#also drew him with less muscle mass on his arms and back because he is still recovering

[sozzledjuja]

In my post S3 au...

Mephisto is looking rough but he'll be fine. They'll both be.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 1)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, some blood, Wade being too flirty for his own good, vaginal fingering, bathroom sex, dirty talking, the relationship with Logan is a "slow" burn in comparison. More smut to come, I swear. Author's note: Damn...it's been a while huh? My last comic related fic was in 2018, funny enough also because of a Deadpool movie. I was already sappy in a post before so I wont subject y'all to it. But this was intended to be a short little oneshot and has absolutely ballooned out of control. I'm thinking this will end up being five chapters. I will upload the second chapter concurrently with my ao3 upload, so if you prefer to read there, feel free! Also as a little aside: I am so unbelievably sorry that the reader's job working in outreach to help Al is barely described and is probably highly inaccurate. I was desperate not to get lost in the weeds of research on the subject. I needed something that would keep the reader out of the apartment most of the time and let the relationship grow differently, so neighbors was out of the question. If you work in community outreach (absolute angel), please just avert your eyes.

I used to think my life was boring. It was the same day in, day out. I never met anyone interesting or experienced new things. That changed when I knocked on an unassuming apartment door in a dingy building.

I worked in government outreach, providing assistance to elderly blind clients. I had been assigned to work with Althea Sanderson. Her file had listed her as combative and she didn’t disappoint. She absolutely hated my guts at first, grumbling about how she just needed her “disco dust” to keep going. She assured me that she had roommates and didn’t need me “thundering” around her small apartment. 

For nearly two weeks, I thought her mind had to have been slipping, because no one else would come from that apartment besides me. Imagine my shock when I walked into the place and found a hulking mass of a man, only in his boxers, in the kitchen. His brown hair, streaked with white, was wet after a shower and he was half heartedly rubbing at his shoulder with a towel covered in sparkly unicorns. “Who the hell are you?” He snapped, voice gruff. He glared at me like I had personally insulted him by my mere presence. My eyes darted all over him, the thick ropes of muscles in his arms, the harsh planes of abs, the thin sheen of dark hair on his chest, the trail disappearing into his boxers. The man yanked the fridge door open and snapped me from my drooling. 

I had barely stumbled my name out before Al, as she insisted I call her when she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, came around the corner, her hands guiding her along the wall. “Leave her alone Logan. She’s like herpes and I can’t get rid of her.” My lips pursed at the comparison. The man, Logan, huffed with either annoyance or laughter before padding away, beer clutched in his hand. For how big he was, I was shocked at how light on his feet he was. In comparison, I really did thunder around. 

“Oh! Do we have a new roomie!?” The voice trembled in excitement. Its owner bounded around the corner, clad only in low slung sweatpants, nearly tripping over the scraggly dog at his feet. I drew back, sucking in a sharp breath. The new man was no less tall than the other, but lean in comparison, with a wide chest and firm arms. But I was far more distracted by his skin. It was a mixture of mottled pink and white, looking more like swirled bacon fat than anything else. He was completely hairless but I saw the skin of his forehead rise. “Al, you didn’t say you had a hot granddaughter!” 

“Oh I’m not,” I said. While I was scheduled to be here for four hours, I was already contemplating how to escape the suddenly cramped apartment. 

“Does she look like she’s related to me dick for brains?” Al growled at him. The man shrugged, a megawatt smile plastered on his face as he picked up the dog and let it lick at his face. 

“She has the same wild sexual energy you do, my sweet black Betty White.” He walked closer, carelessly dropping the dog into Al’s lap just as she lowered herself into a creaky chair. The man theatrically bowed, snagging my hand to press a too wet kiss to my knuckles. His skin was unbelievably soft as it held mine, the grip light enough that I could pull away at any moment. “Wade Winston Wilson.” 

He was so close to me that I took a half step back. I gave him my name, just my first, and wriggled my hand free. “Um, I'm assuming your Al’s roommates?”

“Roommates is such a safe for work word, I prefer to be her personal pommel horse.” A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Wade grinned at the sound and shit, his face softened in such a charming way that I felt my defenses come down just a little. 

“I don’t think you understand what a pommel horse is.” 

“Isn’t it something you ride? Get all flexable on?” 

After that first awkward day, all four of us fell into an easy routine. Al seemed to warm to me more, though her sharp tongue never faltered. Wade was a vibrating ball of energy whenever I came over. He bounced around the kitchen as I made Al her coffee or insisted I sit with them to watch Golden Girls . I came to realize that only his right hand was so soft, the left was scratchy and blistered, which was something I refused to think about any deeper. Logan remained standoffish and reserved but he was there when I needed a break from Wade’s constant talking. I would occasionally find him sitting on the fire escape, smoking the cigar that seemed permanently stuck to his fingers. We often just sat in silence while Wade and Al argued about Ikea furniture. 

I had always found their schedule strange. They would disappear for days, sometimes weeks, at a time with no rhyme or reason. I had originally thought they might be businessmen but Logan’s quick temper and Wade’s obnoxious energy clashed with the idea. Wade often talked about going to exotic places and had brought me back a diamond that he swears up and down is not only real, but is also the tip of a woman’s finger. 

The day I found out their real profession had started horribly. The train line to Al’s apartment had broken, so I had to take a cab there. I was flustered, hungry, and in desperate need of caffeine when I trudged up the five flights of stairs to Al’s apartment, because, of course , her elevator had broken. It was customary for me to knock twice, allowing Al to respond before I used my key to come in. Today, my knocks were much shorter. “Good morning Al,” I called, slipping into the door before turning to close and lock it. I spun and nearly screamed. 

“Oh hey,” Wade said, leaning against the wall of the kitchen, a mug clutched in his hand. I was far more distracted by three massive claw marks across his chest, blood oozing down his stomach, staining his plaid underwear. 

“Oh my god! Wade!” My keys and purse clattered to the floor as I rushed to him, bracing my hands against his chest. “What happened?! Holy shit, oh fuck.” I was babbling now, distracted by how sticky and hot the blood was. But his chest rumbled under my shaking hands. I glanced up and saw a smile on his face as he failed to contain his laughter. “What are you fucking laughing at?! You’re dying here and you're laughing?!” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear. Miss good samaritan knows such nasty words.” I tried never to swear around patients but this was a worst fucking case scenario. 

“Oh fuck off! You’re dying and you're laughing ‘cause I said a bad word?!” That only seemed to make him laugh harder. 

“Calm down sweetheart,” came a rough voice behind me. Logan had started to call me that more often, but it always felt like he was insulting me with the word. It usually had a stinge of annoyance laced around it, now was no different. “He’s fine.” I peaked over my shoulder, hands still pressed against Wade’s firm chest, about to argue with the other man about how un fine Wade was. I nearly screamed again. A knife was embedded into Logan’s shoulder. There was blood everywhere . On his bare chest, his face, his hands and arms. 

“Logan!” I wanted to reach for him but couldn’t without leaving Wade to bleed out. 

“Now peanut,” Wade cooed and slid out from under my touch. “I told you, baby knife is just for the bedroom.” With that, Wade yanked the knife from Logan’s shoulder. The spurt of blood made my head woozy and I gripped the counter to hold myself steady. Logan barely reacted to the five inch blade being ripped from his skin, just a small grunt. 

“What’s going on?” My voice was thick with confusion. They had clearly been mauled and attacked in their own home, yet they walked around like nothing traumatizing had just happened.

“Target practice,” Wade said, using a kitchen towel to clean baby knife. Logan turned and dropped on the worn couch, the springs screeching in protest. 

“What?” I grabbed at his wrist before he could walk away. “Wade, please, I hope you understand how jarring that was. Now, please explain and cut all the punny bullshit out.” Wade pressed a dramatic hand to his chest like I had insulted him. 

“We’re mutants.” My eyebrows knitted together as I stalked toward the living room. Logan sat there, whiskey already in hand. He seemingly hid a bottle everywhere. Wade followed behind before collapsing on top of Logan. The older man snapped his jaws like an animal and a little snarl escaped his throat. Wade grinned, tugged at his hair, before going to the other end of the couch. 

“Mutants? Like the X-Men?” The scowl Logan shot me turned my blood to ice. Some of that shock must have shown on my face because Logan glanced away, taking a hefty swig of whiskey, and Wade tugged at my bloody pinky. 

“Ignore him, the X-men are a touchy subject for him, and never touchy in the fun way.” He scratched at his chest, some of the blood smudging. The skin was…

“You’re healed?” I knelt before the couch, hands feeling his chest. “Holy shit I thought you were going to bleed out.” It was impossible. The wounds were deep , I could have sworn I saw bone before. 

“God I’ve thought about you kneeling there for so long.” Logan’s fist cracked into Wade’s arm. My hands flinched away and I quickly stood. “Hurtful peanut. You know my arms always take too long to heal.” 

“Stop being a fucking creep,” Logan hissed. I turned to him and saw that the wound in his shoulder was also gone. Without thinking, I bent to touch the smooth skin, as if I couldn’t believe it without feeling it as well. Logan went still under my touch. I knew Wade didn’t mind the physical contact, he practically threw himself at me whenever I was around, but Logan was always just out of reach. I was too frazzled to think correctly anymore. 

“So you can heal,” I mumbled. 

“Very fast,” Wade said. He grabbed the remote and clicked on the tv. 

“You can stop touching me now sweetheart.” Once again, I snatched my hands back with a mumbled sorry , a faint flush burning my cheeks. 

“Comes in real handy with our line of work.” Wade was bouncing his leg, the couch squeaking under him. Logan’s hand shot out to still him, knuckles showing white for a moment. Wade winced and I heard another snap.

“Which is…?”

Logan answered for me, “mercenaries.” 

“Oh,” I plopped down on the rickety coffee table. The information settled like a lead weight in my stomach. My first instinct was fear. They killed people for money. Would they then turn on me now? Curiosity tugged at me as well. I couldn’t explain it but there was something so magnetic about them. The edge of danger had always been there, especially with Logan. I would have never guessed it was this. Ever since I first met them, I knew I would be fascinated. I guess I had my answer as to why they were as fit as models. “How come I’ve never seen anything? Do you guys not have…guns or whatever?” 

“He didn’t want to scare you.” Logan jabbed his thumb Wade’s way. I cocked my head at Wade, a tiny smile pulling at my lips. He actually looked a little bashful. 

“I’ve found that women don’t always respond very positively to my intestines hanging out.” My stomach flipped and I sat a little straighter. 

“Has that happened?” 

“No, but a fortune teller told me it will happen when I least expect it.” He stood with an excited jump, moving to stand in front of a small closet. There was only a faint limp in his movement. As he walked, I became incredibly aware that both men were nearly naked, only clad in thin boxers. With every step, Wade’s well defined back flexed and his legs tensed. I only allowed myself a moment to take him in before I drew my gaze away. He turned and flung the door open with flourish. “Behold! My batcave!” I glanced inside, and found a tall gun case, massive stacks of ammo, and two katanas balanced against a red suit. There was a yellow one tucked next to it as well. “Mine is the red one, a very flattering color I assure you.” 

“The yellow one is yours?” Logan just gives me a curt nod. His face is stone again, clearly done with this conversation. “Do you use any of that?” I ask, motioning to the “batcave”, whatever the hell that means. 

Snikt.  

“Woah,” I whispered. The three blades protruding from between his knuckles were shiny and looked wicked sharp. I leaned forward and pressed the pad of my thumb against the middle blade. It immediately split the skin and a drop of blood oozed down my skin. Logan watched my warily, like I was liable to jump on the claws at any moment. “Do they hurt?” There were small beads of blood around where they had pierced through his skin. With a flex of his veiny forearm, the claws disappeared. The blades slid smoothly between the bones on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, everytime.” I watch his skin knit itself together again with rapt attention. Once it finished, I ran my injured thumb over the regrown skin, our blood smearing a thick stripe across his knuckles. Logan’s hand was relaxed as I held it. Wade flopped back onto the couch, his head in Logan’s lap, baby knife clutched in his hands. Logan seemed resigned, face relaxing just a bit, and allowed Wade to rest. He withdrew his hand from mine before resting his arm across Wade’s neck. The motion was surprisingly domestic and it made my heart warm. Behind me, the Golden Girls theme played. 

“Isn’t Al in danger with you two here? Don’t you have enemies that could find her?” The briefest sad expression flashed across Wade’s face. I stood suddenly, “oh my god where is she? Did someone already grab her and that’s why you were fucked up?” 

“She’s fine, probably wandering the streets or whatever women of her age do,” Wade made a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Wade!” I stepped on his foot in my mad dash to my fallen purse. I needed my phone to do…something. Call someone? The phone call would sound ridiculous. Hi, I help a blind woman and her two mutant roommates are mercenaries and got her kidnapped. Yeah, totally believable. I had just snatched my bag up when the door opened and Al herself appeared. 

“Fucking Jesus,” she snapped as she ran into me. My body sagged in relief at seeing her. I gripped her shoulders, just to make sure she was actually there. 

“Oh my god Al, don’t fucking scare my like that.” Her hands flew up and shook out from my touch. 

“Well you were late!” I wasn’t. “Are those two done fucking yet?” I twisted to look at the men on the couch. Logan was half way out the window to smoke. I could have sworn I saw him lick at his bloody knuckles. Wade was studying me, the hint of a challenge in his eyes, daring me to say something about their relationship. I smiled, hoping it let him know I didn’t care. But that easy look might have been ruined when pieces fell together. The knife. The three slashes to Wade’s chest. Their near nakedness. 

Huh.

“Uh yeah Al, I think I ruined the mood for them.” She scoffed and shoved a grocery bag into my hands. I dutifully turned to the kitchen and began to store away the random assortment of items. She guided herself over to the coffee maker and began to load the grounds into a filter. 

“I think you are one of the biggest things that puts them in the mood honey.” I heard a growl float in from the window. 

Wade and Logan stopped avoiding me after finding out their true occupation. It never got any easier seeing their bloody bodies strew around the apartment. I slipped on enough stray bullets that I learned to watch my feet. Wade was always cleaning his guns with a concentration I didn’t think he was capable of. One night he forced me to sit down, offering his lap first and whimpered pitifully when I took the chair, and made me hold the gun, showing me how to cock it and flick the safety on and off. The name Chekhov was stamped across the side in shiny gold letters. “Do I really need to know this?” He leaned closer, cheek pressed to mine. His warm hands slid over my own, guiding me to a button that would pop the magazine out and helped me click it back into place. He had grown much bolder in his touching and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him anymore.

“Never know when you’ll need to flip the badass switch.” His bubbly finger tapped the glittering name for emphasis. I shifted in my seat to face him, my lips ghosting over his cheek. He followed my lead and our noses brushed. 

“I didn’t think I would need that with you around.” A beat passed as we looked at each other. There was something soft in his eyes that made my heart clench. “You’re going to protect me, right?” It wouldn’t take much to lean closer, to finally kiss him. I knew he was thinking the same thing and my eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation. 

The alarm for my Al’s meds broke the moment. 

I knew I was sliding into a sticky situation. I found myself staying later and later, well past my shift with Al had ended. It was absolutely forbidden for me to become involved with clients. The excuse that they weren’t technically my clients wouldn’t work on my boss. I needed to make a decision. Either stop working with Al or end any attachment to Wade, and Logan by extension. 

***

I’m not sure how Wade and I ended up on that date. He and Logan had been away on a job for a week. It was finally peaceful in the apartment but I couldn’t lie to myself, I had missed them. So I didn’t fight Wade too much when he asked “nicely”, aka demanded , he tag along while I ran errands for Al. She was the last person I had to visit for the day so I allowed him to drag me to a bar after I dropped her meds off. Logan had a dark look in his eyes when he saw Wade clutch my hand. “The old man is just jealous. He wishes someone would take him out, but he doesn’t do well in crowds, very bitey.” I smirked and let Wade choose our destination. His hand was steady around mine, giving it occasional squeezes as we rushed across busy streets. The bar he picked was properly seedy, full to the brim with haggard men with face tattoos. Normally, I would have run screaming from a place like this. But Wade was clearly well liked. He moved through the room, smiling and waving at everyone. He tried introducing me to some people but it was hard to keep their names straight. We found an empty booth tucked behind the row of pool tables. I eased onto the sticky laminate bench as Wade headed to the bar to get our drinks. I listen to the men next to my seat argue over who was supposed to break for their next game of pool while I waited. 

Wade returned with my drink, a neon green one for him, and two small shot glasses. I eyed them suspiciously as he passed me one of the whipped cream topped shots. “I thought it was only right to start our date with a blowjob.” I coughed on my laugh, examining the glass. He tapped his against mine before downing it and I followed his lead. It was pure sugar, nearly masking the burn of the alcohol. 

“Whoever made this has clearly never given a blow job. Way too sweet.” Wade grinned in that mischievous way he always seemed to when he was going to be especially gross. I had no idea why I was being so forward. But I felt light, happy. All my worries from work had melted away as Wade held my hand on our way here.

“Oh yeah? I’ve been told my cum is rather delicious. It’s all the pineapple I eat.” I rolled my eyes and matched his grin, propping my elbows on the table, head cradled between my hands. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a single fruit. Or a vegetable honestly.” Wade copied my pose, fluttering his nonexistent eyelashes. 

“How about you taste mine and I taste yours?” I pretended to contemplate, eyes scrunching, head tilting from side to side. My hand inched across the table before I plucked the cherry from Wade’s drink. He saw me, I could tell by the minute flick of his gaze, but he let me take it regardless. I yanked it from the stem with my teeth and chewed thoughtfully. 

“Hm, I’m not sure. Don’t you think Al would talk if you were moaning my name so much?” He grabbed my wrist and dragged my hand closer. My breath caught as his lips enveloped my index finger and thumb. His tongue lazed over them before he drew back, the cherry stem between his teeth. 

“Sweetie pie, I moan it enough as is.” I blushed and my stomach grew warm. The stem disappeared, his jaw moving. “I haven’t been able to convince the old bastard to dress like you yet. But he lets me pretend.” I took a big gulp of my drink and glanced away. The patrons were starting to get more boisterous. Their shouts echoed off the peeling wallpapered walls as they called for more rounds or catcalled some of the working girls. I watched as a pretty blonde walked off with two men. Would Wade and Logan take turns? Or would they pin me between them, spreading me open on both of their- “Jealous?” My head whorled back to him but only found a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Shut up,” I growled and took another deep drink. Wade’s tongue lolled out, in the center was a perfectly knotted stem. I shifted in my seat. This was not how I had intended the night to go. I wanted just a drink, conversation, and then home for a long awaited rest. But here I was, squirming at the mere sight of Wade’s tongue. “Impressive,” I mumbled. I reached across the table and plucked the stem from him. It looked like he was going for another kiss but my hand drew back too fast.

“I know it’s impressive. Just spelling out my name gets it all twisted like that.” I rolled my eyes with a smirk. 

“You didn't strike me as a guy who would spell his name out. I thought you might be a little more creative.” He leaned closer, eyes just a bit too wide. 

“Oh? What were you imagining I would do? I have a lot of skills and I’ll use them all on you.” Damn it . I finished off my drink and the booze buzzed down my body as it settled inside me. A small voice in my head reminded me that I needed to pick. That if I went down this road with Wade, I needed to stop visiting Al. But fuck, I craved the feeling of his hands on me. I dreamt of him and Logan anytime I saw them. My brain became more and more depraved as the weeks went on. I could barely look at them sometimes without blushing. 

“Wade,” I sighed, twirling my straw in the slowly melting ice. “If we do anything, I have to stop working with Al. It’s a conflict of-“ he held a scarred hand up and my voice died away. 

“No work talk. It’s Friday, let me show you a good time.” I sighed again but nodded. 

The night passed blissfully. Wade was a strangely great date, much better than any guy I’ve been with recently. He asked me a million questions, ranging from my childhood, food allergies, to my favorite Mexican food. He gave me half joke responses about his own childhood, but gave me enthusiastic answers to everything else . He bought me another drink after he finished his but I was careful to sip mine slowly. The last thing I needed was a hangover. He also brought some greasy fries and I dove into them gratefully. We played one round of pool, which he won by only a few points. Then he promptly annihilated me in darts. “So unfair,” I groaned. “You do this for a living, I would have never won.” 

“I thought you being sexy would distract me enough. Strip, then you’ll win.” I had that pleasant buzz running through me so his words just made me giggle. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” I held up my hand to cut off his next words. “Not now you horny bastard.” He pouted, lip stuck a full inch off his face. I playfully plucked at it. “Pout all you want. You gotta put more effort in to get me naked.” 

That was perhaps the wrong choice of words because he bent down, his lips colliding with mine. I gasped but grabbed at his sweatshirt, clinging to him. He kissed like he wanted to eat me, all tongue and spit. He tasted as sweet as candy from the bright cocktails he had. It made my head swirl, skin heat. His hands moved to my hips and traced the sliver of exposed skin before they dove into my back pockets, and jerked me closer. I moaned into him as I felt the hard ridge in his pants pressed against my hip. The few whoops from our onlookers made me pause. “Probably not the best place.” Wade’s voice was a little husky, lips still close enough to mine that they moved with his words. 

“No,” I mumbled. But neither of us disentangled from each other. “I should probably go home.” Wade sighed and straightened. He nodded, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear. 

“Fuck you look gorgeous.” His voice was barely audible under the conversations and the music. I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off. “I gotta hit the head then I’ll take you home.” He removed my hands from his sweatshirt, but still held one as he guided me to where the bathrooms were, situated at the end of a long hallway. “Wait here, don’t get too many men drooling over you.” Once he disappeared into the men’s room, I let out a breath. He was overwhelming, equal parts sweet, filthy, and ridiculous. The last thing I wanted to do was be responsible. To go home and ignore all the things he made me feel. I had already gone too far, what were a couple more steps? I bit at my thumb nail and watched the bathrooms intently. I didn’t see any women come or go into theirs. I scanned the bar and only found a handful of them. I knew I would have it mostly to myself. 

Cautiously, as if I was somehow breaking a law, I walked down and into the women’s bathroom. It was empty, mostly clean, and smelled fine. Which I’m sure is more than I could say about the men’s. I propped myself against the wall in the hallway, waiting for Wade to emerge again. Two men passed before I saw him. “Aw, I don’t need an escort out of this creepy hallway.” I roughly grabbed his shirt, and backed into the still empty bathroom. “Oh wow, the promised land.” 

I slammed him against the door, far too rough from nerves, but his face lit up nevertheless, a little excited laugh escaping him. “How about you show me those skills you talked about, yeah? Consider this a trial period before I let you fuck my brains out.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He hauled my body tight against his, lips crashing against mine again. This time, I gave into his kisses completely, his teeth tugging at my lips. There was a pinch of pain each time but it only made me claw at his neck harder. Judging by the groan he let out, I think I broke through skin. His tongue prodded its way into my mouth and I moaned loudly against him. His hands slid all over my body before they hooked behind my knees and he carried me to the counter. He lifted me like I weighed nothing. My head was beginning to grow fuzzy from our kiss but I refused to part, greedily sucking air from him instead. 

Wade was the first to rear back, gulping down lungfuls of air. I wanted to drag him back and kiss him till I was lightheaded again. “Goddamn woman,” he mumbled. I just hummed, moving my desperate kisses to his jaw. My hands crawled up his shirt and littered his torso with scratches. He leaned closer, my head hitting the mirror behind me, as he gripped my hips and dragged me flush against him. My legs curled around his waist, craving the feeling of his hard cock against me. 

“Wade,” I whined while I ground my hips against his. I found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear that made him rasp my name. He cupped the back of my neck, leading me back to his greedy mouth. His thumb brushed along my jaw before his fingers delicately laid across my throat. I arched my neck to give his hand better access to the column of muscle. But his hands slipped from me entirely so he could shove my shirt over my breasts. He buried his face between them, peppering the skin with long, sucking kisses. “ Wade,” I moaned, hips bucking desperately against him, “I need you to fuck me.” His hand went to my jeans, pulling the button free and easing the zipper down. I yelped when his teeth captured a bit of flesh and bit down, hard . But the sting of pain only made me crave him more. Finally his hand plunged under my jeans and into my underwear. 

“So wet all ready,” he hummed, biting at more of my skin. He drifted over my clit in loose, but firm circles. With his free hand, he worked the cup of my bra down and captured my nipple in his mouth. I thursted against his hand in an attempt to get him to do more, to bend me over this sink and fuck me like I knew he wanted to. Instead, he traced the tip of his finger over my entrance and had the nerve to chuckle when I tried to force it inside. 

“ Jesus, Wade , stop teasing me.” My voice was airy, tinged with desire. His teeth glanced across my nipple and I nearly wailed. “Wade!” My nails went to his head and dug into his scalp, heels digging into his ass in annoyance. 

“I love the way you say my name, pretty girl.” His finger drove into me, pumping in and out quickly. He sucked one last bruise onto the top of my breast before he was kissing and licking back up my neck. 

“ More , Wade,” I panted, “you aren’t going to break me.” He laughed, the sound sending goosebumps across my feverish skin. Another finger worked its way into me and my eyes rolled back at the stretch, a sigh catching in my throat.  His thumb moved into more controlled figure eights. My legs trembled around him as he crooked his fingers inside, hunting for that spongy spot inside me. “Wade, oh fuck.” 

“God you moan so nice for daddy Wade.” Something between a laugh and a sob of pleasure bubbled up from my chest. Heat oozed through my body, settled deep in my stomach. 

“I’m not gonna call you that. Ah, keeping doing that, so good.” 

“Are you going to call Logan daddy when he makes you wiggle like this?” He found his mark and stroked the spot deep inside me with complete focus. My hips bore down on his hand, chasing for the orgasm I sensed. “ Aww seems like you like the idea. You’re sucking me in so much.” He bit more bruises on my neck, tongue lapping at the skin after to soothe the ache. “I can’t wait to see you stretched on his big dick.” 

I whimper, the tension inside me near breaking point. “Yours first.” The coil finally snapped. My eyes squeezed shut as a stream of his name and half gasps fell from my chapped lips. His free hand pinned my hip to the counter to stop its wild jerks. He scattered soft kisses across my face and cheeks as he worked me through my orgasm. It seemed to last an eternity and the waves of bliss made my body tingly. 

Eventually, my body relaxed and slumped against the mirror, chest heaving. Wade’s fingers remained in me, lazily plunging inside. Now that the haze had passed, I could hear just how wet I was. The lewd noises echo off the cramped bathroom’s tiles. “Wade,” I mumbled, tugging weakly at his wrist. “You should get to fucking me now.” 

“ Ew , how about you guys don’t. Do you know how dirty it is in here?” I jumped at the voice, scrambling to cover myself. Wade shifted himself to block me from view as I did. His fingers withdrew with a pop that made my face heat even more. The woman idly scrolled on her phone to give us privacy. My bra was fixed, shirt back over my chest, in record time. 

Wade was fine to let us wait it seemed. His sticky fingers lingered on my stomach, running over the curves and stretch marks, before he buttoned up my pants. “Okay sugar bean, let’s get you home.” He helped me off the counter, my weak legs wobbling just a bit. He kept his firm arm around me for support anyways. I had half a mind to think it was just to keep touching me. I didn’t mind and leaned into his side, head against his chest. 

The night was cool, the slight bite of oncoming autumn in the crisp air, and I breathed it in. My head felt clearer with each one. I went to pull away first, to tell him that I would see him on Monday, but he kept walking. “Where are we going?” 

“Gonna take you home.” I blinked. 

“How do you know this is the way to my place?” He made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. 

“Is some light stalking a turn off?” I knew I was crazy, absolutely insane, because all I did was beam up at him and cling closer. We made our way to my apartment in long winding segments. First the train where he pulled my legs over his and kissed at my wind whipped cheeks. Then a stop at a late night burger chain where Wade promptly drowned his in ketchup. We walked slowly to my apartment, hand in hand. Exhaustion had finally reached me and my feet dragged behind me. The night had only grown colder, breath misting in front of our faces. I was wearing a light jacket as I anticipated being home before the drop in temperature. I drew Wade’s arm closer, pressing it against my chest, clinging to the bit of heat. “You know, if we were both naked you would be warmer.” I rolled my eyes. 

“That’s absolutely not how that works. Also, my place is just around the corner.” We only had to walk a few more steps before I saw the familiar entrance to my apartment. Wade followed me to my door, leaning against the rail, waiting for me to fish my keys out of my purse. Once I had them in hand, I also tugged my phone from my pocket. “I don’t have your number.” I oddly felt shy, like this was too much of a leap. It felt more official like this. When I held it out for him, he took it eagerly, fingers tapping quickly. Then he kept typing. I peered down at my phone and saw him adding information for Asshole GILF, surrounded by an assortment of hearts. Quite frankly, I didn’t even know Logan had a phone, I had never seen him with it. 

My stomach dropped when I saw Wade open a conversation with Logan and began typing. I was only able to read the words horny and get it up before I snatched my phone back. “Oh my god Wade!” I rapidly deleted the text, refusing to read anymore of his nonsense sexting. “I would prefer Logan to not think I’m trying to jump his bones.” 

“Aw come on! Live a little. Logan loves people who come on too strong, especially on his face.”  

“I think you are probably the exception, Wade. Logan doesn’t seem to want much to do with me.” His cold palms cupped my cheeks and drew me closer. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, just you and me, yeah?” I nod, arms encircling his waist. The warmth of his chest spread into mine. “Logan dreams about you. He growls your name. He humps me in his sleep like a teenage boy. Then he wakes up and fucks me for hours.” My face heated at his words. I could feel him getting hard against my hip. “He wants you so bad it makes him crazy.” He pushed against me, just the slightest bit. “ I want you so bad it makes me crazy.” I realized that I never repaid the favor at the bar before being interrupted. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Wade smirked, kissing the apples of each cheek then my nose. 

“No, I’m gonna surprise Logan. He’ll go nuts when he smells you on me.” I blinked in confusion. I didn’t smell that bad, did it? “He has enhanced senses,” he explained. “He’ll be able to smell your cum on my fingers from outside the apartment.” 

“Oh god,” I mumbled, stuck between embarrassment and arousal. “Okay, well, don’t keep Al up.” 

“She has ear muffs.” I shook my head, chuckling at the absurdity. Wade pecked at my lips but didn’t allow me more. “Goodnight baby girl. Make sure you text me so I know who you are. So many crazy fangirls, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

“Uh huh,” I teased, finding the key fob for my building. Wade left one lingering kiss on my forehead before giving me a nudge toward my door. The scanner beeped, door releasing with a click. I wedged the door open before it could lock again. “Goodnight, see you Monday.” I blew him a kiss before the door clicked behind me as I went to the elevator. I reached for my phone and searched for Wade in my contact list. Of course I found him listed as Bootycall . Instead of solely hearts, his name was circled by eggplants and hearts. 

Me: you have to send me a picture for your profile. I could have missed you 

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. I traced my usual route to my apartment, jiggling the lock open with my key. My phone buzzed on the counter as I set it down to toe off my shoes and hang my coat up. 

Bootycall: once I’m done with Logan, I’ll send pictures for the both of us. 

Bootycall: Do you have other fuckbuddies? How could you? We should be the only ones for you

I woke up late the next day to two pictures. One was blurry, but the brown hair and a pointy white tooth told me it was Logan. It seemed Wade had tried to sneak it and was caught. The picture of Wade nearly made me faint. Pearly white beads of cum were splattered across his face and dripped off his exposed tongue. 

Me: I can’t possibly make that your contact picture

Bootycall: you’re right! Make it your background!

[potatoes-is-are-food]

Demon Shit

Okay so this is based very heavily off a dream I had so reader is a little more specific than usual so keep in mine “you” are small in this. There is also gonna be a part 2 because the dream didn’t end here! Anyways thank you guys for 300+ followers I really appreciate you!!

| NSFW

 “Here, put this in the circle,” the witch said, eyeing you like she still didn’t trust you despite the fact you’d been helping her with this ritual for two days already. You did as instructed, placing the jar of roots in the chalk circle on the ground.

“Okay, now you wait here, stand here,” she moved you into the circle,“and I’ll be right outside. Whatever you do, don’t talk to it. Just wait for me.” She stared you down intensely before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her and leaving you in the dark with only a few candles flickering around the room to provide light.

You waited for a while, trying not to fidget and feeling very uncomfortable in the dress she’d had you wear. It was a thin material meant for a summer day, and the cold aura of the room chilled you to the bone, making you shiver and shuffle your bare feet. 

Suddenly the air started to shift, and you felt a warm breeze despite there being no doors or windows open in the room. Several candles blew out, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Fear gripped your chest, your heart thumping hard in your ribcage.

Something was breathing in front of you. Right in front of you. Tentatively, you reached a hand out in front of your face. Only a few centimeters away you made contact with ...skin. You flinched, immediately bringing your hands to your chest and wringing them together nervously.

The door creaked open slowly, and your new “friend” stepped back in, letting the light from the hallway flood into the small room.

“Good, good. Now just stay there. Don’t talk to him. Just stand there and I’ll be right back, I have to get the last piece. Don’t talk to him.” She pointed a bony finger at you, jerking it forward a little for her last sentence. You nodded, still a little too shaken to speak just yet. With a nod, she was gone, leaving the door open this time to give you some light.

Nervously your eyes darted to the floor and slowly started to work up the creature’s form. It was supposed to be a demon for her to bargain with, a horrifying mass of ungodly limbs and dread. But it looked like a man. His skin was discolored in patches that were stapled to what looked like normal skin.

When you reached his face your breath caught in your throat. He was handsome, even with the weird skin and staples. His cyan eyes drew you in, without realizing it you were leaning against him slightly, your chest touching his as you tried to look more closely into those hypnotic eyes.

His warmth was just shocking enough to snap you out of it, and you leaned back off your toes, not even realizing you’d been standing on them. You looked at his blank expression and gently brought a hand up to it, grazing a single finger against his warm cheek.

You circled around him, taking in the sight of his naked body. You’d been too scared before, but with him so still he scared you much less. His muscles were rigid when you touched them, as though he were constantly flexing. Your eyes trailed the staples on his chest before venturing lower.

His flaccid cock hung heavily against him, and with a slightly more flustered disposition you turned your attention to his thighs, stroking along his skin. As you rounded to see his backside your hand trailed along his hip, following the discolored skin around as you looked over his back’s taught muscles and the curve of his ass.

When you reached his front again, you gave his cheek a light poke. No response. You felt like he could see you, though. The thought made you nervous. The woman had told you to only wear the ritual dress, and it was just a thin white dress that went a little past your knees and made you look deceptively innocent. 

Warmth radiating your cheeks, you poked at him some more. His shoulder, bicep, face again. Nothing. You waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Can you even talk?” You mused, blinking up at his blank face.

His eyes locked onto you. The woman’s voice telling you not to talk to him flashed through your mind followed by a string of curses.

“Of course I can talk, little mouse,” the sound of his voice made your heart feel like it would leap out of your throat and run away. You wanted to scream but felt it die before it even reached your chest. You stared up at him with wide eyes, tears already starting to form.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. The demon’s eyes moved up and down your form, his forked tongue sweeping over his lip. You trembled, feeling your head getting lighter and lighter.

“You must be the sacrifice,” he shrugged, scooping you into his arms just as your knees buckled. “You’re no virgin, but I don’t care. You’re mine now, y/n,” He brought you close and his long tongue licked a strip up your neck, making you gasp.

“H-how-” you stared up at him, shaking violently.

“Demon shit. Don’t worry about it,” he stepped out of the circle and suddenly everything aside from him was cold again, making you shiver and curl against his chest. He chuckled and rolled his shoulders a bit, clothing appearing over his body.

You were so busy staring you didn’t notice the figure staring in the doorway until the witch screamed. She fell back, trying to crawl away as the demon calmly stepped towards her.

“I told you not to talk to it you fucking idiot!” She screeched, kicking and trying to back up further as she hit the wall. You felt the hand under your knees flex and her neck snapped, her body falling limply to the floor, face still twisted in fear.

You wanted to scream. Try to run or at least struggle, but you were rooted to the spot. No sound would come.

“Dumb hag,” he spit, the fluid hitting her skirt and immediately setting her corpse on fire. Walking down the hall and out the door, he looked down at your scared expression.

“Should’ve known better than to use a dumb little thing like you for a sacrifice,” his tongue flicked over your cheek, “You didn’t even know you were being sacrificed, huh? Just a sweet little lamb too stupid to know it’s being prepared for the slaughter,” Your face burned at his words and you stared at your hands, not wanting to make eye contact with him while your face was hot and you had tears and his spit on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he called, and you looked up at him without thinking, immediately feeling lost and drowsy in his stare, “Sleep,” he commanded, and your body went limp against him as his order overtook your exhausted body.

When your eyes finally fluttered open you just saw hazy light, like a rainy day. You squinted and sat up, blinking a few times as everything came into focus. You were facing an open window, sheer curtains blowing slightly in the breeze. The sky was overcast, and there didn’t seem to be anything outside for a long ways.

Looking around the room you noticed you were on a plush bed in a nicely furnished room. Everything looked really old, though. Like it hadn’t been touched for decades before now yet without the dust that would accompany that. You stretched and stood, heading for one of the two doors. The first lead to a bathroom, so you closed it and headed for the other one, only to find it locked.

You awkwardly paced around for a minute, debating if you’d break a leg if you jumped out the window from this height.

“Um... Mr. Demon?” You called against the door that wouldn’t open. You chewed on your lip anxiously, waiting for a response. You didn’t get one. You paced for another minute, shivering when the breeze picked up and deciding to close the window and get warm under the blankets on the large bed.

You drifted off for a second, rolling over to get more comfortable and coming face to face with the demon. A startled yelp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and he laughed softly and ruffled your hair a bit.

“W-where am I?” You asked, sliding back away from him a little.

“A house,” he answered smugly, giving you a bored expression. You frowned at him. “Don’t worry about it, doll. You’re safe. If I were gonna hurt you or eat you I’d have done it by now,” his tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip, “although I’m debating that second thing,”

You felt all the blood in your body rush into your face and you pulled the blankets tighter against you. The corner of his mouth dragged up as he closed the distance between you, slinging an arm over your huddled form.

“You heard me earlier, little sacrifice, you’re mine. The ritual might have gotten fucked up, but you were still sacrificed to me. You couldn’t escape me if you wanted to, and I know you don’t,” his face came closer and closer until his lips were almost touching, “I can feel what you’re feeling. I know you’re scared and confused, but that’s not all,” his lips barely brushed yours as he spoke, “you’re aroused.”

Your mouth fell open before you could stop it, silently begging for his kiss and leaning into his surprisingly gentle touches as he coaxed you closer. His warm hands trailed along your soft body underneath him, palming at your breasts and thighs and any other available flesh. His long, forked tongue twisted around yours and flicked all along the insides of your mouth as you moaned against him.

“So docile, so sweet,” he muttered, trailing his lips down past your jaw and planting scalding kisses to your neck and collar bone. He tugged gently at the neckline of your dress, leaning back a bit to toy with it for a second.

“That bitch really tried to fuck you over,” he laughed, “You wouldn’t have stood a chance in this,” he gathered the flimsy material in both fists and ripped it apart easily, exposing your skin to the cool air and making you gasp. He yanked the fabric away, flinging it to some forgotten corner of the room before pouncing on you again, groping directly at your skin now as you writhed under him.

“Dabi,” he said, lips hovering against the skin of your breast. You held onto his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself as he started to lick and suckle at your skin.

“What?” You gasped, feeling his sharp teeth nip at you.

“My name. Scream it,” his body snaked down yours until he was lying with his face resting on your upper thigh, centimeters from your core. His hands rubbed soothingly along your thighs and hips as he kissed along your skin, inching closer to your cunt and teasing you with his unnaturally hot breath.

“Please,” you trembled, reaching out for his hand, which he let you hold, intertwining your fingers together.

“Please what?” He teased, giving you a toothy grin so you could see his sharp fangs.

“Please, Dabi,” you said softly, nervously starting to squirm under his predatory gaze. He gave your thigh another short kiss,

“Good girl,” he didn’t waste time, immediately latching onto your drooling cunt and lapping at your clit, using his forked tongue to squeeze and toy with your sensitive nub.

You arched your back, but his hand that wasn’t your stress ball forced you back down onto the bed as he worked his tongue expertly along every spot that made you scream. It hadn’t even been two minutes when you came undone on his mouth, calling his name loudly and gripping his hand as tight as you could. His mouth didn’t move, and he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you for what felt like hours.

You called his name, cried, tried to pull his hair, but you came again and again as he overstimulated you so much your orgasms started blending together. When he finally pulled away, you were twitching and unable to form words as he crawled up over you, kissing and licking the tears from your face.

“Good girl,” he cooed, letting you cling to him, “good little sacrifice,” he smirked as he said “sacrifice,” reminding you of your place as his possession.

Once your shaky breathing had mostly calmed down, he kissed you deeply, and you only just noticed his appearing clothes act was also a disappearing one. Your hands gripped his shoulders, moving along his bare chest and feeling more staples there. Your mouth welcomed his tongue, and you sighed pleasantly against his lips at the intrusion, feeling his wet muscle slide along the insides of your cheek and lap at your tongue.

His warm hands groped your breasts gently at first, kneading them for a bit before pinching your nipples hard and making you squeak against him. You felt his teeth as he smirked against your lips, his hands slipping under your body and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He pulled you up by your hips, forcing your ass up as his other hand pushed your head down into the pillows, making you whimper softly.

He let his hips rest against the curve of your ass, and you felt something heavy and hot settle between your cheeks. Too heavy. Too hot. You started to squirm a little, and suddenly a harsh slap came down on your soft skin, making you cry out.

“Be good and take it,” he lined himself up with your soaked entrance, pushing forward slowly, “that’s it, little mouse,” he groaned, bottoming out and gently rocking his hips a few times. The sting was minimal from how wet you were, but you’d never felt so full.

Suddenly he pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in with force that had you seeing stars and made your eyes roll back into your head. His fingers gently tangled in your hair before gripping roughly and yanking back as he pounded into your tight heat. He pulled your back to his chest, biting and sucking at your neck as he abused your pussy, one hand holding your hips in a bruising grip and the other holding you to him with your hair.

You gripped at any part of him you could reach, trying to hold on as he used you thoroughly, feeling him hitting your cervix as he snapped his hips against you. The hand on your hip slid forward to toy with your puffy clit, making you whine as he built your orgasm back up.

He sank his teeth deep into the skin of your neck as you came on his cock, blood dripping down your chest as you cried out, clenching as he slid his hand into yours in an attempt at comfort as he marked you, hips still rocking against you and dragging himself against your spasming walls. Tears spilled down your face, dripping and mixing with the blood flowing along your body as you felt yourself getting close again already.

“Gonna be hot, little sacrifice,” he groaned huskily in your ear, hips slapping against you faster. It already felt too hot inside you, the thought of how hot his cum would be had you reeling, getting closer to your own end.

He leaned forward with you, pressing you into the mattress as he rested on top of you, rutting into you harder and harder. You felt him throb inside you before streams of inhumanly hot cum flooded your walls, the feeling combined with his ministrations to your clit had you following suit, creaming around him with a sob as he slowed to a stop, pressed tightly against you to release everything he had inside. It was so hot, and there was so much of it, the sticky feeling of it sloshing around inside and spilling around your thighs and cunt had your eyes rolling back into your head as you came again. Or maybe it extended the last one, you couldn’t really tell anymore.

You completely collapsed under him, going limp as you panted, covered in sweat, tears, cum, and blood. There were spots in your vision and you lost consciousness for a few seconds, groaning softly at even the thought of moving your broken body.

“Come on, sweetness,” Dabi’s hands gently peeled you up, letting your unmoving form rest against him as he took you up into his arms, heading into the bathroom. Everything was pretty fuzzy but you ended up settled against him in a warm bath as he gently scrubbed his trail of destruction off your skin. His softness after being so rough with you had your head spinning, making you cling to him as your only source of comfort.

“Mmmm, so sweet,” he said against your hair, running his fingers through the wet tresses. “All mine now, little sacrifice,” he ran his thumb gently over the bite he’d given you, making you wince. “The ritual getting messed up had me a little nervous, there. I had to bite you like that within twelve hours to keep you,” you turned to look at him with wide eyes and he smirked down at you.

“What do you mean?” You asked softly, still staying close to him if only so he’d stay gentle.

“If the ritual doesn’t finish, the sacrifice is void. But if I can stake my claim on it before twelve hours pass I can keep it anyway. I think it’s supposed to give you a fair shot at escape,” he shrugged, “not like that would’ve happened either way,” he gave you a wink, making blood rush into your face.

“And you,” he continued, “dumb, sweet little thing, are definitely something I want to keep.” He gave the underside of your chin a tap, and you leaned up to him so he could kiss you.

After a while, he got you both out, opening the locked door out of the room and settling you into a bed in a different room of the old house, sliding in beside you and letting you cling to him as you’d been doing for several hours now. He’d made pants appear on him at some point, but you were still naked, shivering against him as he brought you to his chest.

“What happens now?” you asked, snuggled against his warmth.

“Now, you sleep for a few hours. Then we get out of this pocket dimension and summon a friend of mine. You’ll get to help with that.” 

“Why? What are you gonna do?” 

“Demon shit. Now go to sleep.” He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, and you closed your eyes obediently, almost immediately falling asleep.

@soup-forthesoul @vermeilies @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shigraki

[aonesteddybear]

Lifeguard

 “Iwaizumi, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were flirting with me.” You joked lightly, testing the waters carefully........“I have been. For the past few months,” He admits, “You’re just now noticing?” 

iwaizumi hajime x  gender neutral reader... (slightly implied female costume = cheerleader)

warnings: alcohol mention (drinking), kissing, college party

word count: 1817

extra big thank to my beta keekee, and those who suggested ideas

friend x oikawa is up here

The music vibrated your body as you swayed back and forth with your friend, soft giggles erupting from both of you as you danced to the song playing. The room was hot, sweaty bodies brushing up against one another as they maneuvered their way to less crowded areas. You could feel the alcohol taking effect, removing prior worries you had about attending.

Parties always had people with less amounts of clothing on, but on Halloween? Clothes were few and far in between, mostly just covering the essential bits and from what you had seen earlier at points, some had forsaken any sort of top at all. You were no different, having agreed to dress up as a sexy cheerleader. You continued to sway for a moment to the music before your friend suddenly let out a squeal, grabbing your wrist as she dragged you across the room to where she had spotted someone. 

“Oikawa! Iwaizumi!” Their names made you perk up then, looking forward to them as your friend embraced the taller brunette rattling on how she didn’t think he was serious when he said he was also going to go as a Playboy Bunny. Still looking at him, you couldn’t help but admit he put both yours, and your friend’s bunny costume to shame. The fishnets he wore accented his legs gorgeously. 

However your focus didn’t remain on him for long, your eyes fluttering over to the other man who stood against the wall with arms crossed as if he was slightly uncomfortable being partially naked. If Oikawa looked great, then Iwaizumi was dressed as a god. His muscles on full display, with only a pair of red swim trunks on, and a toy whistle draped around his neck which only drew your eyes back down south towards his abs.  

Upon closer investigation, his nose had a smudge of white across it, already rubbed off by sweat and who knows what else. The idea someone else may have been touching his face let you with a swirling pit in your stomach which you opted to ignore, lifting your cup to your lips seconds before Oikawa was scooping you into a hug also. “Y/N his voice was a sing-song, eyes blown wide in excitement. “You look so good!” 

You giggled at his words, stepping out of his body to eye him up and down. “You’re one to talk Tooru, look at you.” You said with a soft gesture and he was beaming again, reaching out to grab Iwaizumi and pulling him over. “I had to pick out Iwa-chan’s outfit,” he admitted, “He didn’t even want to come, can you believe that? What a shame that would have been, him refusing to bless us with the pleasure that is Iwaizumi Hajime in nothing but a pair of shorts!” 

What a shame indeed. You found yourself musing to yourself, cheeks heating up as you eyed Iwaizumi once more who looked over at you as if he could sense your thoughts and you were quickly raising your glass to your lips again to avoid eye contact.  

The song playing ended, and a new one started up with a chorus of cheers as your friend and Oikawa both lit up. Before either of you could stop them, they were grabbing onto each other and molding back into the crowd of bodies out of sight. 

You swallowed, eyes flicking over to Iwaizumi who looked just as out of place as you felt at that moment, pressed up against the wall. “You want to go somewhere quieter?” You asked, and his eyes just narrowed squinting at you before he was stepping into your body space and you felt yourself tense up. “What?” He questioned, head dipping down to ask it directly into your ear. “Y-You want to go outside? Quieter out there.” You respond, trying you best not to inhale the scent of his shampoo. 

He nodded, taking your hand as he led you threw the mass of bodies, occasionally looking back to double check he hadn’t lost you. 

You forced yourself to breathe, inhaling the smell of bodies as you coaxed your heart to quell it’s beating rhythm. As he opened the door, you welcomed the rush of cool night air as you stepped outside. 

The smell of smoke reached your nose, eyes flicking over to the bonfire where people sat littered around it. Iwaizumi noticed it the same moment you did, tugging you lightly as he moved towards it.

He guided you to a spot slightly away from the others and you couldn’t help the beat of excitement as he sat down looking at you pointedly. You sat down, smoothing out non-existent clothing over your thighs. 

You sat in silence for a moment, before Iwaizumi was reaching out and you felt yourself go statue still. His hand brushed your hair for a moment, before he was pulling back. “Sorry, you had a leaf in your hair.” He explained and you felt your cheeks heat up at it, “Oh, thank you.”

You cleared your throat lightly, “I like your costume.” You attempted, and he looked down at his own costume or lack of one, as he looked back at you with a curious eyebrow. “Oh?” he questioned and you felt your cheeks heat up as you nodded, “Yeah it...suits you.” You decided on and he gave you an amused look.

“Oikawa picked it. I didn’t want to come.” he admitted, and you nodded sharply as if it was the first time you were hearing it. “That’s what he said...I’m surprised he didn’t make you wear something...more revealing.” 

Iwaizumi laughed, a noise that made your heart drop in excitement. Real, genuine laughter was rare from him. “He tried, I objected. We argued and settled on this.” 

You smiled, raising your cup to your lips trying to hide it even as he watched you with fondness. A soft breeze blew through the area, carrying a hint of smoke to you even as you shivered despite the warmth from the fire. “I don’t suppose you have a jacket I can borrow,” You mused and he shook his head.

He hesitated for a moment, before he opened up an arm. “No, but you can come closer, if you want?” He offered, voice raising at the end making it a question. You hesitated, wondering if this was the point of no return as you inched closer to him, his arm closing around you as he pulled you flush against his skin.

This time when you shivered, it wasn’t from the cold. “I like your costume too,” He murmured, and you could feel the vibration from his words in your chest. “I’m glad I came actually, I wouldn’t want to miss this with you.” You were both silent for a moment, before he was leaning over, resting his cheek against the top of your head and you leaned into his touch further.

“I always thought your hair would be soft,” His voice was muffled now, his face slightly squished by the pressure he was putting on you, but to you it was like he was speaking clearer than he ever did before. “But it’s a lot softer than I expected.”

You had to wonder if he could feel the heat radiating from you as well, as you audibly swallowed. “Iwaizumi, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were flirting with me.” You joked lightly, testing the waters carefully.

He pulls back then, frowning softly as he looks down at you and you instantly raise your cup to your lips, faking a swallow to break eye contact out of embarrassment desperately trying to think of a way you could play off that comment.

“I have been. For the past few months,” He admits, “You’re just now noticing?” 

Your mouth dries immediately, dropping your cup from your lips and setting it on the ground as you stare at him in silence trying to process his words but before you can formulate a sentence of “Oh god me too.” those dark eyebrows were knitting together in confusion at your reaction.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He was apologizing now, “It was uncalled for and I didn’t stop to think.” 

Then you were reaching out, touching your hand to his as he stops, staring up at him as you force your mouth to work. “Hajime, do you like me?” You question, trying out his first name in your mouth and oh yes, you could get used to that. You knew the answer, hell he had basically admitted it moments ago, but you had to be certain before you crossed the barrier you both had put up.

He hesitates, eyes locked with yours as he tries to figure out what exactly you were thinking, and how he should respond before he shrugs, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “Yes...I like you, Y/N.”

You’re moving then, hand pulling back from his to reach for his face instead, he head tilting to rest in your palm carefully as he looks at you cautiously. “This is where you tell me to stop.” You offer him a way out still. 

His eyes harden for a moment as he makes up his decision before he is reaching out with his own hands, trapping your face between them as he pulls you in to him, lips mashing against yours and oh, oh you are convinced this the moment you must have died and gone to heaven at some point because there is no way possible something could ever possibly feel this good. 

His lips are soft, with a faint taste of beer to them as his tongue presses cautiously to your bottom lip in question, and you part your own lips, inviting his tongue into your mouth. One of your hands finds it’s way tangled in his hair holding him against you as the other slides down his body, feeling lean muscle under skin. 

His own hands investigate downwards also, settling on holding your waist as he encourages your touch, squeezing lightly every once in a while in reassurement. 

You aren’t sure who stops the kiss, but you both pull back, panting lightly as you stare at the others face. “I don’t regret it,” his voice is rough, scratchy with something you can't describe but you can’t help but grin looking at him.

“I don’t either,” You promise and then he is smiling and you can feel your heart flutter at it. “Good.” he responds and then he is pulling you back into his arms, your head resting on his chest as he leans his head onto yours and you can hear the drumming of his heart in excitement. 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m really glad ShittyKawa dragged me here tonight,” He admits and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your throat.

“I am too.”

[justanobsessedfangirl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Chapter 3 - The Maze Runner Newt Fic

Request from aw0kenangel: Oh shit oh shit The angst 😳 GIVE ME THE ANGST -also question/kind of a suggestion or idea, maybe Thomas could come up in the box next and he and the reader spark a close friendship; ADDING TO THE ANGST HELL YEAH *ahem* sorry

Are you in my head? How’d you know Thomas was coming up ;))))))) 

Request from Anonymous: i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but part 3 of the cheating newt one? if not sorry to bother. <3

I love receiving requests, don’t ever worry about being a bother!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 |  Chapter 5

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

“Find anything new?”

You slowed to a stop as you came out of the Maze. Swiping at the sweat on your forehead, you shook your head at Minho. Your feet ached, your calves burned, and all you wanted to do was sit down, but you had to play your part in the conversation. “The new Greenie came up today, right?”

Minho nodded. It was strange to see him at this time of day, near sunset, not dirty from hours of running. It had been his day off, so he was clean and refreshed and exactly the opposite of you.

“How is he?” you asked. “Or she?” You felt your chest tighten, so slight it was almost unnoticeable. Is the Greenie another Margaret? Your heart thumped painfully against your ribs. Another Newt?

A month wasn’t enough time to adjust to your new reality. A reality where you didn’t kiss Newt, didn’t touch Newt, didn’t even talk to Newt. A reality where you avoided the only other girl in the Glade because every time you saw her you could imagine her lips on his.

You needed to move. You started for the Runner’s Hut, Minho matching your easy jog.

“He tried to run into the Maze.”

You laughed. “Maybe he’ll replace you.”

Minho snorted. “He’s a Slopper for sure.”

You reached the Hut with a smile on your face. “Does he know his name?” As you opened the door, you glanced back to see Minho shake his head. “He’ll get it eventually. Where is he now?”

Minho hesitated. When he finally spoke, his words were quick, like he was hoping they wouldn’t stick. “With Newt.”

You busied yourself getting paper and a pencil, trying to ignore the way your insides froze at the sound of his name.

“But he’ll be at the bonfire tonight. The Greenie. Not Newt. Newt doesn’t usually go anymore...” Minho trailed off.

Unspoken words hung in the air like a bad smell. He doesn’t go anymore because he’s afraid you’ll be there. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that; it was exactly why you didn’t go either.

With a shrug, you sat down. Relief flooded your legs. “I think I’m gonna call it a night after this. Maybe I’ll meet the Greenie tomorrow.” You started mapping the section of the Maze you ran that day.

Minho sat down next to you. “You haven’t been to a bonfire in a while.”

You shrugged again.

“It’ll be fun.” He paused. “You can still have fun, you know.”

Your teeth clenched. The next couple of lines you drew were dark, and you pressed the pencil tip so hard it almost snapped. “I don’t have time for that.”

Minho leaned back in his chair. “Yes, you do, Y/N, you just don’t want to. I know you want to get out of the Maze, but you need to relax sometimes too.” He stood up, walking behind you. “Your shoulders aren’t supposed to be up by your ears!” He put his hands on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

You managed a small smile. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Minho brought it up, but now, with his warm touch, you could feel how tight you were. Everything about you was coiled, ready to spring up and bolt if you needed to.

“There you go,” Minho said, rubbing your shoulders. “Much better. You have a neck again.”

You spun around and jabbed his side. Minho danced out of the way, cackling. He strode to the door, leaving you and your map. 

“I’ll see you at the bonfire, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder as he ducked out.

Before you could think of all of the reasons why you shouldn’t go, Newt and Margaret and sleep and escape, you heard yourself agree.

The Runner’s Hut was silent after Minho left. You found yourself mapping faster, a small, hidden part of you eager to be with people, mingling around the fire, maybe indulging in a few sips of Gally’s moonshine. A while later, you were done drawing the path you took that day. You locked your map in the trunk with the others. For a few seconds, you couldn’t walk away. You lingered in the Hut, thinking of the maps, thinking of the Maze, thinking, thinking, thinking. Flames of anger licked at the edge of your mind. There was still so much to do. You were about to crack open the trunk again to see if you could piece anything together when you heard the faint roar of the Gladers at the bonfire. 

Swallowing your feelings, you spun on your heel and left the Runner’s Hut.

Night had come while you were inside. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, thousands and thousands of stars surrounding it. You followed the smoky scent to the bonfire. Some boys sat on logs around it, chatting, but a large group was off to the side, forming a ring so thick you couldn’t see what was going on in the center. Their voices fought, shouts against cheers against insults. You heard, “Get him!” and “Shank!” and “Klunk!” and other, more barbaric jeers.

You spotted the back of Minho’s head and weaved your way around bodies as you approached him. When you got there, you jabbed a finger into his side, making him jump.

“You shank-” he whirled. A smile broke on his face when he saw you.

You mustered up the courage to smile back, despite the anxiety chewing at your nerves. Your eyes darted from Minho to the surrounding boys, hoping not to see Newt or Margaret, while also praying that you would see them, hopefully separate from each other, hopefully sad. Was that a flash of her hair, glowing red in the light of the fire?

Before you could get a better look, Minho looped an arm around your shoulder and steered you to his side. A couple of boys were still in front of you, blocking your way. “The Greenie’s in there with Gally!” Minho yelled over the noise. He forced himself between the pair in front of you, dragging you along.

“Sorry,” you called, ducking around elbows and slipping past long legs. When you finally faced the center of the circle, you were met with a scene of violence.

Gally’s hands were curled into meaty fists, the muscles of his arms on full display. His right hand was bloody, but you weren’t sure if it was his, because, scrambling up from the ground in front of Gally, was a bleeding boy you didn’t recognize. He had short brown hair and a split lip. Where Gally was strong the way Builders are, all mass and height and power, the Greenie was lean muscle, built for speed.

Gally lunged. The Greenie ducked out of the way in the nick of time, giving Gally a swift push in the side that sent him sprawling to the ground. The Greenie had time for a smile, a few seconds to relish in the wild applause, and then Gally, on his back in the dirt, delivered a sharp kick to the Greenie’s legs. The Greenie went down, his head slamming to the ground.

“Cheap shot,” you muttered to Minho. 

Minho’s eyes were alight with excitement. “No one’s knocked Gally down for at least the past three bonfires.”

“Maybe the Greenie won’t be a Slopper after all.” You kept your eyes on the new boy. He was lifting his head, his lips moving, but you were too far and the crowd was too loud for you to hear anything. “What’s he saying?”

Around you, the boys were quieting as the Greenie stood.

“Thomas!” the Greenie said. “My name is Thomas!”

There was a beat of silence. Then, from across the circle, Alby pointed at the Greenie and yelled, “Thomas!”

The people around you took it up as though it was a war cry. “Thomas!” they shouted. “Thomas!” Just like that, the circle broke, a mob converging on Thomas to pat his back and shake his hand and let him know that he was one of you.

The swarm of people lasted only a few minutes, but the connection you felt with the other Gladers seemed like it would exist forever. You were one, welcoming Thomas into the sea. Minho was on your right and a Slicer, maybe Winston, was on your left, and in front of you was Clint holding two glasses of moonshine, and little Chuck was somewhere amongst you all, his high voice sounding a cheer that could be heard above the deeper tones of the other boys. For those few seconds, you were unified.

Eventually, people trickled away. Some went to the fire, others to the food, others to the drinks. Gally had disappeared, maybe going into hiding to nurse his wounded ego. Still standing where his triumph had taken place was Thomas, and next to him, you, Minho, and Chuck lingered.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. Now that you were close to Thomas, you could see he had brown eyes and a few moles dotted across his cheeks. He gave you a shy smile and nodded.

“I’m Thomas. In case you missed it.”

Chuck giggled. His face was red and his smile huge. “How could anyone miss that? I bet we woke all the Grievers!”

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted from cheerful to tense. You and Minho glared at Chuck. Blood drained from the boy’s face. He clapped his hands over his mouth.

“What’s a Griever? People keep mentioning them but they won’t explain,” Thomas said. He waited, but neither you nor Minho said a word. “No one answers any questions here.”

It’s for your own good, you thought, it’s safer this way. Sometimes you wished you didn’t know about Grievers. They were walking nightmares, armed with hundreds of different, painful ways to kill someone. It wasn't enough that you had to risk running into them in the Maze. They infiltrated your dreams. How many nights had you awoken in Newt's arms after seeing him get torn apart over and over again? Even now, when your relationship with him was so messy, you wished you could scourge that image from your mind. You wished you could forget about the Grievers.

But that would make you less aware in the Maze. It might even make you think that staying in the Glade was the right thing to do. So, as a Runner, it was your duty to remember the Grievers. To remember the danger. And, as you looked at Chuck, the youngest boy in the Glade, and Thomas, who was still new enough not to be stripped of his innocence, you recognized that it was also your duty to protect them from that knowledge. 

“It was nice meeting you, Thomas.” You began walking away. Minho nodded at Thomas and joined you.

From behind, you heard Chuck’s voice, eager for redemption. “You should hang out with us on your next day off, Y/N!”

As you were turning around to give Chuck and Thomas a smile and an apology (like hell you were taking a day off any time soon) someone else spoke up.

“That’s a good idea.” Newt was approaching the group. He walked slowly, hesitantly. His shoulders were slumped like he was tired, and there was something about his face that seemed different.

You froze.

“I was looking at the schedule yesterday,” Newt continued. He wouldn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his features hardly visible in the dim light. Half of you wanted to see his eyes, while the other half wanted him to shut up and leave you alone. “You were supposed to rest three days ago.”

Your heart ached at his accent. You gritted your teeth and steeled yourself. “I wasn’t tired.” This was the first time you’d spoken since the time you’d rejected his apology. Pretty weak apology, you thought, remembering his excuse of never seeing another girl and getting “caught up”. In an instant, unresolved rage rushed through your body. You squeezed your fists. You needed to keep this in check. Not in front of the Greenie. Not in front of Chuck and Minho. Not at the bonfire.

“Minho, you know the protocol. She’ll get injured if you let her keep doing this.” Forgotten notes of protectiveness seeped into Newt’s voice. He couldn’t act like this anymore; not after what he’d done.

You opened your mouth.

Minho beat you. “I know.” He looked down at you regretfully. “I’m the Keeper. You need to listen to me if you want to keep your job. And if I want to keep mine.”

You stared at him, lips pursed together. Curses and insults bubbled in your mouth.

“You’re taking tomorrow off,” he said.

“I can’t take tomorrow off! I’m supposed to cover Hank’s section!”

Minho frowned. You wouldn’t look at Newt. You refused to. 

“Fine. After tomorrow you’re taking a day off.” Minho’s tone was firm.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to turn on Newt and tell him off. You wanted to shake some sense into these people. Didn’t they understand how important this was?

“It’ll be fun, Y/N. You’ll like hanging out with us,” Chuck piped up. He sounded genuinely excited, if a little afraid that you’d start yelling at him. Next to him, Thomas stood silently, watching with intelligent brown eyes.

You deflated in a long exhale. “Fine.” You spat the word like it was poison. You gave Minho one last betrayed look, then walked away without a goodbye. Not to Thomas or Chuck, and definitely not to Newt.

The bonfire was over.

You ran angry the next day. With sharp eyes, you scanned every stone on the walls and ground, every patch of dirt, every tangle of vines. Even though you were in a different section, it was all still the same. There was nothing out of the ordinary. You weren’t expecting a glowing exit sign, but you did want something. This couldn’t be a puzzle without a solution.

At one point during the day, when the sun was still high overhead, you thought you heard a scream. It was faint, but it made you stop in your tracks, hold your breath, and wait to hear it again. After nearly a minute had passed with no new noises, you continued running.

Was the scream a sign? Should you try to run towards it? What if it wasn’t a scream, but the screech of metal as a new door opened?

Your legs moved faster. You searched every passage. Every nook and cranny and every dead end. And you found nothing.

You arrived back at the Glade early, sweaty and sore and disappointed. You’d spent the last hour or so trying to tamp down your frustration at your forced rest day tomorrow. You were so angry that you almost ignored Minho when you saw him in the Runner’s Hut. The look on his face made you pause.

“What happened?” you asked.

He was sitting, maps spread in front of him. His eyebrows were scrunched in worry, his mouth twisted in a frown. All of the playfulness had left his expression. Behind you, the sound of the door opening made you turn. Alby walked in. You whipped around to face Minho again as you caught sight of Newt trailing behind your leader.

Just that slight glimpse of him was enough to confirm what you’d thought at the bonfire last night: he was thinner, more somber looking. There were dark circles under his eyes. For a brief second, you let yourself wonder where he was sleeping. Was Margaret not as comfortable to sleep next to as you were? Did he miss the bed you’d shared? Did he miss you?

Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Ben got stung.”

You blinked. “During the day? How?”

Alby and Newt took seats at the table, the latter boy choosing the spot farthest away from where you stood. Alby was the one who answered you. “We don’t know.”

You pulled out a chair and sat. Your hands felt numb. Beneath the table, your legs shook. “Is he still...” you trailed off.

Alby nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “He’s alive in the Slammer. Some Builders are keeping guard.”

Your wide eyes prompted Minho to add, somewhat reluctantly, “He tried to kill Thomas.”

Icy dread flooded your lungs. Your stomach was in your heart, your heart was gone, because instead of a steady pounding you just felt sick. 

You knew Ben. You’d ran with him and laughed with him and lived in this stupid shucking Glade with him, and now, because of a Griever and an unlucky day, he was someone else.

“Y/N-” Newt started, his voice soft.

“Is Thomas okay?” you interrupted. After Minho nodded, you asked, “When is Ben getting banished?” You looked from Minho to Alby, ignoring Newt with every fiber of your being.

“Tonight. Soon,” was Alby’s reply.

You nodded. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you made the numbness go away, replaced with jittery energy. “We’ll have to look in the Maze for any clues tomorrow. Did Ben say where it happened?” You slid one of the maps in front of Minho toward you. “I’ll check out his section tomorrow, we can have someone else cover mine, and-”

“You’re not going, Y/N.” Minho’s voice was hard. When you looked up at him, his face was like stone.

“What?”

“You still need to rest. This doesn’t change that.”

You looked around incredulously. One of them had to see how ridiculous this was. Alby stared back at you, unrelenting. Newt’s eyes were softer. You felt your gaze stop on him. His brown eyes were deep pools of pleading. You could practically hear him in your ear, his accent thick, his words laced with care, as he told you you needed to take a day off.

You forced your eyes back on Minho. “How could this not change everything?” You struggled to keep from shouting. “I’m one of the best Runners! You need me out there.”

"You're wearing yourself out, Y/N. You and I both know that," Minho said.

Your muscles pulsed with soreness in response. You thought of how painful sleeping was, not just because you were alone but because your body never stopped throbbing, and even though every bone in your body ached with exhaustion, your mind could never quiet. "I'm fine," you insisted.

“Minho and I are going to run Ben’s section,” Alby said.

“No offense, Alby, but-”

“Y/N, I think you should leave.” Alby’s tone was more serious than you’d ever heard.

You shook your head. “I still have to draw my map,” you said stubbornly.

Alby rose. “Then we’ll go to the Homestead.”

At his words, Minho and Newt stood up and made for the door, giving you sympathetic looks that you wanted to throw back in their faces. Minho had the gall to pat you on the shoulder. You glared at them.

As he stood in the door, waiting for Minho and Newt to leave, Alby said, in a kinder manner than before, “We’ll tell you everything when we get back tomorrow. We know how good you are. We can’t afford you getting an overuse injury." He stared you directly in your eyes and you saw the smallest shred of fear. "Not right now.”

And then he was gone and you were alone in the Runner’s Hut. The table was clean; you hadn’t noticed Minho take the maps. Moving as if in slow motion, you gathered pencil and paper and began to draw.

So much had happened in one month. How was that possible? You squeezed the pencil tighter, willing your hands to stop shaking. You thought you might cry. You thought you might rip apart the map in front of you. You thought you might shatter into pieces because everything was going wrong and you were no closer to getting out and now your friends were getting hurt and soon you would be even lonelier.

Time passed without you realizing. You must have sketched your section of the Maze five times. Every time you finished, you got another piece of paper. You needed to keep your hands busy. You needed to feel like you were doing something.

Outside, the walls began to rumble. You drew faster. Ben was probably at the entrance right now. Who was pushing him in? Was Ben crying? Was he begging? Was he so damaged from the Griever sting that he was still trying to attack his friends?

Your pencil ripped through the paper and you were drawing on the table and your face was wet and your breath was shaky. The pencil tip snapped. You flung it across the room and dropped your head in your hands and cried.

There wasn’t enough air. Or maybe you just had too many tears. There were tears for Newt and the kiss that felt like it’d happened so long ago, there were tears for Thomas and being attacked in a strange place, there were tears for Chuck for being so young, there were tears for Alby for having to act so old, there were tears for Minho and Ben and all of the other Runners who risked their sanity and their lives and sometimes didn’t get lucky.

You never heard the door open and close. You saw someone set a plate with a sandwich in front of you. You felt their arm settle across your shoulders. You smelled Newt and he smelled like home, and so you pushed away your shame and leaned into him.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you, and when you wrapped your arms around his waist, he let you hold him. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, right by your ear. The ghost of his lips hovered a hair’s length from your skin.

Neither of you said a word.

[belpheroo]

Title: A “maybe” Pairing: Belphegor x MC Summary: Belphie is guilt-ridden, but also horny. Funny how often those two things coincide when you catch feels for the girl you killed. Rating: this one is G despite that summary LOL Notes: This story kinda functions under the assumption that while Belphie was imprisoned the MC developed feels and those feels have continued on while Belphie’s are shiny and new. I may do a part 2!

There were things that Belphegor, given his passed actions, was willing to accept. The silence that overcame a room the moment he entered and even the suspicious, hostile stares of his brothers was something he knew he deserved to endure and he did so without complaint.

Anger, resentment, judgment… he had felt the burn of those emotions himself, burrowing within his body as surely as the arrows that had burrowed into Lilith’s. Each ache, each flare of pain had been as dear to him as every one of her embraces. He had nurtured his hatred like a precious flower until it unfurled in his chest with petals as black as old blood. He empathized with that. He understood that.

What he did not understand, was how she immediately cheerfully welcomed him to the breakfast table, set him a plate and asked him how he had slept.

At first, Belphie figured it was a game, a show of indifference or forgiveness of his crime in order to quell the awkward tension in the room. And yet… there was nothing indifferent in her acceptance of his request to spend time with her, or how she did not even flinch in his presence.

What time he did spend with her was usually between walls of plaster and paint, connected by the screen of their D.D.D.’s alone. Anything else was chaperoned by another brother, sometimes two or three. Belphie found quickly that all his attempts to be alone with her in person were thwarted spectacularly by Mammon or Beel often enough that he knew it was by design.

Still, Belphegor did not complain. Of all the dangers she had faced in Devildom, of all the threats… he had proved himself the worst.

Thinking of such things made his hands throb, the memory of her soft yielding skin beneath them and the rapid pulse of her throat until it had slowly… softly…. stopped.

He’d tear the skin from his palms if he knew it would make the phantom sensation of her life being squeezed out by his hands go away. Instead he’d clench his fists, holding until the joints of his fingers screamed for release and his nails bit into his palms, leaving red half-moons indented in his skin.

It would have been easier if she hated him. Feared him. He could quantify those things, he could accept them.

But this? This was torture beyond his comprehension.

She’d invited him to watch some DVD of Mammon’s with her and Beel in their shared room. She was already sitting on one end of the sofa, chattering to Beel over some nonsense that had transpired with Mammon and Asmo that afternoon.

He would have been content to sit on the other end of the couch, leaving Beel free to sit between them like a protective detail… but instead, the moment he had sat, she quickly moved across the length of the sofa and curled up next to him.

Pressed flush to his side, Belphegor felt his breath catch as she lifted up his unresisting arm and tucked her head beneath, content to let his arm rest around her shoulders. Belphie quickly moved it to rest over the back of the sofa, noting with a quick glance that at least for now, Beel had not reacted.

He was too busy putting in the DVD and adjusting the TV. After that, his twin was too busy gathering up a large bowl of popcorn and making himself comfortable next to her and she happily adjusted to accommodate being squished between the both of them.

Belphegor didn’t know why, but it made him curl his arm just a little bit closer towards her as Beel munched happily from a big bowl of popcorn. There were pretzels and chocolate candies mixed into the batch, which Beel graciously offered a smaller bowl of to her.

She rested the bowl on Belphie’s lap, happy to force him to play side table as the lights dimmed and the DVD started.

Belphie convinced himself, willed himself to believe it wasn’t that bad. This was nice, wasn’t it? Compared to hatred and brimstone and fury? Right?

And then her hand reached down into the bowl, moving it around as she scooped out the treats, every tiny movement of her fingers against the plastic barrier sending a direct line of sensation against his thighs. With an exasperated sigh, Belphie quickly lifted the bowl up and shoved it back into her hands.

“I can’t sleep if you do that.” He said in a harsh hush.

“You aren’t supposed to sleep during the movie, stupid.” She whispered back in reply.

“You aren’t supposed to talk during one either, stupid.” Belphie replied, but to his surprise he could see her grinning in the faint light, eyes dancing with unspoken humor. She put the bowl back in his lap.

He wished he was trapped back in the attic; he wished he was imprisoned in heaven; he wished he was on the fucking moon as long as it wasn’t here with her body warming his and her scent in his nose and the feeling of her throat cracking beneath his palms.

Belphie took in a deep breath and let it go slowly, quietly clenching his hand into the fabric of the back of the couch until he was certain he’d have lines imprinted on his skin. He let the memory wash over him and then recede, refocusing his attention to the film and finding it was some weird detective-comedy-romance blend. It was insipid and perfectly Mammonish, but even she sometimes laughed at the terrible jokes.

At one point, he felt her weight shift, leaning to the side as she whispered something quietly to Beel. Something prickled in his chest. She leaned further, cool air touching where she had once been at his side and without thinking, he released the couch and took hold of her shoulder, pulling her back firmly.

“… I’m cold.” Belphie offered in his defense, trying to cut the sudden surge of tension that had Beel frozen, not even chewing as he stared at his twin.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, settling back against him, “I could get a blanket and tuck you in if you want?”

“N-no!”

Heaven’s sake, now he sounded like Mammon.

“Just quit wiggling so much.”

In direct opposition of his request, she wiggled all over, giggling like a fool. Belphie instinctively held tighter until whatever seizure of defiance passed her and she settled again, breathing a bit heavier, against his chest.

There wasn’t going to be room for her damn bowl if she kept trying to half crawl into his lap. It never, thankfully, went that far. The film flickered on and Belphie felt the slow creep of sleep inch its way into his eyes and into his breathing, the demands of being the Avatar of Sloth rising up, unchecked and uncontrollable as Beel’s hunger.

He tilted his head back and let oblivion have him.

—

“You missed it.”

A voice sliced through the dark, close and warm on his cheek like the soft exhale of breath… because that is what it was. He opened one eye to spot her, whispering close to his ear. Judging by the great collapsed mass next to them, Beel hadn’t made it any further than he had, the empty popcorn bowl discarded on the floor along with several wrappers, bags and empty cans he didn’t remember having been there before.

“Tragic.”

“Beel’s in a food coma. I went and got him more snacks half-way through.”

“You got up?”

She hummed her confirmation quietly, “You got mad at me when I came back.”

“I don’t remember.” Belphie grumbled.

“You told me to ‘take responsibility’ and grabbed me by the scruff like a cat.”

At the very idea, Belphie felt his muscles tense… which drew his attention to the fact his hand was still rested on the back of her neck, fingers buried into her hair.

“… is that why you’re this close?”

“You wouldn’t let go!”

He started to, slowly letting his grip loosen all the while keenly aware of the strands of her hair tickling across his skin.

“Kinda late now.” She said in reply, quick and defensive. Did she… not want him to stop?

“I wondered if you were dreaming about throttling me again.” She said, far too cheerful. The words were like ice thrown over him, seeping immediately through his skin and chilling his blood. And yet at the same time, he let go of her as if he had been burned. He tried to repress a shudder.

“No,” Belphie managed to croak, “I wasn’t dreaming. I… I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You repeated yourself.”

“Get off me, I’m going to bed.”

“No.”

Childish, defiant, foolish. A thousand insults formed and died on his tongue before they reached her ears as he glared back at her face, still too close and too warm and too beautiful.

“… I’m scared.”

How many times was she going to strike him directly to his very soul? But this was is it, this was the punishment he craved, the anger and the fear he knew should exist between them. He was ready, braced and prepared to hear it, but what came next was… not what he expected.

“I’m scared if I let go now, you’ll never let me this close again.”

“You should be grateful.” Belphie said, more sigh than words, “And you should be scared, but not because of that stupid reason.”

“You won’t hurt me again.”

“The fact you even sound remotely sure of that makes you a complete idiot. I’m a demon, of course I’ll hurt you again.”

“Because you want to?”

“No!”

The word came too fast, too loud. Beel shifted on the couch next to them, but fell back into sleep and did not stir again.

“… you didn’t know I was Lilith’s descendant. If you’d known—”

“You don’t understand anything,” he whispered, harsh and low, “Get off of me.”

And this time, he made to make her, but her arms snaked around his chest and held even tighter. Belphie could have easily pried her off with his superior devil strength, but explaining that to Beel would have been… less than ideal.

Instead he set a tight grip on her upper arms, giving her a warning squeeze.

“What don’t I understand?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You wouldn’t have hurt me if you knew who I was, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

“I do not want to talk about this shit—“

“Isn’t it?”

Belphie felt heat ball up at the base of his throat, so thick and so scorching his one relief was to let it escape.

“I don’t know!”

There was no keeping Beel asleep now, his brother jolting awake. She let go of Belphie then, untangling herself swiftly and instead turning a bright smile that barely reached her eyes towards Beel.

“Good morning! You missed the end of the movie!”

Beel was still mostly groggy, but alerted at the same time, looking between the two of them with wide questioning eyes.

“… why was there shouting?”

“I woke him up!” She said with a cackle, “I deserved it, probably. Anyway, it’s super late and you both got to have a nap and I didn’t!”

Standing up she gave an over exagerated stretch and a yawn which turned genuine half way through. Belphie clutched his jaw together to keep himself from doing the same.

“Come walk me back to my room.” She said, clearly meaning Belphie, not Beel. He thought to refuse, but the look in her eye said that such a refusal would most likely lead to an inexhaustible battle and he was way too fucking tired and too fucking stressed out to go back and forth with her in front of Beel.

“I can come too.” Beel said.

“Nah. It’s just a short walk. Go get in bed, it’s late and Belphie has had more rest than you. He can do it!”

Beel looked uncertain, eyes turning toward Belphie with ill-ease. Of all the brothers though, he was most likely to believe his twin was safe alone with her, that Belphie was certain of. Sighing, Belphie stood up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Beel said nothing, that familiar tension settling over again until, quietly, Beel nodded to himself and smiled.

“Okay…”

“Make sure to brush your teeth, Beel!”

“O-oh. Right… mint does sound good right now.”

—

They had barely made it out into the hall, the door shut behind them, before she picked up their conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’, huh?”

“I mighta done what I did even if I knew who you were. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed it, maybe I would have been pissed Lilith was contaminated by human blood.” He said, cold and factual.

“Is that why you’re holding back?”

“…You’re imagining things.”

She didn’t look at all satisfied, but she fell silent, heading off down the hall towards her room and pausing expectantly a few steps away. Belphie sighed and followed behind.

“I don’t think you would have.”

“Does it matter? I did. There is no taking that back.”

She tilted her head, slowing enough to fall in step with him, “I’m still here.”

“By the very grace of Lilith. And that doesn’t make it better.”

She slowed, falling to a dead stop. Belphie made it a few steps ahead before he stopped, turning towards her with a look that he hoped convinced her to give it up.

“If I told you I hated you, would you stop being like this?”

He felt his heart seize a little, jumping in something akin to anticipation.

“Could we just move on then?”

“I would understand if you did hate me.”

“But you can’t understand that maybe, maybe, I’ve weighed all the weirdness and the madness of this situation and came to the conclusion that there was a lotta bullshit flowing around and it was fate I got caught in the crosshairs? And yeah, that sucks. Being dead for real would have been really shitty and I am mad… at you and at Lucifer and at this entire stupid situation pulling me into a garbage family drama I never asked for.”

She paused, “But it was supposed to happen. Lilith knew and I know now. Nothing anyone coulda done would have changed what happened, it had to happen. It’s why I was brought here to begin with, whether Diavlo knew that or not.”

They were both silent for a stretch, until Belphie couldn’t help but laugh, cold and bitter.

“What? So it’s okay that I murdered you because it was destiny?”

“Attempted murder. And yeah, I think that if I’m gonna be mad, I’m gonna be mad at fate. You? I forgive.”

Belphie hated that word. Hated how easily it came from her lips and hushed the flame of rage in his heart to a quiet simmer. It was never that easy for him to forgive, it shouldn’t be that easy.

“You can’t.” He said, flat and simple.

“Pretty sure that is my call.”

“It’s a stupid call.”

“And it’s mine.”

“And you think that makes it all okay? You think you can just say ‘I forgive you’ and it makes everything better and we can just pretend to be friends?”

“You pretended to be my friend once.” She said, her words a whisper.

“Don’t.”

How that positively gutted sounding voice could be his was beyond Belphie’s comprehension.

“You wanna be hated? You wanna be punished? Too bad. That’s your punishment. You don’t get to be hated.”

His mind whirled, a petal black as night coming free and falling from the flower inside his chest. Wilting, dying. How many had he lost so far? How often had she shaken his resolve and in doing so, began to kill the seed of hatred and anger he had rooted so firmly in his soul?

Belphie didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, shoulders sagging as a new wave of exhaustion hit over him, taking with it any resistance he had left in its tide.

“Fine.” He said, trying to force what was left of his resolve into that word if only to give the illusion she hadn’t really won.

“Fine.” She repeated, crossing her arms and glaring back at him.

“Can you make it to your own room now? Can I go?”

“No.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“W-what?! How did that become an—! Oh… you meant…”

Belphie resisted the urge to roll his eyes… well, at least for a few seconds.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Asmo.”

“And whose dumb-obstinate fault is that?” She retorted, smiling despite the redness in her cheeks.

“Yours, stupid human.”

“Yours, lazy cow.”

A smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and he quickly tried to hide it.

“I want a hug.”

God, how did an adult woman manage to sound so pouty? Belphie could barely contain a scoff as he saw the way her brow furrowed and her bottom lip stuck out a bit more. He tried to ignore the voice inside him that wanted to set his teeth into it… that wanted to find out if she still tasted like popcorn and chocolate.

“Too much.”

“What about a pat?”

Belphie groaned, but after a moment, gestured a little with his hand to indicate she should come closer. She did so eagerly.

“Your tail is wagging.” Belphie said with a sigh, gently resting his hand on top of her head and soothing his fingers down the strands, brushing them passed her temple and tucking them behind her ear.

“I don’t have one.” She said, a look of disappointment coming over her features when he stopped touching her hair.

“Still wagging.”

He caught her under the chin with the back of his index finger, tilting her head to the side before he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. The touch was featherlight and fleeting, like the soft opening and closing of a butterfly wings on her skin.

“Go to bed.” He said quietly.

“I want a kiss.” She replied, just as softly and Belphie felt a whole new sensation burst somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You’ve had one.”

“I want another.”

“…Not tonight.”

“But sometime?”

Belphie didn’t answer, leaving the question an open note hanging in the air.

A someday, an almost... a maybe.

[hoodoo12]

Tentacles

Lawrence Beetlejuice Shoggoth, true to his surname, has tentacles. You want to see them; under some duress, he’s acquiesces. You need to make him understand it’s okay. Takes place following Beetlejuice Squared 2, Kiss Me Again ending.  See the title? This is a dead dove, don’t eat kind of story. NSFW; Blumjuice/f!reader. Tentacles, hardcore tentacles, and some tentacles.  @turtlepated @beetlebitchywitch @thirstypastelnacht @sapphic-florals @beetlejuicebeadoll

Enjoy!

“Can I see them?” Although you’d both been laying comfortably in bed, Beetlejuice tensed and sighed, a little. Ever since his fight with the shorter, asshole version of himself--he wasn’t letting that nickname go--that’d you’d banished, he’d refused to show you the shadowy tentacles that comprised some of his true form, no matter how or when you asked. But lying here, warm, with your head in the crook of his arm and shoulder and with your fingernails scratching lightly down the opposite side of his chest, making occasional pit stops to very gently tug his nipple shield, you hoped this time he’d give in. “I’m . . . worried, babydoll,” he whispered. 

That was new. Usually he just told you no! You shifted a little so you could look up at him. His hair, although mostly green with some locks of pink, took on a deeper, purplish shade near the roots. 

“Worried? About what?” you asked. Were those tentacles uncontrollable? Would they attack you? Were they sentient, like Doctor Octopus’s arms from Spiderman, and they would tear you apart? Were they rape-y? Beej dropped his eyes. “I’m worried . . .” he repeated, then stopped again for a moment before his voice became a near whisper. “I’m a demon, babydoll. If I showed you my true form, even part of my true form like my . . . tentacles, I’m worried you wouldn’t want me any more. I’m worried I’ll scare you, that I’ll just be a monster in your eyes then, and you’ll . . . kick me out.” The rejection part of his worry you understood. The other part, about seeing him as a monster? That made your brow furrow in confusion. You’d already seen him in that state once, during that horrible fight that ended with you banishing the other version of him away, and you reminded him of it. “Beej, sweetie, I saw you like that. And yeah, there was lots that was terrifying that night, but when it was over? They, the tentacles I mean, were all soft around me. I wasn’t afraid when you came up to me afterward. I won’t be afraid now!” you insisted. He nodded, but didn’t lift his head to look at you. “Why do you want to see them, baby?” he asked his chest. You lifted his chin. “Because they’re part of you. I want to know you.”

You’d learned that genuine interest in him made him flustered. His roots and now even some of the hair on his chest became a deeper pink. His mood ring hair, you’d called it once, and that made it even worse for him. At least he looked you in the eyes again. You loved the deep amber of them. “Really, babydoll?” “Yes. Really!” He licked his lips, and you got the hint of a split tongue, although you’d never actually proven it. Maybe that was next, after these tentacles you’d been wanting to see again! Beetlejuice sighed softly, and kicked the blankets and sheets off the two of you. Excited, but trying to restrain yourself because maybe it was unseemly to be too eager, you sat up and gave him some room. 

There was no flash of light, or pressure on your ears, or any displacement of air. Beetlejuice, laying naked on your perfectly normal mattress, was simply, suddenly, enveloped with countless tentacles, each writhing separately, each as black as pitch. They seemed to move of their own accord, exploring the mattress, pillow, and sheets. Anything near them was touched. The fact that they appeared between one blink and the next was the most frightening thing about them; not that you’d ever tell him that! You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Beetlejuice ducked his head, misinterpreting your reaction. 

“There. You saw them,” he said, and it was plainly obvious to you he was going to hide them again, after only a second’s exposure. You grabbed his hand, and immediately several tentacles from that side wrapped around your arm. You sucked in a breath, this time. 

“Don’t you dare!” you warned him, without explicitly telling him what you meant. His amber eyes flicked up to yours, and he pleaded, “But--” “But nothing. I want to see them!”

Dejected, he once again dropped his gaze away from you, but the tentacles stayed. You hated when he looked so defeated or resigned. That wasn’t your intention at all! You just wanted to know more; you were fascinated. You released his hand but kept your arm near him. Not that you’d have much choice, anyway; the tentacles that had caught you hadn’t let go, squeezing your arm with varying degrees of pressure. A different one snaked up to your armpit, and the exploring tip tickled. You gently grabbed it with your other hand. “Sorry,” Beetlejuice apologized softly, even though his head was still down. 

“Do they come out of your back?” you asked, as the tentacle you’d caught strained a little to get out of your grip. He gave a half shrug. “They can come from anywhere. It’s just easier to have my arms free.” Although he hadn’t moved, more grew interested in you and crept over to explore you. Several draped over his front, cloaking him in their writhing mass in an effort to get to you. They were soft; they felt like solid muscle encased in a slightly tacky velvet dragging over your skin. The tips had more dexterity, of course, nudging along you as if they were tasting. The thicker sections were heavy, and you could imagine being caught and crushed or smothered by their weight. One slipped around your neck while others delved into your hair. Once one discovered that poking and curling around one of your nipples made it tighten, another did the same to your other tit. Your arm hadn’t been released; two tentacles there seemed content to hold on to you, wrapped from wrist to elbow. 

That didn’t prevent you from reaching to a thicker one near your hip and tentatively stroking it. They all jerked enmass at that, either jumping off your skin momentarily or pulling you along a little if they didn’t release you entirely. At the same time, Beetlejuice groaned softly. “Can you feel everything they feel?” “Yes,” he admitted, like he was ashamed of that fact. Your brow furrowed at the tone of his response. He didn’t see it because his eyes were downcast. Although he was blanketed, it seemed to you he was holding himself very still and stiff. He gave off the impression that, since you’d insisted to see these appendages, he’d much prefer to have curled in on himself. How would you convince him that you weren’t horrified? That you weren’t disgusted? With a smirk that once again he didn’t see, you stroked the same tentacle again. Once again, they all jerked, although in a slightly less surprised manner. His groan in response was as loud, however. Still concerned he was going to send them away, you pushed your hand wrapped so nicely by his tentacles through the nest covering him to rest on his chest. Immediately the ones covering him added their pressure to the two around your arm, and finally, he glanced up at you again. “Stay still,” you said, lifting the second word to mimic a question.

Beetlejuice licked his lips and gave a single, quick nod.

It may be slightly reluctant, but it was still agreement. With that, you drew your free hand along the length of one tentacle, then another, then another. They all practically vibrated under your touch, and several others attempted to nose their way into your hand, like a pack of jealous dogs vying for your attention. You laughed, and obliged. Beetlejuice seemed to relax a little. More confident that the specter below you wasn’t going to move now, you extracted your other hand from the mass on his chest. There was a bit of resistance, like they weren’t going to let you go, and you could understand how terrifying it would be to have them crushing you with ill-intent. But you were insistant, and they gradually let you have your hand back, although you couldn’t shake loose from the two that had taken up residence on your other arm. 

Still, with both hands free, it gave you the opportunity to use them both, wrapping one over the other to pull upwards on one tentacle, lacing your fingers together to stroke the thickest one you discovered, and use both at the same time on different ones. Through all your stroking, you didn’t miss that Beetlejuice had continued to relax his body but jerked occasionally, and random moans slipped from his mouth. You’d been distracted by petting and getting used to feeling this shadow mass. When you finally glanced up at him again, you found him watching you play with eyes so dark they’d lost most of their pretty color.  His lips were partially opened, and his tongue ran over the darker center of them. Your tongue wet your own lips in response. You brought the tentacle you’d been holding closer to your face. Without breaking eye contact with him, the tip of your tongue touched the tip of it, then you pulled it into your mouth with gentle suction.

The word, “fuck,” that slipped from his mouth was drawn out and breathy, and tinged with awed praise. There was no distinct flavor to the tentacle. You sucked it like you would his cock, then found that it continued to writhe a bit in your mouth, so you applied a stronger suction. Beetlejuice gave a full body jerk at that, and now, along with the countless tentacles that touched and surrounded you, his closest hand also found its way to first your shoulder, then your neck, then the back of your head. You met his eyes again, and although his were wider with surprise, there was also no mistaking the arousal there too. 

With that, you sucked and licked each tentacle that came even close to your mouth. With the exception of the first time you’d met him and the other Beetlejuice had been with you, you’d never been with multiple partners; you could only imagine this is what a bukkake gangbang would be like. Sometimes you focused on one appendage, laving it with attention from your tongue as if it was the only one, but the others grew jealous and demanded a turn too. You continued to stroke the others like cocks too, for variety. Beetlejuice moaned and arched beside you, even though you weren’t directly touching his more familiar body. When you were able, you looked at him and saw that the fine tips of some tentacles were teasing his piercings, and another had snaked down to his groin. Before long, your jaw ached and spit had left a thin veneer over the lower half of your face. The tentacles were dripping too, and hadn’t been idle waiting their opportunity to dip into your mouth. They caressed you and squeezed you. One had wound around your upper thigh and applied pleasantly heavy pressure, and when a second one did the same to your other leg, you found your legs spread with very little effort on their part. With a mouthful of another tentacle, you could only cry out around it as you were cradled but shifted into a new position: reclining but not flat on your back, still on your knees, with your thighs spread. While your mouth continued to be filled, a few nosed down to your pussy, and when the tip of one explored your folds and discovered your clit, you arched and moaned. The tip of tentacle in your mouth elongated and brushed the back of your throat. You gagged, and it retreated, allowing you to get a full breath of air. “Sorry,” Beetlejuice apologized. You’d have answered him, would have told him it was okay, but the tentacles at your pussy fondled your clit more plus slipped into you, and you cried out more loudly at the pleasure instead. That made everything more frenzied. From head to toe you were engulfed in them, each trying to touch and squeeze and fondle you. The one--or two, maybe it was two?!--that had pushed into your cunt fucked you just how you liked it, hard and deep, and the one at your clit curled around it more delicately than you’d ever experienced as well. It wrapped completely around your clit and another gently stroked it. Electric bliss shot through you. Your breasts and nipples were squeezed. One nosed your ass, and at this moment in time, supported and crushed so pleasantly by countless tentacles, you’d have been okay with some double penetration, even though you’d never experienced it before. You writhed just as much as they did, moans and gasps filling the air when your mouth wasn’t occupied by one of them as well. 

It was no surprise that when you came, it was explosive; euphoria short circuited most of your nerve-endings and you couldn’t see for several moments. You lost your voice with the intensity of the cry you gave, and your body shook uncontrollably as you came back down. Residual pleasure jolted you more roughly. You felt spent and weak, and were glad for the support all the appendages gave you.

That support made you feel like you were drifting, and it wasn’t until you found yourself with your knees on either side of Beetlejuice’s hips, staddling him, that you realized you had been airborne for a moment; you’d been lifted effortlessly by his tentacles and placed where he wanted you. That was a little scary and hot.

Without hesitation or explanation--although you most certainly knew what the expectation here was--it wasn’t his hand that reached between you to hold his cock steady. One of the tentacles did, and already wet and well used from them, his cock slipped inside you with no resistance, just smooth sweet friction. You arched your back and groaned again. Under you, Beetlejuice did too, tensing his core in lieu of thrusting with your weight on his pelvis. You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest and rolled your hips. He cried out again, overly sensitive as your fingers flicked his piercings.

The shadowy appendages responded to that by swaddling you. Many covered your legs; even more wrapped around your arms. They let you play for a moment longer, applying heavier pressure to his nipples, before they forced your arms up and out to your sides

“Beej--!’ you whined, unable to fight against their strength.

You were held with your arms outstretched, upright but spread-eagled atop him, your torso bare of them with the exception of the thinnest tips of the smallest tentacles squeezing your nipples and dipping down to your pussy to tickle your clit. You writhed in their grip. You writhed at the pleasure of his cock buried deep in your cunt. You writhed at being so exposed to him at his unspoken demand. 

Beetlejuice lifted you slightly off him, still with seemingly no effort, and while you were suspended he fucked upward into you. You cried out till your throat was raw again. You clenched your pussy for him, wanting it to be as tight for him as you could. He continued a pace that should have been too fast for the position you were both in, grunting with each thrust, refusing to close his eyes but instead watching you with deep, hungry lust etched on his face. 

You came again, and another orgasm nipped on the heels of that second orgasm. The third made you weak and you now you relied on his tentacles to keep you upright. You’d have collapsed in a heap on his chest if they hadn’t been there. You were atop him, but it flashed through your mind what it might be like to be pinned down by his tentacles and used however he might want. 

It wasn’t much longer before Beetlejuice couldn’t stave off the inevitable either. Finally his eyes closed and he threw his head back as shoved himself as deeply as he could into your cunt. His hips jerked spasmically as he emptied himself into you. 

For several more moments the two of you were locked in this euphoric haze, then gently, you were set down onto him. His cock slipped out of you and his come leaked from your pussy. You couldn’t care about cleaning up at the moment.

Like the first time you’d seen them, his tentacles enveloped the two of you like a shadowy, gently squirming blanket, holding you close to him. They never warmed, but felt nicely cool against your flushed and sweaty skin.

When a tentacle brushed your face you didn’t think anything of it. When what felt like a finger did, you managed to open your eyes. 

Beetlejuice had a slight smile on his face. His thumb swiped across you cheekbone again, and you realized he was wiping away tears. You didn’t even know you’d been crying. “Beej . . .” you croaked. “You okay, babydoll?”

You nodded feverishly. You wiped your face, including your chin. You hugged him. You’d have liked to held all of him, squeezed all his form in an embrace, but there were too many to be contained. They’d slowed a little, and you felt them move more gently over your skin now. “Are you okay?” you asked in return. Your brain was too blissed out to think of anything more clever to say.. He smiled. “I’m good.”

You settled in against him, and ran your hand over his skin, not his tentacles this time. “I like them,” you told him quietly. “Thank you for finally agreeing to show them to me.” “With your reaction, I should’ve agreed to do it earlier.” You laughed and planted a kiss on his chest. The two of you lay quietly, and gradually, like smoke dissipating in the wind, the tentacles faded away. “You know, if we ever needed to make some cash . . .” you mused. “Hmm?” “ . . . we could always market ‘real life’ tentacle hentai. Porn sites would pay lots for something like that!” He threw his head back and laughed at your suggestion.

fin!

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Hey You

Part 15

I had planned to be so much further in the plot by this chapter and yet here we are. I don't want to say this is a filler chapter, because the reunion of the team and all is important but like, nothing exciting happens here. Very tame. Don't expect anything crazy. That's next chapter.

Special thanks to @cassiopeiathequeen for reading this over for me when I second guessed if I should even post this one or not.

CLOSED list of dinner specials (I'm tired, shush): @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

It took a moment for anyone to move, all still looking back and forth between Jason and her, as though unsure how to proceed.

While they took their sweet time figuring it out, Damian glanced at Jason, then back to her, "I see what you meant now. This will take time to adjust to."

"Oh?" She inquired, a quirk to her eyebrow.

"I keep looking to him, but that isn't correct, is it? It's annoying to think I might accidentally treat him as I treat you just because his flesh prison is the one I am accustomed to."

"Would that be so terrible?" She offered, face barely hinting at amusement.

"Yes."

Chuckling, she drew him closer into her lap where he allowed himself to huddle close, turning to watch the masses once more.

Jason, a state of content shock, kept their hands tightly bound, watching the two before him interact with such ease. Meanwhile the others only just now found the nerve to move fully into the living room, very aware of the two sets of eyes observing them. One pair, they thought they were used to, had seen almost everyday for years, but the glow to them was different. Electric green seemed to spark through the vivid blue, dangerous and wild. 

Kagami never felt fear as a civilian, especially after having been a superhero for so long. Had never felt threatened or like an easy target, but those eyes on her suddenly made her feel like prey in the sights of a killer. The dark green eyes set below only added to this.

Juleka couldn't explain how on edge the little boy put her. His hardened eyes never strayed from their little group, harsh and judging. No child should be so intimidating or coiled so tight, as though to pounce. The protective arms wrapped around him seemed less for their safety, but rather hinted at more than one opponent should things go downhill.

Marc suddenly had a new idea for a story about a lone wolf and her wolf cub, living in the wilderness, avoiding conflict but capable of taking down even the mightiest of warriors. They could wager a guess where that idea came from as they stood behind the armchair Kagami placed herself in, Chloe sitting on the arm of it, Juleka sitting on the carpet between her feet.

As for Chloe, she simply stared at who she could only assume was Jason. That tall, ridiculously muscled man, with his white streak and swimming teal eyes was who they had fought alongside so long? How in the hell did he pull off a tiny little teenage girl for so long? How old was this guy even to have such a scarred, built body? What had Mari been through in her time as him? She couldn't help it, she needed to know.

"Jason, how old are you?"

He startled in his seat, turning to look at her, "uh, well I was a year older than her, so eighteen, I guess."

"Seventeen and a half," Marinette corrected.

"But he said-"

"You don't continue aging in a dead body."

She answered so matter of fact, so flippantly, they fell silent once more. Kagami was the first to regain her bearings.

"Must you be so blunt about it?"

Those eyes swung to focus in on her, sharp with challenge, "Why not?"

Chloe rose to it first, "Because it hurts okay? Your acting like it means nothing, but it does. It hurts-!" 

"Like a crowbar to the face?" She cut in, a dark little smile twisting her face as the green seemed to flash in her eyes.

Damian snickered at the playful jab, adding on, "Such cutting words, Mari, how do they compare to the autopsy?

"Like a gentle caress, little one," her grin becoming more wicked as she nuzzled the top of his head. Right then the hand she forgot was gripping her own became nearly crushing as it shook.

"Fucking hell, Mari," his voice rattled out and as her head jerked in his direction, she saw his crumpled expression break into a broken laugh. He ran his free hand through his hair, "I only found out you were alive an hour ago, could we maybe hold off on the morbid humor?"

"Hey, that means I was alive two and a half more years than you thought though," she attempted to comfort him.

"Yeah? And how were those two years spent?" He snarked back, though she could hear the desperation in his voice, begging to know why she hadn't come back sooner. Hadn't looked for him.

"Curbing my bloodlust," she easily replied, not outwardly reacting, eyes searching his for understanding. The flash of green in his own answered. 

He shook his head and nudged Damian, the boy instinctively moving at the nudge from a familiar hand and looking pissed upon realizing his mistake as he dropped onto the other end of the couch behind where Mari had ended up. Jason heeded him no mind as he pulled Marinette closer until she moved herself into his lap, letting herself marvel at how small she now was.

"Excuse me? Do we just not exist over here?" Chloe snapped into their little bubble.

"I wish," Damian muttered.

"Watch it brat."

"Chloe," Marinette growled out the warning.

The blonde teared up, "Mari, we're friends. You remember right?"

Sighing, she clamped down on the anger, "Of course I remember. Please try to refrain from calling him names though," swiveling towards Damian, who had started smirking, she snapped him out of it, "And Damian, learn tolerance. More people will be entering our lives now and we'll have to navigate around those the other chooses to associate with." He hunched in on himself at her reprimand.

"She lashed out at you. Her feelings about your death are not your fault."

"They aren't, but I also have zero tact about the topic of my demise. Maybe I cannot be blamed for her feelings over my dying, but I could control how hurtful my words are. Then she wouldn't have felt the need to lash out, just as you wouldn't. I won't become more tactful and I'll understand if she doesn't wish to talk to me because of it, but I could have," she turned back to Chloe with that, noticing the contemplative look to some, sadness to others. Jason simply looked like he understood and sympathized.

"So how exactly did this group come to be?"

"It took less than two months for Jason to fire Chat," Juleka spoke up, gripping Kagami's calf from her spot on the floor, purposefully drawing attention to the person she held, " choose her as the new black cat."

"Fair enough, and the rest are holders as well, I presume?"

At this moment, kwamis began to reveal themselves, Longg peeking out of Chloe's bag, Trixx popping out of Marc's hoodie, Mullo showing off their spot amongst Juleka's hair. Tikki eventually floated out of Kagami's blazer, looking at her with forlorn, yet hopeful eyes.

Feeling a purr start up against her neck, she twisted to look up at Jason.

"You two switched?"

"We switch often," Kagami spoke here, cradling Tikki who sat her palm holding back tears at the lack of reaction given, "good for confusing the enemy. They never knew which of us it was until the fighting style gave it away."

"It also became necessary due to my not being a very good fit for Tikki despite my body being the proper match," Jason cut in here.

"Juleka and I switch often as well. Fits us better that way."

"I stay the same, but I have three different forms, so I suppose it's fair," Chloe added.

"And Hawkmoth?"

"Gone. We ended it about a year or so ago," Jason reassured.

Only then did a tiny, happy smile slip onto her face, lightening the atmosphere and allowing everyone in the room to relax.

"Tikki? I've missed you sweetie bug," Mari cooed, the little goddess perking up and launching herself forward into the other side of her neck to cuddle close.

"Mari? I'm so happy you're alive! I missed you so much, you don't even know!" Tikki sniffled then immediately begin to scold her, "don't you ever pull a stunt like that on me again, do you hear? I can't lose you again."

"I know, I'm sorry. I cannot promise that."

"What does that mean?!"

"I might not have known I would die in that moment, but I would do so again," she looked over to Jason now, "I would take that hit again without hesitation. And I'm sure my life being threatened isn't going to suddenly stop. I will however do everything within my abilities to prevent another unnecessary death." 

The kwami gave a little huffy sniffle and ducked back into her neck once more, as Kagami gave a cough. "Don't worry, I have no intention of taking back your miraculous. You fit Tikki quite nicely from what I can tell."

"You.. Don't want me back?" Tikki spoke up.

"It's not that I wouldn't like to have you back by my side, but tell me truthfully Tik. Looking into my soul, could you see me being able to use your miraculous?"

The kwami deflated once more at that, knowing her to be right. At that moment, she felt a small hand softly tap her back before reaching up by her neck and slowly cupping the sleepy cat resting there. Sitting perfectly still until Plagg had been completely extracted, she turned to watch Damian slowly pet the God, the surprisingly docile kwami watching the boy out of the slits of his eyes. 

"What is he?" Damian looked to her, wide eyed and curious.

Chloe spoke up, trying to amend the static from earlier, "He's a kwami. They're like pocket sized Gods, bonded to pieces of jewelry. The person who wears that jewelry is granted the ability to use the corresponding kwami's power. His name is Plagg and he's the kwami of Destruction."

Damian nodded along, eyes filled with wonder as the others took turns introducing the other kwamis in the room, Tikki joining them as Plagg floated back over to Mari. For her part, Mari relaxed further as the others became purposefully distracted so as not to overwhelm each other any further, while also keeping Damian occupied.

Turning to greet Plagg, she offered a considering look, "You were on my person in the cafe."

He nodded.

"You adjusted my aim during the attack."

"You were going to kill them," he tensed up, tone defensive.

"I know."

"Marinette-"

"I'm glad you stopped me. They were not lives that needed taken."

"You've changed so much," the cat kwami sounded remorseful and desolate, taking her in, soul and all. 

"I have. You still love me though?"

"Course I do, sweetheart," the big green eyes teared up, never good at hiding his real feelings around her, especially now that he could see his own destruction magic in her soul and consuming Jason's body.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke out to the room, informing them that she'd be in the kitchen, making lunch. They all nodded in agreement, knowing they all needed the space to figure out their thoughts.

Jason followed her, "Mind if I join you?"

Turning around, knowing they no longer had an audience, she let her tears fall freely, speaking softly to not alert the others "Jay? This is real isn't it? You're really here?"

Holding her by the shoulders, he leaned down to meet her eyes, "shouldn't I be the one asking that?" He teased, smiling at her small laugh, "This is some surreal shit, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she choked out, rubbing her eye as she pushed forward and pressed her face to his chest, wrapping herself around him, feeling his arms hover a moment before pulling her in tight.

"You're being strong for him, aren't you?"

Grabbing his hand, she led him into the bedroom, closing the door softly, "He doesn't have anyone else, Jay. I'm sure he told you about the league?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Didn't happen to mention what he was doing there, did he?

"He slipped a bit, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"Talia is his mother. She took me in so I could get him out. Trained me to be the perfect protector, gave me the means to leave, disconnected from him completely so he wouldn't argue. And of course I agreed. He was being abused, Jay. It was so terrible, the way they were raising him. But I don't know what I'm doing."

"I don't know, you seemed to be doing a pretty amazing job out there," he brushed tears off her face, still amazed that he could, "How do you want to handle this? With me having taken my body back. I'll follow your lead here."

"About that… You and I have joint custody."

"What?"

"Legally, you're his older brother, who adopted him after your parents died, since you were of age to do so. Marinette Todd is your wife who adopted him with you."

"Wh-why would you- I mean-?" He cut himself off, confused.

"Well I mean, I didn't think the connection would ever come back, but in case it did or if I felt it safe to find you. I didn't want to take a chance. We can go back and change them?"

"It's fine, just, how old did you make us to be married and able to adopt a child?"

"Well he's your brother, so the adoption part would be easy despite age, plus we forged documentation for cps check-ins for two years, so they won't be checking now."

"And how old does that make us?"

"You're twenty one and I'm twenty. We've been his legal parents since you turned nineteen. We married the year after I graduated high school. You looked old enough to pull it off and I wasn't sure what I looked like anymore but doubted anyone would look twice."

"Well alright then," he blinked, pulling her close again and setting his head on top of hers, "It's going to take a while to get used to being this tall," he admitted.

"How do you think I feel," she rested fully against him, blown away by the ability to lean on someone for once.

A knock sounded on the door and Damian peaked in, "Mari? You need to come see this."

[pl-panda]

Of Heaven and Hell

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @ethelphantom for the cover I use at Wattpad and FF.Net and Me for the plot.

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

Of Heaven and Hell: Part 1

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

Of Heaven and Hell

From Encyclopedia Demonica

[...] and while many people consider angels epitomes of good, they are mistaken. Indeed, this regal beings are more closely connected to order than to goodness. They perceive divine law as imperative and hold little regard to human lives, as long as they serve their goals. And yet, most of the times they chose to not involve themselves in mortal affairs.

Typical angel have two forms. First look very similar to human, but they retain most of their powers. Such form is also much more durable and their physical capabilities exceed everything you could expect from a mortal. Second is close to the first one in appearance, but differs in terms of power and abilities. In this form Angel spreads his wings and feature specific to his sub-species appear. 

Angel’s powers differ on subspecies, but universally include flight, enhanced senses, enhanced agility, strength and durability, large magical potential, access to magic unique to their species and high resistant to other types of magic. Specific subspecies have different additional powers. Each Angel also possess an ability that is unique to him. Usually, it reflects his personality and present itself when it reaches maturity. [...]

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

Six years ago

Damian cursed under his breath. The temple was under attack. His mother told him to get inside. And he did. He ran to his room to grab his sword. A beautifully ornate weapon with guard in shape of two intertwined pairs of angel wings pointing toward the blade. Great for complicated maneuvers. The pommel held a teal pearl also protected by a pair of angel wings. It was a gift from his grandfather for his eighth birthday. The weapon was perfectly balanced and suited Damian’s style perfectly. 

With the sword in hand, Damian unfolded his wings. His tunic had a special holed cut in the back to accomodate for them and he didn’t destroy every shirt he wore. A pair of large white feathered wings appeared and he dashed forward to battle. He couldn’t let his mother die. A small orb of white energy appeared in his hand before he launched it at the wall in front of him. The explosion created enough of a hole for him to pass. 

In front of him opened a large yard. Usually, a new acolytes trained here under careful watch of angelic masters. Now it was simply a blood bath. Bodies were lying everywhere. But what shocked him the most was that angels were fighting one another. Some wore League’s armors, but overwhelming force was dressed in black-and-orange suits. He wanted to dash forward and into the battle, but someone grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. A slender figure of his mother looked at him sternly.

“I told you to go inside.”

“Mother! I came to fight with you. I must fight with you. By your side. Together. It’s my destiny!”

“Your destiny is to live Damian.” She scolded him. “Now quickly. Let’s move. Some battles can’t be won.”

“But… what about the mission?” He asked confused.

“Mission will live in you and me. Now let’s go join your grandfather in the tunnels.” She started leading him away.

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

Damian woke up from the dream. He instantly grabbed his sword and swung it around. Only then he realized that is was just a memory. He looked around his room, assessing any dangers. Once he was sure that nothing lurked in the darkness he got up. It was still night and quick glance at the electronic clock told him that it was 3:30 AM. Long time before others wake up. But Damian did not want to go to sleep anymore. He never did after this kind of nightmares. 

He got down to the holo-training room and activated the highest setting. A series of ninja shimmered into existence. Without as much as a second of hesitation, Damian dashed forward. His silver sword cut through them as he zoomed through the arena. With each move, he took two of the enemies. A slight golden aura around him intensified as he burned through his anger. Finally, he collapsed, panting heavily from exhaustion. The “kill counter” showed that he was halfway to a thousand vanquished enemies. He was weak. He was useless. He ran away. He was no warrior but a mere coward.

But it was not true. He did the right thing. Because he ran away he met his father. He actually started to protect people instead to only try to control them. He was a nephilim, half angel, half human. He had all the powers of his angelic brethren and yet freedom to choose. He didn’t need to follow orders of higher beings. He could make his own decisions. And he chose to be a hero, not a warrior. Now, each day he reinforced this decision. First as Robin, fighting side by side with his father, now as… still Robin, but as a part of Teen Titans. 

“You okay Demon Spawn?” A voice of Dick Grayson, better known as Nightwing, came from behind. Damian instantly spun around and stopped his blade less than an inch from his neck. 

“Don’t do that if you want your head to remain where it is.” he scowled at the sight of his adopted brother’s patronizing gaze. “And don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” Dick asked confused. 

“Like I am a baby in need of your care. I am sixteen-years-old Nephilim. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“So that’s why you are awake at five in the morning? Taking care of yourself?”

“Get lost.” Damian barked and started to practice katas with his sword. He had his back turned to dick when suddenly he spun around just in time to block a projectile that was tossed at him. 

“Come on bro. You and me. One on one. First to score three hits.” Dick taunted. 

“I am stronger, faster and more agile. You stand no chance.” Damian said in emotionless expression. He looked at Dick for a moment before taking off his tank-top. “And I can fly.” He grinned at the surprised Nightwing. A pair of white-feathered wings appeared on his back. 

“And yet I kick your rear every time we fight.” Dick smirked and drew his staff. Both ends started to crackle with electricity. 

Damian boosted himself forward with a single flap of his wings. His silver sword met with the staff, but before he could cut it, Nightwing sidestepped and allowed blade to slide down. He used the Angel’s momentum to his disadvantage. Damian’s blade stumbled upon crackling electricity, sending a powerful shock through his arm. Normal humans would be paralyzed by this, but Damian only growled. It hurt, but he could fight. Damian tried several more times, but Dick always reflected or sidestepped before the blade could do any real damage. Finally, the Angel changed tactic. Flapping his wings, Damian rose into air. His off-hand glowed with golden light which next formed a runic circle around his fist before several projectiles flew at various arcs toward Nightwing. The hero had to dodge it quickly, but got caught by the last one and got sent into the wall. Damian didn’t bother to check on him. Instead, he dashed forward. Before Dick managed to get rid of flying stars around his head a silver blade was less than an inch from his neck. 

“I win.” Damian proclaimed, looking smug.

“Nope.” Dick said, popping the ‘p’. He then used his staff to jab Damian’s stomach, then jump on his fit and separate his weapon into two escrima sticks. He then started to barrage the teenager with series of swift hits. While they would not usually hurt given angelic durability, the crackling electricity made it a bit painful. Damian shielded himself with his wings, but Dick found an opening and landed third and final hit that ended the fight.

“That is cheating! I had you!” The teen argued.

“So? You lost me. But good fight D. Maybe next time.”

“tt. That’s unfair! I want rematch!” 

“Boys!” Kori joined the discussion. “As much as watching you fight is… entertaining, I made breakfast.” She said cheerfully while walking to nightwing. “And something special for you later.” She said seductively.

“Bleh.” Damian faked vomiting. “I will never understand humans.”

“You are part-human.” Dick pointed out

“And so is neandertales. Yet he doesn’t understand humans.” The teen deadpanned. 

“I heard someone say breakfast!” Beast Boy barged into training room.

“I made pancakes.” Kori cheered.

“With maple syrup?” Gar asked 

“And ‘love’.” Damian gave a sarcastic remark.

“So the best ones.” Beast Boy said with dreamy face. “I reserve the first batch!” He said while already dashing to the kitchen. 

“Scarab said he detected pancakes!” Beetle said while zooming past the room in his full armor. Damian, Dick and Kori walked in normal pace, only to find Gar and Jaime staring wide-eyed at Rachel sitting there and calmly eating her breakfast. 

“Took you long enough.” She said with a small smile. The red gem on her forehead pulsed weakly, but it was ignored in favor of consuming inhuman amounts of pancakes. Damian himself didn’t even realize that he finished three plates before Dick pointed it out to him. He turned pink for a moment before jumping away and claiming the remote for the day. 

After the morning of cartoons Titans spent rest of the day on the beach near the island. Half-way through Dick and Kori disappeared and when the sun started to set Rachel and Garfield also went somewhere. Jami, Damian and their newest addition to the team: Cyborg, were completely obvious to this as their discussion came to sport. 

“I’m just saying. Futball is the best game. Soccer is cool, but it’s for kids.” Victor argued.

“You say that, but last I checked Soccer was much more popular around the world.” Jami pointed out proudly. “Besides it requires much more skill and finesse. Futball is about pure muscle mass.”

“As if! Have you got any idea how important tactics, positioning, territorial awareness and condition are in Futball?”

“tt. The best sport is sword-fighting anyway.” Damian grinned at them. Inwardly, he loved this family. Sure, living with his father was great, but here he finally had one thing he missed so much: friends. They weren’t patronizing like Todd. They weren’t constantly trying to prove something to him like Drake and Grayson was even bearable here. That is if he didn’t act all sugar-eyes for Starfire. Is he even aware she is an alien princess and he is a peasant acrobat? 

As the sun was finally down, the titans made a giant bonfire on the beach and roasted marshmallows. As Damian was about to eat his, suddenly a large yellow balloon sailed toward him. He tried to catch it, but his enhanced strength made him accidentally squash it instead. A wave of water assaulted him and made him wet to the very bones. 

“Beast Boy!” He roared in anger. One thing he hated in the Titans were the constant prank wars that lasted for weeks. 

*gulp* “Will it help when I say that I aimed at Jaime?” Garfield asked weakly. 

“No hermano. It will only make it worse.” Blue Beetle looked practically offended, but he had a small smirk on his face. 

Damian took off his t-shirt and tossed it at Beast Boy. His hand then glowed and a runic circle materialized around it. Garfield tried to run, but a golden beam hit him in his rear and suddenly his fur turned completely gold. He looked like some some hardcore sports fan supporting his favorite team.

“That’s not fair! I only tossed a small water balloon. You could cool off a bit bro!” Garfield tried to argue weakly while massaging his rear.

“Suck it up like a man and stop whining like little girl…” Damian said, but then looked at Rachel who sent him a death glare. “Not that I have anything against little girls?” He added quickly.

After that the atmosphere were great. Garfield was still a bit sore on the subject of his new color and decided that he will appreciate his green from now on. Finally, Damian excused himself and went to the tower to go to sleep earlier. As he entered his room, he felt a breeze of air going on. He distinctly remembered that his window was closed and nobody would enter without his permission. A glyph on the doors made sure of that. His sword appeared in his and and a glowing runic circle formed above his head. A less known fact about Angels was that their Halo was in fact a spell that allowed them to sense other Angels in close proximity. It also gave enough light to serve as convenient source of light. Not that they needed it as they saw in anything but perfect darkness. Damian would never admit out loud that he used it when he wanted to draw something in the middle of the night. 

“Hello… Mother.” He said with disdain in his voice. 

“It’s good to see you too Damian.” She responded with sarcasm. 

“Why do you grace me with your presence?” If Talia’s voice was dipped in sarcasm, Damian drowned in it. 

“I need your help.” She said, ignoring the obvious disrespect. “There are several demons in Paris.”

“So?”

“The city is warded against all things celestial. And magic hides it from your precious Justice League. Had any Angel tired to go there, he would not be able to enter the city. Should anyone else hear about the situation, they would forget it as soon as the discussion ended.”

“So? From what you are saying is true, Mother, then I am twice as locked out as anyone else. I will forget about it the moment you leave.”

“That’s why I need you.” She said with almost pleading voice. “You aren’t a full angel, but your mind is protected from the spell. You should be able to enter the city and remember everything.”

Damian pondered it for a moment. It did seem like something serious. If what she said was true, the whole city was at the mercy of those vile monsters and couldn’t even hope for any external help. “Fine. I will go there.”

“Good. I already enrolled you at Collège Françoise Dupont” She said with a wicked grin. With a flap of her two pairs of wings she was gone, leaving only a thin folder on his desk. Damian cursed under his breath. 

“Looks like I’m going to school. tt. I hate teenagers.”

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

Taglist: Open

[dhwty-writes]

Flowers

Welcome to my probably favourite chapter of the whole fic. Have fun reading, guys! Again, this is for @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo.

Summary: Jaskier enters the netherworld in his search for Geralt's soul. He has been prepared for a lot of things, mostly monsters straight out of nightmares. Talking birds and flowers? Not so much.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 

Jaskier sat on the soft bed, slowly unbuttoning his doublet as he tried to ignore the warnings his brain shouted at him. He really couldn’t use any second thoughts right now. 

“Get comfortable,” Triss had said before closing the door behind him and he really was trying. It wasn’t that he had real doubts about what he was about to do. In fact, he had rarely been so sure about anything in his entire life. 

Still, Jaskier knew that it was insane. How could he not, despite his earlier statement he wasn’t stupid. He had gone to Oxenfurt, after all, and quite successfully so if he did say so himself. And endangering your life by entering a netherworld almost no-one ever returned from for your best friend who you were secretly in lo- well, that was entirely besides the point. The point was, that what he was about to do was the height of stupidity, and that he was well aware of it.

Not that he’d change his mind. He was, after all, stubborn as a mule with no sense of self preservation whatsoever. 

He folded up his doublet and deposited it on the chair Yennefer had put next to the bed. He took his time with his boots as well, unlacing them almost all the way before neatly placing them under the chair. 

Jaskier turned back to the bed and couldn’t help but stare at it. “Alright,” he muttered. And then again, because he hadn’t convinced himself yet: “Alright.” He heaved a heavy breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking out his arms as he did before his performances. In a way, the dread that filled him was quite similar. He supposed. 

He kept staring at the bed. It was a nice bed, as far as beds went. Large. Soft, cream-coloured sheets. The kind of bed he’d like to share with a lover. ‘A nice deathbed, as well,’ he caught himself thinking. He really should get on it. Somehow, he couldn’t. “Fuck.” 

“Alright, bard?” Yennefer’s voice sounded from the door. 

“Yeah. This is weird.” How did one lie down in the bed where one might die? He had never thought he might actually be able to choose. If he was quite honest, he’d always supposed that he’d die all on his own someday, bleeding out in a ditch. Or in Geralt’s arms, confessing his eternal love with his last breath, if he was feeling especially romantic and melancholic. But never wrapped in clean, linen sheets without so much as a scratch on him.

She guffawed. “Weird. And you call yourself a poet?”

“Hm.”

Her boot heels clacked loudly on the parquet as she drew closer. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you-” He laughed nervously. “Do you really want to know?”

“Normally not.” Well. At least she was being honest. “But since this might be our last conversation, I’ll go with yes.”

“I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude,” he joked. To his relief, she chuckled at least. “You see, it’s really quite stupid.”

“It has to be.” She came to a halt next to him and crossed her arms. “Coming from you.”

“Yes, yes, mock me all you want. The thing is, I don’t know if I should get on the bed or in the bed.”

She blinked dumbfounded. “That’s your biggest concern?”

“Momentarily, yes.” And that only because he didn’t allow himself to think about anything else. 

“You know, you should probably have very different second thoughts.” He didn’t dignify that with an answer. She sighed. “You also know you don’t have-”

"Don't," he interrupted her with a pained grimace, "make me change my mind."

"Jaskier-"

"No, Yennefer.” He turned around to face her. “I want to do this. I want to bring him back. At least I have to try."

They just stood there, staring at each other for a long time. Jaskier was not going to lose that battle. "Go lie on the bed,” she gave in. “It’ll feel less awkward.”

It was ridiculous how easy it was all of a sudden to sit down and scoot to the middle of the bed, lying down on the soft cushions. Once he got settled, she was still standing there at the foot of the bed, looming over him. “You know what?” he began. “This is very awkward. Reminds me of-”

“Rinde, I know,” she interrupted him. Her face was dark and clouded, her features unreadable. After a few moments she said: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“Yennefer-”

“Don’t you Yennefer me, bard. I dealt with Geralt almost losing you once. Don’t make me console him when you’re actually dead.”

He wanted to tell her how stupid that was. That Geralt wouldn’t be coming back if he didn’t come back as well. Else what was the point of any of this? But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to say that. “I’ll come back,” he said instead.

She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but in that moment Triss called from the hallway: “Are you done, yet?”

“Yes,” Yennefer decreed and swept out of the room.

“Alright, then,” Triss said and closed the door behind her. “Let’s get this over with.” She sounded almost bored. “As your primary healer I am obligated to tell you that this is not only dangerous but downright lethal. And the absolutely most idiotic thing I have ever seen someone do and I have been a healer longer than you have been alive. If you die, you are not allowed to haunt me; I reject any responsibility for this. Got it?”

He gulped. “Got it.”

“Good. So, give it to me one last time. I make you fall asleep. Then what?”

"I will wake in the netherworld, where I will have to confront unspeakable horrors. I will brave the trials and tribulations that are necessary to reach Coram Agh Tera. On my search for Geralt I will speak to no-one, I won't utter my name, nor that of any other mortal."

"And when you have found him?"

He hesitated. They hadn't actually talked about that point. Finding Geralt in an endlessly large world of nightmares seemed impossible enough. He put on a brave smile which he knew wouldn't fool Triss. "Why, then I'll work my bardic charm to get whatever atrocious entity that's holding him captive to release him." He pulled off both his boots and went to lie down on the bed.

"Good enough," Triss muttered and stepped closer. "Close your eyes, Jaskier, and think of something sweet."

He did as he was told, slowly feeling his consciousness drift away as she began weaving her spell. 

Weirdly, it was Yennefer’s voice he heard next: "Good luck, bard. Bring him back to us." Hadn’t she left? Hadn’t she-? Hadn’t-

In the sluggish mass of his mind, he registered how strange that was. He wanted to ask who 'us' were. If he might be included. But he didn't dare. He wanted to answer something about returning with Geralt or not at all. But he was so tired.

"Sweet dreams," a voice from far away breathed.

Usually, when falling asleep, there is a certain amount of time that passes before people start dreaming. It could be a matter of hours or seconds; not that they are aware, of course. For them, that moment lasts but the fraction of a heartbeat, for they have no recollection of their slumber before or after their dreams. Most of them do not even remember those.

Once the sorceresses began weaving their spell, however, Jaskier saw that moment stretch out before him. It was an easy thing for him to, without so much as moving a single muscle, take a step. And another one. And then, let himself drift into that dark realm of uncertainty.

And so, he did.

In his, admittedly still rather short life, Jaskier had woken in all kinds of peculiar places. The beds of strangers most frequently, but also on tavern counters, beneath stages he couldn't remember playing on, covered with monster guts, covered with bandages, and, on one very memorable occasion, in a witcher's arms.

But this? This certainly and by far was the weirdest one of them all. 'The sky is the wrong colour,' was the first thing he noticed once he woke up. Instead of the soft blue he was used to, it was glaringly orange, as if eternally stuck in sunset. Only lacking the sun.

In all fairness, he wasn't quite sure if his current condition could be called 'awake'. Oh, well; he'd have to make do. How was a mortal supposed to describe a realm that defied both bounds of rationality and reality at once; a realm of gods that was never supposed to be graced by them, neither in this life nor the next?

The answer to that, of course, is as simple as it is obvious: they aren't. They aren't supposed to be there, they aren't supposed to understand it and mortals most certainly aren't supposed to tell tales of the netherworld.

Yet, one of them had entered it and he was currently struggling not to grin like an idiot as he took in his strange surroundings. Bards are a very strange subset of people, with more imagination than could be healthy for mortals. Weirdness doesn’t—mustn’t!—deter them, for they are weird themselves. One could call in an occupational requirement. And of all the strange bards in this world, this one’s certainly among the stranger ones. 

A quick glance around revealed that the sky wasn't the only thing with an unusual colour. In fact, everything around him seemed slightly off. The trees were purple, the mountains in the distance blue, and the clouds gathering above them black. Not the kind of black that clouds tended to be in his world as well, but pure, all-consuming, nothingness. It made goosebumps rise on his arms. The grass with its pink tint under his bare feet set him on edge, as well.

He had never quite fit in: always too loud, always too vibrant, always too different. But a world like this, where he was almost mundane in comparison? Why, Jaskier was having a field day. 'Focus, Jaskier,' he kept telling himself. He had a mission, after all. 'Look for clues.'

But him standing with nothing but his lutecase on a pink field seemed to be the only thing that stood out among all the oddities. 'Oh,' he realised belatedly, 'I'm naked.' A strange feeling crept up on him, a feeling that he should feel embarrassed about it. But then again, there was no-one around. Besides, this wasn't real anyways.

'Well, nothing to be done about that,' he decided and re-adjusted his lutestrap as he weighed his options. There was the periwinkle forest to his left, or the cerulean mountains to his right, with the fuchsia expanse dividing the two. He did not look back.

He was currently debating whether or not he should flip a coin while wondering where he might acquire one given his pocket-less state of undress, let alone one with three sides, when his thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful melody of a lark.

Jaskier craned his neck to search for it among the purple foliage. It wasn't exactly difficult to find, one of the two things he was rather glad for. The other being that it looked perfectly normal.

It opened its beak again and Jaskier leaned forward, to hear the sweet sound once more. "What’re you starin’ at?" the bird asked with a gruff voice that rather reminded him of one grumpy witcher he was searching for.

Jaskier stared at it. "Uhmm."

"Ughh," the bird said and flapped its wings. "Humans. What d’you want?"

"I- uhm- I might be looking for someone." Fuck, he wasn't supposed to talk to anything. Barely a few minutes in and he had messed up already. Well, then he might as well get real information: "There wouldn't happen to be any gods around, would there?"

"Gods?" the lark with the disturbingly deep voice answered. "Nahh, never seen one in my life. There's Wade, but they're chill."

"Wade?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Crazy fucker. Imagines all kinds of things. It's where the good stuff's at."

Jaskier decided to ignore that impossibility pointedly. Something told him that it wouldn’t be the strangest thing this world had in store for him. "And how might one find their way to them? You wouldn't know, would you?"

"Of course, I do,” it scoffed. “You fly. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jaskier echoed stupidly.

"Are you some kind of idiot?" the lark wanted to know and preened his feathers. "It's easy.

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success." It shook out its wings. "Got it?"

"Umm," was all he managed.

The bird rolled its eyes. Could birds roll their eyes? Well, this one did. "Weirdo," it decreed and took wing.

Jaskier couldn't help but keep staring at the branch from where the lark had vanished. "What," he murmured, "the fuck." That might rank among the top five weirdest conversations of his entire life. Maybe even top three. Not as strange as running into the higher vampire, dryad and halfling he’d had a foursome with before sneaking out the next morning, and then explaining the whole situation to Geralt after he had rescued him from their wrath (-ish. Wrath-ish. Yes, he might have been shackled to the bed, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been enjoying himself), of course, but that was hard to beat. 

Anyways, what he was trying to say was that he had a lot of experience with strange encounters, and that he was thankful for it. That way it didn't take all too long for him to continue with his trek, muttering to himself about the strange poem the lark had given him.

Not that he was very successful. He had reached the ‘singing to himself’-stage of ‘I’m trying to figure out some bullshit’ and everyone knew that came right before a nervous breakdown. Well. Nothing to be done about that. ‘Just like the good old days in Oxenfurt,’ he mused as he sing-songed: “This doesn’t make any fucking se-ense. Not one tiny bit, but destiny loves fucking me ove-er.”

"You're not like the others,” an excited voice interrupted his masterful performance. 

"Excuse me?" he squeaked and glanced around in search of the speaker. No birds far and wide.

"Down here," the frail voice sounded again from his right. Were they imitating his melody from earlier? Rude. 

"Uhh," Jaskier stammered and crouched down to get a better look. But no matter how he strained his eyes, there was nothing that would betray any movement between the blades of pink grass and flowers that dotted the field. He bent down even further in hopes of getting a better look. "Um, I'm sorry, but- are you maybe rather small? Gods, is this insensitive? I swear, I don't want to be, this world is just very different than my own and—"

"Not like the others at all," the voice said directly next to his ear.

Maybe he should have been embarrassed over the fact that he fell flat onto his bum or the shrill squeal that escaped him while doing so. In any other situation he maybe would have. In this situation Jaskier decided he didn't care. He had more important matters to attend to. Like dealing with the fact that he was talking to a buttercup, for example.

"I'm sorry," the flower said, swaying gently in the non-existent breeze, "did I startle you?"

"Yes!" he shouted. The buttercup recoiled and he regretted it immediately. It was probably his greatest feat of willpower yet, that he collected himself and answered as calmly as possible: "I'm sorry as well. Flowers do not tend to talk in my world."

"They don't?" It leant to the side as if tilting its head. Blossom. Whatever. "Interesting. None of the others ever told me that. Maybe I could imagine something else."

"Just- one second," Jaskier muttered, holding his hands up to stop the flower from talking. He needed at least a minimal amount of time to process this craziness. A thousand questions burned on the tip of his tongue, each spawning a thousand more. Well, first things first: "Why do you talk?"

"I don't know." It shrugged. "Why do you?"

"Fair point," he mumbled. He hadn’t considered that. On to the second question: "What others?"

"People," it explained dreamily, "tall like you, with those things on their roots so they can move around. But they're very different usually. No conversationalists at all."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I've got my fair share of those in my life. It's infuriating, isn't it? I- oh, fuck. Are there a lot of people here?"

"Hmmm, maybe? Why?"

"I am looking for someone. He's a man like me. Tall. Built. White hair on his head and the worst conversationalist you can imagine-"

"That's a rock," it interrupted him.

"Uh-" He decided that the best bet was to ignore that statement. Not that it was necessarily untrue. Talking to Geralt could have certain similarities with conversations with a brick wall. "You didn't see him, did you?"

"I can't see."

"Oh." Shit, he should have thought of that. "Of course not." It was a flower, how was it supposed to see? It had no fucking eyes. "I, um," slowly, he got to his feet, "I should go."

"Where are you going?" the buttercup asked him curiously.

He winced. "See, that's a bit tricky. I don't really know, yet. I am looking for this man and apparently there is someone named Wade around here who might help me, and— it's just— it's really complicated, alright? I'm just wandering about until I find something."

It nodded understandingly. "I don't know any Wade. But I know a poem about wandering. Would you like to hear it?"

'Anything but that,' he thought but he had no chance to say it, for the buttercup was already reciting: "The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain."

"That's, um, that's beautiful," he answered. 'Not that I understand a fucking word of it,' he thought.

Still, it seemed like the right answer for the buttercup beamed. "Thank you! It's my favourite. Not that I know any other, but-"

"Look," he interrupted it, slightly annoyed, "it's getting rather late and I should be on my way. Or I think it is, hard to say with this weird light. Where's the sun, by the way?"

"Oh, we haven't got one," the buttercup answered casually as if it was no big fucking deal.

"Right," he drawled and made a point of backing up quickly. "I'm going now. Bye!" With that he bolted. He had wasted enough time already and he obviously wasn't getting any information out of it. Nothing useful at least.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, as he kept heading to the horizon that stubbornly refused to come closer. "Birds and flowers talk here. No biggie." He had been prepared to deal with a lot of things. Nightmares. Monsters. But talking animals? Pink grass? The longer he stayed in this weird place, the less it seemed like a nightmarish hellscape and more like one of his worse trips during his Oxenfurt days. Suddenly, he understood why people went mad here.

Jaskier kept walking. And walking. And walking. He had no idea where he was going, if he was honest, and he wasn't confident he'd figure it out in the near future either. His youthful hate of poetry was in the process of returning with renewed vigour. 'I wonder why.'

This was exactly what he had always hated about rhetoric in Oxenfurt: trying to discern a hidden meaning that probably wasn't even there. Only that this time there had to be one. And he had to find it. It was his only chance of finding Geralt anytime soon. Or ever.

And while he normally prided himself on being able to bullshit his way out of these situations, he had a suspicion that that wouldn’t help in this case. 

He had already gone over the formal aspects more times than he could count; that was easy enough. Two quatrains with rhyming couplets. The first had been a trochaic tetrameter, the second an iambic one. And what did that tell him? Fuck all, that's what. ‘Just about as much as Oxenfurt taught me.’

Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that the two poems were not two poems at all, but two stanzas from the same one. No, he couldn't explain it either. Maybe because the last line of the first stanza had the word fearless in it, and the second stanza started with knights- Look, he knew he was grasping at straws here. What else was he supposed to do?

The thing was, he was also rather sure he was slowly running out of time. That idea—as ludicrous as it was—had come to him what felt like days ago and he was still walking. The horizon was still moving far and farther away with every step he took. He was exhausted. But no matter how often he gave his body the command to rest, it still kept on walking. He hadn't met anyone else. No strange flowers anymore. No rude birds. Certainly, no people. And definitely no Geralt. He wanted to weep.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. "Fuck," he cursed quietly. Then, again, louder: "Fuck!" This was getting him nowhere. He had to try and ask someone for help. To decode the secret message, maybe. Or, if he was right and this was indeed one poem, perhaps even acquire the rest of it.

The thing was, the last two times it had been the strange inhabitants of this world who had sought him out not the other way around. He wasn't quite sure if he was able to talk to them on his own initiative. He didn't even know how to discern the talking plants from the mute ones.

He paled as a horrible thought came to his mind. 'What if they're the same?' Jaskier stared at the pink grass down in horror. 'Shit.'

"Hello?" he whispered warily. No response. He glanced around as if to check that he was alone—of course he was—and bent down. "Can you hear me?" he tried again. "Do you talk, too?"

Nothing.

Relief flooded over him. At least he hadn't been stomping all over a sentient being the whole time. At least he hadn't exposed his bumhole- 'Nope! Not going there.'

He fiddled with his lute strap to distract himself for all of these terrible thoughts that were adamant to take over his mind. There was still the lilac forest he tried to ignore. Maybe the trees could talk. Maybe they were smarter than larks and buttercups. He certainly hoped so.

Jaskier cleared his throat and raised his voice: "Excuse me?" he shouted at the trees. "I- excuse me? I've got a question! Hello? Excuse me? Can you hear me?"

He heard a giggle behind him. "Look at that idiot, trying to talk to trees." Jaskier spun around and spotted the culprit almost immediately: two stems with purple flowers he'd recognise anywhere. Larkspur.

He scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am no idiot at all, thank you very much. In fact, I graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt academy."

The flowers laughed again. "Like I said," the second one piped up with a voice that closely resembled another troubadour's he was regrettably acquainted with, "idiot." Jaskier despised it already.

"Well, excuse me that I assumed plants talk here after leading a rather lovely conversation with a buttercup."

"Ughh," it groaned. "That imbecile. We're well acquainted. Are you just as annoying?"

"Gods, I hope not," he blurted before he knew what he was saying. The larkspur laughed again. "So, not all plants talk here?"

"No," the first one answered, as if it were obvious. Strangely, it was.

"Umm." Jaskier blinked, waiting for more. Apparently, that was the extent of the flowers' elaboration, for they didn't say anything else. "You wouldn't happen to know any poems, do you?"

"Maybe," they answered unhelpfully. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if you know one, I'd like to hear it."

They bristled and scoffed. "Why?"

"Uhh-" He hadn't been prepared for that question. Jaskier cursed internally. Why hadn't he been prepared for that question? He should've been prepared for that question. 'Fuck,' he thought, 'fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.' Improvisation it was, then: "Well, you see, when I met that wonderful buttercup over there it told me a poem and it promised that it was the best I'd ever hear in this world and any other."

There was a cry of outrage and Jaskier smirked. There was a lot of things excelled at, and riling up Valdo fucking Marx certainly counted among his most accomplished ones. Or a flower with his voice, he guessed. He didn't really care, truly. He had information to acquire: "So, now I'm wondering. I have to admit, I wasn't awfully impressed, so maybe-"

The larkspur scoffed. "Of course, you weren't impressed. That buttercup is a talentless wastrel pandering to the tastes of the masses," it complained and, oh, Jaskier had heard that one before. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to strangle a flower.

"Also, no regard for intellectual property whatsoever," the first one continued and Jaskier nearly choked on his own spit. He had said that one before. "Just like you are."

Jaskier stared in mute horror as he watched the two stems begin to argue with one another. "It probably didn't even recite the poem correctly. You, good sir, are in the presence of a true master. At least one, I will make no comments about my companion-"

Now it was Jaskier who scoffed, though he didn't dare to interrupt them. If they were anything like— well, any poet he knew there was no chance he'd get the poem after that. And so, there was nothing to be done but try his best to not have his ears start bleeding from the presumptuous lecture he was forced to endure.

After what felt close to an hour, Valdo-larkspur finally announced: "A poem, you say? I give you a poem. Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky." As soon as it was done, Jaskier-larkspur began commenting on his horrible rendition of it. 

Jaskier stared. And blinked. And stared again. "That's it?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. "That makes even less sense!" How the fuck was he supposed to descend into the sky?

"Oh, you don't like it?" they nagged. Great, now he had offended them both. "I gave you an hour of my time and this is how you repay me—" Before he knew it, they had descended into another heated argument, of which he recognised rather substantial parts. 'Gods preserve me,' he prayed, 'this is a nightmare.' Jaskier wondered if it was considered awfully rude to rip a flower out in this world, root and stem. Probably. Pity.

He sighed heavily. 'If only they hadn't given me an hour of their ti- Wait a minute.' "Hour, you said?" he interrupted them without thinking. "Do you know what hour it is?"

They scoffed. "Figure of speech."

"Of fucking course," he muttered. Still, he wasn't quite ready to give up on that, yet, so he tried again. "Have you got any idea what time it is? How is it passing here? How long is a day?"

"What is a day?" they answered.

'Gods give me strength,' he begged. "It's from one sunrise to the other."

"What's a sunrise?"

"It’s when the sun appears in the sky?"

"What’s a sun?"

"Oh, this is useless," Jaskier muttered and walked away without another word. He had quite enough of the worst combination of Valdo Marx and himself imaginable. And he had another stanza to think about. 'Not that it will do any good.'

Jaskier kept on walking. It was getting more and more frustrating with every step. He managed to talk to a few other flowers and birds, once even to a snail, but none of them were really helpful. Most of the birds had heard of Wade, at least; the flowers, on the other hand, were very useless. No more stanzas, no more directions, no more references to this Wade. Certainly, and most frustratingly, no answers as to where the sun was. And it was really getting late.

"Does anyone know a poem?" he yelled in the hopes of someone hearing him. He knew it was desperate, alright? But desperate times called for desperate measures. At this point, he'd be grateful for any hint. "Does anybody know what time it is?"

A heavy sigh made him whip around. "For fuck's sake man, how dense are you?" a deep voice grumbled. "Time’s an indefinite continued progress of existence and interdependent events that barely works in your world let alone ours. Just keep on walking."

Jaskier wanted to. He really did. But there was a dandelion throwing big words at him. He couldn't resist. He rushed over and crouched down. "Well, but you surely have a way of measuring it, don't you?" he asked eagerly.

"Time goes by if we catalogue it or not, the outcome is the same.” It yawned. Made a yawning sound. Whatever. Great. Jaskier managed to bore a dandelion. “Your narrow human minds are too focused on how much of it passes that you neither notice how fast it does nor what happens while doing it."

He hummed thoughtfully. “I guess there is some truth to this.”

“Ugh.” The dandelion made a gagging sound. “Truth. Another one of your stupidities. What even is truth but the enforcement of a subjective point of view that is worthless for large parts of society at best, and downright harmful for them at worst? Why are you boring me with such first-grade bullshit?"

Jaskier gaped at him. ‘What the fuck?’ He’d really like to continue their conversation about truth, however, there were more pressing questions at hand: "You have a school?"

"Of course, we do. How else do you think we grow?"

"With sunlight."

The flower turned to the sky. "There’s no sun."

He groaned. And he’d thought this flower was helpful. "Yeah, I can bloody well see that too!"

"Whoa man, what got your knickers in a twist? No need to shout. The volume of your voice does not increase the validity of your argument."

"Let me guess,” he sighed. “Another thing you learned in school."

"Yup." It popped the p.

‘Focus, Jaskier,’ he told himself for the umpteenth time. ‘And calm down.’ Massaging his temples he asked: "Why'd you even go to school?"

"’Cause I'm beautiful, man."

Jaskier scoffed and was about to say something about humility, but it kept on talking: "I'm a pretty little flower with absolutely no purpose. All I’m meant to do is be pretty ‘til someone plucks me and I wither and die. Or I’m meant to stay in the place where I was born until I wither and die. I was havin’ none of that. I like bein’ looked at, don' get me wrong, but I don't like people thinking I'm dumb ‘cause I'm pretty. So, I got an education."

That… made an disturbing amount of sense. ‘Maybe I’m going crazy already,’ he thought. Surely no sane person could emotionally relate to a dandelion. 

“Are you done now?” it asked impatiently.

He supposed he was. "One last question: How do I get to... the garden?"

"Follow your heartbeat to the horizon, the second turn to the right after the battlefield pops you right into his garden."

‘Oh, great. More instructions that make absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.’ Desperately, he asked: "Please. Can’t you tell me how to do that?"

"You said one last question,” it complained with a sigh.

“Please?” he begged again.

“Man, this is a paranormal netherworld that exists beyond what any mortal can grasp with its mind, you just do. Just do whatever the poem says."

"A poem!" he exclaimed excitedly. Finally. "Tell me about it, please."

"Man," the dandelion sighed, "really? That's... that's a lot of work, man."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Fuck's sake, I'm on it, I'm on it," it drawled. "Stop stressing me out. It's something like this: 

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success.

  The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain.

  Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky.

  Come find me in my garden green,

Come taste the fruit that’s never been.

How to find my mighty throne?

The answer’s plain: you don’t."

"That... doesn't make any sense to me," Jaskier said helplessly.

"It will." It shrugged. "But it doesn't have to. You ever went to school, man?"

"Actually, I did."

"Right. You don't need to understand everything, buddy. Just follow the fucking instructions."

Jaskier sighed and got up. "Thank you." He had almost walked away when he circled back and crouched down to whisper: "Why is there no sun?"

There was a heavy sigh. "I don't know man, I'm just a flower."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed quickly. "Just... don't mind me. Leaving already."

He had a poem to decipher after all. "Just follow the instructions," he muttered. As if that was an easy thing to do. 

He tried thinking about it. He really did. He tried to take the poem as literally as humanly possible. As literally as otherworldly possible, even! No success. 

It was infuriating, really. His mind was a fickle thing at the best of days, always hopping from one topic to the next. This was not the best of days. Just like the horizon that seemed to be moving further away with every step he took, his thoughts seemed to slip from his grasp once they got into reach.

"Fucking cock!" he threw his hands up. "I swear, witcher, if I get you out of here, I'll send you back myself." 

He crossed his arms and sat down on his butt to pout. He knew he was being unreasonable. But really, a world beyond the bounds of reason had no right to expect any sort of respectable behaviour from him. If he wanted to act like a child, he bloody well would. Maybe that might help him figure that out. Thinking like a child instead of an adult. 

After half an hour he came to the conclusion that it didn’t, so he got to his feet and started pacing. Always a good option. Normally, at least.

"Ughh!" Jaskier exclaimed and threw his hands up. "I just- I don't understand it! Up is down and left is right, yeah, I get that everything is weird here. To go back- For fuck's sake, I don't want to go back! I want to go forward!"

He stopped his pacing as realisation hit him. "Wait a minute," he murmured. "Up... is down," he moved his head along with the words. "And left is right. To go back-" He spun around. "-I must go forward. But if I go back-" He twirled again; his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Never lose your goal from sight, that's it!"

He pumped his fist in the air. "I am a godsdamned genius!" He laughed giddily.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he told himself and took a deep breath. There was still one line missing: "For the fearless, no success," he muttered. 

"Good thing I'm a fucking coward." Jaskier laughed weakly and began walking backwards.

[dershloopmain]

End Of Everything - Chapter 2

‘’Jesus,’’ Casey said, looking down at the broken fence with multiple zombies, all in different states of living, tried to claw their way out of their barbed wire and wooden confines.

‘’Tell me about it. I knew they were dumb but I thought they were supposed to have dope eyesight? Doesn't look like it to me,’’’ Raph scoffed, pulling his own splintering baseball bat out of his bag, poking the arm of the closest trapped zombie.

‘’Won’t Donnie want a sample for his tests? Don't poke em too much what if they come free you ass!”

‘’They won't come free! I dunno I thought he was good for all that.’’

‘’I dunno either but shouldn't we at least ask him? Besides, we need the help,’’ Casey said with a shrug, ‘’and stop poking em Raph!’’

‘’What? You can ask him, but if I show my face in that lair before this is done, Leo will end my life so you’re going,’’ Raph said, pulling back from the undead recipient of his abuse.

‘’Fine, I’ll go alone then.’’

‘’Don’t say it like that you’re making it seem like you're going out into a haunted forest. You just gotta drop down the sewer pipe and walk like 100 feet then you’re at the turnstiles.’’

‘’I know! I also know I am, just as susceptible to Leo’s… whatever we’re calling them.’’

‘’First of all, when did you learn such a big word Jones and second just text him then you big dope,’’ Raph rolled his eyes, turning back to his undead victims, beginning to poke and prod at their bodies.

‘’I said stop fuckin’ poking em dude!’’ Casey said, pushing Raph away from the fence with his foot as he tapped out a text to Donnie, ‘’And it's surprising what hanging with D all day makes you learn.’’

‘’Hey! Rude. They're not gonna hurt anyone they're stuck as anything in there. Besides, I’ve been hanging with Don for years, you won't get smarter in a couple of months. Half his ramblings are gibberish at this point,’’ Raph said, sitting up and continuing to poke the zombie. Casey rolled his eyes, realising he wasn't going to win this.

‘’I dunno. I guess I just actually pay attention to him,’’ Casey said with a glare.

‘’Oh sorry,’’ Raph said with a sarcastic high pitched tone, ‘’What is he your boyfriend now? Why’re you getting so defensive?’’ Casey shot another glare at Raph, ‘’Yikes, touchy subject then. I’ll support you no matter what bro, and if you wanna kiss some time, just let me know,’’ Raph said, standing and pouting his lips while moving towards his friend.

‘’Dude stop it,’’ Casey laughed, pushing Raph back, ‘’No he isn’t either I’m just saying, maybe you’d be less of a bone head if you actually listened to him.’’

‘’Nice to know I’ve still got a chance with you then,’’ Raph said with a smirk, ‘’And who are you calling ‘bonehead’ Casey Jones, you’ve got more skull than cells.’’

‘’Alright alright I get it you’re gay for me, its hard not to be, just don't let Mona hear or she will kill both of us. I’m also just gonna ignore that last part but what I said still stands you’re a bonehead.’’

‘’I show you bone head,’’ Raph said, diving at Casey and tackling him to the ground, locking him in a headlock, ‘’Say I'm not a bonehead and I’ll let you go.’’ He said with a smile.

‘’Never!’’

‘’Well then, I hope you like the taste of dirt and sweat because I ain’t moving until you say it!’’

‘’Children, children, come on stop it,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself out of the sewer. Raph looked up at his brother and smiled, allowing Casey a moment to flip Raph up and off of him. He landed on the dusty, cracked tarmac with a shout of surprise, before huffing and pulling himself and Casey up off of the floor, ‘’Now then. What’s the problem?’’

‘’We need help and Case was wondering if you needed new samples to test,’’ Raph said, pointing at the hole in the fence and multiple zombies clawing at the floor in an attempt to pull themselves free and feast on the 3’s flesh.

‘’Right… I’m guessing Leo said you couldn't have help right? That’s why you texted me?’’

‘’Yup.’’

‘’Thought so,’’ Donnie said softly with a small grimace on his face. A grimace that didn't go unnoticed by Casey and Raph. Nothing was said regarding it but yet… they all understood. A silent yet ever-present cloud hung over them all but not a word was said. Raph cleared his throat.

‘’Right then,’’ He spoke, rubbing his hands together readily, ‘’Let’s get on with it.’’ With that, the moment was over and the cloud disappeared, however not completely. It still loomed over them, threatening to take over their beings at any point. Donnie and Casey nodded, pulling their splintering boe staff and baseball bat out respectively and begun to shift the monsters, pushing them back from a safe distance.

‘’How long have our defences been compromised?’’ Donnie said, straightening up and letting out a deep breath.

‘’Not sure,’’ Raph said, copying his brother, ‘’But they’re really stuck in there so it must’ve been at least a couple of days. Probably longer.’’

‘’Why did Leo only send you two to do this?’’

‘’Your guess is as good as mine. He probably still hates me because of what happened.’’

‘’He can’t be still hung up on that. It’s been 3 months.’’

‘’I know,’’ Raph let out a shaky sigh, lifting his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘’He's not the only one who lost someone important though. We all lost something but we aren't all tyrannical megalomaniacs.’’

‘’You know how close Usagi and he were though. You can’t be mad at him for missing him.’’

‘’It’s past ‘missing him’. Fuck, I miss Mona too but it’s not my fault it happened I just- I just hate that I can't stop loving him. He's my brother, no matter what he does to me. I nearly died on that supply run, if it weren't for Casey I wouldn't be here but… no matter how mad it makes me I can’t stay mad at him,’’ Raph bit his tongue, his shoulders sinking in defeat, ‘’I’d do anything to get him back.’’

‘’I know Raph. I know,’’ Donnie said softly, moving towards his brother and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his shell comfortingly. Casey didn’t say a word, he only followed Donnie’s lead and wrapped his own arms around his friend.

‘’Fuck me, man, there's something about the apocalypse that's making us all sappy,’’ Casey laughed, pulling an arm away from Raph and wrapping it around Donnie, who evidently also wasn't taking the entire situation well, but was just a lot worse at talking about it. He could tell from the turtle's physique that it’d taken a toll on him. Initially, while he had always been relatively thin, any muscle mass he had had before was gone, leaving nothing but skin, bone and organs. The eye bags Donnie had always sported seemed deeper and more rooted in weeks of sleepless nights rather than days of late nights and early mornings. His face was sallow and thin, his cheekbones protruding through his skin, almost pushing to escape their green confines. But he never said a word. Not to him. Not to Mikey or Raph. Not even to April. He was a silent sufferer, he wouldn't say a word to anyone but yet everyone knew. One of these days, Casey thought, he was going to have a proper conversation with Donnie. A proper talk. Even back before all this, they hadn’t been insanely close. Always at war over something or other yet something drew Casey to Donnie. He wasn't sure what yet but he’d figure it out. Eventually.

‘’Guys you do realise there's still zombies literal centimetres from us,’’ Donnie said, glazing towards the green-grey decaying hand reaching out for Raph’s ankle.

‘’Oh shit yeah,’’ Raph and Casey said in unison, pulling away and starring down at the writhing mass.

‘’How are we gonna move ‘em then?’’ Raph said, pulling a broken hockey stick out of Casey’s bag and poking the creatures again.

‘’My God Raph you’re like a 6-year-old. Stop. Poking. The. Fucking. Zombies!’’ Casey said angrily, ripping the hockey stick out of his hand and shoving them firmly back into his bag.

‘’Well, by the looks of things,’’ Donnie said, crouching down and levering the creatures up using his staff, ‘’They’ve been impaled by the fence. Pushing them back is just going to lodge them in even more and break the fence even more. We need to create some kind of lever system to lift them up so we can push them off the fence and out of our perimeter,’’ He stood up again, stretching his legs out and giving them a small shake, before looking over at Raph and Casey.

‘’This is why you’re the brain’s and I’m the brawn D,’’ Casey said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pushing him down into a headlock.

‘’Cut it out Casey,’’ Donnie said indignantly, squirming in an attempt to get out of Casey’s arms.

‘’Yeah Casey, cut it out. We gotta sort this out before ‘Nardo throws his rattle out his pram,’’ Raph rolled his eyes and Casey grimaced, loosening his grip and allowing Donnie to pull himself free.

Without another word, Donnie pulled a small toolbox out of his bag and placed it on the floor not too far from the creatures writhing in the barbed wire and jagged wood. Opening the box gently, he pulled out a small, clean-looking glass syringe and a neatly folded wet wipe.

‘’Ok,’’ He said finally, ‘’I need you two, and its imperative that you listen and do exactly as I say because I’m your only hope for a cure and if I get turned you’re all doomed so,’’ Donnie pointed at the pile of zombies, ‘’hold them down and away from me. But under no circumstances are you to do ANYTHING that could kill that one. If they die, their sample will be tarnished and it won't be effective,’’ He finished, a stern and serious expression on his face.

‘’Got it, Don,’’ Raph said, walking towards the pile and pushing his foot down onto the head of the creature Donnie had said, ‘’Casey, can you hold the others back while try and sort this one out?’’

‘’I’ll try,’’ He said sheepishly, looking down at the 3 or so other zombies laying at his feet before quickly composing himself and beginning to use his hockey stick to lift them up and pushing them back and away from his friends and home. Stepping over the barbed wire and broken fencing, he jammed his hockey stick back into his bag and pulled the splintering bat out, moving towards the now free pile of freaks.

‘’You want me to kill em, D?’’

‘’Can do,’’ Donnie said flatly, not looking up from his test subject.

‘’Uh- You know what never mind I’ll just kill em,’’ Casey said, swinging his bat in a downward arch, smashing the creatures’ skulls in, killing them all instantaneously. Mushy brain and dark, viscous blood splattered on his sneakers and jeans, coating them in another layer of grit and grime. He had to admit, the idea that these were once living people was disturbing to him. They’d once had lives, jobs, families and friends. They’d been like him once. Alive and free. Would everyone have bashed his skull in if he’d been infected? Or would he have been corralled and used as a test subject for Donnie to find a cure? He hoped the latter but… He wasn’t sure. After what’d happened, he wasn’t sure Leo would’ve been insanely happy with the idea of keeping zombies in the lair, especially not him. Being low on the hierarchy had its perks but not having Leo on his side in regards to anything was not one of them. He sighed, shaking the viscera off of his shoes and bat before stepping back into the borders of their home.

‘’Nearly done Don?’’ Casey said, crouching near him. He glanced over at his

‘’Nearly and… there we go done,’’ Donnie said, wiping the mucus and deep red blood from the small wound he’d just created, smiling at his work.

‘’Why’d you wipe it after. They’re dead their entire body is infected,’’ Raph said, removing his foot from the creatures head and letting Donnie back up before dropping its arms and dashing around to the other side of the fence.

‘’Force of habit,’’ Donnie said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

‘’We have to do it, Don, I know you don’t like it but we do,’’ Raph said, walking over to his brother and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Donnie looked away, gently placing the syringe into a ziplock back and putting it back into his toolbox.

‘’I know you do I just- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing them be killed. They used to alive and through no fault of their own, now they’re monsters I- I don't know how much more of this excessive violence and murder I can take,’’ Donnie said, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘’Hey, hey don’t get upset. Crying’s healthy and all but if you start, I’ll start and even Raph might start- hey ow!’’ Casey exclaimed, whipping around and shooting Raph a death glare. Raph snorted, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Donnie laughed, wiping away yet another batch of unshed tears.

‘’Sorry it just… gets a little much at times,’’ Donnie shook his head, rubbing his elbow nervously.

‘’Don’t apologise for having emotions you big dummy,’’ Raph said, walking to stand next to Casey, ‘’I gotta say, me and Casey aren’t exactly peachy. I doubt Mikey and April are either. Don’t even get me started on Leo. It’s ok to feel like this Don, just stop bottling it up. That’s where it’s not healthy.’’

‘’I can’t believe for once WE are the one's schooling Donnie,’’ Casey said, crossing his arms and shaking his head jokingly. Raph rolled his eyes, as did Donnie.

‘’Now the sentimental shit’s over, let’s just finish up here and go down, I seriously doubt ‘Nardo is gonna be happy with how long we’ve been,’’ Raph said, trying not to think about what was inevitably to come.

‘’Tell me about it. D, we’ll deal with the creature and you can like, close your eyes and ears if that’ll help, then we’ll get started on the fence,’’ Casey said, trying to add an air of enthusiasm to his voice to bring up the mood, however, even he could tell it wasn’t working.

‘’Sure,’’ Donnie said, walking back to the manhole cover and looking away, covering his ears as Raph and Casey pulled out their respective weapons and began pulling the zombie out of the barbed wire and splintering wood, replacing it out onto the dusty street. Then, Raph stepped towards the thing that was slowly attempting to crawl back towards them and slammed his sai down into its head, cracking its skull and killing it, once and for all. He felt the vibrations up his arm as the metal of his sai clashed with the concrete, causing him to shiver a little, before pulling himself up and shaking the remnants of blood and brain off of his sai.

‘’Ok D, all done,’’ Casey shouted over, turning around to his friend and giving him a reassuring smile, who offered a small, shaky smile in return.

With that, Raph tucked his sai away and stepped over what was leftover of the small portion of the fence.

‘’You got any nails in that thing Donnie?’’ Raph asked, gesturing at the toolbox.

‘’I should have a few, I brought some hammers too, I figured you two wouldn't have remembered to bring any with you,’’ Donnie said, opening the toolbox and pulling out a handful of nails and handing them to Casey, before pulling his backpack around so it hung over one shoulder and rummaging through it for a couple of seconds before pulling out 3 relatively clean hammers and handing one to each of them.

‘’Well then, let's get to it,’’ Raph said, swinging the hammer around and grabbing a couple of nails from Casey’s outstretched hand, before picking up one of the wooden boards and beginning to bash it back into the wooden post that protruded from the tarmac. Casey and Donnie soon followed suit, before finally beginning to carefully pick up the barbed and wrap it around the makeshift fencing.

‘’That wasn’t so bad,’’ Raph said, grinning at their handiwork.

‘’Definitely a lot quicker with you here D,’’ Casey said, smiling at his friend.

‘’No problem Casey. I know how Leo can be, so just text me if you ever need help with anything. He already doesn't like you coming down to my lab. Thinks you’re stopping me from working or something,’’ Donnie said with a sigh.

‘’Well, I’m not gonna stop coming unless you tell me to. I don’t care what he thinks,’’ Casey said defiantly, putting his hands on his hips as if he were some hero.

‘’A real modern-day revolutionary you are Casey Jones,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

‘’Should we head back? It’s getting cold,’’ Raph said, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them in an attempt to preserve any sort of body heat he could.

‘’Jesus it is. Must really be September,’’ Casey said, stuffing his hands deep into his hoody pockets.

Donnie nodded, flexing his fingers before pulling them back into a fist multiple times.

With that, the three headed towards the manhole cover and climbed down back into the sewer. It was surprising how much you learned about New York’s bathroom habits after 6 months of the apocalypse. Raph had always assumed that there’d always be greywater down here, no matter how many humans lived up top yet somehow, the sewers had run dry. Remains of final faeces and bathroom breaks lay dried up or non-existent along the floor of the sewer. It was almost impressive yet disturbing. The world really was ending. Or, as Donnie had put it ‘’Humanity's end as the dominant life force on earth’’.

‘’Bite your tongue Raph. If Leo says anything, don’t bite,’’ Donnie whispered as they hopped the turnstiles into the lair. Raph swallowed in a desperate attempt to dampen his dry tongue, failing miserably. He could feel his stomach turn in knots and any food he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was churning in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance.

‘’Raphael,’’ Leo’s deep voice filled their ears, Raph flinched, ‘’I trust your supply run went well.’’

‘’Yeah. Got more medical supplies. There wasn’t much else we needed though so that was it.’’ ‘’What about our defences. Are they secure now?’’

‘’Yeah. Casey and Donnie helped me patch it back up so it should be fine.’’

‘’Donatello helped? I thought I told you that you and Casey were to do it alone.’’

‘’Yes, I know, I’m sorry but he was already up there to get another sample from the zombies and he had stuff on him to help so…’’ Raph trailed off, his eyes trained on the ground. He refused to look into Leo’s cold, uncaring eyes. If he did, he already knew he couldn't hold himself back.

‘’Hmm. Donatello? Is this what happened?’’

‘’Yes, Leo. I promise you, they didn’t ask me to help them. I asked them if I could come up to get a sample for my studies,’’ Donnie said sheepishly, looking up at Leo, trying his best not to let his fear be shown.

‘’Fine. I’ll believe you. You may all leave now.’’ Leo said plainly, glaring down at Casey and Raph, both of whom were starring at the ground still as they walked away, shoulders hunching slightly.

Leo nearly felt himself crack. He wanted to stop them, tell them he was sorry and wanted everything to go back to normal but… he couldn't. He couldn’t stop hating them for what happened. He couldn’t stop his blood from boiling every time he saw Raph walk past him to leave the lair. Maybe time would heal all wounds, but for now, he was perfectly content blaming and hating his younger brother for what he’d done. Not just because of what he'd lost. It's what all of them had lost. It was how reckless and immature Raph had been and HOW he'd caused it. All of it added up into a pit of rage that had been brewing for years. The number of times he'd been kidnapped or injured because of Raph's idiocy and complacency and arrogance. What had happened had broken him, the small, sane and happy, innocent part of him had snapped. Maybe if Usagi returned that part would be reconnected but… he knew that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And it was all Raph’s fault.

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 21

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 11,394

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

Cinnamon.

The scent of it.

That was the first thing I became aware of.

It was so… familiar and spicy and warm. The warmth spread into my cheeks and brought a smile to my lips, small and unbidden. Sunlight against my closed eyelids was the second thing I became aware of as it melted away the last dregs of sleepiness from my mind. I'd been dreaming. I wondered what about… must have been something good. I quietly yawned and stretched where I lay flat on my back before, slowly by surely, I opened my eyes.

Then I froze and my heart gave a violent jolt.

That wasn't my ceiling.

This wasn't my bed.

That-

That wasn't my arm draped across my stomach with its hand resting on my hip.

I mean, not unless it had gained some serious muscle mass from pumping the soft serve/milkshake machine at work. And even then, those muscles would have had to of been on some sort of weird time delay for them to just so suddenly and quite literally pop into existence overnight while I'd been asleep. Now granted, I don't know a lot about the way human anatomy works, particularly when it comes to muscles. That said, I think it was a safe bet to say that none of it worked that way.

Oh gosh, and I was just now becoming aware of a second unidentified arm. This one beneath the small of my back. I had to wonder how it'd gotten under me without waking me up. Or maybe… maybe it hadn't so much as gotten under me as I had rolled on top of it? Gah, who knew? And honestly, who really cared? The point wasn't how it got there but just the fact that it was there!

Confusion and panic levels skyrocketing, I tore my eyes away from the mystery arms, resting my head back into the mystery pillow to stare back up at the mystery ceiling. Then I craned my neck to the left to take in the mystery room with all the mystery clothing tossed about everywhere. Then I craned it to the right to-

-to come face to quite literal face with… well, a face.

My hand shot up to clamp over my mouth, silencing the startled gasp trying to escape. Heart slamming against my ribcage now, my wide eyes looked at the face. And I mean, really looked at it now that I was over the initial jumpscare. And I realized…

It was Lea's face.

More precisely, Lea's sleeping face.

Fingers still clutched over my lips, my rapid breathing through my nose gradually began to try and normalize as last night slowly started coming back to me. The dinner with Saïx. My nervous babbling that had led to the impromptu sleepover in Lea's room. The lizard - no, not lizard, salamander - named Bruni. Sitting in Lea's bed with him while we watched movies together. Though it hadn't so much as been watching as more so talking over them. And laughing. Oh yeah, there had been a lot of that, oddly enough. Well, odd for me, anyway. I remembered making it all the way through the first movie and starting the second one, but I couldn't remember finishing it. I guess I must have dozed off somewhere in the middle of it.

Lea too, it seemed. He was now curled up on his side next to me. Both of us were still on top of the comforter and if you hadn't guessed already, those were in fact his arms across my stomach and under my back. Though they certainly hadn't been there before I'd nodded off. Neither had been that leg of his that was currently slung across both mine, which was a thing that was just now coming to my attention. There must have been a remarkable amount of shifting around in our sleep on both our parts last night.

Well, well, Slumbering Lea… we meet again. We really have to stop bumping into each other like this.

But now the real question was… what to do?

Extract myself and make a hasty retreat without waking him, of course! I'd done it once before and, by gum, I could do it again! Sure, last time had been a little easier, since we'd just been sitting on a couch and the whole situation had been a little less… tangled. But so what if this time around was a little more challenging? I like a challenge!

I drew in a long breath, held it for a few seconds, then released it as soundlessly as possible. Okay, let's do this! First order of business? The top arm. Should be simple enough, right? Next would be the leg, which might be a bit trickier, but I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. Debating the best strategy for dealing with the arm for a few seconds, I at last settled on gripping one of his fingers between my index and thumb and gingerly, oh so very gingerly picking it up.

Easy does it now. No rush. Remember, slow and steady wins the race!

I'd only managed to lift his hand a couple inches however when I heard a low noise in his throat. I stiffened, stopping immediately and turning my head to look over at him, fearing I'd disturbed him from his dreams. But no, he seemed to be making the sound in his sleep. Frowning and furrowing his brow too, no less.

Suddenly, his hand broke free of my grasp and latched back onto my hip before both his arms were pulling me to him, hugging tightly around my waist as I was brought chest-to-chest with him. My cheeks burned red hot and I had to swallow my squeak as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, nuzzling his nose in close and inhaling deeply. Then he sighed and his whole body began to relax once more as he released a soft snore.

...jeez, he really was such a clingy sleeper!

Also, this had just made escaping a whole lot harder. What with him more firmly wrapped around me now, I had no clue how I was going to disentangle myself without waking him up.

His hold on me had at least slackened a bit, if only enough for me to ease back slightly. We were still pretty much nose to nose, but I had managed to regain a few bare inches between our bodies before being stopped by his arms still looped around my middle. Pondering how to overcome this new obstacle, I blew a few stray, frazzled bangs out of my face and looked at him again.

I mean, it's not like I had much else to do at the moment. Not while I was so thoroughly and undeniably stuck.

...gosh, he really was pretty, wasn't he? One might even say painfully so. Even with his guyliner all smudged and smeared like that. Even while he was asleep. Or perhaps, even more so while he was asleep. I don't know… maybe it just seemed that way because I could stare at him so openly without fear of being caught and getting flustered over it.

I wish we were real.

Those words suddenly came drifting back to me once more and I had to wonder...would it really have been so bad? If that's what he'd really said and truly meant it? I mean, one would think I should have been happy to hear those words, what with my silly little crush on him. And actually, I think there had been a tiny part of me that hadbeen happy. But it had gotten swiftly smothered and crushed under sheer, blind, uncontrollable panic. After all, there's a big difference between hoping for something and actually getting it. And just because a tiny wish in your heart might have the possibility of coming true, doesn't mean you're actually ready for it to, or… or prepared to open yourself up and deal with being so… so…

...vulnerable...

Not that it mattered, of course. Because that's not what he'd actually meant. He'd told me so himself. Stated it in no uncertain terms.

But… if say, for the sake of argument, he had actually meant it… what was I so afraid of? Really? Lea would never hurt me… right? No, I don't think he could, even if he tried, even if he wanted to. He was too sweet. He was too caring and gentle. He was-

Oh dear god, he was waking up.

Sucking in a breath, I tensed as I saw him start to shift and stir, as his eyelashes gave a little flutter before cracking ever so slightly open.

I, of course, proceeded to do the only logical and rational thing I could do in such a situation.

I screwed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

Deal with the awkwardness of him knowing I'd been watching him while he slumbered? Uh-uh. Nope. No thank you. But crud, now I was too rigid, my face too scrunched up in my distress. He'd never buy the whole snoozing act, not like this! Come on, Elsa, be more natural! Relax, damn it, relax!

My mouth fell open and my tongue lolled out.

...not that relaxed!

I quickly tucked my tongue back in and cinched my mouth shut, hoping against all hope he hadn't woken up enough to witness that bit of unseemliness. If he had, there was no reaction. None that I could hear anyway. In fact, I wasn't hearing much of anything from him. Nor had his arms so much as even budged one millimeter from my waist. He… had woken up… right? Should I check? No, no, that might give me away. His breathing, at least, no longer sounded like he was asleep. But if that was true, what was he even-

A sudden heavy sigh from him startled me, almost making me jump and blow my cover, but I barely managed to keep it together. Then I felt him removing his hands, taking extra care and caution when easing the one out from underneath me. I dutifully and with great earnest continued to play dead. The bed then shifted and I knew he had stood up. There were a few beats of silence before a soft rustling noise could be heard… the shuffling of clothing, maybe? I wasn't quite sure. Listening to it for a few more seconds, my curiosity got the better of me and I furtively peeked one eye open.

My face erupted into searing, molten heat so fast, you would have mistaken it for the surface of the sun.

For there Lea stood - his back to me in all its leanly muscled glory - in nothing but his boxers.

My eye slammed shut again.

But not before I had a chance to see that said boxers were covered in cute, little cartoon ninjas.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Why was he naked?!

Well, not technically naked, since he still had something on over his-

What the actual frick, was I actually arguing semantics with myself right now?!

...I should look again.

What?! No, I absolutely should not!

I should. Purely for reconnaissance reasons, of course, just to keep tabs on what he's doing.

No. No! I'm putting my foot down on this. What if he's even more naked now?

Why on earth would he be more naked?

I don't friggin' know! But did I really want to risk it?!

I'm gonna look.

Don't you dare.

I'm doing it.

Don't-

I looked.

...oh thank goodness, he was more clothed now. I don't think I'd still be breathing if he hadn't been. He'd put on a tanktop and PJ bottoms and was now ruffling his fingers through his hair as he moved over to crouch next to the terrarium, checking in on Bruni. Curling his finger up and down at the little guy, he then stood to his full height and started to turn in my direction. I squeezed my eyes shut once more. There was a pause before I heard some movement, followed by the sound of the door leading out into the living room opening and then closing as quietly as possible.

A breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding all but exploded out of me as I flopped over onto my back once more. I just concentrated on the messy collage of posters up on the ceiling, waiting for my frantic pulse to settle down and desperately trying to block out any attempts made by my stupid brain to bring up images of a certain redhead down to almost nothing but his birthday suit.

After a minute, I began to hear what sounded like the muffled clang of pots and pans beyond that door he'd disappeared through, most likely coming from the kitchen. Lea was making breakfast. For himself and Saïx. For me too, I suppose, come to think of it.

That's when it clicked. Why he had undressed and changed. We were going to be seen this morning by his roommate and he hadn't wanted to look like he'd slept in his clothes. Not after what had supposedly been a, er, ahem… wild night of passion with his girlfriend. That had actually been some good thinking on Lea's part.

I laid there for a few minutes more, seeing as how there wasn't exactly any rush for me to be up yet. I took the time I needed to make sure I had fully composed myself and was ready to face this day and whatever new challenges it may hold. Or at the very least, whatever new challenges breakfast may hold. Finally, I felt ready enough to sit myself up and get off the bed. I started crossing the room towards the door but only got half way before I heard it.

Voices beyond the door. Two of them. One obviously Lea. The other? Going to go with the obvious choice here and say Saïx.

I immediately froze mid step as I recalled last night. Recalled the last things I'd said and done in front of him before pulling a vanishing act into Lea's room. Oh gosh, how was I ever going to face him after that? I couldn't. Plain and simple. If I went out there, Saïx would merely take one look at me and I'd just shrivel up and die of humiliation right then and there. But what else could I do? I had to leave Lea's room at some point. It's not like I could just hide in here forever!

...hey, now there was an idea. I could just hide in here forever.

Damn it, Elsa, no! Stop being so ridiculous! You're going to woman up and march your little hiney straight out there! Saïx was a nice guy. He wasn't cruel. He probably wouldn't even bring it up, just pretend like it'd never happened. If he could be an adult about it and have some tact, then so could I!

My nostrils flared in determination and I gave my cheeks a couple light slaps before nodding firmly, making my way towards the door again. I reached it. My hand was going for the doorknob. My fingers were closing around it. I was about to turn it. Honestly, I really, truly was! But then I stopped again. This time however, it had nothing to do with Saïx or my anxiety.

No, this time what brought me up short was my reflection staring back at me in the long mirror hanging on the back of the door. More specifically, at what I was wearing. At my penguin-printed stockings, wrinkled now from what was most likely some tossing and turning last night. At my dress, rumpled and creased and looking quite clearly slept in.

Shoot, if Lea had taken care to not make it obvious that actual zilch had happened in his bed last night, I should make the same effort, shouldn't I? But unlike him, I didn't have half my wardrobe just scattered about the room for me to change into. Fudge, what was I even supposed to look like after spending the night with a boyfriend? I had no clue! No personal experience to draw from.

Think, think… okay, how did girls look and dress the morning after in movies and TV shows?

I pursed my lips to one side, turning around so my eyes could scan the bedroom. Then I took a step forward, shifting some of the discarded clothes on the carpet about with my foot. I bent down to pick one up, saw it was pants and shook my head, tossing it aside. Another step, some more sifting. Ah! There! My fingers closed around some fabric and I pulled it free of the others before straightening back up, taking it in both hands and spreading it out to reveal a shirt. A tee-shirt, to be more precise, one that was black and bore a faded, cracked symbol that kind of looked like a wide, fancy, angular V. Beneath it was a washed out image of some sort of red, mechanical-looking lion.

I frowned at the top.

Oh gosh, was I really going to go through with this?

...the answer was yes. Yes, I was.

Locking the bedroom door, I quickly shimmied out of my stockings and tossed them onto the bed. Next went my dress, joining the tights on the mattress. Then I pulled the shirt on over my head, doing my best to ignore his boy scent clinging to it as I shoved my arms through the sleeves and tugged the hem as far down as it would go, which turned out to be about mid-thigh. It fit surprisingly well. Maybe that shouldn't have come as such a surprise - the boy did have a tendency to wear his shirts rather tight.

...not that I noticed such things.

I turned to face my reflection once more, giving myself a quick once over. Yes, I think this would do quite nicely. But then my eyes settled on my braid in the mirror, messy and a bit tangled. Clearly, that wouldn't do. I pulled it free, quickly unraveling it before combing my fingers through my hair a few times and ruffling it about a bit. There. That looked more appropriately bed-tousled now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Bruni out and about in his enclosure, eyeing me from atop one of his rocks. I grinned and asked him softly, "How do I look?"

He licked his eyeball.

I snorted, muttering, "One of these days I'm going to have to figure out what that means. For now, I'll just take it as a compliment." I then looked back down at the doorknob. My hand started reaching for it, but hesitated midway. My fingers clenched into a ball. Then unclenched. I took a tiny, trembling breath against the nervous tightening in my chest.

Alright, Elsa, quick mental checklist. Boyfriend shirt? On. Legs? Bare. Hair? Down. Plan of attack? Locked and loaded. You got this. I gave myself a quick shake, hitched my chin, squared my shoulders and opened the door.

Saïx seated at the dining table was the first thing I saw when I silently padded out. His back was to me as he took a sip from a glass of water, his eyes seemingly glued to his laptop screen, free hand tapping away at the keyboard. There was a warm plate of food on the table between it and him, along with a second full dish laid out before the empty seat to his right.

Lea was in the kitchen, fixing another plate together. He didn't look my way immediately for he seemed too focused on his task, but he must have heard me open the door for he called out a chipper, "Mornin', babycakes! Hope you're hungry! I whipped us up some eggs benny and crispy home fr-"

This was the exact second he turned to look at me, eyes going round.

Which, incidentally, was also the same exact second he dropped the plate he was holding.

"Shit!" he jerked back as it shattered against the linoleum, making food spatter everywhere and me wince. He squatted down and started snatching up the broken shards. However his slack-jawed gaze drifted back up towards me, his hands slowing. Then he flinched and dropped all the jagged pieces, hissing out a soft, "Fuck," as he looked back down at his now bleeding finger.

I rushed forward, passing Saïx (who hadn't even so much as looked up, just remained concentrated on his computer) and stretching my hand out towards Lea, "Here, let me help you with-"

He blanched and yelped, "Don't!" Leaping towards me, he slipped on some Hollandaise but managed to catch himself with a desperate grab for the edge of the countertop before finally reaching me, grabbing my arms and stopping me in my tracks right at the threshold of the kitchen. Then, with face full of stern intensity and utmost seriousness, he told me, "Foot slice, you will!"

I stared blankly back at him.

"Open!" he frantically tacked after a beat.

Oh. Well then, okay, when you put it that way, now it made total sense.

Except for, ya know… not. Not one bit.

He cleared his throat and tried again, "You'll slice your foot open! So don't go in there. Don't even worry about it, 'kay? I'll take care of it." I gave a slow nod and he puffed out a relieved breath. Then he made a pained tch through his teeth, releasing me to stick his still bloody fingertip into his mouth before taking it back out to shoot a tiny scowl at the cut.

Okay, so there had been a minor hiccup. But one shattered plate changed nothing. My plan of attack was still a go.

Ignoring the heat I felt creeping up the back of my neck now, my face hardened with resolve as I told him, "Good morning." Then while he was still distracted by giving his finger the evil eye, I stretched up onto my tiptoes and planted a kiss firmly to his cheek.

That was it. That was my whole plan.

Saïx better be getting a good eyeful, seeing how this bit of theater (complete with costume) was being put on purely for his benefit.

Lea's spine snapped rigid as he locked a wide-eyed stare on me. Strange. Why did he suddenly seem so flushed? Dropping my gaze to his injured finger, I stepped closer to him, taking his hand in mine as I asked, "Are you okay? Let me see."

He opened his mouth and words came out. Or at least, I think they were supposed to be words. However, they sounded more like garbled gibberish. I blinked then looked back up at him, knitting my eyebrows together. He abruptly staggered back a step, yanking his hand free of my grasp so he could cough into his fist and thump it against his chest, croaking out, "Fine." Further coughing and chest thumping, then he repeated with more strength, "Fine. I'm, uh… I'm f-fine… Chair!" I jumped in surprise as he suddenly lunged for a seat, the one across the table from Saïx. Pulling it out, he said, "Please. You. Down. Er… here?"

I frowned uncertainly before sitting in it.

I mean, I think that's what he was asking me to do.

As he pushed it in behind me, I said, "You're certainly very, ah… eloquent this morning."

"Sorry," he chuckled weakly. "Better mouth, I'll make." He tensed, one eye ticking before grounding out slowly, "I'll. Talk. Better." Then he shoved the second plate of food that was already on the table - which I assumed had originally been for him - from its spot in front of the empty chair over towards me before he all but bolted back into the kitchen.

...why did he keep talking like Yoda?

Glancing across the table, I noticed that I didn't seem to be the only one confused. Behind his sleek glasses (that I'd just realized he was wearing now that I could fully see his face) Saïx's dull stare was flicking back and forth between me and Lea, one eyebrow quirked.

I heard Lea grunt out a low "Ow" behind me, followed by the tinkle of what I assumed was more of those plate shards. Seemingly losing interest again, Saïx's eyes returned to his laptop as he called out dryly, "Might I suggest the broom and dustpan?"

There was a long pause. Then a sheepish laugh, "Right. Broom. Smart."

The sound of feet scrambling, followed by a thud, then Lea suddenly appeared over next to the small door leading into the pantry. Retrieving said cleaning implements out of it, he slammed it shut once more before our eyes met and he froze. Then with a dopey, lopsided grin, he clicked his tongue and shot me a finger gun, nearly dropping the broom with the action. He fumbled to catch it, winced, then darted back around the corner, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

...he was acting so weird.

Sighing, I took my fork up in hand and started picking at my food, eating a few of the fried potatoes. I could hear Lea sweeping back there, intermixed with what also sounded like him throwing together another plate of food for himself. After a few more minutes, he reappeared at the pantry to shove both items back in, the broom handle popping back out to smack him in the face before he managed to slam the door shut with a tiny growl. Then he looped back around through the kitchen, coming out the other side with his fresh dish in hand and taking a seat between me and Saïx. As his plate clattered unceremoniously onto the table, I noticed his eggs Benedict looked a lot more sloppily thrown together than my own.

He looked at me. Then down at his breakfast. Then back at me, this time with another grin and an oddly hoarse, "Hi."

"...hi?" I smiled back hesitantly.

His lips parted, then clicked shut again. Then parted once more, taking in a breath like he was actually going to say something this time. But nope, false alarm. He hastily looked away and plonked his elbow on the table, propping the front of his chin against his palm, teeth gnawing on the side of his hand as his knee started jiggling up and down. His eyes kept flicking about, one second staring straight ahead, the next at me out of his peripheral. Then back and forth again. And yet again. That redness started creeping into his face once more.

I elected to fixate on my food, cutting into my poached egg and slipping a bite into my mouth. I didn't know what else to do, really. What to say. There was something… heavy in the air, though I didn't know quite what exactly. Whatever it was, it made finding words difficult, even for small talk. If Saïx noticed the odd tension, he gave no outward sign as he continued to type away at the keys. Several minutes ticked by where that tip-tapping from the laptop was all that could be heard.

Suddenly I felt tiny pleasant tingles trailing through my scalp. With a start, I looked up to discover Lea watching me through half-lidded eyes as he gently tucked my pale bangs behind my ear. His fingers went on from there to tangle themselves in my hair and lightly run through the length of it, all the way down to the bottom, eliciting a little shiver from me. Then our eyes met, he blinked, gaze widening and snatching his hand back. His fingers splayed and flexed before curling into a fist that he shoved between his knees as he let out a gruff, "Sorry."

Face hot, I averted my eyes. "What for? You have no reason to be."

He was just doing his part as my rent-a-boyfriend, after all.

"Right. Sorry… about the, uh… the…" he cleared his throat, "...about the first sorry."

And once again, Saïx's typing took over in dominating the table conversation.

I put my fork down to tug at the hem of my borrowed shirt. I should have found a longer one. I hadn't taken into account the fact that it'd ride up a bit while I was sitting. Unfortunately, pulling at it seemed to be doing little good.

Making a small noise in his throat, Lea stared hard up at the ceiling, knee frantically bouncing once more.

"Did you say something?" I asked him as I retrieved my fork.

"What? No. Me? No. Mm-mm," he shook his head rapidly. Then he inhaled sharply through his nose and held it, unblinking eyes staring off into space for a few seconds before releasing the breath noisily. "Actually! Saïx! Brother! Bro! Brometheus! Bromie G-Funk! C-3PBro! My one and bronly! How'd, um… how'd work go last night?"

Saïx's fingers stilled and he glanced towards Lea, frowning at him over the rim of his glasses. "...you already asked me that while you were cooking earlier."

"Oh," he chuckled. "Right." Saïx resumed clacking away. He couldn't have gotten more than a few words written however before Lea spoke up once more, "What was the answer again?"

Twitching, Saïx came to another stop. "It went fine," he enunciated, tone flat and even.

"That's right, I remember now," Lea nodded slowly. "Heh… riveting."

Saïx went back to ignoring him.

With only a few bites left on my dish at this point, I glanced over at Lea's and realized he'd hardly touched his. "You haven't eaten much."

"Huh?" He glanced my way, crimson flooding back into his cheeks. Then down at his breakfast, both eyebrows raised as if he wasn't exactly sure what it was he was looking at now. "I…? Oh! Silly me. Forgot. Must be distracted by all this… lively discourse!" Seizing his fork, he scooped it through some potatoes, brought it up to his mouth and bit down.

Straight into the metal fork handle.

For you see, he'd picked it up the wrong way.

"Been using forks long?" Saïx deadpanned, not looking up from his laptop screen.

Lea's eyelids drooped as he flipped him the bird. And there his knee went again, jounce, jounce, jouncing away at a mile a minute as he tossed the silverware back down onto the table. "You know what? Don't think I'm all that hungry after all."

I tipped my head to one side, squinting at him. What was with him today? First with fumbling things - the plate, the broom - and just his unusual amounts of clumsiness in general. Then of course there'd been his jumbled and incoherent talking. Now the mixup with the fork and he had no appetite? Not to mention he was still really red. Like, super red. It was almost as if he were-

Wait… could it be…? Was he…?

Of course! That must be it! Oh gosh, it was so obvious now! Why hadn't I realized it sooner?

"Are you sick?" I leaned towards him, pressing the backs of my curled fingers to his forehead. He stiffened under my touch, going stock still. I frowned, "You're a little warm. You might have a fever." I trailed my knuckles down to his cheek, checking to see if the temperature was consistent throughout his face.

"Fine!" he snagged my wrist and abruptly stood, knee whacking the underside of the table as he did so, causing all the plates to give a violent rattle. "I'm… I feel fine! Just…" he hastily dropped my wrist, his hand going to drag along the nape of his neck, "...it's just it's... way too hot in this place! Yeah! I'm gonna go open up a window, get some fresh air in here!" He practically blurred into the kitchen, throwing the one just over the sink wide open with a loud bang before rushing back into his seat, nearly toppling it and him over with his momentum.

"Ah, much better, don'tcha think?" he beamed. Then without waiting for an answer, he started shoveling food into his mouth like a man starved - thankfully with the correct end of the fork this time. He only stopped when he realized we were both staring at him. He swallowed his current mouthful and gave a small laugh, "Er… turns out there was a bit of a rumbly in my tumbly after all?"

...if this was him trying to convince us he wasn't suffering from some sort of bug, he was failing. Miserably.

With a drawn-out sigh through his nose, Saïx slowly began to rise from his own chair. As he picked up his own plate, I was a little surprised to see he had already finished every last morsel on it. I hadn't noticed him eating at all. I hadn't even thought his fingers had ever left his keyboard this whole time.

As he walked past us towards the kitchen, I finished the last bite on my plate before standing as well. Lea glanced my way out of the corner of his eye while chewing, so I took the opportunity to smile softly at him and place my hand on his shoulder. The muscle twitch beneath my fingertips and his jaw stilled as I told him quietly, "Thank you. It was delicious."

Then I took my plate and turned to follow Saïx into the kitchen. As I walked, I could feel this tiny itch in the center of my back right between my shoulderblades. I think Lea's gaze was still on me. Shrugging it off, I came to a stop next to Saïx as he ran the faucet over his dish and squirted some soap into a sponge. I got in line to wash my own plate, setting it down on the countertop beside the sink while I waited.

Saïx gave me a quick look and we exchanged smiles. The tiny, awkward smiles of two antisocial shut-ins. Oddly enough, I felt comfortable in our mutual introversion. I hadn't even thought once about the way I'd embarrassed myself last night in front of him. Though, I guess that could just be because I'd been too distracted by Lea's weirdness all morning. Regardless, Saïx and I then settled into a companionable silence as he set to work.

And still that itch along my spine remained.

A breeze drifted in through the window over the sink, brushing along my skin and toying with strands of my hair. I gave a low hum at how nice it felt and I reached back to gather my locks together, sweeping them forward over one shoulder where I idly began to finger-comb them.

The scraping of Lea's chair along the floor was the only warning I had, one that I paid little mind to.

The next I knew, his arms were slipping around my waist to hug me from behind and his lips were pressing a soft, tender kiss to the side of my neck. Shockwaves of icy heat cascaded out from that one small point to ripple throughout the rest of my body.

I was forgetting to do something. I think it was important. Possibly even life sustaining and-

Ah. Breathing. That was it.

Lea lingered for a few seconds more, his breath warming the now hypersensitive skin there and I had to suppress a small quiver. The tip of his nose brushed along my jawline as he then brought his lips up to my ear, whispering silkily, "For appearances." Aka, for Saïx, standing not two feet away from us. Lea planted one more swift peck to my temple before withdrawing his arms and pulling away.

Oh gosh, he'd been right. It was really so very hot in here, wasn't it? Sweltering, in fact. Were there more windows we could open? I think I was on the verge of melting here.

I slowly brought a hand up to cover the spot where it still tingled from his lips, casting a brief glance back over my shoulder. Lea had settled himself against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, his fingers drumming along its edge, his head bowed and eyes darting about, landing on anything and everything but me. I looked forward once more, biting down into my lower lip and rubbing the back of my leg with my other foot. The skin under my palm felt like it was searing and I could swear he'd left a scorch mark there. I didn't know what to do with this. How to react. I mean, it was okay… right? I had given him permission after all to kiss any bare skin with the only thing off limits being directly on the mouth. He'd just never kissed… there before. No one had. I hadn't expected it to be so, er… intimate.

With a start, I realized Saïx was studying me, expression unreadable. To be fair, that's how his face usually was. Still, I suddenly felt self-conscious and I had to resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. He looked away, sticking his dish on the drying rack and reaching for mine, muttering, "I'll take care of it."

I frowned, "But-"

"Wouldn't want another broken plate," he said simply as he put it under the flow of steaming water. I furrowed my brow at the statement and he closed his eyes. "You look like you might be catching the same illness Lea has."

Blast it all, I needed to figure out how to get this whole stupid blushing issue of mine under control! It used to not be such a problem. I never used to blush at all, not until Lea waltzed into my life.

The big, dumb, beautiful jerk.

"...thank you," I murmured, referring to my dish with a nod, unable to come up with anything better to say. Perhaps now would just be a good time to escape. I turned to go only to end up stumbling back into the counter, biting back a yelp.

For I hadn't expected Lea to suddenly be standing right there, smack dab in front of me all super close now. His hand was raised, frozen midway to my face. He looked guilty, like a kid who'd been caught reaching into the cookie jar. His wide eyes darted from me to his hand and back again. Then he muttered under his breath, "Welp. This is happening."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Wha-?"

That one syllable was all I got out before he'd suddenly hoisted me up and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. My fingers scrabbled and clutched at the back of his tanktop, trying to find purchase so I could prop myself up.

Just what the heck was he doing now?!

He erupted into booming laughter and slapped Saïx on the shoulder. "Well, my dude, got another hour to kill before my class starts, so I think the lil lady and I are gonna head back to my room for round two!" My head shot up, face roasting. Excuse me? "Or is it round eight? Round nine? Bah, I've lost track since last night!" Well that was certainly a bold claim there, stud. "That's right, a lil more of the ol' forbidden polka, if ya know what I mean." Even that oven mitt over there knew what you meant. Seriously, you can stop now. "Boinking! That's what I mean!" And yet, he was still going. "Ya know, really rattle the ol' headboard! Except, ah, heh… no headboard. But still-" I kneed him in the gut, forcing a grunt out of him. I think he got the hint. "Right! Anyway! I know you're heading to bed now, so we'll try to keep the roughhousing to a minimum! No promises though! Sleep tight, man!"

Thankfully, mercifully, he spun us around then so he could carry me off to his room. That brought me face-to-face with Saïx as Lea jogged off. The man's expression was as indecipherable as ever as he watched us go, but if I had to take a guess, I'd say he looked just about as bewildered as I felt. That was the last thing I saw before Lea crossed the threshold and kicked his door shut behind him.

My back was suddenly hitting the mattress as he dropped me into his bed. I sat up quickly, bracing myself on one hand as I tucked my legs in beside me and yanked down the hem of my shirt. Then I looked up at Lea and my whole body tensed.

He was standing at the foot of the bed, so very still and just… staring at me. His face was a mask, giving nothing away. But his eyes… now those were a different story. They were so intense, so dark and… swirling with something I couldn't quite put a name to. It was sucking all the oxygen out of the room. It made my fingers unconsciously grip at the comforter more tightly. Made my pulse race and the spot on my neck where his lips had been prickle slightly.

Neither of us moved or spoke for several seconds. Several… very long seconds. When I did finally manage to find my voice, it was small and uncertain as I asked, "...Lea?"

He blinked at the sound of his name. Once, twice, then slowly gave his head a small shake, like he was coming out of some sort of trance. He grimaced, bringing one hand up to cover his face but not before I spotted some of that redness creeping back into it. He groaned, dragging his palm down to just over his mouth instead, eyes narrowed on the floor as he grumbled, "Sorry, I'm… I was just… ah, nevermind."

He turned away, dragging his feet towards the bathroom door and stretching one arm over his head as he went. "I'm gonna hop in the shower. I take 'em long, so you should have more than enough time to change, but I'll knock before coming back in justa be on the safe side. Saïx's probably back in his own room already, so you can wait out there if ya want. Or in here. Wherever. Then I can drop ya off any place you want on my way to class, 'kay?"

It took him glancing back my way from beyond the door frame for me to realize he was actually waiting for some sort of reply. "...okay," was the best I could come up with, still in the same tone I'd said his name. He gave a tired-looking smile and a small nod before closing the door. It wasn't until I heard the shower running that all that tension coiling inside of me at last dispersed and my whole body slumped.

Something strange had just happened. I didn't know what. All I knew was I felt relief now that it was over. But also… oddly enough, a bit… disappointed?

Shaking the feeling away, I scooched myself off the bed and quickly changed back into my own clothes, leaving his shirt on the mattress. Then I slipped into my ankle boots, zipping them up before pulling my hair back into a loose ponytail. Not forgetting the Twilight University course catalog, I grabbed it off the nightstand, my fingers fiddling with one of its corners as I glanced about the room.

It was actually feeling a bit claustrophobic in here, so maybe waiting out in the living room would be for the best. Or better yet, out on the sidewalk where I could get some fresh air. Yeah, that sounded like just what I needed right now. Giving Bruni a tiny wave with one finger, I moved to the door and quietly opened it a crack to peek out.

I could make out the dining table, where the only thing left on it was Lea's half eaten breakfast - Saïx had probably felt zero obligation to clean up after his brother. His laptop was gone so it looked like he had indeed retreated to his own bedroom. I quietly slipped out, softly shutting the door behind me before leaning back against it, closing my eyes and heaving a low sigh through my nose.

"You two aren't really dating."

Those five little words made me jolt and nearly topple over, but I steadied myself against the door. My breathing shallow, I glanced to the left to discover Saïx standing in his own doorway, arms crossed and shoulder propped against the frame. His eyes were pinning me with a flat look, his lips settled into an almost imperceptible frown.

I paled, both eyebrows shooting up my forehead as I stammered, "I… We… That is… How did you-"

"Don't worry," he harrumphed, turning his head to one side. "Your secret is safe with my indifference."

...well that was good

At least, I think it was.

I tucked in my bottom lip, eyes shifting about for a few seconds. "...what... gave it away?"

"I wish we were real," he recited Lea's words blandly, the same ones that had been haunting me since last night. So Saïx had overheard that after all. "There were other things after that. Things I might have overlooked otherwise despite the fact that Lea can be painfully transparent sometimes."

My head tilted to the left. "What do you mean?"

He held my gaze for a long moment. Then his eyes closed and he gave a soft, almost amused hmph. "That would be telling. Regardless, it'd probably be for the best if you kept him away from alcohol for the remainder of your little charade, however long that may be." He turned his back to me, reaching for his door but then stopped. "And please… try to be careful with my brother. I'd rather not see him get hurt."

"...hurt?" I blinked. "What-"

But he simply closed his door, leaving me to wonder at his cryptic words.

"Actually, could you please drop me off at the mall instead?"

Lea glanced my way, tipping his head forward so he could look at me over his aviators. Then he smirked, pushing the sunglasses back up with his middle finger as his eyes returned to the road and he flicked off his turn signal. "Good for you," he said as we sped past my apartment complex.

I shrugged, twisting a tendril of my ponytail between my fingers. "I'm just going to talk to them. It's no big deal."

"Sure that's all it is," he nodded solemnly, still grinning. He was back to his usual self again. Not a trace left of that weirdness from earlier this morning. Guess that shower he took really did the trick. "You're gonna love Sally and Jack. They're quite the characters… bit oddball, but some of the nicest, friendliest people you'll ever meet. And I'm calling it now: they're gonna adore you. I wouldn't be surprised if they offered you the lead in their musical after only talking to ya for five minutes."

Snorting, I rolled my eyes, "That's not how it works."

"You're right. I'm selling you short." Out popped that dimpled of his, "Make that three minutes."

"Shush," I shoved his shoulder and he chuckled as he turned the car into the Dusk Town Center parking lot.

"Alright, alright, I'll shush up about it," he mimed zipping his lips. "You know where Halloween Town is in there, right? Remember how to get to Blitzball Sports from the food court? It's not too far past that, just keep an eye out for the swirling dark vortex of spook and nightmare, ya can't miss it."

"Sounds like I'm in for a treat," I gave a small smile.

"Something like that," he snerked as he pulled up to the curb in front of the mall entrance, the flow of shoppers coming and going around us thick at the moment. Lea reached across me to open my car door and I was mildly irked at the tiny flutter my heart gave in response to his sudden nearness. He didn't pull back right away, instead raising his sunglasses to sit atop his hair as he looked over at me, his eyes crinkling. Then his hand cupped the back of my head, pulling me close so he could plant a light kiss to my forehead. "Have fun, meu chuchuzinho," he beamed, his fingers mussing up my bangs.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Portuguese," he chirped, answering my unvoiced question, "for my lil squash!"

Not even gracing that with a reply, I just heaved a sigh, unbuckled my seatbelt, smoothed my hair and got out of the car.

He called out after me, "We'll say that one's a maybe! And oh! Almost forgot. If you run into Vanibutt at Halloween Town, don't take anything that lil punkass says too seriously. He's like that 'round all girls. My guess? His mom didn't give him enough hugs as a kid. Just call him Beetlejuice, got it? He likes it."

My eyelids drooped. "Somehow I highly doubt that," I said, closing the car door before he could make any further wisecracks.

He just winked and made heart hands at me through the window before driving away. I shook my head as I watched him go, face warming as my fingertips brushed over my forehead at the same spot where his lips had just been.

I hadn't mentioned anything to him about what Saïx had said to me. About the fact that he'd figured out our little secret. Somehow, I'd got the impression from Saïx that our little talk was supposed to stay just between us. I guess it really wouldn't have made a difference if Lea knew one way or another. Still, it felt weird not telling him. Maybe Saïx would tell Lea himself in his own time. Puffing out a breath, I waited until I could no longer see his car before I turned and passed through those double doors leading into the food court.

It didn't take me long to find my way back to Blitzball Sports. Business was slow in there at the moment and I could see inside where two employees were bouncing a ball back and forth between them. They honestly looked like a couple of beach bums, the shorter one with shaggy, sandy hair and the other with a 'do done up into a large, orange coif. Next door at the Glass Slipper, I could see the shoe clerk there - a blonde girl in her teens - being run ragged by a particularly nasty looking customer and her two bratty daughters. Ah, the joys and glamor of customer service. Silently sending my sympathy to the poor salesperson, I pushed onward.

Hm, let's see here… Hair, Here, Everywhere? No, that was a hair and beauty salon. Looking past the Flower Gleam And Glow poster on the window boasting a new anti-aging cream, I spotted one of the stylists - an energetic young woman whose employment in a barber shop seemed rather ironic. Her long flaxen hair down to her ankles had probably never known the firm snip of a pair of scissors.

Next to that, we had… what did that old, broken, retro sign even say? Space Paranoids? Yeesh, it was certainly gaudy with all those light-up neon tubes decorating its walls, wasn't it? Oh gosh, I think it was a laser tag place. I didn't even know those still existed nowadays.

Then there was the little kiosk in the middle of the walkway, dubbed The Key Graveyard. Some sort of key copy booth, I think. I edged my way around it, giving it a wide berth. The bald, old man working it had creepy eyes that gave me the willies.

Oh, now there was a store name I recognized: The Crayon Box. And what luck, Naminé was even behind the counter there at the moment. She caught my eye with a sweet smile and a wave. I returned it before moving on, looking to my left. Across the way from the little art supply store was…

Ah-ha! Halloween Town! Lea's words hadn't done it justice. The whole store front was decorated with gothic tombstones, synthetic yet sinister jack-o-lanterns, and eerie silhouette cutouts of shadow faces. The doorway was even fashioned with a large wrought iron gate to give one the impression of walking into a decrepit old cemetery.

I hesitated at the entrance, gnawing on my lower lip. It wasn't the ghoulish ambiance that was giving me pause however. Instead it was a familiar, chilling doubt creeping its way up inside my chest.

What was I even doing here? Did I really think I could talk? To strangers? About singing? In a musical, no less? A musical, for crying out loud! Did I not know myself but at all? What was I thinking? If I was struggling to even go inside right now to merely introduce myself to a couple new people, what made me think I could ever possibly stand on a stage to perform in front of a whole auditorium?

...then again… musicals were a little different, weren't they? Musicals had scripts. Scripts made things so much easier. Scripts made it so you knew exactly what to expect. No surprises, no uncertainty, all you had to do was stick to the script. Scripts were comfortable. Life would be so much simpler if it were like a musical, one where I had a script to follow. Musicals were just so… nice. Full of songs and dancing. You'd forget the audience was even there and all you were left with was pure joy. I remembered how they made me feel as a child. Like I finally had somewhere I truly belonged. Being a part of them was the last time I remembered feeling like I had been sincerely, genuinely happy. I… think I might like it… if maybe I could recapture some of that old feeling. Even just a little bit of it.

My hands clenched at my sides and my nostrils flared.

I could do this. I could walk inside, meet these individuals and ask some questions. Just a few measly questions. It didn't even have to go beyond that. I could change my mind at any time if I wanted to. This was nothing. Just one small step, that's all.

With a reassuring nod to myself, I marched inside.

The place looked like the Dark Prince Dracula himself had exploded in here. Just the whole doom and gloom aesthetic covering every inch from floor to ceiling. The store practically overflowed with its goth merch, making the walkways cramped as I tried to navigate through it all, looking for a Jack, a Sally, or someone who could point me to either of them. Unfortunately, I wasn't having any luck beyond running into a handful of shoppers perusing the goods. They gave me blank stares as I passed them. I must have stuck out like a sore thumb here.

Perhaps I was going about this all wrong. Maybe instead of me looking for an employee, I should just stop and let an employee find me. That did tend to be a part of the whole working retail shtick, after all.

As I came to a halt and waited for someone to (hopefully) ask me if I needed help finding anything, I glanced around. I had parked myself in front of one of the stores more, shall we say... unique items for sale. A very large, very regal, very frightful looking high-backed prop chair embellished in plastic skeletons and glowing jack-o-lanterns. I squinted at the little plaque next to it on the black wall, declaring it to be the throne of the Pumpkin King. Jeez, it was expensive too. Who would even pay that much for such a monstrosity?

"You lost, little girl?"

I gasped, jumping at the sudden voice. Wait… I recognized that voice. Had heard it not too long ago. But had it really come from where it sounded like it had? Wrinkling my brow, I looked up.

There, sitting atop the high backrest of the throne with an elbow propped on one knee and chin in his palm, was none other than Vanitas. He smirked down at me from his perch, gold eyes flickering bright in this otherwise dark place. There was something moving, cozying itself up around his shoulders… some sort of critter, I suspected, but it was hard to tell from down here.

Well, I'd been hoping someone who worked here would find me. I guess this was the very definition of be careful what you wish for because you might just get it.

I took a step backwards, fidgeting with my fingers. "Um… Excuse me, but could you help me find-"

"Sorry," he grumbled in a tone that was anything but apologetic as he hopped down to land in front of me, pointing a finger at his now apathetic expression, "but does this look like the face of someone who gives two fucks what you want?"

I grimaced, moving another step back. His gaze was making me anxious and I was unable to hold it, instead opting to shift my eyes over to the creature on his shoulder. Now that it was closer, I could see it was a hairless sphynx cat, black with red eyes. Did its collar say… Flood? What a strange thing to name a pet. I must not have been reading it right. Licking my dry lips, I muttered, "Well, I… suppose I'll just go find someone else th-"

"What was your name again?" Vanitas interrupted me, eyes narrowing as he got in my face now. It seemed he had absolutely zero awareness of personal boundaries. He started to slowly circle me, eyeing me up and down, "...Emma? Ilsa?"

"Elsa," I corrected with a tiny scowl, back stiff as I felt a chill creep up it while he passed behind me. This guy was getting on my nerves. Before I could stop myself, I snapped, "And yours was what? Beetlejuice?"

...can't believe you actually went there, mouth. That was childish. Lea was a bad influence.

"Cute. Bet your boyfriend told you to say that," he snerked, finishing his tiny lap around me and coming to a stop, bringing us face-to-face once more. His cat was making a low growling noise as it watched me and Vanitas brought up his fingers to scratch behind one of its large, jagged ears. "Still, it took balls to actually say it. Looks like you got some bite beneath your chilly exterior, eh Frosty?"

My scowl deepened and I backed up another step, my spine coming into contact with the end of a wide shelf. I hoped he couldn't hear the small tremor in my voice as I shot back, "And looks like you have a bad memory beneath your boorish exterior. I just told you what my name is and it isn't Frosty."

Elsa, Queen of the Death Wish.

Seriously, why was I antagonizing this guy? This was a bad idea. I knew that and yet I couldn't seem to help myself. He was making me antsy. My heartbeat hammered and my hands were clammy. I felt a bit like a cornered animal, lashing out in a futile attempt to keep a larger predator at bay.

His lips curled wolfishly. At least he seemed to find me amusing. Although, I wasn't quite sure if that was really a good thing. "You know, I'm starting to see why Red has his panties all in a twist over you." His cat leapt down to the floor and started weaving itself between my ankles. Doing my best not to trip over it, I tried to sidestep so I could regain some distance and possibly even altogether escape but Vanitas's hand shot out, palm slamming against the shelf behind me, his arm now blocking my path.

"Yeah," he continued, rubbing a curled finger to his chin as his unsettling grin grew toothier, "you got sorta this whole pure, innocent Catholic schoolgirl vibe going on that really makes a guy want to corrupt the fuck outta you. Tell ya what, Frosty," he leaned in closer and my jaw clenched as he clacked his silver tongue stud against his teeth, "if you ever get bored of that loser, gimme a call. I'll show you a real good t-"

"Bad Vani!" Suddenly the boy was getting spritzed in the side of the face with some kind of liquid and he jerked back, stumbling away from me. A young woman stepped forward, glowering at him as she sprayed him a couple more times with the water bottle she was holding. "Stop scaring the customers!"

"God fucking damnit, woman!" he snarled back, angrily scrubbing his sleeve along his damp cheek. "You can't do that to me! I am darkness! I am fear! I am-"

Eyelids drooping, she squirted his face with more water. He spat out a long string of curse words before flipping her off and running away, his cat hissing and scampering after him.

Sighing and shaking her head, she then turned to me with a small smile, "Sorry about him. We keep him around because he's really good with the regulars, but he does seem to take perverse pleasure in spooking any newcomers, or 'fresh meat,'" her fingers bounced in air quotes, "as he likes to call them. He shouldn't bother you again however. In any case, I'm Sally, how can I help you?"

Ah, so this was Sally. Thank goodness she didn't seem anything like her coworker. She was pretty, if somewhat distressingly pale. And that was coming from me, so that was saying something. Why, standing next to her, I practically looked tan. Her long red hair came down to her waist and peeking out from the neckline of her colorful, eccentric patchwork dress was a neck tattoo that looked like a line of crisscross stitches wrapping all the way around.

"Oh, er… hello…" my hands folded over one another against my stomach. Then fell awkwardly to my sides. Then, after some hesitation, I stretched one out for a handshake, "My name is Elsa. I…" my mind drew a total blank and my anxiety spiked. Grasping at straws, I blurted out the first thing I could remember, "Lea sent me."

Wow, that sounded so cloak-and-dagger.

Sally accepted my hand, her smile growing warmer. "Oh, so you're the one he's been talking our ears off about. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." She twisted around slightly, calling back over her shoulder, "Jack? Elsa's here. You remember… Lea's girlfriend?"

A few seconds later a man emerged from between the racks of black leather apparel and spiked accessories. Jeez, he was tall. At least as tall as Lea if not having him beat by a couple inches. The big difference here however was Lea at least had some meat on his bones, where as this guy was more just skin and bones. A walking stick. I'd give him this however, he was quite the dapper dresser in his black suit with a bit of goth flair to it. His short, poofy hair was a stark white and he struck me with a huge, face-splitting grin that would have given Sora a run for his munny.

"Ah yes! The one interested in trying out for our new production! Nice to meet you, nice to meet you!" He grabbed my hand with both of his, giving it a couple shakes that rocked my whole body. "Wow, just look at you! The hair, those eyes, that complexion! You would make an absolutely stunning Glinda!"

Placing gentle fingers on his arm, Sally said, "Slow down, Jack. Remember what Lea said?"

"Right! Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting ahead of myself in my enthusiasm," he laughed, long thin fingers scratching at his cheek. "You've been out of the musical game for a while now, isn't that right?"

Sweeping my ponytail forward to run my hands down it, I nodded. "Yes… yes, it's been a few years. Not since I was a child, in fact, so I'm a bit rusty." My face pinched and I looked down, "Well... more like a lot rusty."

"That's okay!" he brushed off, his hand batting the air. "We welcome everyone, especially beginners! We just love introducing people to the wonderful world of theater! To the magic! The drama!" he boomed the last word, curling his fingers skyward before him theatrically.

"Tone it back a bit, dear," Sally affectionately stroked his cheek before turning her gaze back on me. "Jack's an actor, if you couldn't tell, though he does dabble in directing from time to time too. I'm more behind the scenes. I like to help with the costuming and techie work."

My head tipped to one side, recalling Jack had said something about Glinda. "Is your upcoming show going to be The Wizard of Oz?"

"Wicked, actually," he corrected before bringing his hands together with a clap. "And in fact, we're holding auditions tomorrow starting at 5 PM over at the Sunset Hill Auditorium! You should swing by and try out. It'd be good to get some new blood in there!"

"What?" I blinked, before quickly shaking my head and holding up a hand with a feeble chuckle, "Oh no. No, I don't think so. I was just curious to learn more about your group, but I don't think I'm ready for… well, for anything like that."

"Still, you should absolutely stop in and check us out. You can just observe if you want. May I borrow your phone?" Sally asked. I chewed my bottom lip before digging it out and letting her take it from me. She tapped in something real quick then handed it back. "There. You have the address now and you're welcome to come by, even if it's just to hang out. We're a real open and friendly lot. Just a bunch of overgrown theater kids, really."

"Thanks," I murmured, staring down at the location she'd entered into my phone for a second before pocketing it once more. Then I pursed my lips to one side, averting my gaze to appear more interested than I actually was in the vampire fangs hanging in the display to my right. "...so what exactly would one need to do to prepare for an audition? Just for curiosity's sake," I tacked on the last part quickly, faintly blushing.

It was just an innocent question. Not like I was actually going to do it.

Sally grinned softly. "For singing parts in musicals, we require those trying out to perform two songs. One from the show itself, the other can be anything of the auditionee's choosing. I entered my number into your phone as well in case you had any further questions, so just shoot me a message and I can text back the selection from Wicked that you'll have to pick from. For that, you just have to bring your voice. For your personal preference song however, you'll need to be ready with some sheet music for our pianist to play from."

Seemed simple enough.

…not that I was going to do it, of course. Certainly not. Nope.

"Sally, you almost forgot the most important part," Jack tsked teasingly before ducking his head down to my level and striking up a finger. "You must also be prepared… to have fun!" he declared happily, throwing up a pair of jazz hands.

A crease formed between my eyebrows. "I'll… try to remember that. Thanks." I felt an upward tug at one corner of my lips despite myself.

I thanked them for their time and we said our goodbyes. Luckily, I had no further run-ins with the local wildlife (aka Vanitas) on my way out. As I trekked my way homeward, I felt a bit of a pleasant electricity buzzing in my chest. I think I may have actually been a smidge excited. Of course, it was only over the idea of going and watching other people audition tomorrow. Of living vicariously through them. I surely wasn't going to try out myself. Who me? No, don't be silly, definitely not. And I certainly wasn't currently dusting off my mental playlist of the soundtrack for Wicked, nor already sorting through a few potential songs I might sing as my free choice. No, absolutely not.

Those were the furthest things from my mind.

The.

Absolute.

Furthest.

Author's Note: Lea-dot-exe has encountered a critical error and has crashed xD Gosh it's simply staggering the amount of mental acrobatics Elsa goes through to just simply NOT GET what has him so tongue-tied and flustered. Being really bad at reading social cues has basically become her super power at this point. Well, that and her super human ability to babble under extreme pressure. Also, more plot creeping back in as Elsa potentially begins to pursue the whole community theater angle! I was just happy I got an excuse to write Jack and Sally into this, they're a couple of my faves! Also happy I got an excuse to have someone spritz Vanitas in his punkass edgelord face with a water bottle haha! Fun Fact: These musical tryouts are based on how musical auditions used to be held at my high school. I'm not sure if any other theaters (professional, community, or otherwise) hold tryouts like that, but from what the internet tells me, every theater is different, especially when it comes to community theater, so I figured sure, why not, let's just go with what I know!

Next chapter, will Elsa be ready in time for tryouts? Will she actually go? Will she actually audition?! Who else might be there to try out as well? Is Lea actually onto something, have we been using forks BACKWARDS this whole time? Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

[notapaladin]

i want the storm inside you awoken now

Teomitl comes home in victory from a long campaign in foreign lands, and Acatl is more than happy to welcome him in the best way he knows how. (Yeah this is plotless smut, y’all know my bag.)

Also on AO3

-

The army was home, and they were celebrating a rare victory. Acatl almost didn’t care. Yes, they would maintain their hold on whichever province they’d been sent to, and yes, this was no doubt a fine deed by Tizoc’s standards, but he stared across the plaza in the bright sunshine and he only saw Teomitl.

Teomitl, whose feather suit was ruffled and torn in places, who’d walked miles that day and the day before on aching feet in a mass of his equally tired and worn-down comrades. Teomitl, who stood straight as an arrow despite all that. Teomitl, who had locked eyes with him and was smiling brighter than the sun above, as though none of it mattered except the sight of Acatl’s face.

He inhaled, feeling his chest expand with it. I missed you. I love you. Even if he’d been able to take him in his arms right then and there—even if by some miracle they could be allowed to embrace, in public, as other warriors did their wives and mistresses—they were too far away. He cursed every fingers’ breadth of distance.

“So I won’t be expecting Teomitl home tonight…?”

“Mihmatini,” he hissed. A furtive glance around revealed that nobody seemed to have noticed her comment, but he elbowed her in the ribs anyway.

She grinned up at him, unrepentant. “I only want to know if I’ll get an extended reprieve from his snoring.”

Teomitl’s snoring wasn’t honestly that bad, at least if you asked Acatl. The way that he talked in his sleep was worse; it was distracting at the best of times, but when he had nightmares it was heartwrenching. And then there was the way he was seemingly incapable of lying still, tossing and turning until he woke tangled in their cloaks or Acatl’s hair. Still, given the choice between putting up with all of that and going to bed alone...well, there really was only one option. He’d missed the security of his lover’s arms.

“Hm,” he said, and settled in to wait for the interminable speeches to be over.

Because of course there were speeches. There were dances. And at the end of all that, there was a royal banquet that he didn’t dare to skip out on or sneak out early from. Tizoc would be sure to notice his absence, and if his men came looking for Acatl and found him in Teomitl’s arms...the consequences really didn’t bear thinking about. So he sat on his mat in between Acamapichtli and Quenami and tried very, very hard to pretend he was sitting alone.

It didn’t work. Quenami shot him a sidelong glance and commented in a tone of viciously calculated innocence, “Those are new.”

He turned, feeling the unaccustomed weight of his silver earflares. They’d been a gift from Teomitl before he’d left on campaign—“so you have something to remember me by,” he’d said, and Acatl’s heart had melted before he could even mount the slimmest defense against materialism. And in his defense, they were nice earflares; a spider had been worked onto each as though it was sitting in its web, and the spaces between the web’s silver strands were inlaid with dark jade. He’d put them on with pride earlier.

Acamapichtli spared him from having to answer, leaning around him with a smirk to indicate Quenami’s own finery. “So is that necklace you’ve got on. Are we not all wearing our best to welcome our victorious warriors home?”

Quenami looked like he’d eaten something sour, but he nodded and, mercifully, shut up before Acatl gave in to the urge to strangle him. Acatl reapplied himself to his dish of turkey in rich, dark mole and let the delicious food restore his equilibrium, if not his good mood. That was something he knew would be out of his reach as long as Teomitl was halfway across the banquet hall.

He could feel his lover’s eyes on him. He looked up.

Teomitl was radiant. There was jade and gold at his ears and on his fingers, and his cloak had been trimmed with jade beads that gleamed where they caught the light. Tizoc might have been the one behind the gilded screen, but he was the one who looked imperial. He needed only turquoise to complete the look. One day, Acatl thought. I’ll see you crowned in glory.

Of course, the man didn’t need a crown to take his breath away. Though the faint shadows under his eyes pinched at Acatl’s heart, he quirked up a tiny, devastating smile when their gazes met. Then he noticed the earflares, and his gaze went from merely warm to simmering as it swept slowly down Acatl’s form; he must have liked what he saw, because his smile widened. Acatl felt his blood stir in response, and for once he was glad of the flickering torchlight and his fellow priests’ self-absorption.

Sometimes, they didn’t need words. Least among the High Priests he might be, the son of a peasant family of no great renown, but Teomitl was devouring him with a single glance.

Soon, he told him with his eyes. Soon.

&

After the bright gold and incense of the banquet, the cool quiet of his little house was almost a relief. Almost. It had been cool and quiet for much too long.

Four months, three days, and ten hours. Teomitl had left at the start of the dry season, kissing Mihmatini goodbye and clasping Acatl’s arm with a smile. They’d said their proper farewells earlier that morning, and he’d been briefly jealous of how easily Teomitl’s regalia hid the marks. Then his lover had marched off to war, and he hadn’t been jealous at all. He was used to being alone, and it was hardly as though he’d had much free time in which to indulge in the ache of missing him—but then at unexpected moments it had risen up like a fist around his heart, choking the life from him, and he’d remembered that feelings didn’t care whether you had time or not. He’d found himself avoiding their favorite tamale stall, suffering unexpected pangs when he visited Neutemoc’s children; Teomitl was always so good with them that the memories had points like thorns. His lover had made a space for himself in Acatl’s life, and the empty hollow had echoed.

He took a breath, remembering the way Teomitl had looked at the banquet. Going unfulfilled certainly won’t be a problem for me now.

He’d barely finished washing himself in the basin when he heard the brisk, familiar footsteps that resounded with his soul, and something in his chest went loose and open. “Come in.”

The entrance-curtain jingled softly, and Teomitl stepped inside. He’d shed his gold and jewels in favor of a plain cloak, but that was secondary to the soft, relieved smile on his face. “Acatl.”

They fell into each other’s arms. Acatl’s hands settled at Teomitl’s waist, marveling at how well they just seemed to fit together as Teomitl’s fingers slid up into his hair. The first long, slow kiss felt like coming home, and his blood sang with it. I love you, he thought as the hot line of Teomitl’s body pressed against his. I love you, I love you.

Even when they drew apart to breathe, they were so close that their noses brushed. Teomitl’s voice was soft and serious, trembling a little with emotion. “I was so lonely without you.”

He’d heard poets call war the flowery death, the place where blood was spilled with honor. He’d heard warriors describe it, less poetically but more accurately, as weeks of marching and bad food punctuated by a day or so of screaming chaos. No matter how much of a consummate warrior Teomitl was, the thought of his lover going through all that and missing him made his chest ache all over again. “I know. I know. I’m here now.”

And to prove it, he pulled him in for another kiss. This one had Teomitl melting against him, humming in pleasure as his lips parted for Acatl’s tongue. “Mmm…” His body was a glory against Acatl’s, all lean hard muscle and a warrior’s scars, and Acatl wanted him closer. He pulled him in, feeling Teomitl tremble, and just as he was wishing fervently that they’d shed their cloaks his lover arched, pressing them stomach to stomach with a moan. “Mm—nngh.”

That had been a pained sound. He broke the kiss, feeling suddenly chilled. “What is it?”

“...It’s nothing.” Teomitl looked flushed in the torchlight, both from pleasure and—if Acatl was any judge—embarrassment. “I’m fine.”

He held Teomitl’s gaze. “You didn’t sound fine. Have you been injured?” There hadn’t seemed to be any new scars on his lover’s limbs, but he hadn’t been looking as closely as he should have, and a long cloak could hide much.

Teomitl huffed, but under Acatl’s searching gaze he moved his cloak aside. “It’s really not that bad. It just pulls a little when I move.”

Not that bad wasn’t how Acatl would’ve described the long, glancing cut that had left an angry red scar over Teomitl’s shoulder and down his chest. It looked like someone had made a weak attempt at removing the arm entirely, though the shallowness of the scar tissue suggested they’d found Teomitl’s armor very tough going indeed. If it had gone a bit deeper, it would have been disabling. If it had gone much deeper…

If it had gone much deeper, Teomitl would have died.

Slowly, Acatl raised his hand to trace the scar. He kept his touch light as butterfly wings, and Teomitl trembled with it. “Oh, my love.” I could have lost you. And he’d known it, hadn’t he, when he first set out to love the Master of the House of Darts—but knowing something was very different from seeing it in front of his eyes. The scar under his fingertips was rough and raised; with time, it would go pale before fading into the background tapestry of his lover’s skin, but he would always know it was there.

Teomitl smiled, covering his hand with his own. Whatever he saw in Acatl’s face softened his voice, though the underlying conviction was as firm as the foundations of the Great Temple. “Always yours.”

That’s right. He drew in a long breath. “Is this the only souvenir you’ve brought back from this campaign?” Mihmatini no doubt would have made a quip about preferring the time he’d shown up carrying a rock with a water-scoured hole in it, but he found he didn’t quite have the heart to bring it up. The simmering desire that had coiled through his gut was building back up into something tinged with desperation. I need to touch him. I need to know he’s truly alive.

“...No,” Teomitl breathed. “Let’s lay down, and I’ll show you.”

They tumbled to the mat together, Acatl winding up on top for once while Teomitl sprawled out on the woven reeds and quickly-shed cloaks like a feast. As he sat back between Teomitl’s spread legs, he was fiercely glad for the torch. Before they’d shared the truth of their hearts, when all he’d had were his own terribly guilty desires, he’d thought they would only have this under cover of darkness; now, he looked back and shook his head at his own stupidity.

Teomitl deserved to be seen. He was even lovelier naked, all that bare skin exposed for Acatl’s eyes—but oh, he’d been telling the truth about the scars. There was another one high on his right thigh; from the angle, Acatl suspected a spear had got under his guard. He trailed his fingers over it, feeling skin twitch under his touch. Teomitl’s breath hitched. “Ah...”

“This looks like it must have hurt,” he murmured. It clearly didn’t hurt anymore; Teomitl was quivering, but his lover’s quick breaths and the way he hardened under his gaze showed only pleasure. And even if it had...well. The man liked that sometimes. He dug his nails in experimentally, watched the way Teomitl’s eyes went dark, and wondered how their night would go.

No matter which way it went, Teomitl’s fierce grin suggested they’d both be pleased by the end of it. “I killed the man that gave it to me.”

“Of course you did.” His lover was fierce as a jaguar when he fought, all hard edges and fury. He couldn’t imagine him showing mercy to an opponent foolish enough to actually think to harm him. He barely showed mercy on the mat, at least when Acatl asked him not to—and there was a thought, wasn’t it? His warrior, claiming him.

His breath caught on an inhale. Oh, that was definitely an option. “Hmm…” He drew his nails over the scar and down the sensitive skin of his lover’s inner thigh. Teomitl’s cock twitched. “Does it bother you?” Not waiting for an answer, he kept going. Slow. Slow and steady and...

“I’ll show you how much it bothers me—” Teomitl surged up and grabbed him, pulling him in for a ferocious kiss. Acatl went eagerly; this was what he’d missed, what he’d wanted—strong arms around him, the toe-curling heat of a hungry mouth on his mouth, his jaw, his throat. When teeth scraped over his jugular, he groaned out loud.

Then they rolled, Teomitl pinning him flat on his back, and he was left panting at the hunger in his lover’s face. Oh, he thought dizzily. Yes. Claim me. Caged in Teomitl’s arms like this, more than half-hard already just from the way their bodies had slid against each other, all he could think was that he needed more; he’d barely realized the desire before Teomitl was giving it to him, hands sliding down over his ribs as he licked into his mouth in the exact manner that always made him shudder. “Mmph!”

Teomitl drew back only to nip at his collarbone, the sweet sting making him jolt. Then he rolled his hips, pressing their cocks together, and the friction had him bucking in response. “Missed this,” his lover breathed. “Gods, you feel so good—I missed you so much—”

“Me too,” he gasped, but his mind wasn’t on the words. He was a being of pure sensation—the solid heat of Teomitl on top of him, the way his thigh muscles flexed as he wrapped them around his lover’s waist, the feeling of Teomitl’s skin under his palms as he dragged them down his back. There was so much power there. You could destroy me. You could wreck me, and I’d love it. The thought sent fire through his veins, and he rolled his hips in a deliberate grind against his lover’s thick cock.

Teomitl bit at his neck in response, mouthing a bruise into the thin skin. Then he did it again a little lower down, and again, until Acatl was clawing at his back and letting out desperate little gasps. When he finally lifted his head, his voice was a growl. “Gods, I want you.”

His heart was hammering against his ribs, arousal sharpening the edges of his world. It had been months since they’d seen each other, and every time he’d taken himself in hand he’d known too well what he was missing. What he might have—he grabbed at the fresh scar on Teomitl’s shoulder, digging his nails in hard. What I might have lost out there. “Then take me,” he breathed. “My victorious warrior. You’ve still got something else to conquer, don’t you?” You’ve come back to me alive, against all the odds. Prove to me you’re going to stay that way.

Teomitl’s eyes blazed. “Oh, I do.”

There was no question of this being a leisurely, gentle bout of lovemaking. That certainly had its place, but not here. Not now, after so long apart. Teomitl wrenched the lid off the jar of oil, spilling it across the mat and Acatl’s thighs as he slicked himself up; when he slid two fingers in at once, Acatl keened at the stretch and the burn of it. His body needed time to adjust to being filled again, but it didn’t look as though he was going to get it—not that he minded, really. Teomitl worked him open roughly, making him buck his hips in a vain attempt to establish some sort of rhythm; when a particular curl of his fingers made Acatl cry out, his lover’s grin turned feral. “Good. I want to hear you.”

“Teomitl—!” Acatl cried. Don’t make me wait. Please.

He didn’t. Another vicious thrust against that spot and he pulled his fingers out to replace them with his cock, shoving himself in to the hilt in one rough thrust. Acatl nearly screamed. “Teomitl!” It was almost—almost—on the edge of too much; he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be fucked so damn full.

“Fuck.” Teomitl sucked in a hard breath and held himself still for one heartbeat, two; the part of Acatl’s mind still capable of any thought at all wondered if he was feeling as overwhelmed as Acatl was.

And then his lover started to move, and even that tiny part ceased to exist. Teomitl was merciless, and all Acatl could do was hang on. His own fingers couldn’t compare to the way Teomitl sank into him, hips snapping fast and hard as though he couldn’t get deep enough. It sent fire down his spine and along his every extremity; he clawed at Teomitl’s shoulders, not even bothering to muffle his cries, and managed somehow to gasp, “Gods—more.”

Teomitl bared his teeth in a sharp grin. “Like this?” He shifted his weight, bracing himself on his knees with one hand buried in the loose mass of Acatl’s hair, and pulled almost entirely out only to slam back in, harder and somehow impossibly deeper. Acatl keened and arched into it; the angle was a little different this time, enough to fan the flames into a conflagration, and he knew he wouldn’t last long at all if Teomitl kept it up. And he would keep it up, of that he had no doubt. His lover was relentless in the pursuit of their pleasure.

Relentless and brutal. Teomitl dug his fingers into Acatl’s hip, bit bruises into his throat, and each fast, steady thrust fucked a gasp or a sob or a moan out of him. He tried to match his rhythm as best he could, but Teomitl was claiming him as thoroughly as he’d dreamed and all he could do was take it. So close. Gods, I’m so—Teomitl, please— His blood felt like liquid lightning. When Teomitl’s mouth found a yet-unmarked spot where his throat met his shoulder, he made a desperate noise. “Ah—!”

And then he was coming, his world lighting up in sparks as sheer ecstasy scorched through him and left him a shaking wreck. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think. He could only rake his nails roughly down Teomitl’s back, mouth falling open in a hoarse cry. Teomitl’s cock pulsed within him as he followed him over the edge with a snarl.

For a long time after, neither of them could speak. Teomitl slowly lowered himself until he could rest his head on Acatl’s shoulder; Acatl caught his breath against his lover’s hair and slowly regained something that felt like brainpower. Even when he managed words, they felt like they were coming from a long way away. “Gods,” he panted, “that was…” Intense. Incredible. The best way possible to welcome you home.

Teomitl pulled out with a hitch of his hips that made them both shudder, but he didn’t go far; knowing how much Acatl hated lingering messes, he was soon back with a towel and much gentler hands. “I missed you,” he said simply.

Acatl shivered in pleasure. He’d feel the evidence of Teomitl missing him for a week, and he didn’t doubt his lover would be happy to refresh his memory whenever he asked. “Certain parts of me especially.”

“...Yes.” It was soft. Then Teomitl leaned over, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him. This time it was sweet and gentle, and when he drew back he was smiling. “Like this one,” he breathed. One hand left Acatl’s face, slipping lightly down over the fresh marks on his neck and stopping just over his heart, where the fingers splayed as though he wanted to capture his heartbeat in his palm. “And right here. That’s what I missed, Acatl-tzin.”

They were so close that their noses brushed, and when Teomitl nuzzled at him teasingly he found himself grinning like a fool. His chest seemed to be filled with warm honey dripping through his ribcage. “Ridiculous man.”

“Your ridiculous man,” Teomitl murmured fondly. He rolled lazily so that he curled against Acatl’s side, that one hand still resting over his heart. “I’m staying tonight. I have to make up for all the nights I wasn’t sleeping beside you.”

“Mmm. Yes.” He stroked Teomitl’s back, feeling his heart beating steadily in his chest. That’s right. Mine. And he’ll be mine forever, no matter how far he goes.

Thus reassured, he drifted off to sleep.

...And was promptly woken three hours later by a thoroughly-unconscious Teomitl kicking him in the shins as he rolled over, but that was a small price to pay.

[challito]

Haunted - Triumvirate Pt. 3

Daphne watched as tiny fragments of what had just been a doorknob, slipped between Kai’s fingers. Though, she only allowed herself to watch for a moment. Behind her, was an entire house that played the part of a grandiose trap. One they had just been lured into. In this particular rendition, she and her friends were cast as the three blind mice and a little girl outside was playing the role of ‘the cheese.’ Daphne couldn’t have been more disappointed in herself.

In Ketros, she had planned and pulled off similar cons. It wasn’t particularly elaborate. She had been sloppy and she should have known better. A simple bait like this one was the first con she had ever been involved in. She’d been given a Tinc for her brilliant rendition of ‘the cheese’ in that situation. Still, it hadn’t been long after when she decided she could do much better than to play the role of a crying little girl.

It was something about being reunited with Clio and Kai. With them she felt invincible. Almost like she didn’t have to watch her own back anymore. As she stared up the dark hallway before her, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. If anything, now she’d have to be more aware. She had two more backs to look out for now.

They crept down the hall slowly, Daphne leading them with silent steps. All three could see passably in the dim light. As they tread careful steps, Daphne couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them from the shadows. Though even were her advanced vision, she couldn’t locate the source. The hall smelled musty and the scent followed them into a quaint entrance hall. At least, quaint by Ketrosi standards.

The room held a fireplace to their left and a large curving staircase that ascended to their right. Two doors stood shut on the wall opposite them. Judging from the layout of the house there would be one more room to her right. Though from where she stood, Daphne couldn’t see the door just yet. The tainted spared a quick glance over her shoulder. Clio had one hand on her amulet and another hovering over the short sword on her hip. Kai was staring at the ceiling runners.

When Daphne followed his gaze, she noticed that the dark wood lining that decorated the join was carved ever so subtly. It was quite an intricate job. It featured countless screaming faces, writhing in a mass of torment and agony. Kai met Daphne’s eyes for a moment and his face set into a grimace. Clio ignored them both and tentatively stepped into the entrance hall before them.

She hadn’t walked more than a handful of paces when they all noticed the lighting change. Ever so slowly, the room around them began to grow steadily brighter. The walls revealed their shade to be a warm cream, the ceiling runners, deep mahogany. Daphne looked at Clio, but the half-elf didn’t seem to be the cause of the illumination. Though there were no other sources of light to be seen.

“Clio. Is that you?” Kai asked, regarding the light.

Clio shook her head. “Four choices, friends.” She whispered.

Daphne stepped into the room and took another look. She had cased countless houses in Ketros. So much so, that she had developed a kind of sixth sense when it came to structures and layouts. She often noticed discrepancies; a wall too thick, or a room too small which could signal the presence of hidden passages or doors. However there was something about this house that hid outside her sixth sense. It irked her.

It felt like a house they construct for the Passing Festival in Ketros. An attraction for children mostly with illusions that make the floors feel slanted and the walls, like they’re closing in. However, this house had none of those tell-tale signs. It just had an irksome ambiance that made Daphne feel like she was missing something. She had allowed herself to relax because her friends were by her side, but she couldn’t assume they were going to take care of her. She had to take care of herself.

Slowly, Clio opened the door that stood alone. It held a quaint sitting room, with another fireplace but little else of note. Only that the ceiling runners were also carved in the same motif as the hallway. Daphne could only guess that it was a running motif of the family, though she couldn’t begin to understand why.

On the other side of the entrance hall through the two doors was a dining room, and a kitchen and pantry. Daphne crept around all three while Clio and Kai stood guard in case anything were to come down the stairs. When she returned to her companions she shrugged.

“No sign of anything. Not even the washing up after dinner.” Daphne said in a hushed voice.

“No idea of what this beast could be?” Kai whispered.

Daphne shrugged. “Sorry.”

The idea passed through Daphne’s head that perhaps there was no beast. They had been lured into a trap by the little girl outside. She would surely be getting a Tinc for her performance. Magic was definitely in play. The doorhandle was evidence of that. Though perhaps this was all the girl’s mother’s idea of a joke. A village as gloomy as Bris was sure to warp a sense of humour. Though Daphne hoped, she knew the situation wouldn’t be that benevolent.

Clio looked toward the staircase. She looked back at Daphne and Kai. They nodded. Daphne stepped out in front of Clio and led the way up the staircase. Her footsteps were soft as kitten. Every muscle in her body and tail counterbalancing for soft, even pressure. She led the other two around what she was sure would be creaks and groans in the stairs. For the most part at least, Kai was hard pressed to mask his heavy footfalls.

As the trio crept slowly upward, the second floor opened before them onto a small landing. They arrived to see the same cream walls framed with mahogany runners. Nestled between the panels were a handful of doors and a lone mannequin wearing a suit of decorative armor. On its head was a bronze helmet fashioned in the old ways which covered the full face. It sported a high red and purple plume. Its chest was adorned with an engraved, bronze cuirass that matched the grieves and vambraces it was wearing. There was a short sword at its hip and a shield fastened on one arm.

Daphne took one quiet step onto the landing and without warning, the mannequin came to life. It took a heavy, creaking step off the dais from which it stood, drew its sword, and promptly began attacking the intruders. The mannequin’s sword flashed out toward Daphne in a streak of bronze which she narrowly avoided, managing to circle a few steps to the mannequins left.

The mannequin loaded up on another downward slash but not before Kai called on the weave. He drew his wand from it’s holster under his arm. Then, he muttered a few words into his left hand while extending the wand in his right toward the mannequin. Frost formed at the joints of its sword arm, puncturing into the wood. When it swung Daphne could hear the crackling and popping sounds as the wooden joints strained against the ice. It was noticeably slower, and this time Daphne had an easier time avoiding its attack.

Sword in hand, Clio charged. She shouldered the creature out of the way as she ran up the last few stairs. As it stumbled, she hacked at one of its legs, leaving a deep gash in the soft wood. Daphne drew her rapier, a weapon of bygone days rarely seen. It wouldn’t be much use against a wooden dummy covered in bronze, but it was better than cocking her fists at it like a mad woman.

The mannequin slashed again, this time at Clio. Kai was already sending frost through the weave. Still focusing on the elbow joint of its sword arm, trying to slow it down. It was a near thing, Clio stepped out of the way as bronze sang inches from her face. She swung in retaliation that left a groove on the mannequins’ cuirass.

While it was distracted, Daphne landed a heavy front kick in the small of the creatures back. The mannequin lunged forward on unsteady feet before crashing into one of the doors. Seizing the opportunity, Kai tried to sling another spell but lost his footing on the stairs. His concentration of the weave faltered, and the spell failed, dissipating into the aether.

Daphne kicked out again, this time aiming for the lowered sword arm. Frost still hung heavily to the joint and when her foot connected, it shattered. The clattering of the sword falling to the ceramic tiles rung up and down the house.

Just as the mannequin had barely regained its footing, Clio feinted with an overhand strike. It raised its shield to defend itself. Clio grabbed the shield instead. Grasping the edge of the wide bronze dish, she turned it as though she were helming a ship at sea. On anyone else holding a shield, the action would have hyper extended the tricep, leaving the arm useless. However, on the ball and socket joint of the mannequin, the technique was somewhat less effective.

Still the creature was preoccupied. Daphne used the moment to her advantage. She grabbed the thing by the helmet and pulled with all her might. There was a tearing and popping noise as Clio held on tight to its shield until finally the head and helmet came free. The mannequin went limp. Wood and bronze clattered to the floor.

“Fucking hell.” Kai said, climbing the last of the stairs.

“That’s a neat trick you’ve learned. Slowing it down like that.” Daphne said to him.

“I think I like your one better.” He pointed at the girls. “The one where you rip it limb from limb.”

A few more congratulations were passed back and forth. Daphne had been so concerned from the moment they stepped into the house that she couldn’t rely on her friends. She had told herself that she not only had to watch her own back but theirs as well.

It was something she had told herself over and over since the first time she had taken that Tinc so many years ago for playing the part in someone else’s con. Before that, she had been a foolish little girl. A victim. Her life subject to the whims and passing kindnesses of strangers on the street. A beggar didn’t watch out for herself, not truly. But, she wasn’t that foolish little girl anymore.

Watching Kai pat Clio on the back and smile at her, she began to think that perhaps she had it wrong. The three of them had been caught completely off guard and come away unharmed. None of them sported even a scratch. This was the first time they had ever been tested and they answered like a band that had been fighting together their whole lives. Perhaps, she didn’t have to watch her own back anymore. Perhaps they could watch each other’s.

Clio stooped to pick up the creatures’ shield. “If I had known we were walking into something so dangerous I would have come better prepared.” She hefted the shield on her arm, feeling its weight. Then she looked around at the rest of them.

Daphne waited until Clio looked like she was ready to move on. “Shall we?”

The other two nodded and Daphne led the way. She felt a new confidence rise up inside her. She still stepped silently and still felt the eyes of some unseen thing watching her, but it bothered her less now. She had the two most perfect companions watching her back. Together they would protect each other.

Daphne reached out for the first door on her left. The latch lifted silently, though the hinges squeaked as it swung open. A strange wind pricked up the hairs on the back of her neck. Though she couldn’t feel it’s source. Daphne took a few silent steps into a simple bed chamber when an anomaly in her vision made her blink.

It was as though there were something in front of her but nothing at the same time. It quickly became more visible, as though the dust motes in the air and the very weave itself were converging to form a strange humanoid shape. The shape kept becoming clearer until the spectre of a maid stood meters before her.

Clio called Daphne’s name, but it was too late. Before she could breathe, the spectre had covered the distance between itself and Daphne and was raking out at the Tainted with ghostly claws. The incorporeal fingers buried themselves up to the knuckle in Daphne’s chest, and as they raked, it felt as if her organs themselves were being torn to shreds. Daphne tried to raise her hand in defence, tried to breathe but she couldn’t do either

Daphne’s vision tunnelled on the creature and continued shrinking until there was nothing but darkness all around her. It had only been a few heartbeats since she opened the door into the spectre’s room. She didn’t even have a moment to think of how foolish she had been. To assume herself suddenly safe because she was fighting side by side with friends. They were the thoughts of a foolish little girl that she assumed had been left behind on the streets of Ketros so very long ago.

It felt like a blink. Daphne had sworn she had only blinked. She remembered her vision tunnelling. Remembered the blackness, but only for a moment. Though, when she opened her eyes again everything was different. The room had been turned upside down. Literally and figuratively. The furniture was shattered, deep grooves had been cut into the dark wood floorboards. The bitter scent of ozone hung in the air. Daphne witnessed it all from flat on her back.

Had she feinted? No. She remembered those ghostly claws sinking deep into her chest. She remembered falling. She looked for the creature. Looked for her companions. Clio sat above her. She was bloody, it ran in rivers down the half-elf’s forehead as she whispered to her god. Daphne noticed Clio’s hand rested gently on her pink shoulder.

“She’s alive.” Kai said.

Clio opened her eyes. When she saw Daphne looking back at her she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Iros.”

Kai didn’t look much better than Clio. He was nursing one of his arms and Daphne could see deep bruising on one of his legs.  She still felt that illusive sensation, as though someone or something was watching her. What she couldn’t feel was that strange air that blew from nowhere and held the hairs on the back of her neck to attention. She had felt it when she entered the room. Just before she had seen the spectre.

“Is it gone?” Daphne asked.

Clio nodded. Kai was keeping one eye on the room and another out the door.

“What happened?” Daphne asked.

“We weren’t careful enough, Daphne.” Clio said after a heavy sigh. “You very nearly died.”

[dr-pepper-cherry]

The Outlaws

In the late 1800s, the events of the Civil War had left America in a less than civil state. Gangs popped up all over the west, from Billy The Kid’s Rustlers to the infamous James-Younger gang.

But lost to the recesses of history is the simply named group known as The Outlaws.

Former members of the Innocents, these seven individuals escaped the clutches of the Vigilante Committee that had hanged their leader, Henry Plummer. Without the advantage of numbers they once had, they were forced to rely on stealth and disguise to tackle their new scores.

But surprisingly, they found this method more beneficial than they did working with the Innocents. Trains were robbed, banks were picked clean and entire shipments of gold would disappear overnight with such delicate precision, no one even noticed they were being robbed until it was too late. And should a problem occur and blood was forced to be shed, they had no issue spilling it. With the mass amounts of money they collected and the twenty steps they had above the law, they would’ve made criminal history.

If it wasn’t for one misfired bullet.

When Johnny Harlan shot and killed Josiah McGrath and separated the group in an attempt to escape justice, little did he know he had inadvertently created one of the most terrifying gunslingers in all the west.

And that gunslinger, cloaked in red, was coming for him.

(Deadeye backstory, yay.)

Bill O'Malley, AKA “Buffalo”

The group’s muscle and strongman, Buffalo was often brought along to carry safes and gold bars out of their raids with as little noise as possible. Armed with a mighty axe and possessing incredible strength, he would’ve been a great challenge to the sixteen-year-old Cyrus McGrath.

If it wasn’t for his crippling addiction towards liquor.

The Buffalo’s love for whiskey, bourbon and everything else that’d keep him drunk was what kept him from leaving his favorite bar in Astoria, Oregon and Cyrus’s first step towards his path of vengeance. Using the money left by his father, he kept Buffalo talking with every bottle of booze. Cyrus kept buying drinks until Buffalo had ran out of things to say that were at least coherent. He waited until the strongman lifted his mug for another drink before shooting him right through the throat. As the patrons began screaming and running to the door, Cyrus fired another shot into Bill, one between his eyes.

He was the first of the soon to be many people that would fall to Cyrus McGrath.

Lucius “Luke” Winchester, AKA “Rabbit”

The Old Ship Saloon in the bustling city of San Francisco, California was often the prowling ground for gamblers and card sharks alike. Folks from all walks of life would saunter into this fine establishment, ready to test their luck and make their fortune.

And no man was better at this lifestyle than Luke Winchester, known to the criminal underworld as Rabbit.

Rabbit was the Outlaw’s lucky charm. Whether it’s a high stakes tournament game of poker or a simple need for the charismatic gentleman, the group would all turn their heads to the white-suited man.

But luck was not with him the day Cyrus McGrath walked into the saloon.

The eighteen-year-old boy seemed to be spare change for the master gambler but accepted the boy’s place at the table as the man was rather incompetent at games of luck.

Round after round, the gunslinger continued dealing bad hands and terrible moves that were completely ridiculous.

By the end of the game, Rabbit was staring at $300 on the table with such unbridled glee, he wasn’t even attempting to hold back his smug nature.

Because the gunslinger was such a good sport, Luke offered $50 for a ride home, which he thought was a rather generous notion. But the gunslinger shook his head and asked for a different consolation prize.

“Your life.”

And before Luke could react to those words, Cyrus spun around with a revolver in his hand and fired a round right between Luke’s eyes.

The people only looked on in fear as Cyrus began walking out the door, watching from the corner of his eyes as Luke fell upon the table, still clutching his bloody cards of two eights and a pair of aces.

Miss Katherine “Kitty” Jezebel, AKA “Cat”

The Storyville district of New Orleans, Louisiana is where all manner of sin was once practiced. Drugs and pickpockets were plentiful on those roads but the most frequent vice were the brothels that lined those streets more than homes and businesses. It’s mostly abandoned nowadays but back then, if you had the money, the workers in those districts were all the more happy to make your story a whole lot happier. But one of those businesses would be the center of a tragic tale.

Miss Katherine Jezebel, or The Cat, was once the thief & seductress of the Outlaws. When charm, grace and the promise of a one night stand was needed, she would slip in and out of any bank or train with the loot in her arms and a lot of explaining to do for the guards.

But when she wasn’t the master thief, she went by Miss Kitty, the rather gracious owner of the once luxurious Rose Garden brothel. Like other brothels owners, she was rather sweet on those who took to this way of life. Her girls were paid well, she’d never turn away anyone looking for work and any creeps or perverts who wanted a free showing were dealt with a warning shot. 

But Miss Kitty often found disappointment in her business as her girls were always chosen instead of herself. For Kitty, the only people who’d come looking for her were rather out of touch aristocrats and very dull city officials. The same expected people and the same group of customers had grown irritable over the years with the same expected results: boring and unsatisfying.

So in 1896, when her latest client wasn’t some stuffed up aristocrat but rather a twenty-year-old stranger in red, she didn’t feel the need to turn him away. While he wasn’t the epitome of handsome or mannered, his rugged appearance, mysterious and dangerous style and interest in her skills certainly had her attention. When he asked for her “service”, she brought the man upstairs and proceed with their “business”.

But unfortunately for Katherine, The Stranger In Red was more interested in revenge as she found out a little too late when he pulled a gun on her.

Katherine’s death would not go unnoticed as many of her former clients set warrants out for who the presses were calling “The Reaper In Red” with a few of her old flames picking up their pistol belt to avenge their lost love. Despite their efforts, the gunslinger shot through anyone standing in his way of vengeance and it wasn’t long before the marshes of Louisiana were long behind him.

Oswalt Dillinger, AKA “Vulture”

Before it’s closing in 1953, the Howard Athenaeum was one of the finest theatres in Boston, Massachusetts. Shakespearean plays were performed, symphonies were orchestrated and actors of all sorts made the first big break in those applauding halls. And no member of the audience was more frequent than Oswalt Dillinger.

To the public eye, Oswalt Dillinger was a renowned surgeon of unmatchable talent. His skills with a scalpel were greatly respected and had caused the “good” doctor to earn quite a mass amount of wealth that he used on charities, doctoral supplies and, his personal favorite, theatrical art. His love for the shows on stage had always brought him to the theater’s finest performances and it wasn’t surprising to find him at his box watching the event in glee.

But unbeknownst to the world, Oswalt was only a disguise. His real name had been lost to history but his alias, The Vulture, had lived on as a symbol many of the law could never catch. Appointed by the Outlaws as their personal doctor, he also made work as their contact with the black market. Whether it was a “spare” case of opium or a deceased patient’s internal organs, the doctor would trade these items for information on potential targets to rob. With a connection to a market where anything and everything had a price, the gang flourished in the trade, with him to thank as their sole supplier 

But that was before the Reaper In Red.

By the 1890s, tales of The Reaper in Red and his vengeful crusade had been spread across America like wildfire. Paperbacks recounted the horrific stories of all who got in his way, regardless if they were lawmen or bandits. And the Vulture’s fears of the gunslinger were properly founded as three of his former colleagues were dead and buried in shallow graves. He hired bodyguards and mercenaries aplenty to watch his home at all hours, kept a squadron of four heavily armed guards with him whenever he ventured outside and kept his wits and derringer on him at every hour, regardless of laws or relative safety. The only place he lowered his guard was at his box in the Howard Athenaeum. Little did he know that the very box he considered the safest place on earth is where his doom would be waiting.

On March 15th, 1898, near the end of the Howard Athenaeum’s play of Macbeth, his viewing was interrupted by a sudden tapping on the door behind him. Despite his best efforts to focus back on the play, the knocks on the door continued on and on with aggravating frequency. Soon, he had enough and flung the door open to the ghastly sight of The Reaper in Red staring right back at him, with a horrific grin on his face and a Colt Single Action in his hands.

The audience’s attention quickly drew towards the booth when the blast of gunsmoke shot the Vulture out of the booth and into the audience below. As the people began panicking and racing from their seats, Cyrus only grinned at the trademark hole between the eyes.

César de la Rosa Clodoveo, AKA “Coyote”

By the beginning of the 20th century, stories about The Reaper In Red were abundant not just in the United States but in Mexico as well. Tales about bandits and lawmen falling at the hands of this mysterious gunslinger had managed to strike fear into the hearts of every man, woman, and child.

But César de la Rosa Clodoveo, mayor and sheriff of the Guadalupe, Chihuahua, only laughed at these ridiculous fairy tales.

Formally known as The Coyote to the Outlaws, César was the team’s main line for destruction and combat. Should a heist start going south or blood had to be spilled, it wouldn’t be long before his signature cackle would be echoing through the gunsmoke. With twin double-barreled shotguns and a passion for all things explosive, a simple job would turn into a massacre with him at the helm.

But his love for violence was only overshadowed by his love of his hometown. The beautiful streets of Guadalupe were once a place of warmth and welcome before the U.S Army invaded the town and drafted him into their ranks. Being rescued by the Innocents gang, he stuck with the newly found Outlaws until they were forced into hiding, where he returned back to his hometown and thanked the governor who sent him off by drawing out a double-barreled shotgun and firing both shells into the officer’s face. With the loss of their leader and a skilled combatant tearing through their ranks, the army retreated back across the border. With a rather unanimous election, César de la Rosa Clodoveo took charge of his hometown and remained in control for five years.

Until The Reaper In Red strolled into the city’s walls.

César was furious for what this man had done to those he considered friends. Four of his greatest allies were buried in shallow graves and their murderer stands at the center of his city. Determined to see his would-be killer hanging in the town’s square, he locked down the city’s gates and arranged a posse to aid in a shootout against the gunslinger.

But despite the advantage of numbers and even wounding the unbeatable gunslinger, all members of César’s posse would end up lying on the cobblestone with blood pouring from their bodies. And as The Reaper In Red approached the dying leader of this once secured town, César could do little else besides cuss out the American before the sound of a gunshot echoed once more through the blood-stained streets.

The Reaper In Red’s actions left the town in a chaotic state of affairs and by the end of the 20th century, the town would be abandoned and forgotten to the ever-shifting sands of the Chihuahuan Desert.

Graham McKendrick, AKA “Hawk”

When the incredibly violent stories of The Reaper In Red started spreading across the United States, most of the Outlaws went into hiding. Despite their best efforts to vanish into the civilian lifestyle, it didn’t matter as a man in red would soon arrive at their doorstep and the next time their name was spoken, it would be in the obituaries.

But, surprisingly enough, the one member of the Outlaws who survived the longest wasn’t hiding from The Reaper In Red, but rather was chasing after him.

While Graham Mckenrick was running with the Outlaws as their greatest gunfighter, he found the group a rather dull bunch as every heist they pulled required as little bloodshed as possible. Even though his eyesight was similar to the bird whose alias he took up, Hawk’s talent with a rifle was rarely utilized by the group and often made him restless, even with his take from a heist. So when the gang was called to lie low, Graham chose to take his disappearance a step further and ditched his old crew behind.

While the rest of the Outlaws attempted to hide into normal and everyday lives, Graham chose to make his name as a notorious bounty hunter. Taking in the dead for a profit, Graham’s interest in the challenge and the cash quickly grew unquenchable…and unsatiable. His skills with firearms were on the same level as the west’s greatest gunslingers and it wasn’t often he found a challenge against any wannabe gunfighter.

That was until he drew against The Reaper in Red.

Fourteen years ago, Graham encountered the man at a bar in San Francisco, back when the stranger was once eighteen. The stranger was already wanted for the death of Bill O'Malley was sought by the bounty hunter for a quick buck. But before he could even draw his gun out of his holster, the gunslinger spun around and shot off the bounty hunter’s thumb. For the first time in forty years, Graham Mckenrick lost a fight. And for some odd reason, he wasn’t upset about it. If anything, he was downright excited to fight the stranger again.

Since that fateful night, Graham became obsessed with the only person who’s beaten him, so much so that he took up a new wardrobe similar to The Reaper’s outfit with the only difference being a brown duster in place of a red poncho. Despite the dangers, Graham pursued his “rival” with caution tossed to the wind and a crazed look in his eyes. But every time he came to his target’s last known location, The Reaper was already gone.

Graham attempted to track down The Reaper in Red time and time again but always found a dead-end or body in place of his quarry. For sixteen years, Graham ran himself ragged in his search for the gunslinger. It wasn’t helpful that his former “colleagues” were dropping like flies to The Reaper in Red.

That’s when it hit him. These murders weren’t coincidental. They were planned. This man was hunting down the Outlaws. A gang he was once apart of.

Picking up his former title, Hawk spread his name all across the west, anticipating his showdown with The Reaper in Red. He ran through town after town, practically shouting his involvement with the gang from every corner of the United States.

Until, finally, his wish was granted in 1904 when he walked from the safety of the Lyon House Hotel in Springfield, Missouri and found The Reaper in Red waiting for him outside. With a wicked grin, Graham readied a hand over his revolver, determined to give these folks another shootout that would go down in history.

But he had underestimated Cyrus’s skills with a gun as he had hardly cleared leather before a gunshot echoed throughout the city streets. With Graham’s death, Cyrus rode west to Arizona, where his final challenge awaited.

Johnny Harlan, AKA “Rattlesnake”

Northwest of Tombstone, Arizona, a small shack laid dormant in the sand-swept winds of the Chihuahuan Desert. This shack was the home of one resident that never sought company.

Until today.

Cyrus McGrath had achieved the impossible. He survived the untamed American West. He won his battles against every lawman and bandit that dared set themselves in his way. Every person involved in his father’s death was long since buried. His vengeance was almost complete.

There was just one more life he had to take.

His boots slammed down on the old and rickety porch of what he suspected to be his last life to take. As he hovered a hand over his revolver, he knocked on the door and waited to greet his last target.

And he waited.

And waited some more. 

Until he got tired of waiting for the occupant and invited himself inside.    

As the old door flew open with a hefty kick, his eyes drew themselves to the back of the room, where the shadows of the setting sun did little to hide the man who ruined his life, sitting in a shoddily made chair. But it wasn’t a gun in the dark that greeted Cyrus. Nor a plea for mercy.

But a cold, unnerving silence  

He kept his six-gun on the old traitor, staring him down with hatred in his eyes, convinced that the moment he looked away would cause the outlaw to open fire or leap from his chair. 

But all his suspicions and malice seemed to vanish the moment he placed a hand around his throat.

And found him cold as the grave.   

He didn’t want to believe it. He refused to. Not after everything he’s done, he didn’t want to believe it was all for nothing.

But the truth was plain to see. Johnny Harlan was dead.

His confusion was only added when his eyes had drifted to the bed in the corner. On the mattress was a shovel, a pickaxe and a letter addressed to a name he hadn’t used in quite some time.

Cyrus,

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for a lot of things but this is what I regret most.

You’re probably pissed as all hell will allow, with you standing above a dead body and all.

Well, I wasn’t planning on up and dying but it wasn’t like I had a choice.

Doc said the old heart’s getting weaker.

I’m hoping for the best but he’s saying to get a will ready.

Had a lot of time to think lately.

You tend to do that knowing you can’t even fight your killer.

But I guess it doesn’t matter.

I knew I wasn’t long for this world the moment I saw your face on the posters.

I saw right then and there the look of a determined man.

Someone who will get his revenge.

But I don’t blame you.

I’m in no position to do anyway.

And I’ll take the blame down to Hell and back.

But do a dying man a favor.

Get out while you can.

Josiah wouldn’t want you to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.

I don’t want you doing that.

And you won’t have to.

Underneath these floorboards is $200,000 in gold.

It’s yours.

I don’t need it anymore.

Use it to pay off your bounty.

Use it to go back home.

I’m sorry.

Johnny

Cyrus looked at the chair that was Harlan’s resting place. Next to it lied a pickaxe and a shovel. He took both and went outside.

Hours later, he went back in and picked up Harlan.

It took a while for Cyrus to dig everything up but Harlan spoke the truth in his final words. Two hundred thousand. All in gold.

As he saddled the bags to his ragged horse, he gave one last look towards the makeshift grave that read Harlan’s name. With a sigh of content, he rode north to Montana and The Reaper in Red was never heard of again.

———————————————‐——————————–

And so, like many other gunslingers and bandits who once roamed the wild west, all that was left of the once-mighty gang are a bunch of stories only told by the wind and a decent enough tombstone etched with their name. Their legacy remains lost to history, forgotten and never spoken about again.

So where are they now? What became of the would-be legendary gang that now took their afterlives in the form of the animal they were in life?

Bill O'Malley has since lived away from the life of a bar fly and found a comfortable job doing what he does best: beating up people for money. Currently the heavyweight boxing champion of Hell, he has since lived his afterlife with a sense of clarity and hasn't touched the bottle in a hundred years.

Luke Winchester continues to live his life as a professional gambler, happily wasting away his afterlife in high stakes games of poker. He would’ve hit big leagues by now if it wasn’t for the telltale twitch of his whiskers and his glances around the table at the sight of an eight or a pair of aces.

Katherine Jezebel operates a brothel in Pentagram City but has since practiced a life of celibacy for herself. She strictly enforces a no firearm policy, save for the Schofield she keeps under her pillow.

Oswalt Dillinger still frequently returns to the opera houses and theatres of Hell. Although his request for a solid iron door with a peephole added to his box is rather odd to the owners of said theaters, he has enough money for them to just give him what he wants.

César de la Rosa Clodoveo hit the ground running and took over a small city where a tyrant once ruled with little more than his two bare hands. Now known as La Puerta de Hierro, the city lies as the safest place in Hell, as long as you listen to the town’s mayor and sheriff.

Graham Mckenrick refused to take his death with pride. Roaming the afterlife as a bounty hunter, the hawk relentlessly continues his pursuit over the man who killed him all those years ago.

And Harlan? No one knows what happened to the Rattlesnake of the Guilty. Some say his punishment was pardoned and he spends his life up in Heaven. Some say he’s long since dead, a victim of the yearly purges.

But little do the people know, there lies a bar far, far out of Pentagram City, where The American Venom is run by a simple serpent known only as Rattle, who says his place in the tale is only coincidental.

But to anyone who looks in the locked chest that sits underneath the bar, a rather exquisite gun belt lies with two double-action revolvers, waiting to be used once more. Black leather-wrapped with floral stitching, the most unique feature of the belt is the silver buckle that lies engraved with two initials.

J.H

[muixlac]

sleepy. (leedo/xion)

Prompt from here.

One shot. Domestic fluff. Established relationship.

After a 9-hour drive, Dongju found an exhausted Geonhak falling asleep on the living room's couch. There was no way Dongju would leave him sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, but... Geonhak was really tall AND heavy, and, well, Dongju has little to no actual muscles.

If you liked the fic, consider giving the Ao3 post some kudos!

As though sensing that Geonhak’s car had died down, Dongju’s eyes fluttered open. Immediately his hand travelled up to his glabella, applying mild pressure on it with eyebrows furrowed in pain. It felt like a hammer was constantly banging against his brain. His stiff legs weren’t necessarily helping either.

“What time is it…?” Dongju asked as he began to process his surroundings. The dimly lit street before him along with the familiar suburban houses just across his view sparked a sense of familiarity. Oh, we’ve arrived.

“One.”

Dongju frowned, his face conspicuous of displeasure as he faced his boyfriend in the driver seat. “You drove for 5 hours straight?”

Geonhak didn’t reply. He merely sighed, unbuckled his seat belt and pulled the key out of the lock cylinder. He then let his whole body loose against the backrest of the seat and slumped his shoulders. His pallor appeared so weak and sickly—something that Dongju could not stand looking at. The dark circles that were beginning to form underneath his eyes also weren’t something that Dongju could miss and set aside.

“Geonhak…”

“I’m sorry,” Geonhak said.

For some reason, his apology elicited a sense of guilt within the younger man. However, this did not stop Dongju to continue chiding his boyfriend, as he began to go on a tangent, “We told each other that we’d take turns driving for every two hours. It was a 9-hour drive, Geonhak! And we both know that the both of us are tired from all our activities for these past 5 days! You should’ve rested instead of driving all the way here. I could’ve driven while you were resting…”

“I know, I know.” Geonhak massaged his temples, as if throbbing in pain from hearing Dongju’s naggings. “I just… didn’t want to wake you up.”

Dongju, who had previously intended to resume his naggings, went silent. The older man took this as his cue to continue. “You just seemed so tired, I didn’t dare to wake you up and force you to drive. Well, maybe not force you, that’s not the right word—but you get what I mean.”

The suffocating guilt from before grew even more intense within the younger man the moment his boyfriend finished his spiel. He dropped his head, the frown still etched upon his lips. “Sorry…” he mumbled. “I should’ve known.”

Geonhak ruffled his boyfriend’s brown locks. “It’s fine. Besides, it was my fault. Thought I could be the ideal selfless boyfriend, y’know?” he said softly with his distinctive low voice. Sometimes Dongju wondered how Geonhak could emit such a low, guttural voice, yet is still able to sound soft at the same time. He could never find out the answer. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. But you’re still in the wrong, okay! Our original agreement of taking turns driving is still valid,” Dongju pouted and crossed his arms, feigning annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy,” Geonhak rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth were lifted upwards. “Anyways, let’s just get off and take all these baggage inside, yeah? I’m so tired that I’m already longing for our bed…”

Dongju shrugged. “Okay, yeah, fair. Let’s get this over with."

With that, the two of them stepped out of Geonhak’s navy hatchback and with all what was left of their energy, began unloading their baggage from the rear seat. It was just a couple of backpacks at the beginning of their trip, but after five days, it'd seemed like those backpacks had multiplied and perhaps made four children of their own. Well, Dongju supposed vacation does that to you. 

Grunts and groans escaped both men's mouth as their already rigid limbs struggled to bring the bags and goods up to the door. The moment they were there, their grips slacked and their baggage plopped to the floor. Dongju’s whole arms ached almost immediately, from the muscles of his shoulders down to the joints of his knuckles, to which he’d stretched in order to ease them. Geonhak, too, was doing the same thing.

“The house key’s on you, right?” 

Dongju perked up at the older’s question. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

It didn’t take long for him to fish out the key to their house from the smallest pocket in his duffel bag, and, before they knew it, they already found themselves dragging their bags against the creaking hard-wood floor towards the living room. 

Their living room was clean and meticulous just a few seconds ago, but now it was similar to that of a shipwreck, with all of their belongings strewn all over the floor in such a disorderly manner. The two couldn’t care less about the mess they’d made, as long as they get their well-deserved sleep after hours and hours of being in a small, enclosed space like Geonhak’s car, they wouldn’t mind cleaning such a mess the next morning. The trip was fun—more than fun, even. It was exhilarating, especially with how Dongju’s previous week was one of the most draining work weeks he’d ever gone through. He still could remember how his back felt as though it could snap at any given moment from slouching too much in front of his desk. The fact that Geonhak was there with him, too, was something Dongju treasured. Nonetheless, everyone knows that post-vacation blues is a real thing, and the 9-hour drive did not help either.

Dongju just got back from locking the door again—considering it was already 1:15 AM—when his attention was caught by the figure of Geonhak lying down on his stomach on their worn out couch. A small smile grew across his lips. His boyfriend must’ve been exhausted after driving for hours. Not to mention it was for him. It was for him that Geonhak decided to push himself to the limits, even though he didn’t really have to. He had always been like this, the selfless Geonhak. He thought he could please other people by sacrificing his own wants and needs. But in reality, that’s not always the case.

Still, though, Dongju could never ask for a better partner. It was that soft part of him that caused Dongju to initially fall in love with him.

“Hak?” The younger man called out as he tiptoed closer to the other. No response.

Dongju raised his eyebrows. There was no way he could fall asleep so quickly like that, he thought. He could swear his boyfriend was still awake just less than five minutes ago, when they were unloading their luggages all over the floor. Dongju dragged himself to the side of the couch, closer to Geonhak, craning his neck just a little bit so that he could see his boyfriend’s face.

“Love?” Dongju called out again, but this time, there was a response—a snore.

“Oh.” A small laugh escaped Dongju’s mouth. His hand reached out to Geonhak’s head, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s silver locks. This was something Dongju would not dare do if Geonhak was conscious, as his embarrassment would definitely get the better of him. Displaying pure affection has never been his forte, with the exception of when the affection is mixed with a little bit of mischief. But this—he would never do it when Geonhak’s awake.

“Hey, Haaak. Don’t sleep here. Move to the bed.”

That drew no response from the older man, but Dongju wasn’t upset or anything. On the contrary, he was amused. Not giving up, Dongju sat down beside the couch, his head now on the same level as the sleeping man, and began to gently shake him awake. As he did so, he whispered, “Haaak, wake up. It’s comfier on the bed, y’know? You know the couch’s too hard.”

Geonhak, on the other hand, merely let out a soft “hhhmhhmm…” as a response.

“Oh, come on now…” Dongju sighed. He couldn’t let his boyfriend sleep in such an uncomfortable position and wake up, possibly, with sore muscles all over his body. One way or another, he had to move Geonhak to their bedroom, but how exactly he should do that was still a debate that his mind was currently disputing about. Sure, he could let Geonhak be here all night and wait for him to move all by himself, but like he previously thought, he couldn’t let that happen. He knew firsthand just how horrible it is to wake up with throbbing muscles and thews after hours of sleeping in an uncomfortable position. He also could continue trying to wake him up until he’s fully awake, but he didn’t dare to. Geonhak is one of those people who has a hard time falling asleep, therefore if Dongju wakes him up, it’d take a while for the older man to fall asleep again.

With those two possibilities set aside, Dongju was certain this next idea had to be the last resort. If he were to be honest, though, he did not know how his logic came up with it. Perhaps it was the drowsiness kicking in. Yeah, that was probably it—Dongu also just took a notice of this, but his eyelids had become progressively heavy since they first entered the house. Yeah—that must be it, because there was no way his right mind would come up with the idea to carry his boyfriend, who is considerably much bigger and heavier than himself, to the bedroom.

Standing up, Dongju brought himself to the side of the couch. He coiled his arms around the other’s shoulders and, after mustering what he thought to be enough strength, attempted to lift the older man up.

“Come on…!” Dongju groaned, heaving his boyfriend up closer to his chest. 

This did not last long, however, as the both of them slid effortlessly down to the couch, weighed down by Geonhak’s body mass. Head now propped against Geonhak’s back and feet hanging at the edge of the couch along with Geonhak’s, Dongju exhaled slowly. His eyelids were starting to become steadily heavier compared to before, and his consciousness was ebbing away. It was as if his brain knew he was lying down, promptly ordering him to sleep, thinking that he was already in bed.

Dongju closed his eyes then. He thought that he might as well just sleep on top of Geonhak, if the latter wasn’t going to cooperate and move to the bed. Might as well wake up with a sore body, so that Geonhak would have a friend that suffers the same problem. The most important thing, though, was that he might as well just sleep then and there, as he had no more energy or motivation to bring himself up once again.

And so, without having any further thoughts, and with his body on top lying weakly on top of Geonhak, Dongju’s consciousness wafted away.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Never in his whole life had Geonhak woken up to an immense weight pressing him down against his back. As he tried to fully gather his consciousness back, he craned his neck to see what in the world was squashing him down against the couch. When he found out what it was, though, he was caught immediately off guard.

“Dongju—?”

Sure enough, the source of the weight was a sleeping Dongju. His head rested against Geonhak’s shoulder and his arms were hanging limply on both sides of their body. With his eyes shut and chest heaving, Geonhak could notice his boyfriend’s beautiful long lashes even in such an awkward position. His lips, too—which were slightly chapped from probably the dry air of their car from earlier—were slightly apart, giving access for him to breathe more easily. Geonhak smiled—what an angel, he thought.

The clock on the wall just a few feet in front of him conveyed that it was currently around half past four, most likely in the morning. At the back of his mind, images of him and Dongju in the car appeared, followed suit by them carrying their bags and goods into the house, and soon of him toppling down onto the couch with what he could recall as such vivid fatigue and exhaustion.

Oh. Right. That happened.

Did Dongju also just shut down all of a sudden like him? Geonhak didn’t know, but he assumed that was what happened. Though, why didn’t he just sleep in a more comfortable place like, say, their bedroom?

Bedroom sounded nice. Geonhak planned to migrate both himself and Dongju to the bedroom as it’d be much more comfortable there, however his boyfriend’s body was quite literally constricting his plan to move.

Thus, Geonhak shook his head, removing all unnecessary thoughts and proceeded to  carefully turn around on the couch as best as he could. The fact that Dongju was also squishing him against the couch didn’t help much either. He grunted, one hand gently gripping the other’s arm to prevent the latter from falling. As he watched Dongju’s every movement lest he wakes up, Geonhak shifted bit by bit, his mind on edge over not wanting his boyfriend to wake up. But then——

“Hak…?”

Geonhak froze. With him now facing Dongju, Geonhak’s eyes wandered up to the other’s. Lids half open, brown optics looked straight back into him in feeble wonder.

“Oh, did I wake you up?” Geonhak whispered.

Soon the older man became bewildered, though, and for a good reason too. Dongju had subsequently closed his eyes then and only snuggled further against Geonhak’s chest, inducing a flutter of something within his stomachs.

Adorable, he thought.

After a few pokes on the younger one’s cheek, making sure that he wasn’t really awake, Geonhak slowly lifted himself up. Dongju did not weigh much, especially to him who regularly does weights, but his stiff joints and sore muscles made maneuvering his boyfriend much more of an endeavor than it should be. Not to mention that he also had to do it as gently as possible, as he didn’t want to wake the younger one up.

The joints across his arms crackled plenty as Geonhak carefully positioned his sleeping boyfriend on his lap. At this point he was just carrying him, basically.

Stationing his grasps against Dongju’s bottom, Geonhak then stood up. He wobbled at first, not used to the weight of his boyfriend—especially in this early morning. Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for him to regain his balance. With Dongju propped against his chest and on his arms, Geonhak strode toward their room.

Navigating through the faintly lit corridor was rather difficult with a person in his arms. However, Geonhak eventually found the door handle to the bedroom, and after struggling quite a while to maintain his grasp on Dongju while simultaneously opening the door, soon he found himself already in the room. 

Despite the lights being off, Geonhak easily trudged toward the bed. He then laid Dongju on the mattress as gently as possible, who was still sleeping peacefully with soft, regular breathing. If Geonhak were to be in his situation, a simple movement would be enough to wake him up. He’s such a light sleeper compared to Dongju.

Geonhak pulled the sheets up to Dongju’s chin, tucking the latter in. The kiss he pecked on his boyfriend's forehead was almost automatic, as though the mere presence of a peacefully asleep Dongju itself was enough to spark him to do so. If he could, Geonhak would appreciate the view before him for more, but his brain was already sending him signals that he still needed sleep, so he gave in.

The last thing he felt was the emanating warmth of Dongju—comfortable and soothing—as he snuggled closer against his boyfriend. Then, Geonhak fell asleep.