrieked when he saw him and immediately charged for her knife block. The metal rang as she pulled her chef knife from its slot.

“Whoa, hey!” Rhysand had jumped to his feet, hands in the air.

“What are you doing in my house?”

He smiled—the same stupid, devlish smile she had studied a hundred times over—and took a casual step towards her. Feyre immediately pointed the knife at him, and he froze.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked, tilting his head so that a lock of raven hair slid across his forehead. The exact level of posing she could expect from a person groomed to be on talk shows. “I’m not allowed to stop by and visit my girlfriend?”

Feyre didn’t think the joke was funny enough to warrant that amused glint in his eyes. “I’ll call the cops,” she warned.

“I just came to talk,” he said coaxingly. “You weren’t answering the door, which is fair enough. The paparazzi are like—”

“How did you get inside?”

“My security team… helped me get inside.”

In other words, he broke into her house.

“Where are they now, your security team?” Feyre glanced around the empty kitchen, wondering if she should be bracing for some large body guard to tackle her to the floor for pointing a knife at him.

“Battling back those reporters.” Rhysand tutted disapprovingly as he studied her fruit bowl. Then, to her utter disbelief, he reached forward and helped himself to a vine of grapes. “So,” he said, popping one into his mouth. “Feyre Archeron, hmm? That’s a pretty name. Imagine my surprise when I opened up my phone this morning and discovered it belongs to the woman I’m dating”

“Imagine my surprise waking up with a hangover and an army of reporters at my door,” she grumbled, knuckles tightening around the metal handle. “This hasn’t exactly been my ideal morning.”

“No?” Rhys crooned, leaning back as he tossed another grape into his mouth. “Well, I have to say my morning has been wonderful. I found out I have a beautiful girlfriend and she greeted me in a towel.”

“Why are you here?” She asked through gritted teeth. He opened his mouth and Feyre raised the knife again. “No wise cracks.”

Rhysand raised his brows. He stalked around the counter, still carrying that handful of grapes and looking entirely unconcerned about the knife she pointed towards him.

He was so tall. By the time he was standing in front of her, Feyre had to crane her neck to look at his face. He pressed his finger to the blade’s sharp tip. “Are you intending to flay me if I don’t comply? Rather gruesome, don’t you think?” At her withering look, Rhysand sighed. “I’m just here to handle some PR, really. I was worried the paparazzi would be breaking down some poor girl’s door. As it turns out, I should have been more concerned for them. Unless you only threaten your favorite guests with a knife.”

“They’re going to see you here and think that we really are dating,” Feyre accused. “You should have just made a statement.”

“Oh, I’m going to.” Rhysand smirked, studying her face the same way she had studied his photograph. She could tell from the wickedness growing in his smile that whatever he was calculating behind those cunning eyes, she was going to hate it.

Rhys leaned closer and whispered, “I’m going to say that the second I looked into those furious blue-grey eyes, I was a goner.”

[corvinusvortex]

Sipping on her drink, Chucky is listening to the story Andro is telling her. Minesweeper. Shit, she hated that stupid game. How many hours have been wasted, trying to figure out how to win. She's truly impressed that not only Andro, but also both of her siblings made it out alive. The brunette mentions her brother - Hércules - and how he apparently was the leading force here. Interesting. Maybe she should check him out sometime. Who knows . . . perhaps he could be useful to her.

Chucky places herself on one of the bar chairs while her companion starts describing how other people died. Recalling all those nasty details. She takes another sip, observing her facial expressions carefully. Looking for any sign of emotions. Studying her body language . . . Nothing. Fascinating. Most people either freak out, or start to cry. The pierced girl is trying to figure out where to put the newcomer. For the first time in a long while she's having trouble reading another person, and she doesn't like that fact. How badly she would love to ask another question in regard to what she just heard . . . But it was Andro's turn now. Too bad. "Brutal." she remarked. "I'm not sure if I would've made it. Fortunately you had your brother with you." While Andro is playing with her straw, Chucky prepares herself for the woman's question. - What do you really think of this place? Of these games? -

She snorts. "Well Andro, I think this place is batshit crazy, and most of the games are fucked up. But do you wanna know what I like about it? The fact that here, you finally have the opportunity to be yourself. You're free to do whatever your heart desires. There are no rules. No laws. No consequences. You can be whoever you wanna be." a delighted smile finds it's way on her face "It's like natural selection. The weak die. Only the strong survive. This is true... the world is better off with some people gone. Our lives are not all interconnected. That theory is a crock. Some people truly do not need to be here." her gaze finds the brunette's - capturing it "How strong is your will to live, Andro?" a chuckle escaping the woman's body before she brings the glass to her lips once more, and letting the rest of that alcoholic beverage run down her throat.

Chucky places the empty glass back on the counter and asks Karube to give her another round, before her eyes find her companion's once again. "Would you kill someone in order to safe yourself?"

Andro disguises a laugh as a cough after seeing Chucky's horrified expression when she mentions the Spanish tradition of placing the glass on top of the counter before drinking, or else you wouldn't get laid. She had the feeling, after observing her while they had entered the area, that the number of Beach residents the woman actually liked could be counted with the fingers of one hand. She didn't question it. For all she knew, that could be her, as well, when she had been here long enough.

'First game was called Minesweeper.' She says, keeping her eyes on her companion. 'I can't remember if it was a six or a seven of Spades, only that Hatter was impressed when he got the card. It was... well, you've probably played Minesweeper, right? On the computer? A real-life version of that. A field, full of mines buried deep in the ground. My brother...' She looks around for him, because he was probably in here somewhere. In here or at the club. She gives up after a few seconds. There were too many people, and as extravagant as Hércules was, she couldn't locate him that easily. 'He just told us to follow him. It was over in less than a few minutes. Don't ask me how he did it, I still don't know. Just pure luck, I guess. I think six people died. One blew up right next to us. For the next few days, I was covered in blood, finding hairs and nails from them in very obscure places.' She recalls the events of that day as if they hadn't happened to her. As if she was telling Chucky about a scene she had seen in a movie, or read in a book. With an impersonal tone. She takes a sip of her cocktail, playing distractedly with the straw using two of her fingers.

Now it was her turn to ask questions. She was of the opinion that the woman in front of her was honest, at least that was what she had demonstrated in the short time they had spent together. She wanted to see just how much.

'What do you really think of this place? Of this games?'

[diamond-coral]

A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview.  Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes. 

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”  

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?” 

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 2

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟, 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕙

𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The aircraft door opened and you stepped out gratefully onto the air jetty. You weren’t scared of flying, you just didn’t like being cooped up in a flying tube for several hours on end. Up an escalator and along a short corridor and then you were able to see outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was beginning to shade into the colours it would take on for dusk. It looked like it had been a nice day and you hoped the good weather would continue for your stay.

Karen had texted you while you were sitting on the plane at JFK, waiting for it to push back. Frank had told her that Micro had tracked your phone to the airport so boy, were you glad you’d turned off your old phone and switched to the new one when you did. She’d also told you that Billy had asked him to find out where you were headed, and your heart sank. You knew it wouldn’t take long for Micro’s vast and nerdy computer skills to find you but then again, London was a huge city and they’d have no idea whereabouts in it you’d gone to ground, thanks to your new ‘burner phone’.

You were feeling super-excited. This was beginning to feel like an action movie, with you on the run from the bad guys.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“London??!!” Billy shouted, making Frank quickly move his phone away from his ear on the other end. “Yeah, London,” he replied.

Billy was back at his usual post by the window. “I mean... obviously I knew she was gonna fly somewhere but I thought it would the West coast, Miami, Seattle, Alaska... somewhere like that. But to go to a whole other continent....!!!!” Frank sighed, “Yeah, Bill, sounds like she’s really not keen to bump into you anytime soon.” “Yeah, thanks for remindin’ me.” “Bill, you brought this on yourself, buddy.” “I know!” yelled Billy, “An’ all I wanna do is get her back and make it up to her for the rest of my life, and all I know is she’s in London! Do you know how big that place is?” “Yeah, I do. And t’be honest... I dunno how you’re gonna even try to find her over there.”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. “I mean...” Frank continued, “I’m guessin’ you are gonna go over there and try to find her, Bill?”

Billy’s shoulder twitched upwards briefly, and he stared intently out the window at the New York skyline.

“Yeah, Frankie... yeah, I damn well am.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d left two of your big suitcases and the backpacks in a luggage storage facility at JFK, travelling with just the one suitcase and a large shoulder bag. You took the overground Heathrow Express to Paddington before negotiating a change onto the Tube to reach Tower Hill DLR station, boarding one of the driverless trains out to Canary Wharf. Settling back into your seat, feeling pretty proud of yourself for managing not to get hopelessly lost.

Your AirBnB apartment was in a part of the city called Docklands, beside the Thames on the Isle of Dogs. It was an area of shiny skyscraper offices and fancy apartment blocks built round the old docks, and your accommodation for the next two weeks was in one of those. You were suitably impressed when you got inside it... open plan, all trendy furniture and gleaming fittings. Big, big windows with views of the river and the tall buildings.

Your phone chimed and you saw a text from Karen on your notifications. Taking your suitcase and bag into the bedroom, you went back out to the main area and sat on the sofa to read it. Oh. Billy now knew you were in London, and had apparently booked a flight over - he’d be arriving tomorrow. Your heart rate sped up; Billy was a sniper, used to finding, stalking, watching his prey. But, you told yourself, he had no idea whereabouts in the city you were and no way of finding you.

Relax.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy stepped off the Heathrow Express, looking around for signs indicating where the taxi rank was. He’d been looking at the Tube map during the train journey. Nah, fuck that.

He was too wired to even think about getting to London Bridge on the Underground, or ‘Tube’ as he found out Londoners called it. His brain had been working overtime trying to figure out how the hell he was going to find her in a city the size of London. She’d stay central, surely - she wouldn’t head to the suburbs, he felt confident of that.

Getting into the first taxi in the queue, he drawled out, “The Shard, please.” The taxi driver nodded and pulled away from the station without saying anything. Thank fuck, thought Billy, I can’t be dealing with a talker right now. But just as the thought had left his head, the driver’s London accent said, “First time in London, guv?” Billy sighed, “No. No, it isn’t.” In fact it was, but he wasn’t about to tell the driver that. He’d only end up getting taken on the ‘scenic route’, double the time, double the price.

The driver grunted and turned up the radio... really annoying music could now be heard but Billy would take that over inane small talk any day. He looked out of the windows at the city streets and his mind went back to his mission. Mission impossible. Finally he saw the river and the taxi crossed a wide bridge before pulling up outside the lofty skyscraper that was The Shard. According to the blurb he’d read on some travel website it was the tallest in Western Europe, and while there were taller buildings in New York, the shape of this one made it look quite dramatic.

He paid and got out of the taxi with his expensive wheeled duffel bag, heading to the Shangri La entrance of The Shard and going inside. (It’s one of the priciest hotels in London - of course). Checked in at reception on the 35th floor, he was then whisked up to his room on the 52nd by another express lift. The windows were huge and the views spectacular.

Once again, he was gazing out of a window at a cityscape.

Where is she?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your first full day, you occupied yourself with getting to know the surrounding area, doing some grocery shopping and sitting on your large balcony, enjoying the view and relaxing with a glass of wine.

Every time a plane went overhead you wondered if Billy was on it - he was due here today. You shook yourself a little, you’d just have to stop thinking about it. He wouldn’t find you.

Your mind wandered unbidden to his recent behaviour. Knowing Billy was a player from day one, you’d still got involved with him. More fool you. Another old cliché.... you thought you’d be the one to change him. And you thought you had. You’d dated him for a few months, he seemed to have ditched his old hound-dog ways and when he’d asked you to move in with him, you’d agreed without thinking it over too deeply.

Now, looking back, it seems like you’d made a big mistake.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Micro had spent quite some time constructing a query table that he could run against accommodation reservations in London for her arrival day. She had no reason to book under another name and he’d just have to run with that assumption.

When Billy had come directly to him instead of going via Frank to ask that he try and track down her reservation, Micro had been too scared to refuse. Billy still really unsettled him - he always reminded him of a circling predator.

This query would take a while to run. He hit the go button and wandered off to work on another project while it tunnelled its way through layer upon layer of data.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was pacing his swanky hotel room like a caged panther. He’d given up on the idea of roaming the streets of London trying to spot his target, that was just one dumbass idea. He’d never find her that way, much better to just wait on that geeky twat to come up with the answer with his internet wizardry.

He’d spoken to Frank earlier, who had nothing new to report. Billy wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty at cutting him out of the loop on his recent ask to Micro. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Frank wouldn’t mention it to Karen. Much as he loved him like a brother, Frank was a big sap when it came to Karen and he knew he’d give in and tell her, probably sooner rather than later.

However Frank had told him that Madani had called earlier that day, wanting to know where Billy was and why she couldn’t get in touch with him. Billy had figured out that his girl had got herself a new phone, and he’d followed suit. Which is why Dinah hadn’t been able to reach him. “Whaddya tell her?”he’d asked. “That you were on an overseas operation and were incommunicado.” “Good,” nodded Billy, “....that takes care of that little problem for a while at least,” feeling a sense of relief.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frank cut the call, a grim smile on his face. He hadn’t been completely straight with Billy, but it was for his own good. What he’d told Madani, however, had been the unadulterated gospel truth.

He’d said to her that Billy had hared off to Europe in pursuit of his live-in girlfriend, who’d suspected him of cheating on her and left him. He was absolutely determined to get her back.

He’d taken great satisfaction in the dead silence on the other end of the line, eventually punctuated by an angry snort and the call being abruptly ended.

That ‘little problem’ was hopefully taken care of for good.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Micro looked at his phone as it beeped at him, the notification saying that his query was complete. That had taken much longer than he thought it would. Now he could only hope it hadn’t returned too many matches as he’d thought it prudent to run it on surname only.

He pulled up the results table and was pleased to see that there were only a thousand or so, he’d feared there would be many more. He scrolled through the list and quickly pinpointed the one he’d been looking for.

With a deep sigh he picked up his phone, typed “Wood Wharf, Water St, London E14”, a building and apartment number into a new message, then hit send. It would be the early hours of the following morning in London, so he very much doubted that Billy would leap out of bed and head right over there.

He finished eating his supper, drank a beer and settled down to watch TV when his conscience started bothering him. Should he? He shivered when he thought about what Russo might do to him if he found out.

Popping another bottle of beer open, he sat and contemplated what he should do for quite a while. He suddenly picked up his phone, sending a quick text to Frank telling him about the whole situation and including the fact that Russo now had her London address.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

While you were lounging on your balcony, sipping your wine and watching the world go by, it suddenly occurred to you that this would be a great base to work out of for a while. You messaged the estate agent and extended your stay to one month, with an option to extend if required.

Then, on a whim, you booked a flight to Barcelona early the next morning from City Airport - it was really close to your apartment even if the flights were a bit more expensive. You’d been doing a little research into other destinations to explore, and having a base in London to travel to and from made you feel much more comfortable. The W Barcelona had caught your eye while you’d been browsing for accommodation and as you were only going for a few nights, you’d booked in there.

Feeling extremely pleased with yourself, you got up and went into your bedroom, looking for a folded-up smaller travel bag you knew you’d packed in your luggage. Finding it, you began to choose some outfits for your short trip, thinking what a joy it was that you could now leave your large suitcase here.

But damn, you were going to have to be up early tomorrow. Best to get an early night, you thought, immediately yawning.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy shot up in bed as his phone chimed with Micro’s text. When he read the information in the text, contrary to Micro’s belief he did leap out of bed and started pulling on his clothes (Micro had forgotten that this was an ex-Marine he was dealing with here).

He sat back down on the bed and googled the location. Oh okay, East London.... Docklands. Too far to walk and he didn’t think the Tube ran at this hour. Then he pulled up the Uber app and booked an immediate pick-up.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Walking into the terminal building at City Airport, you were in the middle of a total yawning fit when a text came in. It was from Karen and you stopped, putting down your bag so you could read it.

Karen: Sorry to tell you this hon, but Billy went direct to Micro 🙄 and intimidated him into finding your London accom. Frank’s told him not to do that again no matter how much he’s shitting himself! Please take care of yourself 💋

You: Bastard 👿 thanks for the heads-up, I will do 😘

Picking your bags up again, you hurried over to one of the automated check-in machines to get your luggage tag.

Whoever had said ‘timing is everything’ had definitely got that right.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Oi!!!” yelled an irate male voice. Billy turned his head to see a groggy-looking tousle-haired guy, obviously just having been woken up. “Keep the noise down!”

Billy said nothing, just gave the guy his death stare. His head quickly disappeared back inside his apartment.

After pressing the buttons of a few apartment numbers at the main entrance, someone had buzzed him in and he’d been pounding on her apartment door for the last five minutes. But there was no response, and he knew she wasn’t that heavy a sleeper.

He slid tiredly down onto the floor outside her door. Had she somehow known he was on his way over here? No.... how would she know that?

His head dropped down in momentary defeat and he ran his fingers through his hair, groaning.

She hadn’t moved on already, had she?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The plane lifted off the tarmac, and immediately you felt a huge sense of relief. You just weren’t ready to see Billy right now - you’d probably kill him if you did, ex-Marine or not.

Now you were off on your next adventure.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

London

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 6: Andersen’s Fairy Tales

…in which Harry teaches Ezi how to read.

Word count: 4k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: please please let me know what you think. I can't write without motivation 😭

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When Harry finally decided to answer his mother’s call, he had prepared himself for some verbal ass-whooping. He was twenty-four years old, a celebrity and a millionaire, yet still getting scolded by his mother on a daily basis. Life was good.

“Is your date okay?” The first thing his mother said to him was this. At first, Harry thought he’d misheard it. But then she repeated the question in a more urgent and concerning tone. “Harry, is Ezili okay?”

His mother had never remembered the name of any girl he’d brought home. His mother always had a lot to say about the way those girls had dressed, talked, and carried themselves. Had Ezi charmed his mother with her siren magic?

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Y-Yeah...why?”

“Dawson told me you and Bax got into a fight at the manor.”

Harry smacked his forehead. Fucking Dawson. “How did Dawson know?”

“He found Bax lying on the floor.”

Although Harry hated to recall that night because he couldn’t imagine how scared Ezi must have been, it was funny to think about how pathetic Bax must have looked when Dawson had found him. The mental image made Harry laugh. “See?” he told his mother. “It wasn’t a fight if it was one-sided. I beat him up.”

His mother exhaled sharply. Harry could imagine her with her eyes closed, shaking her head. “The only reason I will let you get away with fighting your cousin in my house is because I know what he was trying to do with Ezili. So I called to ask if she was okay.”

“She’s okay. Don’t worry. I think she also scared him.”

“She’s a woman. Any strong woman would’ve been terrified in that situation,” said Harry’s mum. “I feel bad for having let that happen. I shouldn’t have invited him.”

“It’s not your fault, Mum. He’s always been scum.”

There was a pause, and Harry knew exactly what his mother was going to say. “Bax’s parents have always hated us. They envy your father. I think they’re trying to sabotage our wine business. Maybe if you’d change your mind--”

“Mum, we’ve talked about this,” Harry sighed. “I love my career. I can’t...I’m not a businessman like Dad. Isn’t Dawson doing a good job managing our family business already?”

“He is. But I know your father would’ve wanted it to be you.” When Harry stayed quiet, his mother knew it was a sign that this topic shouldn’t be continued, so she switched to another. “You should invite Ezili to lunch at the manor.”

“Mum, that wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense! Her first time in our house and she got absolutely traumatised. I’ll make up for it. I’ll send you an invitation in the afternoon.”

“Mum, there’s no need for an in--”

But his Mum already hung up on him.

Sighing, Harry sunk back into his chair. A staff member knocked on the door and informed him that he would have to return to the set in fifteen minutes. He told them he got it and intended to call his mum again and try to talk her out of the lunch thing with Ezi. That was when he got another call.

“Don’t tell me someone’s injured. It’s only been an hour.”

“Worse!” Niall screamed. “Dawson kidnapped the girl!”

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Ezili didn’t know if the bookstore was small or Harry’s house was just too big, but she liked the cosiness of it in contrast to what she’d always been used to. There were bookshelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling. The walls were covered with hundreds of books of all sizes, and there were dozens of piles on the floor in the corners as well. But seeing that most of the furniture was covered in dust, Ezili guessed they didn’t often have visitors.

She wondered why nobody wanted to come into this fascinating place. She loved books even though she couldn’t read or write. She’d found a few books in her room and some of them had pictures, but she could only guess what the stories were about. So she wanted to read, but it would be something her mother would never approve of. If she learned to read, she’d become a laughing stock for her kind for sure.

Entering the bookstore, Ezili and Dawson were greeted by an old lady with crazy chestnut hair that looked like she was wearing a fluffy dog on her head. Her eyes were huge behind those thick round glasses that gave her a psychotic kind of look that absolutely terrified Ezili.

“Hello, love birds,” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. Ezili could not take her eyes off the shiny wires attached to this lady’s teeth. They sparkled every time she opened her mouth. This woman must be rich if she wore silver on her teeth.

“Oh, we’re not birds,” Ezili said as she pulled Chilli tighter to her chest.

The crazy lady hugged her stomach and burst out laughing. “She’s a funny girl,” she told Dawson, pointing to Ezili, then her face turned serious. “But no cats allowed.”

“She’s with me. Her name is Chilli and she’s very nice--”

“She can stay here while you pick your books.” Before Ezili could protest, the lady took the black cat and put it on the counter. “So what are you looking for?”

“Thank you. We’ll just have a look around,” Dawson said with a tight smile and pulled Ezili with him. They turned into one of the aisles and heard the lady telling them she’d be here if they needed help. What kind of help would you need in a bookstore? It wasn’t like books would attack you.

“The Book of Wisdom,” Dawson said as he took out one colourful book from a higher shelf. Ezili peered over his arm as he scrutinised the front cover. He smelled like coconut and summer, which reminded her of those tropical islands she’d visited with her mother. And the fact that he was a lot taller than her made her want to bury her face into his chest to get soaked in that homely smell. But then she remembered what Harry had taught her about consent. Realising her chest was touching his arm, she stepped back and felt him relax a bit more. She hoped he didn’t think she was sexually hairdressing him. She had no idea why they called it hairdressing, and she kept forgetting to ask Harry.

“Hey, why do they call it hairdre--”

“Lesson 1: Be polite.”

Ezili jumped and hid behind Dawson’s back, her heart pounding violently. “Did the book just..talk?”

“Yeah, it’s a talking book for children,” Dawson chuckled. “I like your sense of humour.”

He flipped to a new page and the book talked again, “Remember, kids, if you accidentally raise your voice with someone, always apologise to them. It’s not nice to yell at other people.”

Ezili couldn’t decide if she was in awe or creeped out by the talking book. Maybe a little bit of both. But then her eyes zeroed in on a picture of a beautiful siren on one of the covers. She passed Dawson to try and was trying to reach for the book when his hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see him grab the book without effort and hand it to her with a smile.

“You like this? It’s the new edition of Andersen’s Fairy Tale.”

“The Little Mermaid!”

“Yes.” Dawson’s eyes squinted behind his glasses. “You’ve never read Andersen’s Fairy Tales?”

“I have,” Ezili lied, hugging the book to her chest. “I want this book.”

“Great. I’ll buy it for you. As a gift.”

Harry had told Ezili that humans couldn’t just take the things they found because they would get arrested, and apparently, they couldn’t fight and kill each other for things either. It didn’t sound fair and was kind of stupid. Why were humans so dependent on these stupid papers they called money? Ezili couldn’t understand how their inferior brains worked sometimes.

“Hey, look,” Dawson said, holding up his phone that was buzzing in his hand. “Harry’s calling.”

Ezili couldn’t care less about Harry now. She let Dawson speak to him while she flipped through the book to look at pictures. But...why was there a picture of the prince and another girl? Didn’t he marry Ariel? She tried to look for the ones that revealed the new ending, which was apparently different from what she’d seen on the telly, but the rest of the chapter was just text and no pictures. She hated this. She wished she could read.

“Yeah, she’s here with me. The bookstore is just a few blocks near your house…” Dawson finished the call with Harry and turned back to Ezili. “He’s coming to pick you up.”

She found it strange that Harry would speak about Dawson with such hatred, like the way Koa would speak about Ezili, while Dawson had always been so nice about Harry. She couldn’t recall him saying anything bad about Harry when in fact, she could go on and on for days about Harry’s bad qualities. And she’d only known him for a week!

“Why doesn’t Harry like you?”

The question seemed to have caught Dawson by surprise, but he was quick to put on a smile.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m helping his mum run the business his father left for him. But he was the one who didn’t want it. He wanted to become a singer.”

“Harry’s mother doesn’t want him to be a singer?”

“No.”

Ezili closed the book and gave an understanding nod. “My mother never lets me do things I like, either. She never thinks I’m good enough because I’m not like her.”

“I’m sure your mother loves you,” Dawson said. Ezili liked the twinkle in his eyes and tenderness in his voice when he reassured her. Maybe he had a special gift that only sirens had. The gift to charm anybody they wanted. “Every mother has their own burdens and loves us in a different way.”

“But...if they love us, should they want us to be happy?”

Ezili didn’t know where that had come from. For the last twenty years of her life, she had never once thought of this. Why now? Why now that she decided that she could have been happier if her mother hadn’t been the way she was? But sirens were all supposed to be the way her mother was. Cold and dangerous like the ocean itself. So did it mean...did it mean her mother and sister were right? That she was too weak and emotional to become Queen?

“Ezi!”

The sound of her name pulled her out of her own head. She snapped her head up to find Harry padding toward her. He looked just like that night when he’d scolded her for biting his cousin. She hated this Harry.

“Let’s go home,” he told her coldly.

Before she could reply, he took her wrist and pulled her with him. The book fell to her feet and she was too appalled to even pick it up. She was about to remind Harry that Dawson was standing right there, but then she realised Harry had intentionally ignored his cousin.

“Ezili, your book!”

Harry and Ezi stopped before they got into the car parked out front. Dawson handed her the book and beamed. “I already paid for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Very nice. Get in, Ezi.”

Dawson seemed slightly annoyed by Harry’s attitude, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he gave Ezili another gentle smile and told her he’d see her another time. Then, he went back inside the bookstore.

Ezili wished she could have stayed with him.

“Rescue mission accomplished!” said an energetic voice as Ezili got into the back of the car. A stranger she had never seen before peered around the passenger seat and smiled at her before he started speaking in a funny accent, “You’re welcome, by the way. The name’s Niall.”

Chilli was sitting on Niall’s lap, licking her own paw, which showed that she was comfortable around Niall, and Niall wasn’t an enemy. To human Ezili, of course. All humans were enemies to sirens.

“I’m Ezili,” Ezili said, then, she recognised the funny accent. “You’re Niall...Horan?”

“You know me?”

Ezili could feel her grin stretch from ear to ear. “I saw you on TikTok! You’re so funny.”

“Look, H, a fan!” Niall exclaimed as he shook Harry’s shoulder, but Harry didn’t react as he manoeuvred the car back onto the road. “I like her already.” Niall laughed. “I’m Harry’s best friend. Are you following my TikTok?”

“Yeah. I’ve watched every single one.”

“Good, good, good,” Niall said, nodding slowly. He turned to the front and back to Ezili immediately. “Also, I’m sorry about what happened to you. The accident must have been awful.”

“What?”

“Niall,” Harry growled. “Seatbelt.”

Niall flinched. “Sorry.”

Frowning, Ezili hugged her new book and sunk into her seat. She hated this Harry. He reminded her of a whale with a toothache, and even with that image in mind, she still couldn’t laugh. That was how angry she was with him. Yes, she was angry with him being angry with her. And for pulling her out of that beautiful bookstore. For making her drop her book. For holding her hostage like a prisoner. For being rude to Dawson. She hated him. She hated Harry Styles.

So when they’d arrived home and he told her to go inside and hang with Niall, she had to chase after him and let him know how much she hated him.

“Harry Styles!” She called when they reached the white stairs leading to the enormous courtyard where he’d parked his car. “Why are you upset? You have no right to be mad at me after you lied to me.”

Harry stopped halfway down the stairs; it seemed like Ezili’s words had finally hit him. He slowly spun around with a stunned expression as if she’d accused him of manslaughtering. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said, his jaw tight. “I told you to stay in your room. You were grounded.”

“You didn’t tell me that you’d leave me with your assistant and Niall!”

“But I didn’t lie to you.”

“Telling half-truths is telling lies.”

Harry held Ezili’s gaze for a long moment before he started ascending the stairs. She stiffened as he stopped right in front of her, leaned in, and stared.

“Oh, so you’re so honest, aren’t you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “You’ve never lied to me?”

“Never,” she said confidently.

Well, that was also a lie. But since when had Ezili felt bad for lying? She’d eaten men like him. Why did his presence now make her nervous?

She hated that the more she stayed human the more human she became. That thought terrified her even more than the possibility of getting caught and killed in this foreign land.

“I’ve never lied in my entire life,” she added, making Harry's eyes grow wide.

He said nothing, and when he turned to leave, she hurriedly followed him down the stairs. “Speechless by my honesty?” she asked.

“Speechless by the lies that come out of your mouth,” he said. “Is your name even Ezi?”

“No, it’s Ezili.”

Harry let out a scoff but he didn’t stop, so Ezili grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Hard.

“Shit! How are you so strong?” he cried out, facing her again.

“Apologise.”

“What?”

Ezili folded her arms across her chest and sharpened her gaze. “Apologise right now.”

“For what?”

“For yelling at me.”

“And why should I apologise for yelling at you?”

Ezili bit her lip. The voice inside her head told her to push him down the stairs. She could just say it was an accident, and no one could prove that she’d done it. However, she needed him alive. Sucking in a breath, she said, “Because that’s what decent people do. A talking book told me that.”

“You mean those children's books you found in the bookstore,” Harry taunted, giving her a despiteful smirk.

She scowled at him even harder. “Apologise.”

“Fine,” he breathed. “I apologise for yelling at you. Now you apologise for stealing my cat.”

“I tried to save Chilli. You see, your assistant said something about the Master of the House being dead. I thought you were dead. But she was only talking about a show--”

“Yeah, famous Netflix show. It’s good. But that’s still no excuse for taking my cat.”

“Fine.” Ezili glared at him. “I’m sorry for stealing your cat.”

“And for getting into Dawson’s car.”

“And for getting into Dawson’s car.”

“And for leaving with him and liking him.”

“And for—What is your problem with Dawson?”

Instead of answering the question, Harry pulled out his phone, looked at it, and then told Ezili, “Go inside. We’ll continue this talk when I get back.”

He was just about to run when she pulled him back by his sleeve. He gave her a ‘what do you want?’ kind of look as she stammered, “When...when you get back…”

“Yeah?” He stressed out the word, an eyebrow arched impatiently.

“Can you teach me how to read?”

“What?”

“Teach me to read. Are you deaf?”

“You can’t read?”

When Ezili shook her head, Harry’s frown transformed into a smile. “That explains a lot.”

She smacked him on the arm and he gasped and leapt down two steps.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Why are you so aggressive?” Harry winced and backed away from her. “We’ll talk about this later. Now go inside and film a TikTok with Niall or something. I’m late for a photoshoot.”

Ezili opened her mouth to ask him what time he’d be home, but Harry had already run back to his car.

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Harry got home at around 10 PM. He’d had a rough day. His manager had been furious because he had run out on a magazine photoshoot without saying a word to anyone. In his defence, he’d been in a rush, and couldn’t figure out an excuse to cover up for the fact that he’d almost let a mythical creature get loose. He shouldn’t have been so careless and left her with his assistant and Niall. That was his fault. Also, he could never think straight when he was angry. He thought about the look Ezili had given him when he’d pulled her out of the bookstore. The look Dawson had given him. Fucking Dawson. If it wasn’t for him, Harry wouldn’t have had to be mean to Ezi.

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” Harry shouted when the light switched on and he saw Ezili sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. “Wha--Why are you on the floor? Get up.”

“This is Chilli’s favourite spot so I thought I might try to see how comfortable it is. Pretty uncomfortable, I must say.”

Harry rolled his eyes and offered Ezi a hand to help her get to her feet. “Why are you still awake?”

She pulled away from him and rushed over to the table to grab the book Dawson had given her. She shoved it at him. “You promised to teach me to read. This is a collection of fairy tales. Andersen’s Fairy Tales. I noticed that one of the details from The Little Mermaid story was different from the film, so I want to know how the story actually ends in the book.”

Harry sighed as he took the book and looked at the cover. When he glanced up, Ezi was giving him these big puppy dog’s eyes with her hands clasped together in front of her chest. “It’s late,” he said tiredly.

She shook her head. “You promised!”

“I can just tell you the ending.”

“No, I want to read!”

“Fine, fine.” He put his hands up, left palm out, the other holding the book. “I guess there’s still time to teach you the alphabet then we’ll call it a day.”

Harry could have sworn he had never seen anyone as excited about learning as Ezi was, which was quite amusing, he must admit. So they sat on the couch as he taught her the alphabet and how to put letters into words. She was a fast learner, so it didn’t take long for her to memorise everything.

“It’s been three hours and I still can’t read,” Ezili whined as she hit him with a pillow.

Shocked, Harry blinked at her. “That’s not how learning works. You need time.”

“You said my brain was more developed!”

“Yeah, but still!”

Scowling, Ezi kicked Harry’s feet. “You’re the worst teacher ever. I’ll never get to know how it ends.”

“Okay, Miss Drama Queen,” Harry scoffed. “How about I read you the story now, and when you can read on your own, you can practice by rereading it?”

Ezi thought for a moment, then the line between her brows eased, and she nodded once. “But you must teach me everyday until I can read.”

“Fine,” Harry breathed as he opened the book. His body stiffened when Ezi suddenly leaned on him like he was a pillow, her cheek against his arm, and he could feel every beat of her heart.

“Go on,” she urged him, giving him a nudge.

He cleared his throat and opened the book, trying to distract his naughty mind with the innocent words of a fairy tale.

Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for the diadem of a queen...

By the time they’d finished one-third of the story, Ezi had already fallen asleep with her head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wished he’d read this to her in bed so he wouldn’t have to carry her upstairs now. She was small and slender, but he’d had a bad day, so even the littlest inconvenience could bring down his mood. Cursing under his breath, he picked her up and carried her to the stairs as she curled against his chest like a little cat.

When her eyelids fluttered, he thought she was going to jolt awake, but then her brows knitted, and she murmured, “Mother, please...give me more time. I will bring you the heart…the heart...”

He chuckled and put her down on the bed.

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 1 - Boy’s Night Out

“Okay,” Dick boomed, bringing the room’s attention to himself.  “Weapons on the counter.”  He raised an eyebrow at the disgruntled objections around the room.  “We are going out to have fun.  We are not going to take guns or knives or arrows to the bar. This is a night off.  This night is to relax and blow off steam.  Boy’s night out.”

“Having a gun does relax me!” Jason mumbled around the bite of apple in his mouth.

“Naw, it’s the shooting that relaxes you,” Roy pointed out shoving his head away as he walked past him.

“No guns!”  Dick grabbed the gun out of Jason’s thigh holster as he passed by and tossed it onto the counter.

“Hey!” Jason yelled, grabbing Dick’s shirt and violently pulling him back to face Jason.  “Don’t touch my guns.”

Dick held his hands up in surrender and waited quietly for Jason to let go.  Once Jason had backed off and taken another bite of his apple, Dick shook his head.  “See that there, is exactly why we need a night out and no weapons.  I expect all weapons on this counter before we walk out that door.”  He stared Jason and Roy down.

“Why are we going to a club if we just want to talk?” Tim pointed out with a defeated sigh.  “Loud music, people bumping into you, lights flashing… not the ideal atmosphere for talking.”

“We’re also blowing off steam and a distraction while we talk so Jason doesn’t get bored and start fighting is not a bad idea,” Dick pointed out.  “Which brings us back to no weapons.”

Jason huffed and walked over to the counter keeping eye contact with Dick as he started removing his knife and his backup knife and his small knife and his backup gun and laid them on the counter one at a time.  “Thank you, Jason.  Roy?”  

Roy sighed and removed his knife and a gun. Dick raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.  “What?  I’m not a paranoid asshole like him.” He motioned to Jason.

“Tim?” Dick questioned with a stern look.

“Like I carry weapons on me when I’m not in the suit,” he scoffed.

Dick stared him down waiting for him to admit having weapons.  When Tim didn’t fold under his stare, Dick nodded and looked back to the group.  “Fine.” He reached behind him to pull off his tee shirt, throwing it over the back of the couch and grabbing a button up shirt instead.  

Tim stared at the shirt he put on as he buttoned it.  “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah… what?  I like it.”

Jason opened his mouth to comment but instead glared at Roy when he smacked him upside the head to stop him from saying what they all were thinking.  "If Wally were here, you'd let him say it," he muttered.

"Well, Wally's sick isn't he?  So he's not here." Roy muttered back.

Dick looked between them and finally gave up waiting.  He shook his head and moved to the door.  “Let’s go. We’re going to hang out, drink, dance, and have fun.”

“And get laid,” Roy cheered.

“Not about getting laid,” Dick singsonged as he walked through the door.  

“But we’re totally going to,” Roy whispered to Jason.  “Well, we,” he motioned between himself and Jason, “are going to.  Tim’s boy is out of town and Dick’s on his own with that shirt.”

“Whatever, I just can’t believe he thought those were my only weapons,” Jason scoffed.

“Or that I didn’t have any,” Tim agreed.  “Either we’re getting better or he’s getting worse.”

<><><><><> 

The bar was more crowded than they expected, but they had still been able to find a table far away from the dancefloor where they could actually talk and watch the other patrons while they drank.  

“Dick, we need another round,” Roy pointed out, motioning toward the bar.

“And?” Dick scoffed not even looking at him, keeping his eyes on the dancefloor instead.  

“And we want the drinks now not in an hour,” Jason retorted quickly.

“We all know if any of us go it’s completely hit and miss when the bartender acknowledges us and with the bar as busy as it is, it could take a while.  But every time you go up, he makes a beeline straight for you.” Tim continued flatly.

“Heh, straight,” Roy chuckled.  

Dick rolled his eyes but got up anyway.  “Fine. I’ll just buy all night long.”

“Now that’s what I call a good night out,” Jason cheered, holding his beer up toasting Dick.  “Get me two.”

Dick pushed through the crowd and finally settled into a spot leaning against the bar.  As soon as he appeared, the bartender made his way over to him, bypassing patrons who had been waiting since before he got there.  Dick sighed at the proof the others were right. He ordered their drinks with a smile. No use upsetting the man pouring their drinks and controlling whether they got served or not.

He looked up and down the bar while he waited for their drinks.  His eyes caught on a woman a few people down from him.  She was waiting patiently and gorgeously for her drink.  Her dark hair was pulled up in a high bun, but tendrils had fallen around her face from vigorous dancing.  Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and her long-sleeved, bright blue crop top looked like it was meant to flutter lightly over her top but instead it clung to her sweat-covered body as she moved, occasionally giving a flash of the black bra underneath.  She was flushed from dancing giving her a luminescent look.  But the thing that truly drew his attention was her smile.  She had the most gorgeous, welcoming, exuberant smile on her face.  It lit up her whole face, causing her eyes to crinkle.

He started to push away from the bar to talk to her when he saw a man drape his arms over her shoulders. His head was positioned so the back of his head was blocking Dick’s view of her face so he couldn’t see if her expression was happy about the intrusion or upset, and his yellow and red shirt that hung loosely off him blocked Dick's view of her body language.  Dick leaned back against the bar, but kept an eye on her in case the embrace was not welcome.  How bad was it that he kind of hoped it wasn’t?  However, it quickly became apparent that it was not unwelcome.  “Come on Bugaboo, let’s get back out there.  I want to have fun tonight.  Maybe find someone to finally make out with me.”  

The woman rolled her eyes at him.  “Adrien, almost anyone here would make out with you.  Straight men would make out with you if you asked.”  She and the man nodded to the bartender in thanks when he dropped off their shots.

“It can’t just be anyone though.  I’m looking for a sign.  I’m waiting for the universe to show me my future.”  He stretched out his hand in front of him as if showing off his future.

“In a nightclub that is probably a front for one of the mob families,” she deadpanned.  He shrugged at her.  “I cannot stress enough how much that’s not how this whole thing works.  The universe isn’t going to give you a sign, especially not in a dive bar while you’re drunk.  You make your own destiny, my child, this isn’t Serendipity.  Now, drink,” she commanded.  

Dick watched as they clinked their glasses together and downed the shots before returning to the dancefloor.  His eyes followed her as she started dancing.  He hummed to himself, clearly together but not together.   Their boy’s night had been going on long enough, hadn’t it?  They had been talking long enough that it would be acceptable for him to get on the dancefloor himself soon, right?  He hummed to himself.  He might have to try to find her later.  He tore his eyes away when the bartender brought his drinks.  He winked at the bartender in thanks and returned to their table.

He brought the drinks back to the table, joking and reminiscing with the three of them.  The point was to get closer to each other, after all.  All throughout their conversation, he kept an eye on the bar for the woman he had seen earlier.  The next time she went up to get a drink, Dick excused himself to get one as well. They were close enough.  He wanted to get closer to someone else now.  The others at the table raised their eyebrows, giving each other knowing looks.

By the time he made his way through the crowd to get near the bar, the woman was facing off against a man who was easily twice her size and mostly muscle. “Hey, asshole!  Back off!”  

“Excuse me?  What the fuck business is it of yours?” he growled, crowding her personal space in an effort to intimidate her.

The woman clearly didn’t get the message, furrowing her brows in an angry glare.  “Grabbing someone’s ass and attempting to grab other areas as well without their permission is sexual assault, fucker!  She clearly does not know you and does not want you touching her.”

“You have no proof of anything,” he snarled at her.  “Now sit that pretty, tight, little ass down and maybe I’ll let you kneel in front of me a little later.”

The woman’s mouth dropped as she stared at the man.  “Yep, that’s the expression you’ll be making later.”  He reached to pat her on her ass.  Dick lunged to grab his hand before he could reach her, but he was just a beat too slow.  Instead, the woman grabbed the man’s hand and twisted along with his momentum, pushing him down as she twisted.  She moved her feet slightly to trip him, throwing him even further off balance.  She twisted his arm at an uncomfortable angle as he fell, forcing him to turn over on his stomach so she could pin him to the floor once he finally landed.  “Also, sexual assault?  Illegal, asshole.  Doing it to more people, surprisingly, doesn’t make it less illegal.”

“It isn’t sexual assault if you want it,” he jeered at her.

She scoffed at him, making sure to keep the pressure on her hold as she did.  “I doubt there has ever been anything living or otherwise that has wanted you looking at them let alone touching them.”  Dick chuckled at her response.

“Excuse me, what is going on here?”  A man Dick recognized as the bouncer asked.  He was eying the woman who was pinning the man down with heavy suspicion.

“That man sexually assaulted that woman and when this woman pointed it out he tried to sexually assault her as well,” Dick answered for her.

The bouncer looked between the first woman, the second woman, the man on the floor, and Dick.  He finally nodded and grabbed the man by his jacket collar.  “Come on mother fucker, we’re going to get your picture then you are never coming in here again, understood?”

“Do you know who I am? You’re making a monumental mistake,” the man screamed as he was getting dragged away.

The black haired woman didn’t bother watching the man as he was hauled away.  She shifted her focus entirely onto the blonde woman who had been assaulted.  “Hey, are you okay?  Can I get you a drink to steady your nerves?”

The blonde shook her head. “No, thanks.  I’m okay.  It happens. You go to a club, it’s going to happen.”

The black haired woman and Dick both gaped at her.  “It shouldn’t happen ever.  If anyone ever does anything like that to you again, kick their asses or call someone over to do it for you.  He had no right to touch you.  Going out to have fun doesn’t make you an open target,” Dick interceded.  “Assholes like that should feel unsafe in clubs not you.”

The blonde shrugged at him. “Thanks for your help anyway.  Can I buy you a drink?”

The black haired woman shook her head and gave her a gentle smile.  “No, thank you.  I just refreshed mine.  Have fun, yeah?”  The blonde nodded and waved before returning to the dancefloor.

The black haired woman collapsed onto a barstool with a sigh.  She chuckled and shook her head as she looked at her drink.  “Thank you by the way.  I don’t know if the bouncer would have trusted just my word.”

“Not a problem.” He took a seat next to her.  “I’m glad I could do something to help.  I tried to grab him before he could get to you but I wasn’t as fast as you.  You were really impressive.”

She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye but didn’t really stop to look at him.  The charming smile he shot her faltered when she didn’t look close enough to actually see it.  His liquor fueled mind frowned at the lack of attention.    “Thanks,” she mumbled.  She drank the rest of her drink in one gulp, which Dick thought was quite impressive considering it was full and not a shot.  

She laid the glass on the counter harder than it seemed like she meant to and continued to stare at it for a few moments.  “Hey,” he leaned a little closer to her while still giving her space.  “You okay?  You want another drink?” He motioned to the bartender for two more drinks for them.  

She rubbed her face and took a beat before turning to finally face him with a thankful smile.  “You really don’t have to.”  

Dick’s charming smile made it back to his lips, even wider than it had been before.  “No, but you deserve it for protecting the club.”

She shook her head.  “It wasn’t…”  She looked down at his shirt and balked, staring at it suspiciously. After a few moments, she looked up toward the sky with an annoyed scowl that still looked adorable, like an irritated kitten.  “Am I a joke to you?” she called out.  

His charming smile morphed into a look of confusion.  “I’m sorry?”

She waved her arms like she was waving away the concern.  “It’s nothing.  Interesting shirt.  Fan of ladybugs?”

He looked down at his shirt as though seeing it for the first time, “Oh… uh… I just liked the pattern. I don’t think I would have even recognized them as a ladybug if you hadn’t explicitly pointed it out.”  The woman looked back up toward the sky with a menacing look he didn’t quite understand.  He thanked the bartender when he served their drinks and turned back to her.  “Do you… uh… like ladybugs?”  

The woman gave a defeated sigh and looked down to her shoes.  When she looked back up, a resigned but amused smile was on her lips.  “No, it’s just… my friends used to call me their everyday ladybug.”

Dick cocked his head to the side studying her curiously.  There was something going on, but he couldn’t quite make it out yet.  But there was no way he was going to miss an opportunity to dance with a beautiful, strong, sweet woman.  “I’m Dick.” He stuck his hand out to shake hers.

She took his hand and gave him a bright smile, “Marinette.”

He looked over to the dancefloor and back to her.  “Do you want to dance?”  Her smile brightened, making his heartbeat pick up.  She pulled on the hand she was still holding and guided him onto the dancefloor, drinks still in hand.

Chapter 2

@dickinette-february

[hatterstan-shameblog]

💫✨💕send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going 💕✨

Have a nice day/night/dance battle with the peacocks! :D

Alright, since you are a) very cool and fun and b) you took the time to send such a lovely message, I’m going to give you a part of a fic series I started many moons ago and abandoned for other things

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hatter Has Definitely Kissed Every Executive At Least Once And This Is How It Went:  Ann Edition 

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Rating: PG-13

Tags: Alcohol, shenanigans, everyone’s cutting loose, mild reluctance (but these people don’t turn down dares so y’know)

Summary: As a “team building” exercise, all of the Executives have met for a little get-together; and with alcohol and a rousing game of “truth or dare” involved, what could possibly go wrong?

“Ann,” Chisiya says, “truth or dare?”

Ann sighs.  Her red-lacquered fingernails tap rhythmically against the green of a beer bottle, the glassy sound barely audible above the chatting of the half-drunk executives.

“I already told you, I’m not playing.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” Niragi snaps, grip on his rifle tightening as he downs another shot of vodka, “no skips, that’s the rule.”

“If I had to do it, you have to do it,” Keiichi offers mournfully, taking a sad sip of bourbon from a crystal-cut glass, “it’s only fair.”

Ann turns her attention towards Hatter.  He’s taking a healthy swig from—ew, is that a bottle of peppermint schnapps?  She wrinkles her nose in disgust as he raises his eyebrows in a suggestive arch.

“This is a terrible idea,” she tells him for the fourth time in the last hour, “and you should feel bad for making us do this.”

“Ann.  Sweet, darling,” Hatter takes note of her unimpressed grimace, “angry Ann.  This is all an exercise in trust.  A way for all of us executives to bond.”

“And because he loves the drama,” Aguni adds.

“I really do,” Hatter says wistfully, “So, come on.  One round and then you can go back to summoning demons or whatever you do in your little basement crypt.”

Ann sighs.  Everyone is looking at her with expectant eyes.  She finishes the rest of her beer and puts the empty bottle on the table.

“Fine,” she says, “One round, and then I’m leaving.”

“The ice queen giveth in,” Chisiya says, the corners of his mouth turning up onto a mischievous grin, “So, pick your poison.  Truth...or dare?”

“Dare,” Ann says coolly, and the room erupts.  Even Last Boss, who had been lurking in the corner until now, gasps.  In a rare show of camaraderie, Niragi slaps Chisiya on the back and tells him to ‘give that bitch a good one.’

Imbeciles.  All of them.

“Everyone gather ‘round the table,” Chisiya purrs—yes, purrs—as he looks her with a twinkle in his eye, “because this particular date involves each and every one of you.”

“Even me?” asks Last Boss.

“But of course,” Chisiya says, “we need everyone if we’re going to play...spin the bottle.”

Ann feels the blood drain from her face.  Oh, this little blond twerp is despicable.  He is evil and terrible and—

“No re-spins.  No backing out.  The kiss must last a minimum of five seconds, but it can go longer if you feel so inclined.”

“I won’t,” Ann answers curtly.  There is not a person in this room she could ever want to kiss.  (Except for Mira, but.  Well.  That’s a thought for another day.)

“I don’t know,” Niragi says with an exaggerated flick of his tongue, the silver piercing winking at her in a supposedly seductive manner, “once you get a taste of a real man, you might find yourself hooked.”

“Perhaps Niragi wouldn’t be so bad,” Mira muses with a serene smile, “his oral fixation is off-putting on the best of days, but it might translate well to a more intimate experience.  That is, until he starts talking again.  Then it’ll be terrible.”

Niragi’s face twists into a sharp scowl as he tries to sputter a comeback; drunkenness and embarrassment have apparently robbed him of his mental faculties, so he crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Ann says with a huff.  

She places her empty beer bottle, label-side down, on the long wooden table.  For the first time this evening, everyone is silent.  Honestly, it’s kind of nice—it would be better if she didn’t have to end up kissing one of them, but, beggars can’t be choosers.

“You know,” Ann says, “there is a possibility it could land on me.  Does that mean I don’t have to kiss anyone?”

“That means you get to choose,” Chisiya says, “which...well, that will most certainly add some spice to the night, wouldn’t it?”

“Very evil,” Aguni concludes with a nod, “I like it.”

Hm.  Well, it was worth a shot.  

With one final, annoyed sigh, Ann places her hand on the bottle and gives it a powerful spin.  Maybe it’ll spin right off the table and shatter on the floor.  She wouldn’t have to do anything weird, and then she could just go back to her room and take a long bath.  Alone.  The way the universe intended.

It’s impossible not to watch the bottle spin, light refracting off the glass and casting flickering spots of light around the room.  It’s just a kiss.  She’s kissed people before.  Many people.  At least two.  

Friends kiss each other all the time.  Not her friends, but other people and their friends.  And these people aren’t really ‘friends,’ but they’re...acquaintances.  Colleagues.  Does that make it better or worse?

It’s slowing down now.  With each passing second, her fate is being decided by the neck of the bottle.  Mira, Last Boss, Keiichi—oh, God, please don’t let it be Keiichi, they have a meeting in the morning, that would be so awkward...

But, luckily, the bottle does not land on Keiichi.  It does not land on Niragi, nor does it land on Chisiya.  Last Boss has also been spared, as have Aguni and Mira.  That leaves only one candidate...

“Oh, Ann,” Hatter says, clapping his hands together and looking entirely too pleased with this very strange turn of events, “I always knew there was something between us!”

The thing he’s talking about is tolerance—she tolerates him because it is both sensible and beneficial to be on his good side.  He also, surprisingly enough, defers to her expertise on certain matters, which is more than can be said for her previous employers.  They are friendly, certainly, but most certainly not friends.  

And...lovers?  

Out of the question.

But Fate (and a smug little blonde) have decided that they share a moment of passion. Could she have spun worse?  Yes.  Could she have spun better?  Absolutely.  100%.  Without a doubt.

But Ann is a woman of integrity.  When she commits, she commits.  And so, as she walks to the other side of the table, she keeps her spine straight and her head held high.  She refuses to let these people see her falter.

“In addition to the parameters already given, I’d like to establish some rules of my own,” she says coolly, barely resisting the temptation to roll her eyes when he takes another gulp of alcohol.  Yep, that’s definitely peppermint schnapps he has—she can tell by the stench of it, the way it’s sharpness burns at her eyes.

She’s always hated peppermint schnapps.

“Fine, fine,” Hatter says with a wave of his hand, “as long as you promise not to fall completely in love with me in the process.”

That gets a laugh from everyone—and even Ann considers cracking a smile at the thought of someone like her ever feeling something for someone like him.  

“No tongue.  No teeth.  And,” Ann tell him firmly, “if you want to leave this room with your balls intact, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

The group ooh’s at that.  Ann doesn’t look at them.  She keeps her gaze focused on the man in front of her, watching him intently for any signs of weakness.

All she gets is a smirk.

“I would expect nothing less of you, Ann,” he replies, “however, you’re more than welcome to put your hands anywhere on my person.”

He leans in slightly, almost as if he’s letting her in on a secret.

“I could even give you a few suggestions, if you like.”

What a perfectly hideous thing for him to say.  It doesn’t help that he’s fluttering his eyelashes at her like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character.  

It’s annoying.

He’s annoying.

With a roll of her eyes, Ann grabs Takeru by the silk of his obnoxious robe and crashes her mouth against his-- because she’ll be damned if he’s the one kissing her.  

Five...

The group gasps-- Takeru included, the noise muffled by the seal of their lips as she kisses him fully and firmly.

Four...

And it’s...not as gross as it could be, but it’s still a very odd experience.  His lips are soft enough, and his beard-moustache-whatever-the-fuck is scratchy in a way that is.  Well, it’s interesting.  Not good, but...interesting.

Three...

“This is fucking weird,” Niragi shouts, sounding very disgusted.

Two...

“It’s like watching my parents,” Last Boss adds, “when they were still trying to convince my sister and I they were still in love and weren’t going to get a divorce.”

One...

And done.

“Okay,” Ann says flatly as she pulls away and swallows a grimace at the sight of her favorite shade of lipstick on Takeru’s lips (and is actually a very nice compliment to his skin tone, frustratingly enough) “Can I go now.” 

For good measure, she releases his robe with a disdainful flick of her fingers and subtly brushes her hands off on her shorts.  It’s not enough to get the scent of peppermint schnapps and awkwardness off of her skin, but it can’t hurt.

“A deal’s a deal,” Chisiya concedes, his eternally mischievous smirk stretched across his cheeks, “And I must say, I didn’t expect you to fulfill your end of the bargain so...enthusiastically.”

“That’s because nobody can resist me,” Takeru gloats, bottle of alcohol back in his grip as if it had never truly left, “It’s not her fault I’m so delectable--”

“Detestable,” Ann corrects under her breath.

“--And, even though you’ll try to deny it,” Takeru continues, disregarding her comment, “both of us know that there’s a part of you that liked kissing me.”

“I liked the part when she stopped,” Mira chirps cheerfully, “In fact, I think we all did!”

“You have no idea,” Aguni murmurs solemnly into his drink, his eyes darting towards Takeru with an unimpressed look.  That’s...hm, there’s clearly some kind of story there, although Ann isn’t sure she wants to know about it. 

Everyone begins talking amongst themselves once again-- Niragi has offered to spin the bottle next, and there’s a small argument breaking out over whether or not the group should continue with their original game of ‘truth or dare’ or pivot to this new one. 

And, Ann?

Ann doesn’t stick around to find out. 

[urstruly-ghst]

Hc of (if its ok) where dorm leaders' s/o suddenly runs and hides behind them, they were running away from a person who they accidentally spilled water ? And they are just- really scared maybe crying (idk) ? And how would the boys react to someone trying to hurt their lover ??? Thank you !

fight or flight, i choose flight. also, if someone intimidates you, in any sort of way, that you know is wrong. tell someone who can deal the problem sufficiently. anD huhu sorry this took so long to makeee

riddle rosehearts

You were drinking water on the go, you just got back from a mission that Crowley sent you on and you really wanted a break. Catch a break and probably rest on your now comfortable bed (Crowley finally invested money on you).

But you had a very important meeting with Riddle, and heavens know how scary it is to be late on a meeting with Riddle. So, you really rushed to go into the Mirror that leads to Heartslabyul.

However, accidents happen almost everywhere, chaos can reign even in the most peaceful of places. By that, you accidentally spilled a butt load of water on a Heartslabyul student, sadly, it wasn't the one you were very close with.

It was the same dude who you kind of aggravated by breaking a certain egg on the carbonara. He was scared to approach you at first, after all, you were with a certain ex-delinquent, and how you are a lover of a certain Red Tyrant. But now you're alone.

He cracked open his eyes, moving his fringe to reveal a stare that was terrifying to say the least. But as soon as he focused his vision on your form, his eyes widened with familiarity. He knows you too well.

At first, you tried to apologise, but he chuckled meanly, knowing you're all alone on this one.

The delinquent cracked his fists and smiled meanly to you, no words were spoken, but you can tell the longer you stayed— the beating of you would be brutal.

Tears sprang and soon you screamed, running in a random direction, trying to get away from the student. You were scared, that man looked like he was ready to bring hell.

Luckily for you, someone heard your scream, that someone is your beloved— Riddle. Riddle was absolutely on the edge when you didn't appear. About to scold you actually.

But he heard your scream, he knows your voice! He whipped his head over to the sound, but what happened was too fast.

You slipped behind him, holding his cape, crying and pleading that Riddle has to help you.

Riddle, being Riddle, was mad and instantly put his dorm head status to the test. By test, he stood upright, and his firm face on.

Riddle basically tried to assert dominance over the person, and it worked! The delinquent was no longer fuming, but he did have a scared face, he was about to run away again...

Until... "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" was shouted, and the delinquent struggled as he tripped, collar on his neck.

Said delinquent was forced to do more chores and a 3 page long apology addressed to yoj.

leona kingscholar

You planned a date with Leona, and he (somehow) agreed to it. However, prior to your date, you had a small small errand with Crowley.

It was just get a pale of water from the well, found in the Courtyard, you shrugged off the weird ask, money was bound to be their.

Despite the fact you were careful, you slipped and tumbled, causing you to spill the pale of water to the group of bullies that was just lounging on the courtyard.

That was the beginning of the chase.

For someone who lounges a lot, he was somehow on time on your date. Unlike his usual dates with you, he wanted to spice up and give a nice outdoor date.

Ruggie also bugged him to do it, just so he could avoid chores, but also gave him a good reason to. You might need air and some excitement!

However, you're ten minutes late, which is unusual. You planned the date, you ought to be early! But, something was wrong, he can feel it. He feels it in his gut. You could be in trouble!

Leona knows when you are in trouble, he memorized you already. So, he has theories on what may have happened to you, and all seemed not good outcomes.

And, he was right! As you came rushing into the scenic part of your date, disheveled and crying. A pack of bullies hot on your trail, a mocking smile gracing their lips.

Leona, whose partner was his jewel, was ready to defend and kill. You ran towards him, your heavy breathing from the running somewhat calmed down, as he put you behind him.

He bared his fangs, a growl escaping his throat, as he smugly stood proud and tall. He rose an eyebrow to the bullies, which they cowered in.

Leona banished them from both of your sight, and hugging you tightly, asking if they hurt you and why did they do such things.

He made sure some hyena was going to have a bunch of helpers for the chores!

azul ashengrotto

A bad contract case was common for Azul, he had a lot of experience with such bad mouthed people. He made sure you weren’t going to be affected with such bad people, especially he has such a strong love for you

Now, usually after a few words, they become really compliant, if they are a bad and tough nut to crack, Those were the times he sent in the Leech brothers, they deal with the tough customers.

Azul is always safe, he has contracts, the twins and you! However, that sense of security will tumble once a particular customer was being quite the fuss in the Mostro Lounge   

That sense of security was broken down one day, when you came in, rushing with tears streaming on your sad face. Fear was evident in your eyes.

You ducked behind him, asking for protection that only he can provide, which made him scared as he knows he can't fight physically. Truth be told, he was scared as hell.

You see, you made rounds in Mostro Lounge a lot, usually carrying a drink to help with Azul's survey of customers. You checked on whether the customers are storming in or not. In summary, you analyze and people watch.

But one day, whilst drinking a glass of water, you tripped. A moment after your trio, the glass had been emptied and spilled on a very pissed off customer.

The said customer was mad at Azul, he didn't keep the deal, now he wanted revenge on such. When you tripped and spilled water on the (delinquent) customer, he had burst out laughing and started to threaten and make up ideas on how to hurt you

Thus, a wild chase of chaos ensue, many tried to help you— but you didn't want to involve innocent customers. So, you ran to Azul, knowing he probably has something to fix this.

The twins were gone too, so you were alone on this journey of chaos. Your aching feet ran through the dimly lit part of the lounge to meet Azul's office.

Now, bursting through the door of the office doors of Azul, you had a fear driven adrenaline as you rushed behind Azul.

The Twins were there too, Jade helping Azul sort out the contracts and Floyd listing names of potential bad contracts that won't pay up.

Your arrival was unexpected, and it didn't help how you were crying your eyes out to the trio. You babbled on about the delinquent, but the tears and heavy breathing was not helping you form a sentence that one can comprehend.

The delinquent burst in, and the trio was startled at that, but it made you scream and hold onto Azul tighter. The atmosphere felt tense, and everyone knew that something bad is going to happen.

"Jade, Floyd... You know, he seems familiar. Remember him?? Oh, and it seems he made quite a fuss to my angel fish.."

kalim al-asim

It was another party at Sacrabia, the festivities begin with a joy and rowdy crowds. This was the norm for most parts.

However, a bitter look was on one's face, a certain delinquent student from Savanaclaw. He was bitter as the is party happening, no one knew why. But no one dared to approach, after all... His scars and bruised knuckles were signs.

Now, the festivities were starting to get more and more hyped— lots starting to jump and rejoice in such ways that was so rowdy.

You, Kalim's darling, was just jumping and smiling as the party seems to be growing more. You lost track of Kalim a few minutes, he said he was going to get something special for both of you, so he slipped away from the party.

Drinks were serving like crazy, the party making everyone crave sweet or refreshing foods and drinks. That being said, you were now getting pushed by many and many students, causing your glass of water spilling on someone. The delinquent.

You tried to apologise, grabbing your napkin, but the student grunted and glared at you. Everyone kept partying, but some distanced themselves from you. You gulped and decided to run, abandoning your glass of water and trying to find Kalim or Jamil.

You saw Kalim walk down the stairs, and you pushed through the crowd, crying and pleading to get out of the damned way. Kalim saw you and was confused when you rushed behind him, bawling out your eyes.

He then cried too, feeling bad for your suffering, and crying when he realized a big scary guy as coming! Kalim hugged you and shakily promised that he loves you and will protect you.

Jamil was speeding through the crowd when he saw you running, and ran up to face you and Kalim crying your eyes out. He rose a brow, but then he saw the student. He was glaring accusingly at you.

Jamil sighed and decided to take matters in his own hands.

vil schoenheit

How dare someone make his precious darling cry and hide behind him and Rook? How dare a vile creature made you run and cry?

Now, how did all of this happen? You were enjoying a picnic and then a few moments later you were sobbing and crying for help to save you from a delinquent.

The story was simple, you and Vil were enjoying a nice brunch, when all of a sudden Vil had a call to make. It was odd, as usually the calls don't come at his brunch. Vil ignored it, but the persistent calls made him answer. He sighed, asking for forgiveness that an interruption had to be made.

He was gone for a few minutes, a lot of things were going on and it seemed to irritate Vil.

Apparently, the call was an impromptu meeting, and needed Vil's presence ASAP. It was a modelling shoot not too far, where Vil is needed to replace a sick model. And Vil was also the only one near enough, so they really needed Vil's presence.

You told him to go, which was a very hard time, but he allowed to leave you and pack up. He instructed you to not do anything rash while he was gone. Now, while you bid farewell to Vil, a man came up to you.

Delinquent by the looks of it, he had shaggy hair, preposterous clothing choices and a smirk that felt violating.

You tried to send him off, but he kept on persisting on taking you out. As if he wasn't smart enough to know you belonged to a certain blonde Pomefiore dorm leader.

It bugged you off that you threw a glass of water and ran to the Pomefiore dorm, crying as he threaten to kill you on the spot. Rook heard and saw this, and swooped in to rescue you!

Vil also arrived albeit late, but he saw you run up to him, crying and pleading the delinquent to go away.

"Rook, what is this lousy potato doing here? Oh? Hurting my potato, hm?"

"That won't do.. not at all. I'll leave the work to you, Rook. Do tell me what they have to say about this event."

After giving the troublemaker to Rook's hands, he led the way to the dorm; where he leads you to his room to do a makeover and spa day.

Its self care day!

idia shroud

He shouldn't have gone to the outside! Everything bad seems to happen when he steps out of his room!! Idia would not go out on many occasions, but you were a special case. A very special case.

Yet, he didn’t expect for you to cry behind him, with a big delinquent closing in on you with a very bad grin on their face. He trembled at the thought of having to face a bully! 

You guys were supposed to be on a date by now, why of all days where you get in trouble its this!

How did it even come to this? Well, it was simple. You spilled a buttload of water on the delinquent when doing your weird Crowley assigned. He said to water a few bushes and clean some parts of the school. 

You cleaned furiously, scrubbing the dirty moss walls, spraying a bunch of water with the help of Grim and a few ghosts.

The problem? A delinquent bad boy hangs out in a place where water was bound to be splashed, and then an angry chase began.

Idia tried to think of so many video game or anime moves that could intimidate the fast running delinquent. It was amusing, his constant mumbling and the constant sweat made things funnier. Tough, you need to run or distract him so you can avoid getting punched or become a bloody pulp.

"If I use the "LIGHT BEAM LASER" or the “SWEET DEATH!” it could work.. Oh but those muscles look like he has a lot of AP”

The sweet Ortho was also looking for you, he had a s=nice and sweet pep when you started to persuade his big brother more, this calls for a celebration! 

While looking for both of you, he saw the delinquent running towards the area he saw you earlier. The worry bubbled inside Ortho, so he followed and he grew angry at the man who seemed to have every intention to hurt you!

Preparing a light beam, Ortho shouted “Stay away from Onii-chan!”, then a large beam hit the bully, 

malleus draconia

Malleus was strolling around the area of your dorm, just to visit you and update on his life, and new found treasure places you and him can visit, he made mental notes along the way. Whilst strolling, he saw you and when your eyes met, you ran and cried behind him.

Rage bubbled within the young prince, he always had taken good care of you-- making sure you can be comfortable with him, to see you crying and hiding cowering in fear behind him makes him feel of great sorrow and joy.

His rage took over again when he saw a large bully, clearly scowling at you, and Malleus couldn’t hide his rage. He had risen his green flames, with a frown on his face-- clearly upset at the bully.

Before Malleus can burn the bully, you stopped him, pleading him to spare him and that it wasn’t the bully’s fault. You spilled a water bottle on said bully, while rushing to see Grim and his troublemaking friends.

That explanation didn’t help, it spurred him even more to burn the ground and make sure the bully suffers in a bad way-- just for making you cry and making you uncomfortable. That itself was a punishable crime!

In the end, your crying didn’t stop Malleus to at least leave some burns on said bully. 

‘It was only necessary to burn him, leaving a few burns, a few reminders that you are way more important than him. And you value so much to me.” 

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral and unprotected, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had begun to doze off in the warmth of the gathering dusk, so when he heard her voice saying his name, he was startled. He swung round to where she was standing behind him then leapt up and went to her, folding her into his arms and just hugging her, saying nothing.

After a few short moments, she pushed back from him and stepped away, began walking towards the hotel. “I’m going to take a shower, Billy. Then I think we should go somewhere and eat. And talk,” she said over her shoulder.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll be here waitin’ on you.”

At least she let me hug her, he thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Walking out of the hotel and across the courtyard after your shower, you saw Billy lying flat out across the park bench, boots on the ground and long legs bent at the knees where the seat ended. His eyes were closed and you realised he’d dozed off.

“Billy.” No response. “Billy!” slightly louder. Still no movement. You reached out a hand, shook his shoulder and jumped slightly when his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His dark brown eyes were wide open now and staring up at you, and he immediately let go of you. “Ahhh… sorry sweetheart, didn’t realise it was you.” “Spidey senses not working any longer, Marine?” He grinned up at you, before moving and standing up next to you. “You’re to blame, kitten. I’m losing sleep over you.”

You scoffed, “Uhuh. Sure you are. Well, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got a rec from the reception guy for dinner.” You turned and started walking quickly towards the alleyway, Billy taking only two long strides to catch up with you. “Where we headed?” “Just a little way along the waterfront, past that big church - Il Redentore. There’s a restaurant with tables right next to the water, called ‘I Figli delle Stelle’. Means ‘Children of the Stars’.” You’d turned your head towards him as you spoke and he smirked at you, “Sounds romantic, angel.” Eye roll from you, “That wasn’t my intention, believe me. The reception guy said it would still be pretty quiet at this time of the evening, later on it’ll get busy as the locals eat dinner around 9.30 or 10 pm.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, sounding a little despondent, “I hear ya.” The two of you walked in single file as you made your way through the alleyway, and Billy hurried to get back next to you as you turned right at the waterfront. There was a tense silence as you walked, and you surely weren’t going to be the one to break it. You could tell that Billy was antsy as hell and you were glad… he should be, the big douchebag. After a few moments, he asked, “How much further is this place?” like a kid on a day trip. “I think it’s that group of tables along there,” you answered, “so only a couple of minutes.” Billy wasn’t the most patient of men. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Lordy, he was getting more tense by the minute, you could feel negative energy coming off him in waves. You knew Billy, knew he’d be dreading talking about what he’d done, his feelings, having to (no doubt) apologise over and over. Serves you right, you big bastard, you thought.

Arriving beside the restaurant tables, you noted that only two tables were occupied so you should be able to have a certain amount of privacy in which to hear Billy’s confession. Checking for ‘reserved’ signs, you chose a table in the row right next to the water, well away from the other patrons. The maitre d’ appeared next to you holding two menus, and you asked in Italian if it was okay to sit at the table you’d chosen. Assured that it was fine, he asked if you wanted to order drinks and you asked for a large glass of rosé Prosecco and a Peroni for Billy. As he nodded and walked away, Billy asked, “Whaddya order for me?” You started laughing and he stared at you, puzzled. “Billy… with a last name like Russo I cannot believe you don’t know that Peroni is an Italian beer!”

He looked shamefaced, “Yeah, yeah, okay! So I’m a terrible Italian-American. Thanks for orderin’ a beer for me, not in the mood for wine.” You and Billy began reading through the menu, suitably impressed by the delicious-sounding dishes on offer. The drinks appeared shortly afterwards, and you made your choices - Billy had decided on a steak, and you’d chosen seafood linguine. You clinked your glass to Billy’s beer bottle, “Salut.” Billy grinned, “Yeah, so here’s me - the Italian-American - and there’s you, the all-American girl, Italian rollin’ off your tongue. I didn’t know you spoke it, sweetheart.” You smirked at him as you sipped your chilled Prosecco, “Seems like there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Billy. Like… how I will not tolerate cheating in any way, shape or form.”

A pained look crossed his face. Yeah, Billy… time to spill.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy took a long swig of his beer and cleared his throat. Here goes nothing, he thought. She was studying his face like it was a painting hanging in a gallery.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

She nodded, “I know you have, Billy. Cheating 1.01 - don’t lie about working late and then come home smelling of booze and another woman’s perfume. Oh… and a big smear of her lipstick on the inside collar of one of your shirts.” He winced, looking away, not able to meet her eyes. He twirled the beer bottle round a few times on the table top and finally met her gaze again. “Yeah, not smart, I agree. But… angel, I didn’t actually cheat on you. Not as such.”

She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “Not as such?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He reached across and put his hand over hers, but she pulled hers away. “Frankie and I got into some shit with Homeland - to do with Afghanistan back when we were servin’.” He saw her eyebrows rise, and hurried on, “We sorted alla-that out with them, but had to agree to carry out a joint operation with them on somethin’ related to it. We found out that our liaison agent - Dinah Madani - was holdin’ back some critical information from us and we needed to know what and why, and make sure she didn’t do it in future.”

Taking a sip of her Prosecco she laughed, again without humour. “Don’t tell me, she wears Eternity.” He looked at her, confused, “What?” “Her perfume, Billy, her perfume.” He shrugged, “I really dunno.” “That’s not good, Billy. She’ll be expecting you to buy her some for her birthday.” He’d been drinking his beer and he brought the bottle back down with a bang. “No! I won’t be buyin’ anything for her anytime, okay?” he hissed at her, aware that the other diners’ heads had turned towards them at the loud noise his beer bottle had made on the table top. He leant in further towards her but then spotted the waiter heading their way with their plates, and moved back in his seat.

Silence fell again, even after the waiter had gone. Napkins unfolded and placed on laps, cutlery picked up, sips of drinks taken, first forkfuls of food eaten, gazing at Venice across the canal.

Billy cut another piece of his fillet steak, looking down at his plate while saying in a low voice, “I knew Madani had the hots for me. An’ I… I used that to my advantage.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were thoughtfully chewing your mouthful of linguine, swallowing it before picking up your flute of Prosecco and sipping from it. He was silent, also chewing, still not meeting your eye. Let him pick this back up, you thought and sat back slightly, silent.

His eyes slowly raised to yours, apprehension apparent in them. Another throat clearing, another swig of beer…. a big one. Oh ho, you thought, whatever was about to come out must be really bad. You were mad at him but at the same time couldn’t deny you were dreading what you were about to hear.

“I… uh.. took her out a few times for drinks after work. Made out with her a couple times after we left the bar…” he gulped visibly, “Uh… felt her up, let her feel me up.” He broke eye contact, grabbed the beer bottle again and took a huge drink, muttering “Sorry, I’m really sorry,” before looking fearfully at you once more. You stared back at him and hoped your face was expressionless. You actually wanted to smack him in the face and stalk off back to your hotel, but that masochistic streak goaded you to say, “Oh yeah? ….And?” He narrowed his eyes, “And what?” “Exactly, Billy - and what? You’re seriously telling me that was it? It stopped right there?” He nodded vigorously, “Yeah! Yes, sweetheart - it did, I swear!”

Picking up your glass once more, you said in a low voice, “Sorry, Billy, I don’t believe you. I think you took her to some shitty motel and the two of you fucked. Maybe more than once.” His face flushed but then you realised he was angry, not caught out in a lie.

“No,” he said between gritted teeth, “I. Did. Not!” emphasising each word with a thump of his hand on the table. He leant across the table until his face was very close to yours, “It was my stupid fucked-up version of a honey trap, okay! I hated lyin’ to you, angel, and I’m so, so sorry I did that, but I was between a rock and a hard place. I had to find out what her game was. I don’t trust her an inch and I think she’s still after me an’ Frankie for somethin’ else that went down in Kandahar.”

You watched his eyes become distant, and you knew in his head he was back in that hellhole. “Seems like a helluva lot went down in Kandahar,” you said quietly, and his eyes refocused on yours. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea,’ he said softly, and chanced placing his hand on yours again. This time you didn’t draw away. “I don’t want you to have to hear all about that shitshow, but I’ll tell you another time… if you want me to.” He laced his fingers through yours, and squeezed your hand, “I promise you, on my life, that I’ll never lie to you again. Total honesty, I swear.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You sighed, “Billy… I appreciate the sentiment, I do… but it doesn’t matter because we’re not together any more.” Billy rocked backwards as if you’d slapped him, and he stuttered, “But.. but we.. I… no! We are! We are still together!” You shook your head, “Maybe you don’t think that what you did with - what was her name again, Madani?” (you absolutely knew what her name was) “yeah, Madani - was cheating but Billy, you kissed her, you got up close and personal with her. You let her think you were interested in her, that she had a shot of getting with you. Okay you say you didn’t sleep with her, maybe you didn’t - but you still went behind my back and acted like you wanted to be with her. How can you expect me to be with you after you betrayed me like that? I don’t share, Billy - even if it’s fake.”

His eyes were wide, filling with tears. “No…please. Don’t say that, please. I… I can’t be without you, you’re the only one who makes me feel safe and… loved.” He placed his other hand on top of your joined hands, and his voice was so low you almost couldn’t hear it, “I love you, angel. So much.”

Now it was your turn to sit back abruptly in your seat. You and Billy had never had that conversation. You loved him but you’d made sure never to tell him that, as you didn’t believe he’d ever reciprocate the feeling. And now he’d said it. First. Before you had.

But did he mean it? Or just saying it to try and stop you breaking up with him?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He saw her taking in what he’d just said. He’d known that he loved her for some time but couldn’t get the words past his lips, he’d been shit-scared to say it out loud. Just let the status quo prevail, until she’d left him.

He was not going to let her break up with him. He just wouldn’t allow it, he needed her. She still had not said anything so he laid a finger on her bottom lip and gently ran it back and forward. He sensed he needed to say something more.

“I’m not just sayin’ it for effect, angel. I’ve been in love with you for a while but I’ve been too scared to say anything, I… I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.” She was still gazing at him, her eyes wide and looking a little teary. He felt a tear running down his own cheek and wiped it away abruptly. “Please don’t break up with me, just…. don’t, please. Give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw up this time.”

He heard her draw in a big breath and his stomach knotted. What was she going to say?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Oh Billy….” you raised a hand and wiped away another tear from his cheek, “I… need a little time to take all this in, okay? I thought it was quite straightforward - you’d cheated on me, end of story. And don’t think that because you tell me you love me I’m gonna forget about what you did, because I can’t. Not just like that.” You snapped your fingers in the air. “But you’ve really muddied the waters for me now.”

Billy grinned tearfully at you, “Well, I’m glad I’ve managed to do that at the very least. Means I might still have a chance.” You must’ve looked sceptical or something because he rushed to say, “A very slim chance, I know.”

Sighing, you extricated your hands from his and picked up your fork. “Let’s finish our dinner before it gets totally cold and inedible and we can talk more later.”

He nodded, “Okay, sweetheart. Must admit, I’m starvin’.” You couldn’t stop yourself smiling at him, “When they say that an army marches on its stomach, they weren’t kidding, were they?” “Hell no they weren’t,” he grinned back at you.

You moved on to small talk and once dinner was finished and paid for a short while later, the two of you strolled back to the hotel. Billy had tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and you’d let him. Your brain wasn’t really functioning at normal speed at that point and you were looking forward to getting back to your room; you wanted to think very carefully about what you were going to do about Billy.

Back at the hotel, you made your way past Reception and headed for the stairs, Billy following close behind you. Reaching your door, you didn’t unlock it but turned to face him. You could see the hopeful look on his face but he was going to be disappointed. You weren’t going to take that step tonight, no matter how much you missed Billy, his arms around you, his body next to yours, legs tangled together. You gave him a small smile, and you saw the hope fading out of his eyes.

You put a hand on his arm, “Let’s spend some time together tomorrow. I want to visit the Lagoon islands.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The Lagoon islands? He had no idea what or where those were, but he’d go to the moon if she wanted to because she’d said they could spend some time together. “So, no more running out on me, angel?” She smiled more widely at him, “No, not for now, Billy.”

He took a chance and pulled her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in a heated kiss. She didn’t stop him, so one hand made its way to the back of her neck and the other down onto her waist. He pushed his hips into hers - he knew she felt his arousal - and he was still holding out a tiny bit of hope that she’d invite him into her bed.

But now she did pull away, laughing up at him and giving him a quick soft kiss on the cheek, “G’night, Billy, sleep well.” He shook his head, smiling back at her, “You know I won’t… not in this state,” gesturing at his zip area and the tightened fabric of his jeans. She waggled her right hand at him, “Isn’t that what this is for?” He grabbed it, guiding it immediately to his zip, “If you’re offerin’, sweetheart, I’d be more than happy to take you up on that.” “Your hand! Not mine, you cheeky devil!” she laughed, pulling her hand away from him, “Now, goodnight! I’ll see you in the morning, downstairs for breakfast at about 8 or half past, okay?” He nodded, pushing his luck again and stroking her cheek, kissing her once more but more reserved this time, “G’night, angel, have sweet dreams…of me.” Rolling her eyes, she unlocked her door and disappeared into her room.

Billy walked jauntily along the corridor, throwing in a couple of dance moves as he went, feeling elated. He was feeling really optimistic for the first time since the day he’d seen her ‘Goodbye’ note and the torn photo.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

(My photos - June 2012)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss @bruxa0007 @aleksanderwh0r3 @theshadowkingsqueen @bat-luna-cat @carlywhomever

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[ewritesfanfics]

Day 3: Guitar Lessons

@krexieweek

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36842152

“Hello? I have a flyer for guitar lessons, it says to come speak with a person here!”

A few days ago, after they got the mothership moved back into place, Krel came across a flyer stapled to an electrical post. The large guitar printed on it caught his eye, and it told of guitar lessons offered by this guy, at a rate of $10.00 an hour, located in this weird bookstore. He finally has the chance to stop by after waiting all week, what with the bounty hunters and the daxial array and school keeping him so busy. He just hopes this person knows what they are doing and that these lessons are worth the time and money.

“Just a sec, I’ll be right there!” a faint voice responds, sounding much farther away than Krel had thought possible, this place being as small as it is.

Waiting for the person, Krel decides to take a look around.

He had been in a different, larger bookstore before, a place called Barnes & Noble, and this bookstore is very, very different from that. The books here appear much older and of a different variety. Perhaps this store is appealing to a different clientele? And there are also a number of odd knickknacks and wall displays and statues. There’s a bottle within which a tiny ship is contained. There is a full suit of what Krel believes to be human medieval armor. In front of an old fireplace, a shiny glass sphere sits on a stand.

Krel is looking at a peculiar item - a gem carved in the shape of an eye contained within a box of glass - when his perusing is interrupted.

“You’ve got a good ‘eye’.”

Krel jumps in surprise and whips around to see a slightly older teen boy. He is dressed all in black and has several pieces of metal stuck through him, one through his lip, and several along his ears. The ends of his tied-back, otherwise black hair are blue, a color Krel has come to learn is natural in humans.

“Get it?” he continues, “A good ‘eye’?”

Oh, it is one of those puns.

“Oh, yes, I get it now. What is it?”

“An All Seeing Eye. A powerful object, it's said to be able to do exactly as the name says, see everything, including the mystical and magical. However, it’s also said to be cursed. According to legend, the more it is used, the closer the Observer comes, the original owner of the crystal eyes from which this very eye has been carved. Eventually, the Observer will be so close that they consume all senses and then, the transformation will begin. The user’s skin will become dark and tough, appearing charred. All of their sensory organs will shrivel up and recede into their head and their hair will all fall out. Then, their head and neck will recede into their torso. The skin and muscles around their arms and shoulders will rot and fall off, showing that the bones have flattened and turned to bronze. Their bronzed arms will straighten and connect to the body by an iron hook embedded in their skin. Their fingers will then grow together and extend into a sharp, rounded blade. Or so the stories say.”

“Excuse me!?” Krel splutters in horror.

“There’s a reason it’s in a case,” the guy says, with a casual shrug. “And it’s only a legend anyway. So, seeing as you are the only person here, I am assuming you’re the one here about the guitar lesson?”

“Um … yes …”

Krel isn’t so sure about this anymore.

“Awesome! Now, I’m working most of tonight, but if you could come by Benoit’s around 5 pm tomorrow, we could get started then.”

“Um, where is this ‘Benoit’s’?”

“It’s by the town square, there’s a big sign, you can’t miss it. If you get there and you don’t see me, just go up to one of the staff and ask for Douxie.”

  The lessons are strange, to say the least. And not entirely in a bad way.

Apparently, that bookstore has tons of stuff like that All Seeing Eye, stuff with tales and legends attached about fantastic abilities and/or horrible curses, including but not limited to: a blood-soaked cape, a Deck of Many Things, a mermaid’s bracelet, three different types of horns of Valhalla, and several rings of varying levels of morality in terms of their effects. The more human legends Krel learns, the more concerned he becomes for the collective sanity of the species.

Douxie also has a cat named Archie. An aloof and deceivingly cute creature, Krel has found its endearing fuzziness to be outweighed by its disdain for being touched by all save Douxie. He is also certain this creature is watching him and knows things, but as of yet, Krel lacks hard evidence to prove this.

Then, there’s Douxie himself. He’s a superb guitarist of extraordinary skill and an excellent teacher. Krel greatly enjoys his classes, and he finds he greatly enjoys just his company as well. He and Douxie get along very well, bonding over music and general alikeness in various aspects of their personality. Krel has found much great music through Douxie, and Douxie finds his rambles over technology interesting! Douxie’s shared the stories behind the metal in his skin, piercings he calls them. Krel shares his love for DJing. Douxie explains hair dye, and then helps Krel dye the ends of his own hair a brighter shade of blue, more of a cyan color. In less than a parson, Douxie has managed to fill Krel’s life, with his music and his nonsensical mutterings and odd ‘turns of phrase’ and his love of what Krel has learned is called ‘the occult’.

On the other hand, it’s also strange that sometimes Douxie seems to have things or know things Krel feels like he should not. Old, rare texts. A knowledge of seemingly obscure historical happenstances in shocking detail. Things like that. But Krel doesn’t know enough about humans to question. And then, the particularly pressing and particularly strange issue is that around the fifth lesson, Krel found he started getting this odd sensation in his abdomen. It happens whenever he is in the general vicinity of Douxie but is particularly strong during the lessons and the hangouts they have started to have. He has never felt anything quite like it and has yet to identify the strange feeling.

He thinks and analyzes and picks apart this feeling, but his efforts lead to nothing. It isn’t until their twelfth lesson when Douxie’s chest is pressed snug against Krel’s back, sternum to spine, and his hands lay across Krel’s own, guiding Krel in a complicated cord change, that he realizes.

Is this what Aja feels for the Palchuk?

His cheeks burn at the very idea, but as he thinks about it, he realizes this must be exactly that.

Every time Douxie strums his guitar, Krel’s core seems to pulse with the sounds like a human's heartbeat. Krel relishes in the feeling of Douxie’s hands atop his own in moments like this one. He hangs on every word Douxie says, not only the advice but every silly joke and all the meaningless babble. When Douxie sings along to the songs Krel is learning, Krel never wants to leave the moment.

Kleb.

He has a crush on Douxie.

---

Douxie’s newest guitar student is utterly fascinating if you ask him.

He’s from a country that definitely doesn’t exist and is cagey about his past, yet he’s also a very honest boy, and quite directly so. He can tell Krel is at the very least suspicious about Archie, but the few hints he’s dropped that point toward his wizardry just seem to confuse him more. He’s both fascinated with the various magical and cursed items in the shop and also horrified by most of their ‘legends’. He loves music but he’s never heard of even the most famous musicians and composers in the world, not even the likes of Beethoven or Mozart. While he could chalk this up to his home country lacking much access to the rest of the world, even if he doesn’t believe him on what his home country is, he has tech-savvy which points toward his home being technologically advanced enough to have access to this information.

He wants to know, who is Krel Tarron?

And Douxie is loving finding out.

Krel takes eagerly to the guitar and just lights up every time Douxie shows him new music. He proudly shows off his DJing, displaying an obvious natural ear for music, and consults Douxie for help regarding musical structure. Krel loves his tech with his entire being, and even if Douxie doesn’t understand quite what all of it is, he loves to listen because seeing the excitement and passion is just as rewarding as actually participating in a conversation. The more they hang out, the more Douxie comes to realize just how well they fit together, and the more Douxie realizes how much it’s going to hurt when they inevitably must part. It’s not something foreign to him – whenever he gets close to a regular human, he must always face the end. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

But then, during their twelfth lesson, Douxie figures out Krel definitely isn’t human.

As he guides Krel’s hands through a difficult transition, the boy suddenly tenses. Peeking at his face, there’s this brilliant cyan blush brushed across his cheeks and nose, almost the same color as the one he chose for the tips of his hair.

He doesn’t say anything about it, unsure of how willing Krel will be to talk about it and not wanting to scare him away.

Each lesson, Douxie looks closer and takes more notes.

Krel references places and creatures Douxie has never heard of, which he’s noticed before, but now takes greater note of.

There are odd misunderstandings about some biological factors of humans and of the plants and animals of Earth.

He doesn’t understand certain phrases and manners of speaking, taking things very literally, and has no knowledge or very little knowledge of some very basic day-to-day items.

That cute cyan blush returns whenever Douxie touches him, which he doesn’t take advantage of at all, and one time, when Krel gets a paper cut from the sheet music Douxie is showing him, he just catches beads of that same cyan rather than the vermillion he normally sees.

But, if there’s one thing Douxie’s learned over the course of his 900 years, it’s how to be patient. He doesn’t want to pry and doesn’t want to make Krel uncomfortable. Even as his curiosity mounts with each passing day, he waits for the day Krel is ready to tell him, should that day ever come.

That day does come though, and it comes quite unexpectedly. For both him and Krel.

It’s his day off, and he’s had to spend most of it dealing with a dispute between some of the dryads. He’s finally managed to finish though and intends to head home to relax when crashes and shouting off in the distance grab his attention.

He immediately runs to see what all the commotion is, and arrives at an odd scene.

A large, purple creature is attacking some … people? There are three bright blue figures, a green humanoid creature, an old woman who he believes is Mrs. Domzalski, then Toby, and the Creep Slayerz (who he knows from the many times they’ve gotten in his way).

“What in the world?”

“I’ve got no better clue than you,” Archie says from where he hovers next to Douxie.

“DJ Kleb is here to Party!”

“DJ Kleb?” Where has he heard that before?

One of the blue figures slides down the back and tail of the larger purple creature after smashing its head with a blue board.

“That was amazing!” he says with a smile and a laugh and Douxie can almost feel the slap of the realization that he knows that voice, he knows that tone of excitement and that big, adorable grin, “I have a catchphrase! And friends!”

There’s a different outcry, and Douxie looks to see the dazed purple creature is about to fall on Mrs. Domzalski.

“Tardus!”

Blue light outlines the creature, and its fall slows to almost a crawl. The largest blue figure jumps in and pulls Mrs. Domzalski out from under, and Douxie drops the spell.

“What was that?” Eli gasps.

“Just a little trick of mine,” Douxie says, coming into the clearing.

“Douxie!?” Krel gasps.

“Hello, Krel,” he responds and Krel’s eyes widen, shocked Douxie recognizes him. “Fancy seeing you all the way out here. I didn’t expect to see you until our guitar lesson later.”

Before Krel can respond, the large creature gets back up and sets its sights back on the green one.

“Subsisto momentus.”

Once again, the creature is wreathed in light and this time, it freezes in place.

“I’ll offer a deal, an explanation for an explanation. I’ll even go first. I’m a 919-year-old wizard from Camelot who is apprenticed to Merlin and has been in Arcadia to monitor the magic of the heartstone and maintain order between the trolls and the humans. Now, your turn.”

“Wait, you’re Merlin’s apprentice!?” Toby asks incredulously.

“Indeed he is,” Archie says, swooping down and settling on Douxie’s shoulder. Eli and Steve both gasp but Toby looks too irked to marvel at Archie. Douxie can sympathize.

“Then where were you during the Eternal Night!? Why didn’t Merlin say anything about you!? Having another wizard would have been so helpful!”

“I wasn’t there because I wasn’t informed about it and was thus caught by surprise and spent that time protecting some citizens. As for the second question, your guess is as good as mine. And if you’re frustrated about it, think about how I feel. I’ve spent nine centuries waiting for him only for him to completely ignore me. Anyway, your turn. What is going on here?”

“That’s a long story,” the green one says.

“Good thing it’s my day off then.”

  An hour later, Douxie finds himself in an actual spaceship. The whole thing with Gwen and Stuart was explained and then settled, and then Krel and Aja brought him here to show him the Mothership and tell their story. And Douxie was certainly right about Cantaloupia being a lie – he just hadn’t expected the truth to be that Krel’s an extraterrestrial from a different planet.

And now, Aja and Varvatos have left to do their own things, and it’s just Douxie and Krel.

“So, uh, sorry I didn’t tell you …” Krel says, finally breaking the silence.

“I mean, I didn’t exactly tell you about being magic. And I also knew something was weird with you, I just figured I’d let you come to me in your own time. Secrets like this can be scary to share and I understand not wanting to. Especially yours. Sure, I’m a wizard, but I can find other wizards without much trouble. You’re from an entirely different planet, and extraterrestrials aren’t exactly common on Earth. Although Zoe does now owe me money because I totally called Stuart being inhuman.”

“So, you don’t … mind?”

“Krel, of course not. It’d be pretty hypocritical if I did. You know, I rather like this form. Four hands could make for some wicked guitar playing. And I also like it because it’s you. Even more you than the human guise.”

Krel’s face flushes cyan.

“Now, do you still want to do that guitar lesson tonight? We can even go out and do something after if you’d like. Get to know the parts of each other that we hid.”

Krel’s eyes grow big and hopeful, and Douxie melts.

Damn, I’m whipped.

“I’d really like that.”

[koboldsoul]

a new little day within my hand

this was supposed to be for sg week but I’m bad at finishing things period, much less on time. in any case, we get to have some indulgent h/c between our two emotionally constipated wizards. as a treat. special thanks to @strwpup for betaing! 4585 words, shadowgast, gen, ao3

“I have more of Caduceus’ mixture,” Essek said from the doorway, the little ceramic pot in his hands testament to the words. Caleb nodded his assent to a question that had not been asked.

“Ja,” he said aloud, rather unnecessarily. The hoarseness was new, but welcome: for two days after that final, awful battle, he hadn’t been able to speak at all. Maybe he was still relishing the ability to coax sound from a shredded throat. “Thank you.”

That seemed all Essek needed to be confident in his approach, and this, too, was new. Since reuniting in Eiselcross, mutual hard worry had softened into gentle concern somewhere along the course of relearning their dynamic, and though Caleb had warmed at the change, there was no telling what had inspired it.

In any case, Essek settled beside Caleb on the low settee without apprehension, and removed the lid from the little pot. A week into his recovery, Caleb no longer flinched at the sharp smell of herbs; now, as Essek took his battered hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages, there was a comfort—nearly a sweetness—to both the touch and the scent.

Caleb’s hands immediately began to tremble without their wrappings, the tendons flexing in uncontrollable spasms. Time had yet to complete its work on their appearance, either: to Caleb’s eyes, they seemed a stranger’s, warped and scarred beyond what his past teachers (the archmage, the streets, the call of adventure) had managed on their own. There were many things he used to know like the back of his hand—they were a mystery, now, and the limbs themselves unrecognizable.

He glanced at Essek’s face instead of contemplating that further. His impeccable recall wouldn’t let him forget what his ravaged flesh looked like, anyways, and he would much rather commit to memory the dusting of silver across the bridge of the drow’s nose and the sharp angle of his cheeks, a shade darker than the platinum of his lashes and hair. His brows, knit together in concentration, matched.

They were seated close enough that Caleb could feel the puff of air from Essek’s soft sigh. It accompanied a flash of hurt in his eyes, something vulnerable and sad, when he brought Caleb’s exposed fingers up for inspection. “Your hands look…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the words. Caleb was not sure what would hurt most, what would ache best—there were no words for the destruction he had wrought on his one infallible tool. “...better,” Essek eventually decided, and got to work applying the salve.

Caleb could argue, but it was true enough. Each day of intensive healing, of careful application of potions and poultices and therapy, had made them more closely resemble what he remembered. Neither cleric was sure if they would ever be the same, though Veth was—as always—recklessly optimistic, promising he’d be back in fighting form in no time. Sometimes it chafed, the hope. It burned and blinded the same as any raw magic.

“Any sensation, yet?” Essek asked, voice low.

Caleb watched the salve spread over his skin and imagined it cool and smooth, faintly tingling as was typical of many of Caduceus’ blends, but...he shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped, and tried not to let the terror behind the admission show on his face.

He must not have been able to keep it out of his voice, however, for Essek paused in his application to shoot him a look of concern. Why he had elected to oversee Caleb’s treatment when he was not well-versed in the healing arts—and moreover, why Caleb preferred his fellow wizard in the role as opposed to another, better-suited member of the Nein—was still something of a puzzle to them both.

Perhaps it was reassuring to be tended by someone who understood, better than anyone else, that a wizard’s hands were his life. Perhaps—and this was a notion Caleb loathed to put words to—he simply enjoyed Essek’s company, the practiced motion of his fingers. Or perhaps Caleb was simply a coward, and could not bear to look the Nein in the eyes, not after what he had done to ensure they all returned to the Material Plane alive.

Saved us, Veth had said. Scared us, Beau had said. Really done a number on yourself, Caduceus had said, and Jester: Protected us, so now it’s our turn to protect you for a little bit, okay?

Caleb knew they meant well, and a part of him longed for their companionship and their care; the rest of him, however, could not bear to see them, or to be seen. Because...for a little bit was optimistic. For a little bit implied a promising prognosis. For a little bit was not—was not what was in the cards for a scholar who could not write, an adventurer who could not fight, a mage who could not cast.

But even after a week alone with these thoughts, Caleb was hardly about to articulate this to himself, much less say this to his friends. So he let Essek finish his treatment in silence, patiently massaging the salve into each hand and working them through stretches that Caleb could not feel. When he was done, they simply sat, hand in hand. Breathing. Thinking.

Essek cleared his throat and absentmindedly rubbed some circles into Caleb’s ruined palms. “I…” he started, trailing off, and Caleb tensed; these treatment sessions were not habitually accompanied by conversation. “I understand, how...how difficult this must be—”

“Difficult?” Caleb repeated, the consonants catching in his throat so sharply he had to bite back a cough. He knew he was meant to be resting his voice, but although there was no vocabulary to describe his present circumstance, not in a way that captured it faithfully, difficult was so woefully inadequate that reticence was out of the question.

“Essek,” he went on incredulously, “I—I cannot do anything like this—write! Eat! Dress, even. I can’t cast or light matches or turn doorknobs or—anything. Without my hands, what am I supposed to—how do I—” It was too many words at once, and he tugged his hands out of Essek’s grip to muffle a round of coughs with his arm. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the discomfort and could only hope that his nurse also ascribed the symptom thus.

Essek remained quiet through the outburst and fit alike, but out of patience or unease, Caleb did not know. Palm-up and empty, his hands rested loose and...forlorn, almost, in his lap. Oily residue from the salve gleamed in the lantern-light, gold on the dark of his skin.

Lanterns, for once. Lanterns—because Caleb could not muster the dexterity for even a simple cantrip he had learned to cast at six years old. His eyes continued to burn even when the fit passed. His throat remained tight.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Essek addressed their knees, knocking together on the narrow couch, but the unexpected honesty still hit Caleb full in the face. Uncertainty, Essek had once said, was the surest way to lose one’s footing in the court, and though his time with the Nein had given him ample opportunity to labor at vulnerability, it seemed to Caleb that developing the habit was a glacial process. “You are...such a gifted mage, and I—”

He broke off again, but Caleb had nothing to add. Was, he might have corrected, but the past tense would have grated like broken glass, and he choked it back with the tears.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Essek said at last, studying his own hands, flexing his fingers and rubbing at his palm with the pad of his thumb, “how it would feel to lose my own hands. How...terribly feeble, and exposed, and...and useless I would suppose I seemed to others.”

Caleb scoffed to cover up his sniffle, and turned his head away and down so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Essek’s eyes when the drow inevitably looked up to meet his gaze again. “Ja,” he said, harsh and bitter, “you have the right of it.”

“But,” Essek went on, louder, more firmly, “I am not any of those things, and neither are you, do you hear me, Widogast?”

Essek might have thought this a kindness, these trite words, but all they did was sour the hopeless feeling in Caleb’s chest. It was heavy enough on its own without the gall of false affirmations.

“Like this, I can open a locked door, blur my form, and cross a space, and that is all,” Caleb said, and the rasp only made him sound angrier. He had catalogued his spells over and over again, every morning and evening, mentally flipping through the books whose pages he could no longer physically turn.

“That is all,” he repeated, and it was wet where he wanted scorching. Fire was familiar. Anger was easy, and burned better than sorrow. “That is the extent of my ability without my hands, you understand? I cannot protect them this way. I cannot—I cannot even summon a place for them to stay, a place for us to regroup while they plan around my...my inability to—”

“They don’t keep you merely for your ability to—”

“I know!” Caleb burst out, and there were tears falling in earnest now, landing on his useless, scarred-up hands and leaving dark splotches on the blanket over his legs, left there lovingly by Veth some hours ago. “I know. But I...I need this, Essek. You have to know this. You know this better than anyone else I have ever met.”

Essek did not do him the disservice of trying to argue. “I...I do.”

“If I don’t…” Caleb dashed uselessly at his eyes, and it was clumsy and humiliating the way he couldn’t feel what he was doing, the heel of his hand catching on his nose before he could reach his cheek to brush away evidence of at least this one failing.

Foolish, this attempt at subterfuge. As if he were without an audience. As if Essek had not already seen him at his lowest. As if crying like a child was the only sign that things were terribly, terribly wrong.

“If I don’t recover, all I can do is get them killed.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

That brought Caleb up short. He abandoned his attempts to scrub his face dry. “Was?”

“You could have let go,” Essek explained, kindly, as if this weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. “As soon as you felt the magic begin to burn, you could have let go. Let the gate close. If you could go back—do it over—would you have let go?”

“You know I wouldn’t have.” He said it softly, like a dirty secret, even though it was insultingly self-evident. The alternative—it didn’t bear even considering.

Essek nodded, and when Caleb turned his head away—tried to escape some of the intensity in Essek’s gaze—the drow dropped to his knees on the rough wood floor, equally unyielding. “You weighed the risk,” he agreed, and insisted, “and you chose their lives over—” Essek bit his lip, one sharp canine peeking out as he laced his fingers, folded his hands in front of him. “Well. You...you have to understand what you—what I—what...what it looked like to...to watch.”

Caleb could only imagine. The gate had resisted his touch with violent intent, endlessly fed by a wellspring of terrible, raw planar magic. He remembered...pain. Remembered the iron conviction that his friends—the Nein—his family—needed more time. He remembered...counting out the seconds, holding the gate open with his bare hands, even as his skin bubbled and melted and his nerves weathered the assault of surging magic, waves whipping the Weave about with the furious abandon of a storming sea, and the burn burn burn of power—too much, not enough, everywhere.

He didn’t remember screaming, but by the state of his voice afterwards, he must have. He didn’t remember Veth and Jester making it out, though they must have—they were here, safe. He certainly didn’t remember passing out, but that must have happened, too. So no, he supposed he did not fully know what his suffering must have looked like to an outsider, but...

He chuckled entirely without humor. “I assure you it felt worse.”

Essek nodded. “I don’t doubt that,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt that. And you knew, if not before, then certainly very quickly after, what was at stake. Am I wrong?”

He was not. Caleb didn’t need to say the words aloud for Essek to know.

Shoulders slumping, Essek settled on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “And you would do it again,” he said. “Even knowing you might never cast again, even if it cost you the magic you love, the alternative...that price would have been too steep, and no one would disagree with you on that. Caleb,” Essek said, leaning forward and taking his face between his hands, brushing away frustrated, shameful tears with his thumbs, “they both would have died. Veth, Jester—neither of them would have made it out.”

Instinctively, Caleb’s hands came up to take Essek’s wrists—not to tug them away, but just to hold—but he could neither feel them nor sufficiently flex his fingers for a satisfactory grip. It was the final straw.

“I know,” Caleb said, voice cracking along with what remained of his composure, and he did not fight when Essek pulled him down into an embrace.

This, too, was new, and—Caleb hesitated to call it good, because touch had always been a fraught thing between them. There were so few touches they had ever shared without pretense, but...he did not have the energy for pretense now. He didn’t even know what agenda he would be pushing if he had.

Numbness in his hands aside, every other inch of skin seemed abruptly hyper-sensitive, and Caleb rattled apart in Essek’s hold, blind and trembling. Careful fingers found their way into his hair, gently guided his head into the crook of a neck, encouraged his hands into the tiny gap between their chests as arms tightened about his shoulders. Claustrophobia warred with the awful certainty that he would shatter without this grounding pressure to hold his pieces together.

It had been a long, long time since Caleb had cried with such abandon. He had tipped past some long-forgotten (or long-buried) threshold, found himself drowning in the great whelm of fear—grief—fury—relief—and knew, suddenly, that this was why it was always Essek who insisted on treating Caleb’s injured hands, who never suggested Caleb accept help from one of the clerics. That Essek had been patiently anticipating this—and had wanted to spare Caleb the anguish of losing control in front of the others.

Trust was a complicated thing, and this was not trust so much as it was understanding. Essek was not safe in this sense, but—he was a place free of condemnation. Hypocrites they were, both, but playing at judgment was a thing of the past, and despite the uncertainty, the still-healing rift, they had both silently agreed to turn their eyes towards the future.

And so Caleb sobbed like a child and ignored the many warring voices inside of him that by turns berated and applauded him for this show of weakness. All the while, hands that had rent reality, started wars, plucked at the threads of fate like the taut strings of a harp—these hands cradled him like something precious. Comfort and protection in one.

There were no words for this, not even those that could be expressed in touch. If Essek tried to speak, Caleb could not hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, the hiccuping gasps and involuntary wails coming out of his own mouth. If any of them resolved themselves into intelligible speech, he had no inkling of what he was trying to say.

He had saved his friends, yes, and in so doing had damned himself beyond the point of no return.

It was a long time before the shaking stopped, and when it did, Caleb slumped, exhausted. He ached from his knees to his sinuses, scooped out and hollow. He was warm here, tucked up against Essek’s chest, and stooped—Essek was slightly shorter than him—but Essek’s fingers were cool where they rested against the back of his neck.

Embarrassment quickly rushed in to fill the empty space left behind by this great purge of emotion. Though it tested what little reserves of energy Caleb had left, he tensed. Essek’s grip tightened in response, and faintly, over the sound of his own rattling breaths, Caleb heard him whisper shh, shh, shh.

This is alright, he seemed to say. This is alright for a little while. And Caleb did not have the wherewithal to argue, so he curled in tighter and resolutely did not think about the arms wrapped around his torso.

“Let me teach you something,” Essek murmured into his hair after some time. “Something new.”

The words were difficult to find, and when they came, they were rough. “How would that work?”

“We will start small.” Essek pulled away—Caleb mourned the contact briefly, though the relief of being able to breathe freely again washed over him in a confused wave with his release—but only to resituate at Caleb’s side and stretch his right arm out over Caleb’s, his left underneath. Caleb’s palm, he sandwiched between both of his hands. “You will remember if I show you, I have no doubt, but...this is better.”

Wish I could feel it, Caleb thought, absurdly, but that was fruitless thinking. Wish I could feel you was even more sincere, but that was a step too far. “What does it do?”

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, and Caleb supposed it didn’t.

For several long minutes, Essek manipulated Caleb’s shaking hands and useless fingers into careful shapes, puppeting him through a series of somatic gestures that he narrated in a soft voice directly into Caleb’s ear.

Fingers curled, wrists twisted. Over and over again, they formed poetry in angles and strokes, some of the elements—the careful geometry—familiar from past lessons in the dunamantic arts. Their hands blurred together, deep blue-gray-purple and angry red-pink-white, exhaustion or the lingering burn of tears painting their shapes with a singular uniformity.

Perfect memory had Caleb anticipating each movement by the second sequence, and it felt good—even satisfying—to trace out the gross motor elements with his arms, though he could only watch the finer motions take shape. He was putty, malleable clay. And then...Essek’s ministrations stuttered, an uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you just—” Essek cut himself off. As if trying to forget the moment entirely, he made as if to finish the sequence. It was slower, though, and sloppier, and no sooner had he completed the final flick than he seemed to reconsider. “I thought I…” he started, faltering. “Did you…?”

“Do it again,” Caleb whispered. Seven times Essek had gone through the motions, and on the last...Caleb could hardly dare hope, knew he was likely imagining things, but…for a split second, maybe…

They traced the rune on the air together. Essek tugged Caleb’s pointer finger in, extended the outer three. Brushed them through imaginary gossamer, lack of intent unable to bring them in proper contact with the Weave, and then—a simple thumb stroke. But Essek’s gentle grip was just a split-second behind the movement of Caleb’s thumb against the outside of his index finger.

Neither of them spoke. Bringing it to light, giving voice to it—it was not up to them to tempt fate in this manner. They only sought out fate with intent to control it, and this was too fragile a thing.

But Caleb could hear the tension in every inhale-exhale. Excitement—curiosity—very nearly hope—was in the very air they breathed. There was no sensation in his hands, but the frisson of thrill was an illusion of lightning arcing down his arm, making the hairs stand on end and...and easing the tremble in his fingers.

They repeated the somatic component one final time, but Essek did not let go of his hand. He laced their fingers together and let both fall to Caleb’s lap. “Now with the material component?” he suggested, and it was the most tentative sort of excitement Caleb thought he had ever heard from the man. Essek was a reserved individual, yes, but his anticipation had never been a frail thing.

“What is it?”

In lieu of answering, Essek freed one hand from their tangle and reached back. Caleb heard the jingle of metal and precious stone, much closer to his ear than he’d expected and—he craned his neck, curious.

“Ah,” Essek said, and just as he managed to free one piece of jewelry from his left ear, he said, “any crystal will do, though of course quality can, ah, affect the spell’s potency. Not in the shape standard for this particular spell, but it will do in a pinch.”

And how like a mage to ensure he was never without his tools of trade. How like Essek to ensure that his components were both beautiful and quick to hand. They were both ever-practical, but where Caleb’s pragmatism was, by necessity, ruthless, Essek’s had always been a touch elegant.

“Between your third and fourth fingers,” Essek instructed softly, and demonstrated himself. The stone shimmered between his knuckles, and when he twisted his hand, it caught the lantern-light and flashed like a tongue of flame. “Here.”

Essek slipped the gem into place—Caleb dutifully raised his arm to an appropriate casting height—and used both hands to mold Caleb’s into proper formation.

“I’ll drop it,” Caleb warned, as Essek went to release his fingers in order to begin guiding him once more through the somatic sequence.

“You won’t,” Essek replied, and it even sounded sincere. “We will...we will go slow. All you need to do is hold on.”

And wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how Caleb had gotten here in the first place, what he had told himself as he counted down the seconds through a haze of pain? All you need to do is hold on.

He took a deep breath in. Held it.

Hold on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the edge of Essek’s profile. His chin rested lightly on Caleb’s shoulder. His cheek brushed Caleb’s jaw.

We will go slow.

Caleb thought about dancing, and circling, and spiraling inevitably towards gravity’s center until you were close enough to walk hand in hand. He was human; he was not accustomed to going slow. Essek, with his elven lifespan and his particular expertise in the arcane, had so much more time at his disposal—

And he had chosen to spend it here. With Caleb. All you need to do is hold on.

Caleb breathed out, focused hard, and steeled his will. “Ja, okay. I can...I can do that.” He felt Essek nod, then heard his verbal acknowledgement.

“Just hold on,” Essek said again, and Caleb did. He honed in on the crystal between his fingers, bid his deadened nerves and healing muscle to bend to his will. And when Essek let go, left the gem entirely at the mercy of gravity and Caleb’s grip, it—it shook in his grasp, but it didn’t clatter to the floor.

The sharp laugh that Caleb barked out startled them both, but the sheer delight—sunlight breaking through clouds, the first POP of a corn kernel in the pot, the last term slotting into place to make a formula work—could not be contained to his chest. How ridiculous to be so pleased by so simple an act, and yet—

Essek let out a disbelieving chuckle that quickly gave way to several more in succession before devolving into a full bout of giggles that he tried and failed to muffle in the crook of Caleb’s neck. Had Caleb been wearing his scarf, the sound might have found some measure of cover, but clad as he was in clothing for sleep, each giddy exhale was a spark against his skin and deafening in his ears. Infectious.

They did not manage even half the somatic sequence with the crystal in hand—it fell to the ground when Caleb curled his arms over his aching abdomen, quaking with hysterics—but he had not laughed like this in...in...he did not know how long. He was wrung out. There was nothing in him left to dampen the hilarity of it, to absorb the heady, intoxicating spread of this great wildfire feeling.

Was this it? Was this the tipping point? Where the simple act of holding a stone between two fingers was enough to promote wonder? Had he finally cracked entirely, gone over the edge?

(Maybe. Maybe. But was that so awful? Especially when it might be enough, too, to send them both over a different edge entirely?)

Briefly, Caleb considered the fact that this small victory was no indication that things would truly improve, that the future held anything more than the tragedy of a slow and incomplete recovery, but nevertheless...he laughed. It was something. It was something. Hearing his voice and Essek’s mingling—wordless mirth—and reveling in a shared moment over a personal triumph...it was something.

When the laughter died, Caleb became aware that they were leaning solidly against one another, foreheads pressed together and Essek’s nose brushing his cheek as they both recovered their breath. Joy—the first he had felt in weeks—faded to simple hope, but that was no small thing. It ached, still, but...not quite as unbearably as before.

“What is the incantation?” Caleb panted, drunk on the feeling of it.

“Ah, it is—” Essek cleared his throat. “Gyllenek’eroth zere. Be careful not to—ah, to agitate your throat. Repeat it...repeat it slowly. You should feel it, ah, here.” And so saying, he pressed his fingers to the vulnerable skin under Caleb’s jaw, just to the outside of his jugular. It should have been a viscerally distressing sensation, intrusive at best, and though it certainly wasn’t what Caleb would call comfortable, he found he didn’t mind.

“Gyllenek’eroth...zere,” Caleb repeated. With Essek’s hand there, he was keenly aware of the vibrations of the rumbling consonants.

“Nearly,” Essek whispered, breathless. “Again. Slower.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Caleb complied. “Gyllenek...eroth...zere.”

“Again?”

He repeated the incantation, softer. Then again, even softer, tilting his head. They both sighed when their noses brushed, when Essek’s hand slid around the back of Caleb’s neck. Once more—carefully enunciated—Caleb murmured the incantation, and felt the warmth of his own air against his lips. It would be a matter of millimeters to press their mouths together.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, and wondered how many steps were left in this dance.

He felt Essek’s answer, a breath against his skin, before he heard it. “Your pronunciation is perfect.”

Just a few more steps, then. “Okay.”

“Once more?” Essek asked, and Caleb was braver with his eyes closed.

He whispered the incantation into Essek’s mouth and swallowed the gasping reply.

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥The Angelus Mortis (1/2)🔥

A/N: Hey everyone, I’m back! I apologize for the really long wait but I wanted to try something different where, instead of posting one story at a time as soon as I finish it, I wrote five stories and then I went back and edited them in the order I wrote them. It took so long because I’ve been writing a ton in the past week.  Hopefully I can make up for the long wait by giving you guys several stories in the next few days or so. Thank you so much for the support on “Scalding”, I was not expecting it but it makes my really happy to know you guys liked it ❤️. Now, without further ado, here is my next Levi x Reader fic!

Warning: This one is super long so I actually had to split it up into two parts so it wouldn’t be such a huge pill to swallow. I will post the next chapter asap though, so keep an eye out for part two!

Summary: Erwin finds a dangerous assassin in the Underground while Levi is on a solo mission.

~~~

Erwin sighed and rubbed his temples to try to dispel the headache that was already building there, the message from the Military Police on his desk, mocking him. He glared at it, his eyes scanning over the words again.

Gods they were so incapable. He would never voice his frustrations aloud, but he wished, for once, they could deal with their own issues. Fight their own battles without having to drag the Survey Corps back to do all of the hard work for them. 

Despite his annoyance, Erwin would not have normally been so frustrated, but this situation was different than usual due to the fact that Captain Levi was gone from the base. He had been sent off on a solo mission to get some more information for Erwin on the movements of the violent gangsters that were fighting with one of the Military Police branches.

“What’s today’s headache about?” The loud, chipper voice of his girlfriend, Hanji, made him look up and grunt at her and the stack of finished reports she held in her arms.

“Oh, I just received a message from the Commander of the Military Police. There is a dangerous assassin who has been cutting down the MP’s that venture into the Underground. Apparently, this guy is impossible to catch and incredibly ruthless, known to leave pieces of the soldiers around for the officers to find later. They want us to go down there and find them, put an end to them before they wipe out an entire regiment.”

Hanji leaned her hip against Erwin’s desk and raised her eyebrow at her partner as she listened to the gruesome things the assassin had done.

“Holy shit…, who are you going to send? Levi is on that solo mission,” Hanji said.

“Yeah that’s the problem,” Erwin responded. “I’m going to have to be the one to go. I’m not going to send someone who will lose their life on this mission. There is no need to waste lives on something as trivial as catching this guy. Also, if he’s impossible to catch, the only one other than me who has enough experience with the ODM gear to navigate the Underground would be Levi, who you pointed out is not here at the moment.”

“Well, I’m coming with you then,” Hanji said. “Someone will need to watch your back, and be there to bring you back to the surface if you end up getting your ass handed to you.”

Erwin smiled at her as he shook his head.

“I’m not going to lose this fight.”

“Oh ho ho, tough guy! Such confidence, I can’t wait to watch your ass hit the ground when that assassin shows you a couple of choice moves,” Hanji chortled.

“Your obsession with my ass is noted. Now go get ready, we are leaving in an hour,” Erwin said, his eyes twinkling as he teased her.

Hanji’s laughter bounced around the halls as she exited his office to pack her things and prepare for the trip to the Underground.

__________________________

Levi grumbled lowly to himself as he nursed a glass of whiskey, his silver eyes appraising the other people in the bar in annoyance. The Captain was not normally one to drink, especially back at the base, but after having to deal with some of the most annoying people on the planet, he felt as if he deserved to relax a little.

At least neither Erwin nor Hanji were with him. That was one of the only reasons he was able to convince himself to go into the old bar; not having to worry about Erwin pressuring him to loosen up, or Hanji trying to wrestle secrets about his life out of him while he was drunk.

Levi took a sip from his glass. The alcohol slid down his throat, leaving a fiery trail in its wake to settle in his stomach, the warmth spreading throughout his gut. The whiskey was starting to loosen the headache that was holding his skull captive, allowing the usually stoic Captain to settle a bit more in his seat, enjoying the relative silence of the dingy establishment.

All day he had been forced to fight with violent gangsters, helping one of the Military Police branches arrest the most aggressive ones and scaring away the others. The whole day had been a loud, frustrating, exhausting experience, making Levi almost miss his normal expeditions outside the walls with the Titans. At least it was his last day in this shit hole, finally able to return to the base in the morning now that all of the criminals had been successfully rounded up.

Thinking about the men and women he had helped put away that day, combined with the alcohol that was circulating through his system, made his mind stray back to memories from his Underground days. For the most part, he tried to forget about his past, thoughts about his time down there, only bringing up bitter emotions. It was like reliving a nightmare over and over again. 

He huffed as he tried to lead his train of thought elsewhere to no avail, his mind flooding with images from his childhood, his struggle as he and his friends fought for survival. His mind even dragged up a foggy image of a beautiful face from the dregs of his past before he quickly diverted his train of thought, refusing to think about that face, that loving smile.

Levi didn’t know if he was lucky or unlucky when his spiraling thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a woman. She wearing a severe red dress that pushed her cleavage up so her breasts were almost spilling out over the top, her lips pursed as she sat herself across from him.

Levi refrained from groaning aloud in frustration, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the woman in front of him, but also recognizing that a tiny part of him was grateful for her intrusion, distracting him from sinking further into the dark memories of his past. Now, he just had to figure out how to shrug this woman off as she leaned forward, so obviously trying to get into his pants he was surprised there was not a ‘FUCK ME’ sign strapped to her chest.

Levi scowled and pulled away from her when she went to touch his arm. To his annoyance, the woman laughed instead of moving away, her eyes sparkling with barely disguised lust as she looked him up and down.

“Look, I’m not interested,” Levi said bluntly.

“Come on, handsome, it won’t hurt for you to relax, why don’t we ditch this joint?” the woman purred.

Levi rolled his eyes so hard he was worried he’d strained something. The situation reminded him of all of the times Hanji had tried to set him up, ignoring his protests and forcing him to meet women from all walks of life despite the fact that he turned them all down without a second thought. It bothered him to no end, not only because it was annoying as hell, but also because there was only one person he had ever given his heart to, and she was gone. Nobody could ever replace her, it didn’t matter that she wasn't around to love him anymore, he refused to be with anyone else.

He figured some people would probably see this as childish, but he didn’t care. To him, he didn’t have a heart left to give, the organ dying with his lost love all those years ago.

“Not interested.”

The woman pouted but moved closer still, practically leaning into him despite his grimace of disgust.

“You don’t mean that, baby, you look like you could use a good time. Here, let me help you. I know exactly how to make you feel better. Have you ever felt the stars? Because you’re about to…,” the woman said boldly, her hand slowly drifting downward.

Levi stood up so fast he almost knocked the table over. His glare was fierce as he slammed his empty whiskey glass on the table. Piercing her with his sharp gaze, Levi snarled lowly at her.

“Not. Interested.”

Grabbing his cloak, Levi stormed out of the bar in even worse spirits than before, memories of the face that haunted his dreams floating across his mind to tease at the edges of his broken heart. Growling to himself, Levi was only grateful that he was leaving in the morning as his feet carried him back to the shitty inn he was staying in for the duration of the mission.

____________________________

This was a bad idea. Scratch that, this was a horrible idea. Erwin laid on the filthy street of the Underground, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, holding his hand to his shoulder where a dagger was lodged, gritting his teeth as he fought back the bile that rose in his throat at the pain swelling in his body. 

He had no idea where Hanji was, the pair having been separated when they were attacked out of nowhere. Erwin realized now as he lay in the dirt that he had severely underestimated this man, the assassin who got hired to kill the most powerful soldiers and officers in the military. He had read about his strength, but even with that information, he had not expected the fight to be so overwhelming.

This man was dangerous. Very dangerous. Erwin knew from the reports that the killer worked alone, using wit and cold, calculated cunning to attack in ways that not even the veteran soldiers had seen before.

Erwin’s thoughts were suddenly cut short when he heard a pained shriek, one he immediately knew to be Hanji, and watched in horror as a figure slowly came around the corner, holding the limp form of his comrade in his grip.

Hanji let out another pained noise as the figure threw her right at Erwin, the Squad Leader hitting her Commander, causing them both to grunt. Looking down, Erwin saw that Hanji had a long gash down her side, but it didn’t look very deep and she didn’t seem to have any more wounds other than some bruising. A warning.

Erwin managed to hide his nearly imperceptible sigh of relief at the thought that this assassin was considering sparing them if they only left him alone. He knew that he could never leave the assassin alone forever, but if it gave them the chance to get to safety, he could come back another time with reinforcements. It was only one man. A very powerful man, but a man nonetheless, he wasn’t invincible.

Forcing down the whimper that bubbled in his throat when Hanji moved against his shoulder, shifting the blade in his flesh, Erwin locked his eyes on the figure that was still watching them, the darkness of the alley covering any distinguishable features. The only thing Erwin was able to make out was that the figure looked smaller than he imagined. But the seasoned Commander wasn’t stupid enough to determine his threat level based on size, not when one of his best friends was Levi Ackerman, one of the shortest yet deadliest men alive.

The pair tensed when the figure suddenly started towards them, his arm reaching back to procure a wickedly sharp sword from underneath his black cloak. Erwin’s mind scrambled for a plan but he came up blank, his mind ceasing all thoughts when the figure suddenly charged them, sword held aloft.

Erwin and Hanji closed their eyes, clutching each other as the killer came for them, both of them waiting for the quick sting of pain before death, waiting for their remains to be scattered around the Underground like Easter eggs for their friends to find when they came back to their empty offices and cold beds.

Erwin sucked in a breath when he felt the cold, harsh tip of the sword touch his throat but slowly opened his eyes after a moment when the feeling stayed there, the blade hovering just above his delicate wind pipe.

From this distance, Erwin could tell that the assassin was wearing a mask in the shape of a wolf over his face, his body poised to strike as he hovered over the pair of senior officers, his breathing labored.

“Are you Commander Erwin?” The man suddenly asked, the voice deep and distorted thanks to the mask.

Erwin contemplated lying for a second, but knew he didn’t really have a choice in the matter when the man pressed the tip of their blade a little bit harder against his flesh, even causing a pinprick of blood to bubble up from under the steel point.

“Yes.”

The man hesitated for a moment. It was almost as if he were remembering something, Erwin’s name bringing up memories from another time. The Commander had no fucking clue what that could mean for them, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out.

The assassin opened his mouth to say something when all of a sudden, several ropes were thrown from the darkness, catching the killer by surprise. He leaped out of the way, dodging the ropes at a speed that could only be rivaled by Captain Levi, almost making it out onto the street before he ran headfirst into a trap of chains, the metal clinking as it wrapped around his lithe form and tightened, forcing his arms to snap to his sides and his legs to buckle.

Erwin and Hanji scrambled into a standing position and smiled in joyful surprise as a familiar Mike, Nanaba, and Moblit rounded the corner. Erwin sighed in relief and Hanji let loose a little cheer as the three other veteran officers surrounded their quarry. The pair had no idea how their friends had found them or even why they had thought to follow them, but neither cared as relief filled their systems.

The assassin snarled at them and continued to struggle against their bounds, his mask making the words coming from his mouth sound nearly animalistic in nature.

“Fuck you!” The assassin roared, somehow finding the energy to fight harder as the veterans leaned down to detain the criminal. The soldiers ignored the assassin as he continued spewing profanities while they made their way towards the stairs, their mission complete.

___________________________

Erwin blinked in utter shock as he stared at the assassin through the bars of the cell they had shoved him in underneath the Survey Corps HQ.

Only, it wasn’t a him.

Erwin could only gawk as the reality of the situation settled in, his eyes roving over the assassin’s (h/l) (h/c) hair, feminine curves, and beautifully angled face. The strongest assassin in the Underground, the one that had been dubbed The Angelus Mortis, The Angel of Death, was a woman.

He never doubted that women were strong, he trained and fought beside a whole legion of strong, battleworn women that could take down anyone in a heartbeat any day. But this woman had come from the Underground. While not impossible to gain strength in the Underground, most women, and many men for that matter, that lived in that cesspool merely ended up rotting away, their legs destroyed by the lack of sunlight and their bodies wracked with disease. Even if a woman managed to avoid the severe malnourishment, most of them were forced into brothels to be used by the wealthy merchants and nobles who decided to flaunt their wealth in the poorest part of their cities.

But this woman had fought. She had fought like an animal, a wolf, as her mask had suggested. She had used her impressive intelligence and strategic mind to avoid getting caught, all while clawing her way to the top of the food chain, making herself such a feared symbol that nobody would touch her. She was cold and vicious but not at all feral, her mind sharp and her eyes clear as she stared right back at the giant blonde Commander, her gaze never drifting from his.

Erwin leaned back as he appraised her. He could tell that despite her strength, her body was severely malnourished and neglected, the lack of proper food and water paired with the intense physical labor she pushed herself through every day, rendered her body weak and thin. Erwin could tell right away that if she were given the proper commodities and nursed back to health, she would be stunning and very powerful.

He had to think about this carefully. He had sent in an after action report to the MP’s telling them that the Survey Corps had done their dirty work for them, and they had already responded with a message telling him to bring her to one of their prison cells the next morning to be tortured to death for her crimes. He knew she probably deserved a punishment like that, she had killed a lot of soldiers, but he felt a strange tugging on his heart, like he knew, deep down, that there was more to her story, something that would make her worth much more than a street rat to be thrown to the dogs.

He had no idea why but he wanted her in the Survey Corps. He knew that she was dangerous, knew that most people would call her insane and then call him insane if he brought this up. But he felt something, like he knew that if he didn’t get her into the military, they would be losing something priceless.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like a perverted fuck or are you going to tell me when I’m being taken away?”

Erwin’s eyes snapped to hers from where they had drifted to her ribs, which were jutting out of her chest prominently. 

“I knew you were going to be testy, sassy even, maybe downright insane, but I didn’t expect someone so close to death to be so confident,” Erwin said, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips.

The assassin rolled her eyes.

“I’m from the Underground, idiot, death is always a constant companion on your shoulder. I’m not scared of death, scared of the torture before death, maybe, if I decide I care enough, but not of death.”

“Is that why you killed all of those people? Because death is your friend?” Erwin asked.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“That is what you said.”

“I only said it is something I am used to, the constant threat of death and suffering, not that I enjoy it. Death is not my friend,” She growled with a sharp glare in his direction.

“So why did you kill all of those soldiers? Besides being hired to, I mean. I’d understand your motivations a little more if you had started killing other people who lived in the Underground, to give yourself an advantage, but you chose soldiers.”

The assassin was silent for a minute, breaking his gaze for the first time since he had come down to see her. He could’ve sworn her gaze clouded over slightly, as if she were remembering painful memories, but the fog in her gaze was gone as quickly as it appeared, making Erwin question whether it was even there to begin with.

“That’s personal,” she said after a heavy pause.

“They didn’t compliment your outfit?” Erwin teased, flashing a smile in her direction when she snarled at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Alright fine,” Erwin said. “Why did you ask about me? About my name?”

“That’s personal too.”

“Well you’ve got to answer at least some of my questions.”

“Why should I care about you and your inquiries?” She asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that reminded Erwin so much of Levi he almost smiled.

“Because it might guarantee you your life,” Erwin said.

“Who says I care about living?”

Erwin was silent for a moment this time as he scanned her with his bright blue eyes again, really taking her in. She was something, he could say that. She was unlike anyone he had ever met before. Even Levi, with his similar distrusting nature and sharp, piercing gaze was never this witty, never this sassy.

“I say you do,” Erwin said.

“Oh really? And what makes you the authority on that?”

“Nothing. You are the authority on yourself, on your emotions and instincts. I am merely an observer in this matter. I can see it in your eyes, I can read it in your posture and spot it even in the methods of your actions. In why you became an assassin, and the best one at that.”

She stayed quiet, watching him.

“I know you want to live. I don’t know anything about the personal shit that went down between you and the Military Police but I’m assuming that whatever it was was crippling, which was why you went to such drastic measures to make it to the top, to do whatever it took to make them hurt and scream. Why you never even attempted to hide the bodies. I know some people claim it was because you are cocky or egotistical, but I know better.”

Erwin leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the dull golden light of the lantern hanging on the wall. The assassin again said nothing but she never stopped watching him, playing into this game they had started, dancing on hot coals.

“Just from the fact that you did all of that. That you chose to fight back against your grief rather than succumb to it, rotting away in a forgettable corner of the Underground, shows me that you want to live. That you want to give yourself a purpose to cover up whatever loss you have felt in the past, and use it to fuel your own future.”

The assassin’s eyes narrowed on him as she pushed away from the stone wall of the cell. “I’m impressed.”

“Not quite so much of an idiot anymore, right?”

She glared at him and the smirk that spread across his face.

“(Y/N).”

“What?”

“My name is (Y/N).”

[joshslater]

Grimsby pt. 7

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I was speechless and touched. I was too exhausted to figure out what this meant though. Did he expect something from me now? Before I could gather myself Jace picked up his bag and started walking towards the exit.

- We should of a pint.

I wasn’t audibly breathing heavily any longer, but I could feel I was still pretty wound up. Flush, sweaty, and definitely thirsty after this shock introduction to the gentlemen’s art of self-defense. I felt a pint was too far away and I needed to drink right now, so I stood up and started to walk towards the drinking faucet. “You’ll regret it,” Jace remarked, barely looking my way. He was half right. The water tasted of metal pipes, but it felt good to splash my face with cold water and cool it down. There were empty holders of a mirror pane mounted on the well. At some point the mirror must have cracked and never been replaced. I wondered how I looked after such a beating. I cupped my hands and brought water up to dump in my hair, and was quickly reminded of how little of it I had left. I could feel trickles down my shaved sides and neck. The sound of the door closing made me realize Jace wasn’t waiting, so I rushed out of the locker room, out through the main doors, and caught up with him slowly walking back the way we came.

It didn’t take long until he deviated from the path we followed to the club. I had no idea where we were, or really where he was taking me, but it was obviously a route as well optimized as the path we took going here. Mostly road, but a few shortcuts through people’s back yards. It looked kind of familiar, but I’ve only walked around these blocks very tired, hangover, drunk and/or high. Now I could add beaten up and exhausted to that list. As we rounded a corner I saw a painted sign hanging out from the building, stating “Fawn’s Head”. I'd seen that pub at some point earlier in the week, but never been near it.

For some reason it looked deserted on the empty street, not that you could really tell about a pub with its door closed. Looks were deceiving, sure enough, because there were quite a few people scattered around inside the pub. It was decidedly not a high-brow clientele. Everywhere I looked I saw track tops, worker's high-viz clothes, and quite a few paint-spattered sweatshirts. I recognized some people from yesterday evening, though not by name. A few people glanced our way, garnering no interest.

I followed Jace over to the barman and witnessed a play in gestures. The barman gave Jace a nod. Jace gave him a nod. Then he nodded sideways towards me. Then the barman poured two lager, and placed them in front of us. Jace was clearly a regular, though I wasn’t even sure he was 18 yet. Without a word we grabbed our beers and started to empty the glass. It was the best-tasting beer I’ve had all week. Not because of the beer, but because this was the end of a hard day at the end of a hard week. Whatever part of my body didn’t hurt after hauling ice and fish, Jace had made tender, either directly by knocking me out, or with the bag punching exercises. But this was the end of...

- HEY!

Jace had turned towards the room and shouted at the top of his lungs. It instantly became dead silent.

- Is Chayse innit!

Everyone shifted their eyes onto me. What the hell was Jace doing?

- Fuck with him, fuck with me!

There was a second of tense silence in the room. I didn’t dare breathe.

- On me. Cheers!

The room erupted in loud cheers, followed by an explosion of chatter. Some guy in blue carpenter trousers and a blue sweatshirt, both splattered with hundreds of tiny white dots of paint, jumped up from his seat and grabbed the first of the new beers. As he was turning to get back to his table, he stopped as if he realized he should pay for the beer somehow, and slapped my sore shoulder.

- Connor’s the name. Why don’t you lad join our table for a wee bit?

Before I could even agree to that, he started shoving me in the direction towards the table. I pulled an extra chair and sat down with his crew of builders. Conner, Kieran, Tommy, and Callum. To my surprise their work stories about bad shoes, early mornings, lunch places, all felt relevant to me, and I had a few insights that fit into the conversation. Once I’ve emptied my beer I excused myself for a smoke, but Callum got up and told me to follow him. We walked out on the back and there was a large smokers patio with two groups in either end talking. Callum brought me to one of the groups and the others there greeted me and introduced themselves.

It turned out that none of them actually knew Jace, but they had seen him around. They themselves didn’t know each other that well either. They usually sat with their pals and then just came together outside for a smoke. As they started to move back inside, a tall, hard-looking guy from the other group walked across the patio.

- Hey come here!

He was shaved bald, wore shiny, black Puma clothes with red zippers and details, and a pair of black Dr. Martens. He clearly worked out, but even if he hadn’t his height alone was intimidating. It didn’t sound like a request either. Callum got the hint and quickly stubbed out his fag.

- See you around. - Yeah.

While he returned inside the pub the shaved guy motioned with his shiny head towards the other two who silently smoked at the other end. They looked every bit as tough as this guy. A bit older but just as muscled, one with buzzed heads and tracksuits, the other with a mohawk, adidas top, and dark blue adidas joggers. As I started to walk towards them, the shaved guy walked behind me, like he was herding me. Dammit, I’m also shaved, although not completely. I must stop thinking of myself as looking so different than them. Anyone who stumbled out into the patio would assume we four were a group. As I stopped he pushed me in the back to force me uncomfortably close to the other two. The older of the two, standing just in my face, made a deep drag, and blew a cloud of smoke in my face. I’m sure it was intended as disrespectful and intimidating, but it took all my self-discipline to not inhale it, even though I had just finished a smoke myself. He gave me a nod and spoke.

- Jace new runner innit. - I don’t know wh... - Shut the fuck.

I could feel the color draining from my face. Apparently there was a reason why they all left me alone outside with these guys. He continued.

- I don’t give a fuck what you do, but stay out of our business. If you see any of us you do as you’re told. Got it? - Yes. - Good. Now lick my balls. - What? - You heard me mate.

A wave of fatigue washed over me. I had been shaved and punched and drugged and so much more. Everything was unreal. This was not me, this was not my life. It’s just that with a pint in my hand and nice people around I slipped and forgot. Like an emotionally drained whore on her tenth fuck for the day I silently went down on my knees in front of his crotch. He patted my head on the exposed skin.

- This is what we like, lads, innit.

And then he tilted my head back up and looked me in the eyes.

- Remember your place next time we tell you to do something.

Then he let go and looked up at the others.

- Let's go for another, lads.

He dropped his smoldering fag on the ground in front of me as they left, and I hated that my first instinct was to pick it up and put it in my mouth. Who were they? What did they mean by Jace's runner? They had already left the patio by the time I got up and looked around. A group of patrons just walked into the patio and nodded in my direction. I nodded back and headed back into the pub, past them. I needed to find Jace and ask him what the guys meant. It wasn't hard to find him inside the pub, despite it filling up in the moments he had been out. He was standing next to a table close to the entrance, towering over the guy standing next to him. He probably towered over most people. The guy next to him was passionately talking to him. Jace saw me, and reached out like for a handshake.

- Oi Chayse, be a minute.

I grabbed his hand and felt something small in my hand. Jace winked at me.

- First one's free bruv.

He handed me a half-emptied pint glass and turned back to the guy. I stepped away and looked into my hand. A small, white pill. I felt both neglected and thankful at the same time. Of course he should finish whatever this is, but I felt we needed to talk right now. I took a large swig out of the glass and realized as I swallowed that I had already put the pill in my mouth. I was just running on autopilot after everything that had happened during this week.

Something was moving in my peripheral, and I turned to see a few guys at a table waving at me. I went to join them to kill time. I felt like I was losing grip of reality again, because the man who waved me to the table came back from the bar with a fresh lager and sat it down in front of me, while one of the other guys at the table was talking about their day of road maintenance. I was jolted back into the present, looking up at the man, Rob was it? He was smiling at me kindly. I thanked him and took a sip of the beer, and a shiver of pleasure went through me. It was even better tasting than the one I had earlier. The guy who was talking was detailing all the problems with one of the stores next to the road where they had laid stones during the day. He was about my age, but more tanned and crow's feet by the eyes after having been outdoor so much. No, this was Rob. His pitch-black hair was gelled up, and his face was framed on the other side by a black T-shirt with a big, yellow "Powell Construction" logo. I realized I had stopped listening to him and was lost in his grey-blue eyes, when he asked me something.

- Sorry mate, I have to piss.

At the moment I said it I realized it was actually true, and somewhat wobbly got up and headed towards the gents. They nodded and smiled. Jace wasn't standing where I had last seen him, I noted on the way to the gents, nor did I see him anywhere else. I wasn't sure I could trust my senses fully. What had he given me? Molly? It must have been part of it, as everything and everyone was lovely. I double-checked the sign on the door and entered the gents. Two sinks, two urinals, and a door to a proper toilet. As I walked by the mirrors over the sinks I turned my head, almost like a reflex, but stopped in my tracks.

I looked horrible. It wasn't the brutal hair, or the eyebrows, or the piercings, or the clothes. I looked like a criminal mug shot. My face was subtly swollen and bruised from the pummeling I've gotten from Jace an hour or two ago. There wasn't any specific thing I could point out. Just that I looked off. I didn't look like me anymore. Fascinated, almost mesmerized by my own ugliness I touched and poked my face. Nothing hurt. Not specifically anyway. I'm sure it would look better tomorrow, but it was unnerving still.

As I reached the urinal I realized I had a stiffy. I hoped the black adidas joggers had hidden it from Rob and whatever his name was, but I couldn't be sure. Well, this wasn't the place to do anything about it, so I simply aimed forward and let go, pissing straight into the wall of the urinal. Despite me swaying more than I would have liked or expected, the only thing I got on me was a fine mist of back splatter. I was clearly more intoxicated or high or whatever than I thought, so I don't know how long I stood with my dick out and forehead against the wall, just waiting for the dripping to stop. I was kind of hoping to also get soft, but had to settle for a semi.

I was pulling my joggers up when someone entered. I didn't take any notice of him until someone shouted "Hey" in my ear, and pushed me into the room with the toilet. He shoved me down on the lid facing him, and locked the door. It was one of the goons from the outside patio, the one with the mohawk, adidas top and joggers. He had a week-old beard and looked a bit tired as well. I knew I should be intimidated by him, but somehow I just felt like I wanted to hug him. I had this unexplainable urge to touch him. He glanced at the ceiling, looking for a smoke detector, then picked a cigarette and a lighter from a pocket. While looking down on me he slowly put the cigarette to his mouth and lit it, inhaled deeply, and exhaled the smoke on me. To his confusion this time I inhaled deeply as well. Not only did I want to embrace him. I wanted to french kiss him and suck the smoke out of his lungs. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He regained his composure. He was also clearly a bit drunker than before.

- I want to be fucking clear with you. When we tell you what to do, you do it. - Sound, mate.

This wasn't going how either of us had expected. My eyes kept darting between his face and the chain he had around his neck. Somehow it looked so pretty, glittering in the fluorescent tube light. Everything looked pretty. He struggled with what to do next.

- Lick it. Lick the groin.

I looked down. The loose, dark blue adidas joggers didn't reveal much, but a little bump indicated where his dick was. For some reason, I don't know why, I did as he said, leaned forward, and let my tongue run up and down the fabric. It didn't taste like much. I moved forward and licked with a bit more pressure. I could hear him inhale from the cigarette again.

- Ok, alright. I need to piss.

He grabbed me and stood me up with one arm, and unlocked the door with the other.

- Share the fag? - What?

It took him a second to realize I asked for his cigarette. His intimidation ploy had not gone the way he wanted, though I was at the same time both zen and wondering what the fuck was going on. He handed me the cigarette. I stepped out and he closed the door behind me. I finished the cigarette and threw it in the urinal.