#have a faint outline of where this can go but its mostly for fun and practice anyway

[owlishhhhh]

First sdvn fic that gets to leave my notes' cage, yay

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63731182

Description:

The first death is mostly unremarkable and an unforeseen oversight on Shadow Milk's part. To be fair, he didn't expect Vanilla to have guts to actually do it.

_

Or: Truthless Recluse keeps trying to die, but Shadow Milk doesn't let him stay dead for long.

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 13 reactions

Well, that was... well. in short I quite enjoyed some of what happened while din was there and I didn’t really care about what happened while he wasn’t there lol. I think it’s becoming increasingly clear that I just don’t care for the episodes dave filoni writes for this show, which is simply a matter of taste I guess. 

(if you loved this episode wholeheartedly -- probably look away now, I’m going to be a bit of a downer about it and I don’t want to shit on your joy haha)

- let’s just get this out of the way first: there’s a lot of stuff around rosaria dawson and transphobia in real life and yeah, of course that affects how I watch the show. I don’t even want to talk that much about ahsoka in this because of it. she was not that good in the role, after seeing how it played out I don’t think the character needed to be in this show at all, and she should never have gotten the role in the first place and that’s about it for what I’ve got to say. 

- dave filoni consistently does things with din’s characterization that feels off and weird to me, subtly out of place with what we see in other episodes (he’s... ruder? more short tempered/cocky/actively or aggressively interpersonal? more prone to express himself directly than he is usually? idk how to describe it but filoni!din always feels one step to the left of what he should be and I’m so hyper-attuned to this character that when something’s a bit iffy with him it throws everything else off haha. it feels like a shallower, more convenient read on him and I don’t like it)  

I also think filoni is almost too familiar with and in love with the source material sometimes? “A Mandalorian and a Jedi? They’ll never see it coming” is undeniably a great line that echoes in decades of deep lore and so on, but dave my good man din had no real idea what a jedi even is until literally this morning. we, the audience, know about this long and storied history, but unless ahsoka spent the afternoon explaining it to him din still only knows the faint outlines of it, he has no personal experience of or attachment to it. it’s not bad, as such, it just rings false to the character based tone of the show for me personally 

- positivity break: baby sitting perched on the dashboard to be close to papa while they’re in hyperspace........sd sdfskdjhfdsakjksdhfkasjd  

also this is some full on madonna and child in the manger shit and I am LIVING for it (odds he’s crying quietly behind the helmet here? pretty damn good if you ask me). the mundanity of what’s essentially the shitty spartan bathroom of the razor crest on one side contrasted with the light and tenderness and love on the other? amazing, a perfect microcosm of what this show does with combining the grittier everyday down to earth stuff in the star wars universe with myth and wonder and magic and through it elevating both

 - the idea of having an iconique samurai/sword duel standoff and a western standoff going on simultaneously is genuinely inspired, but in action it didn’t really work for me. (the sword duel stuff needs these moments of stillness with sudden outbursts of violence and then stillness again, the western standoff needs mounting tension until it’s nearly unbearable, and cutting between them the way they did you sort of didn’t get either to its full potential. again it’s a cool idea, though, I hope someone picks it up and does it better at some point)

- seeing a jedi and a mandalorian wander together through a burned out wasteland left desolate by greed and warfare should have hit me harder than it did but for some reason it didn’t, idk. thematically sound, though, I like it a lot on the metaphor level

- I LOVE that pure beskar makes a specific sound, and that it’s an almost ethereal noise like the high clear chime of a distant bell. also now din has something to fight light sabers with that isn’t the dark saber which makes me so happy because you guys I do not want him to be the mand’alor. keep that funky laser sword away from my dad, apart from killing him at the end that is literally the most boring way to end his arc pls do NOt 

- wow they really went in hard on the samurai stuff in this one huh! there is a part of my mchanzo-loving heart that thrives on seeing a space cowboy and a space samurai team up, *wild otp-fuelled whisper* they’re twin genres inextricably entwined okay they belong together if you see this spreadsheet I’ve made over here -- 

- even knowing it was just a trick I felt such intense distress seeing the signet pauldron away from din. like the attachment I have to these pieces of metal because That Armour Means Dad... wild  

- they really chose the dumbest name possible for the baby huh fsajdfhsaj I agree with din his name is ‘kid’ now (eh just give me a while to get used to it probably I’ll come around)

also... you know what I’ve said before about shrinking the big unknowable galaxy ‘the mandalorian’ has been setting up? wow did they do that big time in this one, and it makes me feel decidedly :/. why does the baby have to come from the jedi temple, is there truly no other tradition of force users in the entire galaxy he could be from? WHY do you have to pull thrawn into this when most people watching this show won’t even know why he’s such a big deal? is this a stealth tease for a rebels sequel? if so why spend an entire episode of this show that only gets eight precious episodes a season on it??   

- on a more fun positive note: baby’s clothes are clean again, so it’s confirmed that din does wash them (and I guess that he does have some means of washing clothes aboard the razor crest!). I loved... most of the dad and baby stuff in this one, but then don’t I always I’m easy to please that way haha (the ‘playing catch’ sequence felt a bit off to me but I don’t know why. din being like ‘he’s so stubborn’ wasn’t... eh. didn’t land right. “that would be a first” was fun tho lol) 

- having ahsoka state the baby’s feelings out loud like that felt... weird? and also kind of unnecessary in parts, like yeah he’s a baby who’s been passed along to different groups of strangers and experimented on by empire scientists, you don’t need to spell it out for me that he’s been scared and lonely, or at least spell it out more interestingly? it’s such blunt force storytelling where it didn’t need to be? there are more elegant ways to get the same things across, I am absolutely convinced 

- ...wow while I was watching the episode I was mostly like ‘okay this is Fine I can go along with it’ but seeing what I’m thinking about in hindsight... yeah probably my least favourite episode of this show full stop haha, it took the spot from chapter 5 which was also a filoni ep

- I did 100% genuinely adore the whole part of din approaching the town and meeting the magistrate. consistently hiding the baby behind his cape and his arm? being deliberately, teeth-grindingly dispassionate with everyone, just giving them nothing? getting to see a bit of professional bounty hunter din again? wonderful in every way, I love this man  

- lots of meaningful shots of baby in the middle with a mando on one side and a jedi on the other, it’s almost like they’re setting up some Themes here lol 

- ...do you think din told ahsoka about either the rhino-levitating or the force choking. because girl I don’t think not training him is going to make this just go away haha, he just won’t know what he’s doing  

- it makes me so sad that baby connects his force powers with being abused :( (also a heartbreaking sign of just how much he cared about din from the very beginning, since he used it on the mudhorn to save him anyway ;________; was that like. literally the first time he sensed kindness and affection in anyone in like twenty five years or... ) 

- I understand why ahsoka would feel this way because of her past and specific traumas, but tbh attachment in a baby? probably a good thing, he doesn’t really have the higher brain functions to cultivate non-attachment yet and needs a safe figure because again. he is a baby. 

good on her for realizing it’s not a task she can take on both for the baby’s sake and her own, and also that din is that baby’s Dad though. the way she smiled at the end watching them leave seemed vaguely hopeful/had a little bit of wonder in it, like maybe she felt the potential for something good there, something she couldn’t conceptualize from her background but could sense the tentative outlines of anyway?  

(also so much pressure on a lil bb to decide his path... his dilemmas should be limited to what colour socks he wants to wear today not the course of his entire life :( I know he’s a magic baby but.......) 

- idk maybe I’ll find more affection of this episode through rewatches, you never know

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg just some fluff

Heads Up- Part 12 (Joseph x Bust!Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Are you ready to go out?" Suzi asked Caesar, as he sat atop the kitchen table.

"Really?" he replied skeptically. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me?"

"And that's why we've got this!" Joseph exclaimed joyfully as he pranced into the room with a small carrying crate. It was quite lightweight, and across the top of one side a narrow, horizontal slit had been cut into the hard cardboard material, to function as a viewing window.

Caesar felt uneasy, somewhat queasy to the stomach if he'd had one. This was the first time he'd see the world, beyond the confines of Joseph's apartment. Well, of course, aside from that one escapade, but he didn't really get far.

"You really mean it?" he said nervously.

"Look, if you're gonna go bouncing away at night to see the world then I thought I'd let you have in on the fun with the two of us! We picked a nice place, I bet you'll love it." Joseph smiled, as he lifted Caesar off the table and gently into the box, fitting him perfectly with just a little bit of room to spare. "Just remember to be very quiet."

"Joseph," Caesar complained, as he was laid snugly into the box. "You cut the view-hole too high."

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned. "I should have measured."

Fortunately it wasn't a problem a few layers of newspaper couldn't solve, and with some cushioning beneath his neck the peeping hole was perfectly level with Caesar's eyes.

"That should do the trick," Joseph huffed, as he gently covered Caesar with the lid.

"And now...it's time," grinned the sculptor, as he carried his created companion, tucked safely into the box, out into the warm light of late afternoon.

--------

Joseph mostly got around town, and to and from the university, in his trusty old bicycle he'd gotten as a birthday present from his uncle Speedwagon. It had seen better days, but still served him well, especially after he installed a small sidecar so he could carry his art along with him on the way.

"This is fun!" Suzi cheered, as Joseph pedaled along down toward the beach-view that he and Suzi had agreed on earlier.

"Just don't let go of me!" Caesar cried, from inside the box. He laid upon her lap as she sat in the sidecar, and each time she raised her hands in excitement the hapless bust feared he might fall off.

But at the same time, as he peeked out of the narrow slit, Caesar felt a strange elation.

He was seeing the world beyond.

Buildings, cars, streets and people rushed by, illuminated in the orange light of sunset, as Joseph came pedaling along, so quickly that Caesar couldn't keep up with seeing them all. There was just such a big, big place to see, and with a little help, Caesar was going much, much further than he could possibly hop by himself.

Caesar smiled, a hidden smile from within his box that no one could see.

Perhaps it was far nicer to see the world with friends.

Perhaps he didn't have to be alone.

And yet, at the same time, Caesar felt a hint of sorrow as he admired the sun-kissed landscape gleaming in its tangerine illumination. There was a vast world out there, full of people, full of experiences, of stories in the making waiting to be told.

And he knew he could never be a part of it.

--------

"We're here!" Joseph said excitedly, as he halted near the parkway by the beach.

"And look!" Suzi exclaimed. "We're just in time for the sunset!"

"I can't see!" Caesar complained. "Get me out of this box!"

Dismounting from the sidecar, Suzi stood up and with Joseph's help, removed Caesar from the box, after glancing around to make sure nobody was around to witness them unloading their unusual cargo.

Caesar couldn't believe his eyes. They were at a quiet little corner of the beach, with the floor a smooth, wooden viewing deck. Beyond him was a view of the ocean, stretching all the way into the horizon, and hovering just above it was a brilliant orange orb whose rays Caesar felt onto his clay skin for the first time in his newfound life.

"So, what do you think?" Joseph asked as he gently laid Caesar down onto the deck, and sat cross-legged next to him.

"It's...it's beautiful," gasped Caesar in pure amazement, as he made a few hops forward.

"Whoa, easy there, Cae," Joseph cautioned. "Try not to fall in the water, I doubt you can swim," he said with a snarky laugh.

Caesar nodded, but was too absorbed in the splendor of it all to heed Joseph's dry wit. He could smell the refreshing salty breeze, feel the warmth of the descending sun, hear the waves and the wind and the calls of the birds. Just like the one time he'd left the house, except this time, Joseph wasn't trying to stop him.

And never before, in his short existence as a bodiless sculpt of clay, had Caesar felt so free.

Joseph shifted himself forward so that he was next to Caesar again. "I thought you'd enjoy this," he said, gently cradling the bust onto his lap.

The sun's rays were fading in warmth, but Joseph's arms felt warmer.

Soon the brilliant orb began to sink into the horizon, fading away into the distant mists as the deep pinks and purples of the sky began to crowd out the oranges and yellows of the sun's final rays. Caesar was awed. It was something that happened every single day, sure, but it was no less of a glorious spectacle to behold.

It wasn't long until the stars began to appear.

A few bright points, here and there, gradually emerging from the darkening sky. There were scarcely any clouds, to Joseph's delight, and soon, the night had come: enveloping them in a calm, peaceful darkness lit by the thousands of glittering pinpricks up above.

"Caesar," Joseph said softly. "Look."

He laid down onto his back on the wooden floor, after he took the newspapers from Caesar's box and gently laid the sculpture's head onto them so that Caesar could also recline comfortably. Side by side, artist and artwork lay down gazing skyward, into the infinite vastness of the night sky above.

"You know, Cae, my grandpa Jonathan used to tell me," Joseph began. "He said that as the night comes it paints over the sky, swiftly and in a rush, leaving a few spots uncolored in its hurry. I'd always thought it was a silly story," he laughed.

Caesar chuckled. "Your grandfather?"

"Yeah..." Joseph sighed, sadly. "I miss him."

"Now it's just Granny Erina and me, and really, just me, after I came to live in my flat. Mom was always away, and I'd never met my dad. But Grandpa Jonathan...he was the best part of my childhood."

He gestured to the sky.

"I like to think he's up there where he belongs, up among the stars. We are Joestars after all," he said with a mix of a laugh and a sigh, gently running his finger over the birthmark on his neck.

One he remembered his grandpa also had, which Joseph imagined was a mark, a promise, perhaps, of where he'd since returned.

There was a moment of silence as Caesar momentarily pondered.

"Do you think I belong among the stars too?" Caesar asked, after a pause.

"Huh?" Joseph turned to look at him. "Why would you think that?"

Caesar gave a melancholy pause.

"Because...because if I really am Anthonio Zeppeli, as Suzi said...shouldn't I be up there? And yet, I am here."

That one word, that had struck Caesar earlier, hit him again.

Purpose.

"I mean, if you really think about how big the universe is, and how small we are to it, it's downright humbling, and a little bit frightening," Joseph mused.

"But we're tiny specks that simply exist, and maybe, we make our own existence worthwhile," he added, stroking Caesar's shoulder stub.

"Then I guess I don't really need a purpose, then," Caesar mumbled, watching the unimaginable vastness twinkle far beyond.

"I mean, do you?" Joseph answered. "You exist for the sake of existing, and that should be enough."

Caesar smiled.

Joseph was right. Why did he have to bother figuring out why he was alive, or who he was, or why he was where he is today?

He was alive today, even though he shouldn't be.

His existence was an unexpected blessing.

He existed for his own sake. And, looking into his sculptor's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerized at the heavens, he thought, perhaps for Joseph's sake too.

"I'm glad you made me, Joseph. Whether or not I really am Anthonio or not. I'm just glad to be here today."

"However way you created me."

Joseph chuckled. "You know what they say, Caesar. Yesterday was history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift."

"That's why they call it present."

Caesar groaned.

"Oh come on, Jojo," he grumbled. "You stole it from that turtle from the panda cartoon."

Joseph burst out a hearty laugh. "So you have been watching the movies Suzi brought, huh?"

"I was bored," Caesar said, embarassed.

Joseph was just glad for the time they were enjoying together, by the beach, under the night sky, with only the glimmer of lamp posts and the now-rising moon lighting the way. It felt peaceful, and very calming, for both weary artist and lonely creation.

He wished they could do this forever.

Just the three of them.

Oh yes, Joseph remembered, three.

"Say, where is Suzi, anyway?" wondered Joseph after a few moments. "We'd gotten too busy with our little talk there... Suzi?"

A faint snore came as the only response.

"Oh great," Caesar moaned, rocking back up into an upright position with a little help from Joseph. "She slept through the whole thing, and this whole trip was her idea."

"You can't blame her," Joseph explained. "She's pretty tired."

He couldn't help a small giggle as he saw Suzi splayed out awkwardly onto the sidecar seat, dozing away like she was on her sofa.

"I think it's time we went home." Joseph said.

Rousing Suzi to make sure she was safe throughout the ride back to Joseph's apartment, the three friends made their way back, Caesar once more tucked inside his box.

As Joseph pedaled home Caesar peeked out at the view of the city through the hole in the box. The city at night looked so different.

Thousands of brilliant lights shone through the darkness, outlining buildings, illuminating streets, marking the passage of cars.

The city's lights were like the stars on the earth.

And in a way, they were among them, after all.

A sudden halt to the gentle motion of the box indicated to Caesar that they'd reached home. Soon he felt himself being lifted back into the house, as Joseph had done the night he snuck out. Yet this time, it didn't feel like a punishment, as it was when Joseph had forced him back inside. It felt like a reward, at the end of a long, grand adventure.

And at the night, Caesar knew he could look forward to end his day with another night in bed lovingly cradled in his beloved maker's arms.

Suzi sleepily staggered her way into the house and flopped onto the couch with a yawn. "Sorry about that, I hope I didn't miss too much," she said to Joseph, a little regretfully.

"Don't worry, Caesar loved it," Joseph reassured her. "We had a little talk."

"Hmmm?" she hummed drowsily.

"Oh, just stuff, about the stars and the world and the niceness of being alive, he had a lot to say." Joseph explained. "Also he's been watching your movies, he gets references," he laughed.

Joseph felt a strange warmth to Caesar that he couldn't quite explain. His feelings had been all over the place since the handsome little piece of clay came into his life. He'd gotten to know him, and he'd come to like him.

He'd come to love him.

And Caesar, sitting close by on the floor, gazing up at his relatively-towering form, felt the same.

He loved him for granting him life. He loved him for the care and affection, and all the numerous things he'd done for him, even if he couldn't return the favor.

And he loved him for just... being Joseph.

Their gazes met, and two shy smiles crept across their faces.

Perhaps Caesar belonged with a certain star after all.

---------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[r3almellow]

MLQC Boys With Angry F!S/o Who Denies Them Touch/Sex

Thanks @dafnew for the request!!! I know it took me a while, but I hope you enjoy it! I apologize if there are any typos!

Slightly NSFW!

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

Kiro

All he did was accidentally eat the meal you were looking forward to all day long. Was that really the reason you were currently upset with him.

This wasn’t the first time Kiro has done this and you knew it wouldn’t be the last, so you decided to teach the little glutton a lesson.

Since he loved touching your food, how would he feel not being able to touch his precious Miss Chips?

“No sex.”

Huh?! You’re not serious are you?

To test to see if this was really a “threat,” he’ll try to give you a quick kiss on the lips, but you skillfully turn your head causing his lips to land on your cheek.

DID YOU JUST DODGE ONE OF HIS KISSES?!!

That man is heartbroken, with a capital BROKEN.

Will apologize nonstop and mope when you don’t accept it.

Will give the biggest puppy dog eyes in history. It almost breaks you...ALMOST.

You turn your nose up at his antics and casually go about your business.

He will whine like there’s no tomorrow.

If the two of you are sleeping in the same bed, you will find yourself sleeping on the opposite side of the bed with your back facing him.

Kiro will have none of that and will make his way over to your side and wrap his arms around you.

If you’re really tired you’ll let it slide because you’re a sucker for cuddles; until you feel something hard poking your ass. 

Cheeky man...

You’ll be tempted to press your ass against him, but REMEMBER the mission.

Just before he can even sneak a hand up your shirt or press a few kisses against your neck, Kiro will be hit with a barrage of pillows and forced back to his side of the bed.

You’ll start placing pillows in between the two of you.

Savin figures out whats happening the minute you’re in Kiro’s eyesight and the blonde isn’t hovering around you like a lovesick puppy.

Savin feels for him, but will most likely poke fun.

Kiro will try to eat himself into a coma to battle his cravings for you, but his agent will be on his ass.

This will go on for about two days.

When you finally let up, be prepared for him to jump your bones.

LIKE HE’S ABOUT TO POUNCE ON YOU THE MINUTE YOU GIVE THE OKAY.

It’ll be even worse if he’s been out of the country and didn’t have sex with you prior to leaving.

He doesn’t even care where it happens at this point.

Apartment? Dressing room? Storage closet? IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Needs to feel your body against his.

Just know that, if left up to Kiro you’re not going to be able to leave your bed for a while.

Gavin

It was extremely rare for you to get angry at Gavin. Like its almost impossible for you to be upset with him since that man will bend over backwards to make you happy.

There is, however, one thing that sets you off.

Whenever he gets hurt on the job and doesn’t tell you about it. 

You know Gavin doesn’t like to worry you, but you deserve to know when the love of your life almost comes face to face with death.

So this time around, he omits telling you that he was hospitalized due to a stab wound.

You are LIVID. 

First off, why wouldn’t he tell you he was in the hospital?!

Second, why did you have to hear the news from Eli?!

Gavin tries to ease your frustration with a hug, but you back away instantly.

“No, amount of hugs is going to fix this. In fact, no touching until you’re 100% healed!”

Gavin won’t argue, but he will be sulking! He’ll just have to accept his fate if he wants to be back in your good graces again.

Then it dawned on him...does that mean..? 

He had to ask. He had to know!

“Yup! No sex, Mister.”

Looks like that right hand about to work overtime. 

Gavin has gone through training to withstand torturous circumstances, so the idea of you not having sex with him didn’t sound so bad.

He waited years just have you in his arms and it wasn’t like all the two of you did was have sex. 

However, Gavin didn’t factor in one thing.

His need to worship you.

Gavin loves worshiping you in so many ways from using his words to his body.

His favorite thing to do was to make you feel loved in every way possible. 

So when you graciously refuse to sleep in the same bad as him or deny him any ounce of affection, he’s so hurt. 

Will try to keep his distance, if he feels like he’s really hurt you. 

If you two live together, he’ll make sure to stay out of your way and even sleep on the couch. 

Gavin will  still keep a watchful eye on you.

He notices all! 

Like when you’re wearing his t-shirt without a bra and your nipples involuntarily protrude through the shirt for him to see. 

Or when you walk out of the shower with only a towel around your torso. One little tug and you’d be baring all for him to see.  

Like I said before, that right hand about to work double shifts if he’s going to make it through a long work week. Gavin is only human and has needs! 

His hands got nothing on your mouth or the warmth of your pus- NOPE! NOT DOING THIS. 

This doesn’t just impact your relationship with Gavin, but his relationship with others. 

And by others, its mostly Minor.

“Boss, can I be totally unprofessional for two seconds?”

“Minor you haven’t been professional a day in your life, but sure...” 

“Gavin, hasn’t been himself lately. Like, he’s been sulking and doesn’t even want to shoot hoops anymore. He just sits on a bench and watches birds! And he hasn’t threatened to kick my ass in days! He’s like a sad ass puppy!” 

“I don’t control Gavin, Minor. What do you expect me to do?” 

“I expect you to....SUCK YO MAN’S DI-” Bless Willow and Kiki for pulling the idiot away. 

You do notice he’s more sullen these past few days and has barely spoken to you.

You’ll feel so guilty, but you know you had every right to put him through this!

Not being able to see your precious Bird Cop look like someone killed his dog for much longer, you cave in. 

When Gavin hears the good news his eyes light up and without hesitation he pulls you in for a bone crushing hug.

“I’m sorry for making you worry...” He’ll say.

The minute you nuzzle his cheek and accept his apology, its like a weight has lifted off of him. 

You’ll stay wrapped in his embrace for a while, but will toss out an invitation.

“If you’re all healed up we could....” You don’t even have to finish your sentence.

SAY

NO

MORE

Your boy is touch starved and desperate to make it up to you! 

Get ready for the most mind-blowing yet passionate sex you’ll ever have to date!

Victor

Victor is a prideful man, who refuses to let other’s see him sweat. 

So, when he makes a rude remark in regards to your cooking skills after you generously made him dinner, you decide to put his resolve to the test.

“Well you can suck your own dick since I clearly can’t do anything right!” And you meant it. No sex of any kind!

For how long? Well…until he apologizes.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

It takes a lot for Victor to admit he’s wrong, so Victor is more than willing to go toe to toe with you. 

What Victor doesn’t realize is that this is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to commit to.

If you live together, you would sleep in the guest room just to punish him. However, you also didn’t want to be tempted. Resisting him was a challenge, but you refuse to let him know that.

If you don’t live together, your frequent sleepovers will cease until he apologizes. No more of his home cooked meals… A sacrifice you were willing to make just to stick it to him.

Either way, Victor will be sleeping alone for the next few nights! 

Victor is pretty good with keeping his composure, but by the third day of this ridiculous sex ban everything around him became an irritation.

From Goldman’s voice to the sound of a pen tapping obnoxiously on a desk. It was all so insufferable!

“If you want to keep your job, I suggest you stop that tapping.” 

“Uh, sir, you’re the one that’s tapping.” Oh. 

After a week, you realize that this man was not going to cave on his own. 

He needed a little....incentive. 

When the eighth day rolls in you show up for your one-on-one meeting with the CEO to go over some future plans. 

Your plan was to indirectly seduce him, you know....to nudge him a bit.

Show just enough cleavage.

Wear a short skirt that may or may not reveal the lack of underwear. 

He’ll be eating out of the palm of your hands. Or in this case he’ll be eating out that pussy. 

That was the plan, however....

HE DIDN’T EVEN FLINCH AT THE SIGHT OF YOU.

Little do you know, that man is a raging ball of horniness. 

It took everything he had to keep his cool once he saw you. 

BUT IT WAS DIFFICULT!

He noticed everything.

To the smallest DETAIL.

The outfit you wore perfectly hugged your body in ways that had him outlining your curves with his eyes. 

Your lips were painted in a soft pink gloss that made your lips shine and seem fuller.

The air is filled with the scent of the perfume he had bought you for your birthday last year and…was that a faint hickey on the base of your neck?!

Victor could feel his cock painfully press against his tailored pants.

He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. 

The meeting went on without any problems. 

MUCH TO YOUR DISMAY!

You flirted a bit, but he wasn’t taking the bait!

Have you met your match?!

Once the meeting concluded you turned to leave. 

You’re never aware of this, but he LOVES watching you leave his office so he could get a look at your ass.

Feels like eternity since he’s had the chance to squeeze it with his bare hands. 

Wait...

That skirt.

He knew that skirt all too well. He was the one who bought it after all. 

It was just tight enough to show the outline of your panties. The main reason he bought it for you. 

But.....there was no outline this...time...

OH HELL....

The next thing you know you’ll be pinned to the door with the a frowning man towering over you. 

“I can’t believe I let a dummy get the best of me…”

 “That doesn’t sound like an apology...” 

Don’t worry, he’ll apologize to you and then he’ll fuck you on every hard surface he can find in his office. 

Lucien

It takes a lot for you to be upset with Lucien.

But if you do ever get upset it’ll be because he’s never forthcoming with information and likes strategically misleading you. 

When you become fed up with that you refuse to be in his presence until further notice or until you have to work together again.

This won’t last long. Like a few hours....

Lucien is just too good at turning things in his favor.

Lucien is pretty good at keeping his horny levels in check, but....

He doesn’t sleep well without you by his side. 

Sometimes the sex is what helps him sleep. 

So you ignoring him will simply not do. 

Lucien will find some loophole in your plans. 

Like he’ll pitch interesting ideas to you that will leave you with no choice but to work with him. 

One minute you’re going over notes for an upcoming project and the next...

You’re gripping the sheets beneath you, clothes tossed to the ground,  back arched, and heavy pants passing through your lips. 

Where’s Lucien? 

Between your legs of course!

How did this happen?!

This man is definitely made of magic or something!

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Done!!! I had to rewrite this one like twice because I had too many scenarios going through my head! I hope you all enjoyed it!

Be sure to check out my other MLQC stuff here!

[rpgmgames]

November’s Featured Game: Grimm's Hollow

DEVELOPER(S): ghosthunter ENGINE: RPG Maker 2003 GENRE: Indie RPG, Adventure WARNINGS: Discussions of death, losing a loved one, grief SUMMARY: Grimm’s Hollow is a spooky, freeware RPG where you search the afterlife for your brother. Reap ghosts with your scythe, explore haunted caves, and eat ghostly treats on your journey through death.

Download the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *BB: My name's Bruno and I did some of the music along with Nat! I’m super happy to have participated in this game! *NW: I’m Nat Wesley, a.k.a. Natbird! I’m a composer available for hire with a few projects in the works. I’m honored to have had the chance to work on the soundtrack to Grimm’s Hollow! *GH: Hello! I go by ghosthunter online; I started developing RPGs with a friend in school when we found out that we both enjoyed RPG Horror. I enjoy art, webcomics, cartoons and narrative-driven indie games a lot. I bought RM2K3 on sale and started pouring pixel art into it, before learning how to do things like chase scenes, cutscenes, etc. I used to fantasize about making my own game, drawing dungeons and ghosts in the back of my sketchbooks, before I finally started Grimm’s Hollow. Now I’m near the end of high-school, and I’m hoping the best for uni!

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *GH: Grimm’s Hollow, originally, wasn’t as ambitious or personal. It was simply just going to be “my first game”, something that I could finally put my doodles and RM2K3 skills to. I wanted a game that a younger me would have enjoyed, back when I first discovered the classic RPGMaker games and replayed them constantly for those endings. That was my initial inspiration. It eventually evolved into an action turn-based RPG that relies on timing, yet it’s mostly narrative-driven. You traverse death in search of your sibling, and try to make an escape. There are unexpected pieces of me that ended up in this game, some of which I’m still noticing even now.

How long have you been working on your project? *GH: Since the summer of June 2018.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *GH: Standstill Girl, OFF by Mortis Ghost, Undertale, Over The Garden Wall, and the animation medium in general.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *GH: Many! Making your first game is such a giant learning curve, that the list of challenges goes on. I would say that the most difficult issue I encountered (and that, in some ways, I am still facing after release) is working around the limitations of the game engine I am using. I wanted to see whether creating an engaging but simple 1-party RPG in RM2K3 (without going completely custom) was feasible, and I experimented with quick time events as part of that. I worked around the engine’s built-in formulae so players could see progress when they upgraded their stats - although the game might display as defence as “10”, in reality the game stores it as 40 since the engine splits defence by 4. Since I did not want to create an RPG which was too complex for my first game, I also scrapped traditional staples such as armour or weapons. There were also issues such as having an appropriate “game over” handling event which wouldn’t shoot you back to the title screen after you lost a battle; getting RM2K3 to play a small cutscene where you faint and respawn somewhere else was tricky. I felt that if the player had to reload after a loss, it would disrupt the game flow.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *GH: Like I mentioned before, the game started off impersonal. I just had a soft spot for a spooky cute aesthetic, and I wanted to indulge in that. It was (and in its essence, still is) meant to be a short story, to keep the player invested for the short game length - nothing grandiose. The original draft did not have Baker play a role in the narrative - he was just an ordinary shopkeeper NPC. For a long time during development, Lavender did not even have a name. In the very first draft, she was a silent protagonist the player could name and customize. But she played a very active role in the final outline, so it was hard not to give her own unique voice when one emerged from the narrative naturally. I am glad I did; she grew on me quite quickly! Grimm was virtually unchanged from beginning to end. The only difference was that a close friend suggested that he seemed like he would be into drinking Oolong tea - so that’s what he offers you when you meet him. Timmy also did not go under massive overhauls like Lavender and Baker did, but his relationship with Lavender became much more fleshed out as I wrote the narrative. In other facets of the game’s design, there were not many changes to the original prototype.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *GH: It was just myself, doing the art, writing, programming, etc. But halfway through creating the second cave, I realised I would need a very specific sound for Grimm’s Hollow. So, I contacted Nat for music, but I also created a post on tumblr calling for a composer since there were many tracks to make. I met Bruno as a result! I am very happy with their work and I am so grateful I’ve got to work with them! (Some players are asking for an OST release, which is in the works).

What is the best part of developing a game? *GH: I really enjoyed the early stages of development: creating new tilesets, sprites and maps and piecing them together in the editor, then taking a small screenshot and sharing it with my friend over summer vacation … It was nice to see the game’s world slowly come together. I think that’s what I enjoyed the most from beginning to end: that sense of world-building, that sense of relaxation from making a small cosy game. The latter started to disappear as work and other responsibilities started to intrude, and pressure began to seep into development time - but I never stopped loving making the world and characters. I also want to say that, by lucky chance, I have met a lot of kind people from making my first game. I’m very grateful for that, so thank you to everyone.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *GH: All the time! Other RPG Maker 2003 projects are great inspirations for pixel art tilesets, as well as how to code harder features such as custom menus. They’re also just fun to play.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *GH: Lavender and Timmy are relatable to me in multiple ways. I can’t elaborate on Timmy since that would go into spoiler territory, but I somewhat relate to Lavender’s insistence on managing her life on her own - sometimes to her own detriment. I’d say the most fun character to write for was Grimm. He can be unintentionally silly while speaking in the most formal way, but also very caring too. Everything he does and says was easy to write, whereas I had to think harder for the interactions between everyone else - especially for very crucial scenes regarding their development. That being said, my favourite is still the game’s central two siblings. I can not pick between them for the life of me.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *GH: I wish I started testing even earlier! Not only does it give you a good sense of what’s missing, but seeing people enjoy what you’ve made yet get hindered by bugs is a very strong incentive to fix your game immediately. When I was lacking motivation or was stuck, I found that good feedback and support made me motivated again. I also wish that I could have pushed the deadline a little further, or perhaps released the game on Early Access since it will take me a while to refine post-release bugs - but as it is, the 31st of October really was the deadline for my game due to external circumstances (no, that deadline wasn’t just because it was Halloween!). Other than that, I wonder if using an updated version of RPG Maker would have produced the same game …? It’s hard to tell, but I hope people enjoy it for what it is - I will be working on that post-release patch soon!

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *GH: There are no current plans, but I would be happy to have the opportunity to improve and expand on the game. As it is, the game’s released for free and done as a hobby, so I would struggle to do that by myself.

What do you most look forward to now that you have finished the game? *GH: Earlier on, I was really looking forward to players’ reactions. Games are made to be fun, and I would have felt distraught if my game didn’t achieve what it was set out to do. Yet it was not just about the gameplay; it was about the narrative. I hoped that what I found funny, the player would too; what was heartfelt to me, was heartfelt to the player as well. Like sharing a laugh, or just a good experience together. I hoped they would enjoy the feeling that went into it, despite the struggle of making it against circumstance and limitations. Now, I look forward to resting and sleeping once this over. I want to explore my other interests, improve, and explore new media. I want to relax, and refocus again like I was before the heat of development.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *GH: Bugs! Some are easy to fix, but others are harder due to the limitations of the engine (e.g an error in one ending is caused by an overflow error).

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *GH: Show your game as early as possible, to as many people as possible. As soon as you have something playable, it’s ready for feedback. You’ll see if that game mechanic you spent hours refining works, or if it doesn’t work and why. You’ll understand what players enjoy and what they want more of, but also what they don’t like or don’t enjoy. And you will definitely encounter bugs. You’ll be able to pinpoint and fix minor problems early on that can easily become a larger issue later. You’ll be able to fine-tune your game so its best bits shine, and the difficulty is just right.

Question from last month's featured dev @dead-dreams-dev: Is there anything you’ve added to your game for no other reason than because you’re hoping fans will get a kick out of it? Fanservice, fourth wall breakage, references to other games, jokes, abilities that are just ridiculously overpowered and badass, etc? *GH: It’s hard to say; game design is trying to find the intersection between what’s good for the player, what the developer enjoys, and what’s feasible to implement. Every decision made should be conscious of that … I think a lot of the game’s early light-hearted jokes was not only made because I enjoyed it, but I hoped the player would “get a kick out of it” too. But more so, I think it’s because I would struggle to write a story which is serious and bleak from beginning to end. The game is a little self-indulgent in the narrative that way.

We mods would like to thank ghosthunter & team for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Grimm's Hollow if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

[anika-ann]

Ground Rules (for Love and War) - Pt.2

Of Friendship and Love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader        Word count: 3600

Type: Two-shot, reader insert

Summary: Being trapped in a dark workshop with two sopersoldier of whom you have a crush on one. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: silly pranks, blackout, attempt at humour, swearing… fluff

Part 1

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Your heart nearly gave out at the fright and instantly started to hammer wildly in your ribcage.

You couldn’t see in the sudden pitch-dark room, but you could sense two large frames of supersoldiers stepping into your space protectively, their backs to you, facing the potential threat.

The heat of their bodies reassured you as your breathing sounded way too loud, the sound of your heartbeat seemingly bouncing off of the walls, filling the large space. Needing to feel something, your shaky hand reached out, colliding with Steve’s wrist; at least you assumed it was Steve’s. He swiftly turned his hand, squeezing yours before letting go and focusing on the danger lurking in the dark.

You held your breath in anticipation, moments stretching. Why was nothing happening?

Clearly, Bucky had been brought here under false pretences and there was a thick chance that whoever had got him here – F.R.I.D.A.Y.?! – counted on you being here as well. Did they take Steve into account or was he the one variable that could mean the difference between death and life?

The icy silence was broken by a series of strangely familiar beeps.

You jumped good two feet above the floor at the sudden interruption, you pulse skyrocketing.

It was coming from your left, where Bucky stood, the unzipped pocket of his hoodie giving out a faint light.

He cautiously pulled the phone out, his face illuminated by the greyish glow. He eyed it absently, trying to stay on alert for an attack. Then his shoulders slumped, his eyes closing shut.

What? WHAT?! What was happening? Was it a death threat? To him? To someone else? To the whole world?

As the silence stretched once more, only interrupted by Bucky’s low growl, your mind was racing, coming out with different catastrophic scenarios.

And suddenly something clicked.

“Were those… sounds from the Angry Birds game?” you broke the deadly quiet and Bucky’s growl was more distinct this time.

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed darkly and you could feel Steve slowly relax by your side, the tension radiating from him easing as if was brought up to speed with what was going on. He was still standing dangerously close to you, but you weren’t about to complain. Definitely not until you knew what was going on. “I’m going to murder him. Slowly. And painfully.”

He sounded truly pissed off. But also annoyed. You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

“Who’s him and what is he saying?” you asked, voice thin. Despite some of the fear leaving your body, your knees felt like buckling. Good thing Steve was so close that he would be able to catch you. Or perhaps his presence was one of the reasons why you felt weak in your knees?

“Homing pigeon, who else? Wilson.”

Oh. Oh.

Wait, what?

“Shitted you pants, didn’t you?” Bucky read out loud and you could hear him grinding his teeth. Illuminated by the phone screen, he looked like he was about to live up to his reputation as the Winter Soldier. “You didn’t get a heart-attack though, did you? Because that would be considerably less fun. Enjoy your lockdown, Barnes.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out, finally endlessly relieved.

“I’m gonna hold him while you punch him, Buck. And then I’m gonna punch you. This has got too far. You wanna play cat and mouse, please, by all means, but do not pull us into it,” Steve said seriously, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment and irritation at his friends’ behaviour.

Your hand acted on its own account, needing to comfort him all of sudden. He covered the back of your hand when it blindly found its forearm. It caused the corners of your lips to lift.

“So much for not getting caught in the middle,” you hummed, recalling your words to him from two days prior and you had a feeling he smiled at that.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “Fuck lockdown. We can figure something out, right?”

At that, your mood fell instantly. It was your turn to sigh, because… you weren’t so certain about that. Freeing your hand, you crossed your arms on your chest.

“Well, the power is down,” you pointed out the obvious. “The thing is, I’m ninety percent sure Tony didn’t synchronize the new protocols with the emergency power unit yet.”

“English?” Bucky hissed.

You were pretty confident that he understood, but didn’t want to believe it. You rolled your eyes and explained.

“The power won’t kick in on its own, because the new security update isn’t quite… complete. It has to be done manually. And Tony didn’t share how.”

“So we just have to call Tony?” Steve asked, relieved.

“Yeah… about that. I might have threatened to all of his Ironman suits if he left his phone on during the date with Pepper he’s currently on…”

“Oh,” Steve let out, clearly surprised, but at the same time, slightly pleased. Good. He cared for more than just his friends’ safety – he also cared about their happiness. Not that it was any surprise to you. “Where’s the date?”

You chewed on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as you prepared for the storm which was doubtlessly about to follow your revelation.

“…Richmond.”

“WHAT?!” sounded stereo from both sides of your face and you whined, guilt biting at your stomach. But how were you supposed to know this was gonna happen?!

You would bet Samuel fucking Wilson planned it exactly because he knew about the date. And about its location.

“There’s a really nice restaurant with great atmosphere, okay?!” you instantly defended yourself. “It had wonderful lobster and Tony actually paid attention to what Pepper said for once, so he knew she would love it there!”

Steve sighed, but assured you that it was alright, recognizing your contribution.

“So we’ll just punch our way out.”

“…yeah, about that,” you shot down Bucky’s proposition before he could get too excited about it.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! What now?”

“Tony might have lined the walls and doors with vibranium after Ultron, T’Challa provided it to him. He thought it would be safer…?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a paranoid bastard?” you offered, earning an affirmative hum from Steve.

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“So, let me get this straight. He lines the walls with rare metal, but he still trusts his tech, which already turned against him before,” Bucky stated in disbelief.

“Uhhmmm, yeah, sounds about right.”

You could feel a gush of wind that probably signalled Bucky throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“So… we’re trapped,” Steve summed up and you reluctantly agreed.

“Basically.”

“In the dark,” Bucky added. “Well, for you anyway.”

“I mean, not complete dark, my phone’s somewhere on the table and has some battery– wait, are you telling me you can actually see in this… darkest dark?” you demanded incredulously.

“Yeah, a bit,” Bucky confirmed absently as he reached for his phone again to light it up. “Mine has like 5 percent.”

“I don’t have my phone with me,” Steve confessed.

“Seriously, Steve?”

“I’m still in the tower! No one outside the tower calls me!” Steve shot back at Bucky defensively.

Legendary duo arguing! Alert! Cannot be happening!

“Alright, boys. Calm down,” you asked of them gently. “We’ll figure something out. Help me find my phone…” Bucky obediently did, even though you were sure he was frowning. You lit it up contentedly. “Sweet. I have about ten percent.” You turned on the flashlight attached to the camera and squinted to see better as you headed to one of the cupboards. “There are some flashlights right he-“ Your face twisted in confusion when you found the cupboard empty. Well. “--or not. Let’s scan this place…”

As it turned out, the workshop was a place of wonders. Rest assured, you knew about a lot of strange things hidden through the cabinets, but some treasures still surprised you.

Mostly, it was Steve and Bucky, who were bewildered at their findings.

“What is Operation doing here?” Steve questioned, pulling out the game box for you to see – well, the outline of it anyway – as if he wanted you to confirm that it was indeed there and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Don’t even ask,” you rolled your eyes.

Have you mentioned Tony needed constant supervision and that he was a man-child? Yeah? Never mind, you could say that over and over again and it wouldn’t get less truthful.

“We could play,” Bucky offered casually, clearly getting bored by the recon mission.

“I’m not playing Operation with you. I can barely see.”

“Fine, fine…” Bucky grumbled and Steve put the box back, moving to other mysterious cabinets.

“Oh. Candles. And matches. That might be helpful. And a bag of chips.”

“Nicely done, Captain,” you praised him, turning to him to flash him a grin he could probably barely see. It dawned to you too late how flirtatious it might have sounded, how strangely his rank rolled of your tongue, so you quickly spoke up again. “Hand it over.”

“Keep looking. One bag of chips isn’t enough…” Bucky stated, but Steve handed you the to-be light sources so you could place them to your liking.

His fingers brushed your hands tenderly as he passed you the items and you weren’t certain whether it was an accident or not. Judging by the faint outline of his shy smile, you thought it might not. It made your cheeks burn and your heart swell.

“Twister?” Bucky proposed this time, breaking the moment you shared with Steve and you rolled your eyes.

“Eh, Tony sometimes… plays with Dum-E,” you explained, hoping he would get the picture. “Usually when he’s drunk. I’m not-“ -playing with you.

“Got it. Monopoly then?”

You whined. It wasn’t exactly your favourite game and you knew you would lose in the matter of minutes, but if you were being honest… you were about to run out of things to do here and your phone was about to die, so you might as well play the game Tony Stark loved.

“Well. Let me just light up the candles, okay? It’s gonna be a short game. You two have superbrains. But I might survive few rounds if I really try…” you murmured and proceeded with illuminating the space.

You in fact did last few rounds. You even managed to step up and buy some of the tiny red houses. And you… you might even have been having fun.

Until you got the worst luck ever, stepping on the most fearful square owned by no other than Steve Rogers and you had to start counting all of your money… only to find out that it, if fact, wasn’t enough. Not after you had already payed him once that round and to Bucky.

“Ahh, dammit.”

“You can always just… sell something,” Bucky noted and you shot him a glare. That move always signalled the beginning of an end.

You were frowning at the board, chewing on your lower lip while you considered your options. Not that there were many of them. Your poor boat-shaped figure was about to sink.

“Or you could pay me later,” Steve’s voice broke your mussing and your head snapped to him. “I’ll give you five tosses – someone might step on something of yours by then.”

You examined his inviting expression, his sharp features softened by the candlelight. For a moment, your brain switched off. For some reason, you hadn’t truly looked at him since the game started, your gaze rather on the board and dice, but now, when you raised your gaze, you were amazed by the ethereal aura around him, by the startling beauty. His already warm eyes reflected the tiny flames, the shadows accenting the curve of his lips, defined cheekbones, strong jaw.

One of his eyebrows rose in slow motion, only for you to realize with shock that you had been staring at him for way too long. You hoped he believed you only got lost in thought; which you did, but about him, not about the game.

“I… don’t that’s possible according to the rules,” you whispered, voice hoarser than expected. You cleared your throat, your heart racing at both being caught and captivated by the vision of Steve in the sweet light.

“Sometimes it’s alright to bend the rules a bit for a good cause. Where the fun would be if I condemned you to bankrupting in about two tosses?” he shrugged, apparently oblivious to your inner turmoil and you released the breath you were holding.

“One toss, knowing my luck… are you sure?”

“Positive,” he assured you with a small smile and you could melt at spot. And it had nothing to do with that stupid capitalistic board game.

“Thank you. I guess I’ll just have to pay you with interest too when I finally do.”

You honestly had no intention for it to come out like that… it had just… happened to sound this flirty. His eyes locked on yours, the warm candlelight still casting shadows over his cheeks bones, sharp jaw, plush lips… all of him was calling out for you, luring your heart in, your breath catching in your throat and his gaze flickered to the lower part on your face just for a split second, but it was enough to cause you a little heart attack, a firework exploding in your abdomen. Christ.

“I guess it’s my turn then,” Bucky cleared his throat meaningfully and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice.

How the hell did you forget he was still here with you?

Also, you were playing Monopoly and when you had said you’d pay with interest, you had originally thought paying with some fake money on top. It was an accident that somehow, your brain had switched to its more primitive form, thinking about very different things and you needed to get it back in check. Right now.

Bucky helped with that significantly; while you were able to pay Steve after one single toss, without interest, because he strictly refused that (you would swear that even in the lack of light, you could see the tips of his ears burning), Sergeant Barnes was not one to be mollified. He mercilessly slayed you and you lost everything in next two rounds, because that was just your luck.

Steve proposed to end the game with that (even when he was surprisingly on his way to win despite your debacle caused by Bucky), but it felt unjust.

“I trust you, Steve. You’ll win this. And it’s okay for you to have fun. I’ll just watch how you fight over it like children,” you teased lightly, grinning up at him despite losing.

“Okay. Whenever you get too bored, we’ll stop,” he declared and your expression softened at the gentle gaze boring into your eyes.

You couldn’t remember the last time you kept staring at each other like that – more often than not, either you or him would eventually avert the other’s gaze. There ultimately was something different about tonight. You certainly didn’t find it a bad thing though. If you were being completely honest, you liked it. Steve truly was the sweetest guy you had ever met and you weren’t oblivious to his appearance, nor to his alluring personality. It was simply the assumption of having zero chance with him that had been making you hold back. But tonight… it seemed there might be a possibility even.

Was there?

Letting your thoughts wander, you watched with a fond smile on your face as the two friends fell into a merciless fight over fake money and real estate. The two world’s supersoldiers bickering like an old couple, yet resembling children.

It was when the tiredness from the whole day on your feet started settling in. First, it showed in a subtle way; goosebumps rose on your skin, uncomfortable shiver running through your whole body.

It didn’t go unnoticed; eyeing your outfit, only consisting of thin t-shirt and jeans, as you curled up into yourself on the couch, a concerned wrinkle appeared on Steve’s face.

You flashed him a drowsy smile, shaking your head so he wouldn’t worry. Ha, as if that could work! He scanned the room and then strode away, unmistakably finding the blanket you had discovered earlier in one of the cabinets. He gently laid it over your shoulders before returning to the game, stealing a glance on you ever so often.

At least you thought so. Adding warmth to the mix was the perfect recipe for your eyelids growing heavier by the second. Before you knew it, your head lulled, the motion instantly causing you to jolt awake.  

A chuckle escaped to both of your companions; except Steve had enough decency to try and sound subtle. Bucky, not so much.

“It’s almost over,” he grinned and had you had the energy, you would raise your eyebrow to show your skepticism; it was never almost over with Monopoly. Or, more precisely, the ���almost over’ usually lasted about two hours.

“It can be over right now,” Steve offered kindly and you shook your head stubbornly, the movement causing the world swim.

“Nope. You win,” you attempted to say, your words slurring, your tongue feeling as lead-like as your eyelids.

A shift in Steve’s posture caught your attention as he scooted a little closer to you on the couch and the shock of his skin nearly making contact with yours nearly brought you back to full consciousness.

“Just lean in whenever you need,” he whispered barely audible, as if he was letting you into his darkest secret.

You mumbled something doubtlessly incomprehensible – even to yourself – and allowed your temple to fall on his impressive shoulder. You almost moaned in bliss.

“Warm…”

How was he so warm? He only wore a t-shirt, like you.

Why would Tony call him a Capsicle? He was more like a space heater… eh, you’d figure it out… later… later…

You felt your muscles relaxing, melting into the pleasant warmth and soon, you were dead to the world.

A gentle sway brought you back to consciousness, soft dip as fabric slid under your body and you subconsciously curled back towards the warmth that seemed to be disappearing. It still did, but cushions soon replaced it. You were too tired to resist, sinking into the mattress instead.

Faintly recalling the events of the night, you figured Tony must have rescued you from your prison. Mind painfully slow, it dawned to you that Steve, whom you possibly used as your personal pillow slash space heater, carried you to bed.

Sweet. Very, very sweet, always so nice, but never like with the others… perhaps it was about to change? You had passed some kind of a test? Or did you…?

“Steve… will you… treat me… like all… your friends?” your words slurred, quiet and mumbled mostly to your actual pillow, but apparently, he understood.

Or maybe you were just dreaming.

“Would you like that?” his lips must have barely moved, his voice so low you might as well only imagine it.

You felt like you only considered it for a second, but you couldn’t be sure. You just wanted to sleep. Just answer one more question to the chivalrous Steve, who was carefully tucking you in.

“Nah… Too pretty… to be friend.”

He chuckled breathlessly, a huff of air caressing your face.

“Yes, you are, doll. Sleep. I’ll try not to put my foot in my mouth tomorrow morning when you’re really awake and I finally ask you out, okay?”

Promise? “Uh-uh. So sweet.”

“Goodnight,” he whispered an inch from your head, warmth touching your forehead for only a fraction of second.

“’night.”

The reality was, he did put his foot in his moth the next morning. But only a bit; he still got a yes from you. As if no was ever an option. Vaguely remembering what had been happening after you had fallen asleep in the workshop, you returned his gesture – except his forehead was too high, so your lips brushed his cheek instead; you had to tug on his sleeve to reach at least that spot.

He certainly didn’t seem to mind if the delighted smile he gave you in return was anything to go by.

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It wasn’t the only significant encounter of that morning though.

Bucky walked into kitchen only to find Sam casually sipping his coffee, a wide grin on his face.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” the sergeant hissed, rewarded by raised brows.

“Come on, Barnes. You should be smarter than that. Do you really think Tony keeps candles around? And no flashlights? Dude. It was for romantic atmosphere. Even you could see how hopeless they were. It was all part of my master plan to get these two idiots together,” Sam revealed calmly, clicking his tongue when Bucky shot him a murderous look, leaning closer with a menacing face.

“Do you have any idea what kind of an eye-fuck session I’ve been through? What I had to witness? If it was such a master plan, why did I get stuck in there with them?!”

“As a psychical support to your best pal Steve…?”

Bucky looked like he was considering what kind of a murder would be most painful for the other man. Strangling him would be so… boring. Though no doubt satisfying enough.

Would be though? That bastard had the audacity to shrug as he placed his empty cup on the counter.

“Kidding, I’m his best pal. I figured that it would be fun to have you play the third wheel. We are still at war, Barnes,” he pointed out. “I just thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Bucky’s fist hit the counter, making the poor cup rattle.

“Soon, I will kill one particular bird and I will need no stone,” Bucky stated with startling serenity. “Run, Wilson. Run.”

Sam Wilson was a brave man. But hell, when the former Winter Soldier tells you to run, you run and you’d better be grateful for the head start.

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S.R. masterlist

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @cxptain​ @smilexcaptainx @scentedsongrebel​ @orions-nebula​

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Thank you for reading! :-*  If anyone wants in or out of Steve (or other) taglist, let me know via message or ask :))

[callboxkat]

Omg these Second Chances mini fics fill my heart so much. Could I ask about Roman’s first time going out to eat with his dads I mean Logan and Patton?

Ah, yes. Roman and his dads friends. Anon, I may have gone a little overboard, but I regret nothing. This was just supposed to be a bullet point fic, but I think we’ve established that I don’t know when to stop.

I still included the bullet point fic at the end, of course, which kind of turned into an outline :)

A Spicy Celebration

Author’s note: This takes place between when Roman gets his job offer and when he starts actually working. So, between Pressure and Puzzling it Out.

Summary: It’s Patton’s and Logan’s anniversary, and Patton decides that the best way to celebrate is for everyone to go out to a fun restaurant!

Warnings: food mention, insecurity, nostalgia, guilt (this is mostly fluff I swear–)

Word count: 2790 (Like I said, I don’t know when to stop)

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

…

Roman admired the coloring page he was working on. He had admittedly gone a little outside the lines, but he really liked how it was turning out. He enjoyed taking simple coloring page designs and making complex drawings out of them. This page had come from an old coloring book that had once been Patton’s, until the other man gifted it to Roman, saying that he would probably never get around to finishing it.

“Ready to go?”

Roman jumped and looked up. Logan stood in the doorway of the guest room, wearing his jacket and with his hair combed even more neatly than usual.

Roman awkwardly set down the colored pencil he was using. “Go where?” he asked, very much pretending that Logan hadn’t surprised him.

“My apologies, I was under the impression you knew. We are going out to a restaurant tonight, since it is the anniversary of my and Patton’s relationship.”

Roman’s mouth hung open slightly, processing. “Wait… you don’t want me to go with you guys to that, do you?”

Logan frowned. “Why wouldn’t we? Val is coming, too, if you are worried about being a….” He paused, as if trying to remember the phrase he wanted to use. “A ‘third wheel’. Not to pressure you, but Patton also seems excited at the prospect of all four of us going, and he might be disappointed if you do not.”

“Well, we can’t disappoint Patton,” Roman said, smiling uncertainly.

“So, you will come? We’re hoping to leave within the next ten minutes, if you are.”

Roman nodded. “Count me in.”

“Splendid.”

About five minutes later, Roman was ready. He dressed in one of the dress shirts and a pair of slacks that Patton and Logan had gotten him for job interviews, wanting to look nice for the anniversary dinner even though it wasn’t his anniversary. When he came downstairs, though, he was a little disconcerted to see that he might have been a bit overdressed compared to the others (except Logan, but he always dressed like that). No one said anything about it, though; and they all went out to the car. No one told Roman where they were going, so he simply allowed himself to be ushered into a seat. Patton, in the driver’s seat, was smiling, while his boyfriend sat in the passenger’s seat looked fondly exasperated. It was a common expression on him these days, Roman noted.

Val was seated beside Roman in the back seat. Things were a little tense between them at times, still, but she seemed to be warming up to him. She seemed to notice his confusion and leaned marginally towards him with a smirk.

“Just go with it, don’t worry. Patton chose the restaurant. We’re all just along for the ride.”

Soon, they pulled up to a Mexican restaurant, which Roman could tell even from the outside wouldn’t be all that authentic; but it had a cheery atmosphere. When they turned off the car and got out, he could hear faint music spilling out of open windows and the door whenever patrons came and went. Colorful lights glowed within.

When they stepped inside, Roman could tell why Patton liked this place so much. String lights shaped like white sombreros or pink llamas or red, green, and yellow chilies were strung along the windows and across the ceiling along with sheets of colorful papel picado. Cheery music and the sounds of chatter and conversation filled the air. Whatever wall space wasn’t taken up by various art pieces, photographs, and even a small guitar or two was painted a warm honey mustard yellow. A large Mexican flag hung in the entryway. Past the counter where a waiter stood ready to seat the guests, Roman could see tables with bouquets, pitchers of salsa, and bowls of chips set out on them.

Perhaps it was all a bit much, and Roman was very aware of how stereotypical the place was, but honestly, he was okay with that. It was stereotypical in a fun way.

“Hola,” said the waiter, picking up a stack of menus. “Four of y’all tonight?”

“Yep!” Patton said.

The waiter led them to a corner table and set down the menus, making sure they were all comfortably settled before they went off to tend to their other tables.

Val had already opened her menu, scanning its contents as she absently reached for the chips and salsa. Patton was showing Logan one of the llama string lights, pointing out how cute it was and saying that he had to see if he could find where the restaurant had gotten them.

Roman opened his own menu, like Val; but unlike her, he was more focused on the prices he saw there than the items themselves.

“Oh no,” Patton whispered, giggling. Roman glanced up to see that he’d spilled a bit of the salsa on the table.

“No harm done,” Logan replied, handing him a napkin.

Roman went back to the menu. The prices glared back at him.

I should just stick to the chips. Maybe a side of yellow rice or something. He glanced towards the sides menu, biting his lip.

“Hey, no!” Patton said, visibly upset. Roman looked up sharply, startled, and realized that he must have mumbled that out loud.

“Don’t just get a side,” Patton insisted. “Get what you want, or I’ll fight you.”

Logan patted his boyfriend on the back. Val glanced between them all, one eyebrow raised. Patton was far from threatening, but Roman felt his ears burn.

“Okay, okay,” he quickly relented. Patton relaxed.

“Don’t worry about the price,” he said. “It’s our treat.”

“As long as your order is within reason, you may request it,” Logan added.

Roman nodded, staring down at the menu.

Not long after, the waiter materialized over Val’s shoulder.

“Can I get some drink orders?” they asked, pen and paper at the ready, a pleasant smile in place.

Roman, who had conveniently just stuffed a chip full of salsa in his mouth, quickly waved for someone else to go first to save his poor dignity.

Val looked up at them. “Horchata, please,” she requested.

“Oooh, I want the hot chocolate,” Patton said cheerfully. “The Mexican one? It sounds good.”

Logan glanced at his boyfriend. “Ah,” he asked the waiter, “how spicy is the Mexican hot chocolate?”

“It’s a little spicy, but we can make it on the milder side, if you’d like?”

“Yes, I think that would be good,” he said, nodding. He turned back to his boyfriend. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“Oh, okay,” Patton replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to lose my taste buds because they choc-a-lot of spices in there!”

Logan groaned at the pun, putting his head in his hands.

“Nice,” the waiter said, his customer service smile turning more genuine.

“I will have a lime soda,” Logan said into his hands, enunciating to be understood. “And I would appreciate an additional horchata, as well.”

Roman guessed that horchata was for Patton, in case the hot chocolate or his food was still too spicy for him.

The waiter turned expectantly to Roman. Thankfully, this time, he didn’t have any food in his mouth.

“Um…” Roman scanned the drinks, not actually having made a decision before this moment. “I’ll have the hot chocolate, too.”

“Alright, sounds good… and will y’all be needing another moment to decide on food? If not, I can take that now, and it’ll get out quicker.”

Logan slowly removed his face from his hands, sighing as if needing to recover from Patton’s pun.

Patton folded his menu. “Oh, well, I’m ready, what about…?”

After a moment, they agreed to go ahead and order. Patton went first, asking for the veggie taco meal. Logan, after him, ordered chicken fajitas; but of course, he had to point out as he did so that fajitas were an American invention, and not a truly authentic Mexican food.

“Yes, yes, Lo, you said that last time one of us had fajitas,” Val said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “I’ll have the… ‘Mega Spicy Chicken’.”

“Oh, really?” the waiter asked, looking at her appraisingly. “When they say ‘mega spicy’, they mean it.”

Roman glanced down at the menu and quickly found what the waiter was talking about. The dish had four flaming chili peppers printed next to it.

“I’m sure,” Val responded cheerily, closing her menu.

“I’ll get that, too,” Roman said impulsively. Val glanced at him.

Sure, it was spicy, but Roman was a proud Latino. He could handle it. Plus, since Val had ordered it, Roman was pretty sure that Logan would consider the order’s price to be “within reason”. Most of the prices on the menu weren’t all that expensive to the family, he knew, especially since he got the idea that they didn’t eat out often; but it was a nice reassurance regardless.

“Okay,” the waiter shrugged, writing it down.

…

As the waiter set down everyone’s drinks, they smiled and said, “Just so y’all know, we have a special going on right now. If you can eat an entire ghost pepper in thirty seconds, without drinking anything until you’re done, your drink will be free.”

“Oh, sign me up,” Val said, grinning.

Not to be outdone (and happy to potentially lessen the bill), Roman said, “Me too.”

Logan’s eyebrows went up, and Patton started protesting before Roman had even finished speaking.

“Wait, Roman, you don’t have to do that, we’re perfectly happy to—”

Roman waved them off. “No, no, it’s okay, promise.”

Patton frowned at him. “But… it’s a ghost pepper.” He whispered the words “ghost pepper” as if he was afraid that an actual ghost would hear them.

“I know, Pat,” Roman said, smiling confidently and sitting up straight with a dramatic flair. “I shall vanquish this beast, don’t you worry!”

Patton gave him one more worried look, but he didn’t argue further. Val, meanwhile, gave him a knowing look, taking a small sip of her horchata.

Despite his projected confidence, Roman was already starting to have doubts when the waiter walked off. He had a feeling he might regret this. Roman could handle some heat, but ghost peppers were some of the hottest peppers out there.

It was too late to back out now.

Within a minute, the waiter was back. With a mariachi band.

At first, Roman thought that maybe they just happened to be walking by each other, that maybe the restaurant had hired the small band to walk around sometimes and play. But, no, they were definitely all headed to their table.

“Oh my god,” Val said, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

The waiter stopped before their table, a microphone and two small plates in hand.

“Buenos noches, everyone!” the waiter said into the microphone, their voice carrying easily over the music. Roman barely registered the incorrect Spanish, suddenly very nervous. “Two of our patrons have decided to take up the ghost pepper challenge tonight! Let’s cheer them on!” Based on the grin on the waiter’s face, this was their favorite part of the job.

Cheers went up all over the restaurant as the waiter set down two small plates, one in front of Val and one in front of Roman. They were each plain white, empty save for a single, 3-inch-long orange pepper. Val grinned, appearing both amused and a little embarrassed by the attention.

Roman was pretty sure his face was burning red even though he hadn’t yet taken a single bite of the pepper. He was not expecting so much fanfare to come with this challenge.

He glanced at Patton and Logan. Patton had started bouncing in anticipation, his hands pressed together; and Logan clapped politely, looking around at all the other customers watching them.

It can’t be that bad, Roman told himself, delicately picking up the pepper by the stem.

He was wrong.

Tears sprung in his eyes with the first bite, his mouth immediately aflame. He quickly choked down the rest of the pepper. His throat tried to close up, rejecting even the thought of swallowing it, but Roman forced it down. He panted, opening his mouth for the waiter to see that he’d swallowed it. He barely heard the cheers as they announced that he’d done it.

Val finished a second later, and the cheering got louder. The mariachi band resumed playing, louder than before, and the waiter clapped, glee on their face.

Roman had already snatched up his glass of water, and he was chugging it. He finished the whole thing, reached instinctively for his hot chocolate, remembered that it was spicy, and instead grabbed the extra horchata that Logan had ordered. Logan watched in amusement as he did, but Roman didn’t even think about the fact that he’d stolen it until half of it was gone.

Realization struck him, and he slowly moved the drink away from his lips even though his mouth was still burning. “Um… sorry,” he gasped, setting it down. He wiped at his eyes with the hand that hadn’t touched the pepper. He hadn’t noticed when the band and the waiter left, but they must have done so at some point, for they were alone again.

Val, who had drunk quite a bit of her own horchata, was clearly trying not to laugh. Her eyes, visible over the rim, were crinkled with humor.

Logan chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That was quite amusing to watch.”

…

Roman tried very hard not to laugh, watching as his former nemesis carefully cut up his fajitas with a knife and fork.

“Ah, behold,” Val said, her tone suggesting that this was not at all unusual, “the one true way to eat a fajita.”

“It’s neater this way,” Logan claimed, lifting a forkful to his mouth.

As if to demonstrate, Patton picked up one of his veggie tacos. When he went to take a bite, about a quarter of its contents fell out the other end. “Whoopsie-doodles!”

The corner of Val’s mouth quirked up. “Maybe,” she admitted, going back to her own food.

Roman, meanwhile, had some regrets about ordering his own spicy dish. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the ghost pepper had been, but the heat seemed to build the more he ate. He drank quite a bit of his water, trying to cool down his poor mouth.

After a while, Logan silently pushed the extra horchata in his direction, casting him a knowing look. Roman gratefully accepted it, since it seemed Patton didn’t want it. The younger man was happily eating his messy tacos and drinking his hot chocolate. No one pointed out the mustache the drink left on his face.

With the blessing of the horchata helping to quell Roman’s burning mouth, he found that he quite liked the food. And for most of the rest of the meal, they ate, and they talked, and they cheered along with everyone else when another patron decided to try eating the ghost pepper.

Roman almost forgot about his hot chocolate, until Patton asked him if he liked it, seeming confused about the fact that the cup was still full.

“Oh—yeah, it’s really good!” Roman assured even though he hadn’t taken a sip yet, picking it up. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“No need to be sorry,” Logan assured, before taking another careful bite of his fajita.

Regardless, Roman took that moment to take a sip of his hot chocolate. It had cooled somewhat, and it wasn’t very spicy. Perhaps they had made his mild, too, like Patton’s. But the taste of cinnamon was strong. He felt a strong sense of familiarity—it wasn’t quite the same, but it really reminded him of….

A lump rose in Roman’s throat. He set down the mug, not having expected that reaction.

Val snorted. “You ate a ghost pepper, and now the hot chocolate is making you tear up?” she asked jokingly.

Roman forced himself to laugh, reaching for the horchata even though he didn’t need it. “Alright, you caught me, I’m a disgrace to my Latino brethren.”

Thankfully, the moment soon passed.

They went back to just talking and enjoying the rest of their meal. Roman didn’t touch the hot chocolate again, but he ate nearly half of his entrée. Logan continued to eat his fajitas with a fork, attracting snickers from a couple of kids seated at a nearby table. The waiter stopped by a few times to refill drinks and check in on them. Patton told the story of how he and Logan had met, talking mostly to Roman since he was the only one who didn’t know the story. And they all went home with plenty of leftovers.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad night.

…

…

And now, the bullet point fic!!

…

-This takes place between when Roman gets his job offer and when he starts actually working. So, between Pressure and Puzzling it Out.

-Everybody goes out to celebrate the anniversary of Patton’s and Logan’s relationship!

-This is after Val decided to give Roman a chance, plus Logan’s her brother, so she’s part of the gang

-No there’s nothing weird about them all going shut up

-This is Patton, he wants his famILY to celebrate with them

-Roman is ushered into a car without knowing where they’re going. Logan seems a bit exasperated, Patton is smiling, and Val just smirks and tells him that it’s Patton’s idea and to go with it

-They go to a not-so-authentic but quite fun Mexican restaurant

-On to the restaurant.

-It is a sight. We’re talking string lights shaped like red, green, and yellow chilies, colorful banners, papel picado, cheery music spilling from the speakers, and waiters walking around with platters of food and drink. There’s bouquets of flowers, pitchers of salsa, and bowls of chips on the tables. It’s one of those places where there’s art and various decorations all over the walls, including photos of famous people who have eaten there (it’s a small number, but more than Roman would have expected). A Mexican flag is hung behind the counter where a waiter waits to seat people.

-Maybe it’s a bit much, and maybe a little stereotypical, but admittedly in a fun way; so Roman rolls with it.

-they get a table in one of the corners, and they’re all given menus. Roman is a bit overwhelmed, looking at all the prices

-He accidentally mumbles aloud that he might just stick to the chips and salsa and a side of yellow rice, and Patton threatens to fight him if he doesn’t get something more than that

-The waiter comes back to give out water and take their orders

-Roman had just put a chip in his mouth so he frantically waves for someone else to go first

-Patton gets veggie tacos, Logan chicken fajitas (“Fajitas are actually an American invention, not a truly Mexican food” “Yes, Logan, you said that last time, too” (Val)), and Val gets just about the spiciest thing on the menu, something called “Mega Spicy Chicken” There are four flaming chili peppers next to it.

-As a proud Latino and a lover of taking up challenges, Roman gets the same thing.

-Doing so has the added bonus of Roman being able to reassure himself that he’s “allowed” to get something with that price

-Roman and Patton both get Mexican hot chocolate, Val gets horchata, and Logan gets a bottle of lime soda. He also wisely orders an extra horchata for Patton, very aware that Patton does not deal well with heat

-When the waiter returns with the drinks, they claim that the restaurant is having a special where if you can eat an entire 3-inch ghost pepper within thirty seconds, your drink is free

-Val happily accepts, and, not to be outdone, Roman does the same

-Patton starts to protest, saying Roman doesn’t have to do that just to make his order cheaper, and Logan’s eyebrows go up, but Roman just waves them off, saying it’ll be fine. Val knows what’s up and looks at Roman with a glint in her eyes.

-Roman is already beginning to have regrets

-And then the waiter returns with the peppers. And a mariachi band.

-Yes, a mariachi band

-“Two of our patrons have decided to take up the ghost pepper challenge tonight! Let’s cheer them on!” the waiter calls out over the music. This is clearly their favorite part of the job.

-Cheers go up all over the restaurant. Patton is bouncing, Val’s grinning in a simultaneously amused and embarrassed way, and Logan politely claps. Roman’s gone red and he hasn’t even eaten the pepper yet.

-The plates are set down. Plain white and empty save for a single pepper in the middle.

-How bad could it be? Roman tells himself.

-Turns out, pretty bad

-He does finish the pepper though

-He downs his entire glass of water, and, knowing that his Mexican hot chocolate is spicy, shamelessly steals about half of the extra horchata before he can think about it

-Val’s eyes are watering, and she also drinks quite a bit of her horchata, but she’s also trying not to laugh at Roman’s reaction

-He even gets a chuckle out of Logan

-“You did it!” Patton cheers. “You didn’t die!”

-Logan eats his fajitas with a fork and knife. Roman tries not to laugh. Val and Patton are clearly used to this, but that won’t stop Val from teasing him about it.

-Patton, meanwhile, keeps losing the insides of his veggie tacos when he goes to take a bite

-Roman has regrets about ordering his spicy food, and Logan knowingly hands over the extra horchata, since Patton seems okay without it. He has his water to counteract the spice in his hot chocolate, and the veggie tacos aren’t very spicy

-Roman waits until near the end to actually take a sip of his own Mexican hot chocolate

-They went light on the spice, but the cinnamon is strong. Roman gets a little choked up at the familiarity

“You ate a ghost pepper and now the hot chocolate is making you tear up?” Val asks jokingly, unfortunately noticing but fortunately not understanding what’s actually happening

-Roman laughs along with her. “Okay, you caught me, I’m a disgrace to my Latino brethren.”

-The moment passes

-They go back to happily talking. Logan and Patton talk about how they met, since Roman doesn’t know the story, drinks get refilled, music plays, Logan keeps eating his fajitas with a fork. It’s fun.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

MHA Fanfiction WIPs (Update 5)

Hey gang I’m gonna tell y’all ‘bout all my My Hero Academia fanfiction ideas instead of actually working on any of them let’s GO!!!

The Butterfly Continuity

- Butterfly - The big one.  My magnum opus.  Izuku is stalked by a mysterious villain that starts to make him doubt his own sanity.  Each new piece of the puzzle only brings up more questions.  The main one: why does it only seem to go after him?

22/30 chapters as I make this post.  Scene by scene outline complete.  Currently being written and published.  We’re in the home stretch.  Beware major character death.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165612/chapters/40360787

- Distant Thunder - Takes place right after the events of Butterfly but I’d hesitate to call it a sequel.  Exists mainly to tie up a loose side plot the main story won’t cover.  Can’t give many details because spoilers.

11 chapters.  Outline complete.  There will be angst.

- Exit Light - A prequel story with young Toshinori and Nana.  A villain traps their town in all-consuming darkness.  “Consuming” in this case is literal. 

(Not directly tied to the events of Butterfly beyond a verbal mention.  Basically, I have this scene planned where Toshinori tells the basics of the story and I thought it might be fun to write the whole thing separately.)

7-8 chapters.  Major events outlined.  Focuses on the developing familial dynamic between young Toshi, Nana, and Gran Torino.  Happy ending.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233598/chapters/45733516

Bio Dad Might AU

- For Kurou - For their own safety, Toshinori must remove himself from the lives of his long-time partner and newborn son.  But they’re never far from his mind.  For years, not a day goes by where he doesn’t write a letter or set aside a gift for their eventual reunion.  It isn’t until he’s spent some time with his chosen successor, a young quirkless boy named Midoriya Izuku, that Toshinori’s consistent dedication to his family is interrupted.

23 chapters.  Major events and some scenes planned.  Canon divergence fic.  Streamlined to the important stuff because there are already an abundance of fics like this and I want to focus on my original stuff.  Toshinko.  Family angst with a happy ending.

- Told You So - Izuku hasn’t decided yet if he wants to go public with his heritage. On the one hand, he want to make a name for himself, not just as the son of All Might. On the other, he hates to lie and lying about One for All is hard enough. Most of the people who know the truth will support whatever decision he makes. Sir Nighteye isn’t one of them.

10+ chapters. Basic outline complete. Internship arc.

- Son Rise - Rumors have been circling of a secret All Might lovechild for a while now.  A new rumor says that All Might will reveal the child as his successor at the next International Heroes’ Summit in Hawaii.  The rest of the hero community has mixed feelings. 

Or, “Izuku goes to another country with his dad and has a bad time.”

11 chapters.  Major events outlined. Shameless excuse for me to gush about how cool Hawaii was while also hurting my boy.  Some Toshinko on the side.  Family angst with a happy ending.

Borrower AU

- Missing the Trees for the Forest - Toshinori was convinced his cottage was haunted from the day he moved in. He could easily blame the missing objects and little bites in his food on pests, but that wouldn’t explain the faint sound of crying some nights.

10+ chapters, partial outline. Gonna jump between angst and fluffy like a seesaw. Idea originally by @abyssal-glory who graciously gave me permission to use it.

Miscellaneous

- The Necromancer - Zombie apocalypse AU.  An unseen villain sets hoards of undead upon Japan.  As a designated disaster-relief shelter and a small fortress in its own right, UA becomes host to both the heroes working to stop the onslaught, and several hundred terrified civilians, including several students’ families.  Supplies and space shrink with each passing day, and it seems like the end to the nightmare is nowhere in sight.  Someone is bound to take matters into their own hands.

10+ chapters.  Some events planned.  Family drama and angst.  Not sure if there will be major character death yet.

- All But One - Toshinori is given the opportunity to undo over two decades of suffering by going back in time and ending All For One.  And that’s just the beginning.  He goes on to use his knowledge of the future to correct errors of the past, and makes his new reality infinitely better than the one he came from.  Better in every way but one.

Used to be a oneshot, not multi-chapter.  Outline complete and writing has started.  Open to making it an au but not sure yet.  Based on a bittersweet post by @skygemspeaks

6/? chapters up

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796387/chapters/44597800

- Things that are His - Todoroki wasn’t allowed to have many personal belongings as a child. As a result, he tends to hoard what little he has, especially if it’s from a friend.

Oneshot about Todoroki being loved by his friends and loving them back. Kinda sad but not really.

- Spiked - There’s no such thing as a free meal.

Gore headcanon request that got out of hand into a oneshot.  Please read the tags.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062174

- Angel’s Egg - Orphaned babies showing up on the stoop of hero agencies is unfortunately not all that rare.  And egg the size of a baby is entirely unheard of. Is the child within just the result of an unusual quirk, or something of far greater, supernatural origins?

Kinda out there au where Izuku hatches from an egg and is raised by All Might.  That question is posed to me, because I’m not yet sure if I want to go down the mundane or supernatural path; I have potential endings for both.

- Hanakotoba (working title) - Toshinori always wanted a family, but he wanted to be a hero even more.  He figured the family thing would happen naturally, but as the years go by and it doesn’t, he finds himself sinking further and further into longing.  And then he finds the end of his sorrows in his own garden.

Hybrid Thumbelina/Princess Kaguya au prompted by @agent-jaselin.  This one is for sure supernatural.

- Two Sons in the Sunset - One of the greatest crimes ever committed by Japan’s villain underground is hidden in plain sight.  Same goes for the crimes of one of its greatest heroes.  The results of both find they have a lot in common.

AU where Izuku is a test tube baby created by villains to defeat All Might, but ended up being adopted by him.  He and Todoroki later bond over similar baggage with their origins.  Whether or not it remains a bromance of full-on tododeku depends on if I can get over my own baggage of writing romance.

- The one where everyone finds out - Y’all been hounding me about making a fic where everybody finds out about Izuku’s past so this is here to tell you I’m working on it. Might be a fic of its own, might sprinkle an arc into one of the other aus.

- The Arena - Class 1-A gets transported to a pocket detention by some villains and have to fight whatever else is there.

No chapter estimate.  Mostly just have the concept and some scenes planned.

I’ll update this post as stuff comes out.  Please let me know what you think!

[anistarrose]

It wasn’t that Stan thought stealing from an alien marketplace was even a remotely good idea, and he wanted that recorded for posterity on his gravestone. Even he wasn’t foolhardy enough to take a look at the hulking, four-armed creatures that ran most of the vendors and think Hey, that looks like someone who would be fun to rob! He’d already chopped off his mullet and thrown a longcoat over his jacket in order to throw the space cops he’d stolen the shuttle from off of his trail — he didn’t need any more enemies.

But his stomach had been growling ceaselessly for hours now, ever since waking up dizzy this morning. Last night had been the end of the bag of stale chips he’d kept tucked in his hoodie, which meant he hadn’t eaten anything else since…

Since two full days ago now, in his car a few hours before reaching Ford’s house. A few hours before falling into the portal.

He grimaced as his stomach let out another rumble, begging for something, anything that could keep it going. He’d felt hunger like this before, of course, but there had always been some faint semblance of a safety net then, an assurance that if he set aside his pride and went around begging to enough people, one of them would probably take pity on him eventually.

But here, he didn’t even have a common language with most of the world’s inhabitants — and as a result, they were cautiously watching his every move, suspicion easy to read even on their alien faces.

They’re big, but they must be slow, he thought. Maybe I can outrun them.

(Foolish words, maybe, from a guy who was probably only alive because people kept underestimating how fast someone as heavy as him could move, but it was looking more and more like his best hope for survival.)

He sauntered up to the nearest vendor, trying to look confident but non-confrontational. Their booth was full of brightly colored fruits that smelled about the same as pears, which Stan figured was probably his best bet for a food that wouldn’t end up poisoning him.

“‘Sup. Do you take Stanbucks?”

The shopkeeper replied in heavily accented English, eyes narrowing. “Only barter here. What are your… Stanbucks worth?”

“Uh, see for yourself!” Stan hurled a handful of paper scraps in their face, stuffed three yellow-green mystery fruits in his pockets, and ran for the nearest alleyway as fast as his legs could carry him.

The shopkeeper roared a single word that Stan couldn’t understand, but assumed to be either profanity or a call for the police, and the other aliens echoed their call. Stan looked back just in time to see a creature with the legs of a horse and the maw of a wolf barreling after him, gaining on him with every clatter of its hooves —

He rounded the first corner he came across, hoping a rapid turn in direction would throw the creature off, but it proved to be surprisingly agile, growing so close he could hear its fangs snap shut just inches behind him. He slipped on his knuckledusters, ready to give up on fleeing and turn around to fight — but before he could aim a single desperate blow, something else beat him to it.

A beam of blue energy struck the creature from above and to the side, knocking it into the alley wall where it crumbled to the ground, limbs convulsing. Atop the parallel wall stood a cloaked figure, blue electricity still crackling around the barrel of the gun they held… which was now pointed directly at Stan.

“Don’t come near me!” they barked, and the scarf covering their face shifted, revealing a face Stan would recognize anywhere — because it was his own face, except with cracked glasses resting over eyes that burned with the cold determination of someone who’d fought for their life too many times to count, and was ready to do so again at a moment’s notice.

It was a look that might have belonged on Stan’s face if he was looking at it in a mirror, but just looked wrong reflected on his brother.

“I may have saved you this time, but I won’t be able to again,” Ford continued, slowly lowering the gun but not holstering it. “If two parallel versions of the same person come into direct contact, the effects are predicted to be cataclysmic both for us and the dimension we’re —”

His voice abruptly cut off, as his gaze drifted down to Stan’s hands.

“What about twins from parallel universes?” Stan croaked.

“Stanley?!”

“Yeah, I —”

“What are you doing here? How did you —” Ford flinched as another howl sounded from a distance. “Fuck! We need to get out of here — both of us, because I don’t know if those beasts will discriminate between us two!” He leapt down from the wall, grabbing Stan’s wrist and tugging him towards the nearest offshoot of the alleyway.

“Wait! How — how long has it been for you? When did you learn to shoot that —”

“Going on five years,” Ford answered, and yanked Stan’s arm so hard that Stan let out an involuntary yelp. “Now come on!”

Stan stumbled after him, ducking through a door that Ford slammed shut behind him and into a small, stone brick house. Its interior was mostly bare, containing only a small wooden table, a rickety chair, and a sleeping bag. Square lightbulbs were attached to all four corners of the ceiling, casting a dim orange glow over the single room.

“This nation has a strong cultural tradition of not invading people’s private property, so we should be safe to wait it out in here,” Ford explained matter-of-factly. “That’s the main reason I’ve been hiding out in this dimension, to be honest…”

Stan was preoccupied by the revelation that his nerdy brother was some sort of interdimensional fugitive that he didn’t immediately notice Ford frowning as he looked Stan over, voice slowly trailing off.

“That hoodie…” he murmured. “Shit, Stan, how long has it been since — since you fell through?”

“Uh… two days?”

“You can’t be serious.” Ford rubbed his eyes. “Well, clearly you have a lot to learn…”

He sighed. “And I guess I’ll have to be the one to teach you.”

***

(I'll probably turn this into a proper series eventually, though it’s not too high on my priorities list right now. I have a vague plot outline but no details, and I need to get it filled in a lot more before I start writing the whole thing. Stay tuned, though!)

[asktherexsquad]

Capture!

Rocket, Rex, and Rem finally manage to snag that form-stealing alien!! Time to figure out what the hell it wants...

The trio cautiously approaches the cage, Rocket leading the way. "... The cage was triggered, but I'm not seeing anythi--wait, there!" He points to the vague outline of a body. Then it moved, and became easier to see. Seems the creature was disguised as Rem.

"Oh! We got it!!" Rem crouches down. *... Hi, there...."*

The alien in the cage keeps itself as low to the ground as possible. As it stares up at them in alarm, its eyes shift, its pupils now shaped like someone tried to write a W while drunk, its fins appearing. It moved slightly away from Rem, trying to hide in the corner of the cage.

Rem swallows hard, his comforting smile slipping slightly. It's really unnerving to see your own face suddenly distort like that. "... Right... So, uhm, mind if we ask what you're doing on our ship?"

Rocket and Rex glance at one another, silently agreeing. If this thing doesn't start talking, they're going to step in.

"...." It pauses, then speaks using Rem’s voice. "I climbed on one of your drones as a.... larva and it took me here" Its voice strained slightly on the last part.

Rem nods. "I see."

He looks up at Rocket and Rex with a smile. "See? No harm! They came in here accidentally!" He turns back to the alien, much less nervous now. "So how can we help you? Is there somewhere we should bring you?... Here, before you answer that, do you promise not to attack if we let you out?"

"... I wont attack you two." It points at Rem and Rocket "I dunno about where to live, I've always swam in the water tanks of this ship."

Rex gags. Rocket swallows hard, looking slightly faint.

Rem looks nauseated, but tries hard to keep the smile on his face. "R... Right. Erm... .... How about this? You and Rex promise not to hurt each other, and then we let you out, and figure out together what to do?"

"Sure... ahem no more talking .... Human speak- speech is har-hard on my voice box"

"But no need to open the cage." Without warning, its head slips through the bars.

"Okay, no need to tal--YIPE!!" Rem yelps and tumbles backwards onto his butt in shock. Rocket and Rex both take a step back, equally startled. 

Rocket recovers first, giving the creature a thumbs up. "... Rad..."

"No bones." Its body twists  and turns as it slips the rest of itself through the bars.

Rem covers his eyes, highly unsettled at the sight of his "own body" doing something so bizarre. Rocket watches in a kind of morbid curiosity. Rex just looks uneasy.

Rocket suddenly elbows Rex. "... Rex. The deal."

"... Uh. Ah, right." He watches, arms crossed, as the creature straightens. "... I promise I won't do anything to hurt you, if you promise to do the same."

"... Yeah" It flaps ear fins. It still mostly looks like Rem… despite some… fishy qualities.

"I need to go to my swimming tank"

Rem peeks through his fingers. "... Wait, uh, we have an actual swimming pool, can we continue this conversation there?... Not in the water tanks??"

"Take me."

Rem sighs in relief. "This way!" He stands, glancing over his shoulder to make sure everyone is following him, and starts heading in the direction of the pool. The Rexes bring up the rear.

The alien follows, making quiet, inhuman noises.

They arrive soon, they hadn't been too far away, and Rem gestures proudly to the water. "There you go! Hop in!"

The creature jumps right in, and its skin changes. It blossoms with a variety of colors, complete with glowing spots… though it still looks like Rem.

"... Huh, polka dots is a good look on you, Rem." Rocket grins.

"Har har." Rem sits at the edge, removing his shoes, rolling up his pants, and letting his legs dip into the water. "So! You have no idea what your home planet is?"

"No, was born on that rock thinking 'I’m going to die here' as there was no way for me to survive... then... well you know" It gestures around the room. "This happened."

Rem looks surprised at that. "..... You mean to say... That we did saved you?"

"How the hell did you end up there anyway...? I mean, there's no way you could have known, but... I've never heard of an alien that starts its life on a comet." Rocket shakes his head, bemused. "You're a real mystery, friend."

"Dunno, but now I'm here with you and Rem" It does a few tricks in the water, clearly more comfortable now that it wasn’t on land.

Rem laughs, applauding. "Well, you're a very talented swimmer!!"

Rex pulls Rocket aside, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "We're /not/ keeping this thing, are we??”

"What do you suggest we do with them, then?"

"Find the nearest planet with a sustainable body of water and let it go!!"

"We both know that's a shitty plan."

"Let's see you come up with a better idea, then. ...And it better not be that we keep it."

Rocket glances back at the pool. "... Seems harmless enough. Don't see the harm in keeping them around, might be a good non-raptor addition to the crew."

Rex scowls.

They turn to see that both Rem and the alien were watching them in amusement

It sticks its “tongue” out at Rex.

Rex makes a face back at it.

Rocket and Rem both chuckle at the exchange.

After a moment Rem speaks up again. "Well... What do you have to say about all this?" Rem tilts his head. "What is it you want to do?"

"I'll stick around a bit, I probably won't leave the pool much now that I know I'm not in any danger, it was fun watching you all from the vents as I was younger though."

Rocket snickers. "Oh, I bet..." he mutters.

"Would you mind if we visited?... at least, you need us to bring you food or anything?" Rem asks.

"Yeah!" Ear fin wiggling

"Sounds good!"

"Let me guess... Meat, right?" Rocket muses to himself 'And that solves another mystery....'

"Yes," the creature confirms.

"All right, twice a day, when the Raptors get fed, we'll bring some down to you too, a'ight?”

"Oh! And I can teach you how to use the pager command on the control panels if you ever need us for anything!"

"Oh I know how to mostly..."

"Wait, really? Huh! You're real smart too!" Rem beams proudly.

"Yeah I may have learned some stuff from watching you guys."

"That's fair!... I'm definitely glad to hear you aren't out to, like... Eat us or anything.... Heh......"

"Meh it never came to that, food was unlimited."

".... Hahahahahaha!!.... That was a joke, right?"

"Nope" The alien gave a genuine, benevolent smile.

".... Rad...!" Rem gives him a weak thumbs up, innocuously pulling his feet out of the water.

Rocket speaks up next. "Well, before we part ways, <gotta go fix up the control room after all...> what should we call you?"

"Ah...." It shrugs. "Not sure, always went with whom ever I was pretending to be."

"Then... How about... We call you..... RJ? Like... Rem-Rocket-Rex Junior?"

Rocket snorts with laughter. Rem flushes. Naming wasn't one of his strong suits….

"Ok Arjey, then"

Rem brightens, nodding happily. "RJ it is!"

RJ flips out of the water, earning another round of delighted applause from Rem.

M!A: end

[moon-hermit]

and some of that "between a rock and a hard place" + eloriel

am i going to use this fruit to make a samson - regina spektor smoothie why yes yes i am. am i going to boost this smoothie with backstory protein? yes and i will do it with the enthusiasm of a frat bro after he benchpressed less than he tells people he does

(for context, this takes place three years before the ritual. It was fun to play with who they were at that time!!)

The chime of the bell when he opens the door to the magic shop Asra told him about rings loudly in Muriel’s ears, too loudly. Stars are swimming before his eyes and he feels dizzy, but he promised he would run this errand for him. He’s not going to let a coliseum fight stand in the way of that.

As he steps inside, someone shrieks, and he winces.

“Are you okay?” the girl behind the counter says, slightly panicked in her concern. 

He frowns when he looks at her. The outline of her is blurry, but he’s pretty sure this is not the middle-aged stout woman Asra told him about. The only similarity he sees with the description he was given is the long silvery hair, longer than his own. The girl before him is much younger, he’d say younger than him but maybe older than Asra. 

“I’ve been worse,” he clears his throat, and advances to the counter to rest his hands on there, taking advantage of a surface to hold on to.

The girl’s eyes grow wide. “You’re covered in blood,” she states matter-of-factly.

He looks down to his chest. Covered is an exaggeration, but he’s not exactly spotless either. He groans. This is not the discrete no-questions-asked task he was promised.

“It’s not mine,” he mutters. “Mostly.”

Something in his shoulder throbs, and he can’t help a wince. The girl steps away from behind the counter and comes up to him. He’s wary as he watches her approach, startles when she lifts to her toes and reaches to grab his chin and swipe her thumb on his chapped lips before tilting his head at an angle.

“You’re dehydrated,” she frowns as she studies him. “You’re clearly unwell. I’m training to be a nurse, let me help you,” she says, letting go of his head.

“I’m just here to pick up stuff for my friend,” he huffs, taking a step away from her. He pulls out the list Asra gave him. “Here,” he hands it to her.

She takes it, goes back and forth between looking at him and the paper. 

“My aunt makes this special blend of restorative tea,” she says, “at least let me brew you some to drink while I get all this ready.”

A wave of vertigo hits him, and he clutches the counter harder. Perhaps resting just a bit might not hurt. 

“…. Fine,” he groans.

She smiles victoriously and sets the list down on the counter. “Here, follow me, the kitchen’s in the back,” she says, and he walks behind her to a room further down. “You can sit over there,” she says, motioning to a bench seat lining a windowed alcove, covered in cushions. It’s an odd shape, too big for any type of seat, but he settles on the edge regardless.

He shuts his eyes and focuses on his pained breathing as she puts a kettle on the stove. Feeling her eyes on him, he opens his eyes back to look at her. 

“What,” he says, not so much a question as a mark of annoyance.

“Are you one of those gladiators? From the fights at the coliseum?” she asks, squinting slightly.

Does she not recognize him? Any answer he might have for her is cut short by a burst of light-headedness. Seeing his malaise, she dampens a washcloth and brings it over to him, pressing it to his forehead herself.

“You should lie down,” she says, her voice lower than earlier. 

He doesn’t have it in him to fight back. Besides, lying down seems wonderful right about that moment. She arranges pillows for him to lean back on, and he clumsily lifts himself deeper into the benched alcove. The kettle starts to sing, the sound unbearable to him in this state.

“Gods, make it stop,” he complains.

She walks hurriedly to the kettle, and he watches her pour the hot water into a sturdy-looking teapot, before dumping in a generous amount of dry herbs. He shuts his eyes and drifts dangerously close to sleep until she brings him a steaming mug.

“Careful, it’s hot,” she cautions him, offering it to him. She reaches to lift the washcloth on his forehead and touch underneath. “You’re burning up,” she tells him, concern evident in her eyes. “Whatever you did to strain yourself like this, maybe don’t next time?”

“Mmmh,” is all he’s able to muster. Carefully, he takes a sip, and grimaces not at the warmth but at the horrible taste. “That’s disgusting,” he chokes.

Her mouth quirks into a smirk. “I’m sure you can handle it. Come on, drink up. I’m not getting to the order until that mug is empty.”

He rolls his eyes, but he obliges. The tea tastes horrible, but he’s so thirsty it’s not too hard to ignore its flavour. He ends up downing it quickly. She smiles, satisfied as she takes the cup back from him. 

“I’ll refill this for you, and then I’ll get those items ready for you,” she says, going back to the teapot. “Don’t you dare get up until then.”

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could. He’s so exhausted, on top of everything else. By the time she’s back by his side with a filled mug, he’s already knocked out cold, slouched on the cushions. The last thing he remembers before drifting away from consciousness is her running the washcloth into his hairline, pushing his hair out of his face.

It’s the middle of the night when he stirs awake. His head is throbbing. His shoulder is sore. He groans as he tries to sit up.

“Hey hey hey, not so fast now, easy,” he hears her say, walking up to him.

He’s so disoriented, he knows where he is but also has a hard time wrapping his mind around it. He sees the open book laid spine-up on the chair by the stove. Has she been… watching over him?

“How do you feel?” she asks him softly. 

The shop is eerily quiet in the dead of night, candlelight casting a warm glow on the walls.

He grunts, rolling his shoulders as best he can. His stomach churns. “…. Hungry.”

She chuckles softly. “Okay, hold on,” she tells him before going to what he assumes is the pantry. 

She comes back moments later with dry toast and more of that horrid tea.

“It’s not much, but let’s not risk bringing on nausea into the mix,” she says, handing him the plate.

“That tea’s gonna do it more than anything else,” he mutters, reluctantly taking a sip.

“You’ll be grateful in the morning, I promise,” she poorly stifles an amused smirk.

She goes back to her chair as he slowly eats. He still feels terrible, but at least now his vision isn’t spotty anymore, and he’s no longer caked in grime - wait. He looks down at his torso, clean of any dried blood or dirt.

“Did you clean me?” he asks, appalled and feeling a significant amount of heat creep up his neck.

“You had cuts all over,” she shrugs, not even looking up from her book. “I couldn’t leave you like that, they were going to get infected.”

He doesn’t even know what to say. He’s not sure whether he’s thankful or disappointed he was asleep for it. She notices when she looks up to see him staring at her indignantly. 

“Oh, calm down,” she sighs. “It’s not like I bathed you, I simply removed all that filth with a rag and applied a bit of balm on the cuts. I told you, I’m going to be a nurse soon, I know what I’m doing.”

He takes a long sip of tea.

“Your hair’s a mess, though, you should let me do something about it,” she muses.

He nearly spits out the tea.

“No thanks,” he coughs.

“When’s the last time you cut it?” she persists.

He doesn’t answer, bites down harshly on a piece of toast. She looks at him, insistent.

“I don’t know how,” he admits.

He braces himself for her to mock him, but she doesn’t. She just keeps staring at him, tilting her head slightly.

“I’d be happy to do it for you,” she simply reiterates.

He shakes his head. “Why? Why would you do that?”

She seems to actually ponder her answer. “I guess you look like you could use a break,” she says. “When’s the last time you let someone take care of you?”

He almost wants to laugh. He doesn’t answer. Asra and him look out for each other, but he suspects that’s not what she means.

“Listen,” she says, gentle, “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, obviously, but think about it. Offer doesn’t expire,” she stifles a yawn.

He finishes his almost-meal in silence. He doesn’t even know her name, he realizes. What is he even still doing here? As if on cue, a sharp pain in his shoulder answers that question. He finds himself actually considering her offer. If he doesn’t let her, will it ever happen? His hair seems to hang heavier on his head as he reflects on his choices.

“Okay,” he finally sighs. This is stupid. I shouldn’t trust her with this.

“Uh?” she asks, looking back up from her book.

“Don’t make me say it,” he groans. 

Her brows shoot up. “Oh! Okay! Do you, uh, are you up for washing your hair first then?”

He inhales deeply. Absolutely foolish. “Now?”

She smiles, a twinge amused. “Do you have anything better to do?”

“Stop squirming!” she laughs lightly, the sound clear as it rings out, filling the room. 

The towel around his shoulders is damp from his clean hair. He feels like his entire scalp is numb, from the way she’s just pulled at it so hard, battling to untangle his hair. The dull scissors snip close to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Have you even ever done this before?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer. He hears another shearing noise.

“This was a mistake,” he groans.

“Shh,” she half-chuckles. “You’ll be glad when it’s over.”

She runs her fingers through the hair she has yet to cut. A different kind of shudder runs through him. What was he thinking, agreeing to this? Agreeing to stay for her stupid tea in the first place?

“What’s your name, by the way?” she asks him. Snip.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m cutting your hair free of charge and nursing you back to health after you nearly fainted in the middle of my aunt’s shop,” she points out. “The least you could do is tell me your name.”

He sighs. She’s right. “Muriel,” he mutters.

“Muriel,” she echoes. “It’s a soft name, for someone like you.”

He tenses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stills. “You’re, uh,” she stutters, “big.”

That much is pretty self-evident. So then, why does she sound almost flustered saying it? Why does he care?

“What’s your name?” he asks her after an awkward silence.

“Elora,” she says as she keeps cutting away.

“Uh,” is all he’s able to reply. “It’s a, erm, nice name.”

Nice name? Really? he chastises himself. He’s glad she’s standing behind him, that she can’t see his face.

“If this is your aunt’s shop, then where…?” he trails off, unsure why he even asks, just desperate to have the conversation move on.

“She’s in Prakra,” she answers. “She had to go replenish her stock of some rarer ingredients, or at least that’s what she told me. I’m only keeping watch while she’s gone.”

A longer silence stretches, only disturbed by the shearing of the scissors. When he glances to the floor, it’s littered with dark hair. Only then does it sink in, that she really is cutting his hair, that he won’t have this heap of hair to apprehend anymore.

“Can I ask you why you do it?” she asks softly. “Why you fight?”

He never answered her earlier question about the way he wound up like this, but he realizes it didn’t stop her from drawing her own conclusions.

“Let’s just say I don’t have much of a choice,” he sighs grimly. “I don’t like it. I hate it, actually. But things would be worse if I stopped.”

“Oh,” she simply replies. “I guess you could say you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, then.”

“I guess you could say that,” he agrees without much enthusiasm.

They don’t speak much more as she finishes her work on him. He can feel her cutting it shorter than what he had in mind. It makes him slightly anxious, wondering what he’ll look like after this.

“Okay!” she exclaims at last, startling him. She walks around him to look at the whole thing from the front.  “I think I’m done,” she says, examining him. “Do you want to see?”

He nods, gulping. She reaches for the hand mirror she kept close through the whole thing.

“I hope you like it,” she says, and he hears her nerves in how her voice trembles.

She lifts the mirror and he’s taken aback when he sees his reflection. He looks older, for one. His hair is now short enough that it won’t be falling on his face until it grows back out, and it’s an odd feeling. It’s so different, he doesn’t know how he feels about it. It’ll be more practical, that’s for sure. Won’t get impossibly tangled anymore.

She hands him the mirror as she sweeps the hair fallen to the ground.

“What do you think?” she chews on her lip.

He’s still contemplating his reflexion. “It’s… different.”

She nods, understanding what he means. She seems about to say something but stops herself.

“What?” he prompts her.

“I think it suits you,” she bites her cheek, not meeting his eyes. “You look, uh, handsome.”

She might as well have punched him in the stomach; he feels like all the air has left his lungs. When’s the last time someone has called him handsome? 

“…. Thanks,” he flushes red. “I, uh, I guess you did alright.”

She smiles at him, but it’s quickly overtaken by a yawn. She stretches out her arms. “Maybe we ought to get some sleep now.”

“Uh uh,” he agrees, still slightly reeling.

She picks up the dustpan and tosses his hair away. It’s an odd feeling.

“My bed’s upstairs,” she pauses to yawn once more, “But feel free to wake me up if you need something. You don’t mind sleeping in the kitchen, do you? There are no extra beds.”

“Okay,” he nods, fully knowing he wouldn’t wake her unless the entire shop was burning. “And yes, the kitchen is fine.”

“Good night, then,” she smiles as she heads for the stairs. 

His throat tightens as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. “Elora?” he says tentatively.

She turns back around to face him. He’s struck by the realization that she might actually be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. It ties his tongue in a whole new way.

“Yes?” she says.

“Thank you,” he clears his throat. “For everything.”

She smiles, and it mirrors in her eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

In the morning, Muriel is awoken by voices in the front of the shop. He blinks as he catches the bright sunlight through the windows. How long has he been sleeping for?

“… seen my friend, maybe? Really tall, usually prone to brooding, he was supposed to stop by here,” he hears a familiar voice. 

Asra? He gets up in a hurry, too surprised to notice just how much better he feels compared to last night.

“Might ring a bell,” he hears Elora say, and he doesn’t even have to see her smirk to know it’s there.

He steps out of the kitchen. “Asra?” he asks, rubbing his brow, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Asra lets out a deep sigh of relief. “There you are! Do you know how worried I was when you never came home? What- woah, what happened to your hair?”

Muriel instinctively runs a hand through what’s left of it. He only just now remembers it’s shorter now, much shorter.

“Doesn’t it look good?” Elora interjects proudly.

“Did you do this?” Asra asks her, incredulous.

“Maybe,” she smiles.

Asra whistles. “It’s… different. I like it.”

Muriel is, frankly, a bit overwhelmed by all of this. The events of the night seem so improbable he’s not even sure anymore what’s real and what was a dream. 

Elora fishes out a paper bag from behind the counter and sets it before Asra.

“Everything on your list is in there,” she says. “I’m guessing it was your list?”

“Correct,” Asra smiles at her, before he squints slightly. He’s making that face when he’s trying to remember something. “I’m sorry, this might come off as weird, but have we ever met before? You look familiar.”

Elora shakes her head. “Unless you have a habit of going to Nopal, I doubt it. I’m usually only ever in Vesuvia for the-”

“The masquerade,” Asra completes, realization dawning on him.

Muriel’s stomach churns. Surely, she can’t be-

Elora’s eyes grow wide. “It’s you,” she breathes. “The boy from the bubble room.”

Usually, that’s where Asra would quip something funny, perhaps even teasing. But he’s just staring at her, jaw slack with shock. Muriel feels like he’s watching a meteorite crash to the Earth, something powerful and inevitable he has no control over. There’s a bitterness that blooms in his chest against his will.

Muriel’s heard Asra’s story about the girl from the bubble room a thousand times already. How for three years now, he’s run into her there at the masquerade, always at the stroke of midnight. The first year he danced with her. The second they talked all night. Last masquerade, he’d brazenly kissed her on sight. Every year, she’d slipped away into the night, anonymous, and Asra wouldn’t shut up about it for the weeks to come.

And now he’s found her. And now Muriel feels foolish, to have thought even in the back of his mind that she was his in any way, shape, or form. His stranger who took him in and healed him and cut his hair and told him he was handsome. 

He can see it plain as day, from the way that they’re looking at each other now, that this is their moment. That in the grand scheme of things, he only ended up here so Asra would find her, not so that he would meet her.

Makes more sense that way, he thinks to himself. Won’t get fooled again.

[eledritch]

milestone prompt!! sheith where they try ridiculous things with shiro's new arm (sex related or otherwise). bonus points for silly/awkward sexytimes. extra super bonus points if you wanna throw some galra keith in there too.

wow thank you so much for this...i had a lot of fun with it and while there isn’t any galra keith, there is a lot of Shiro In Love which i figured you might also like. 

without further ado, here is a silly fic of shiro and keith doing silly things with shiro’s hand. partly based off of this post by @goghbach & this ask I received awhile back. it’s (mostly) SFW~

Follower Milestone Prompt #1: Getting Handsy

read it on ao3

“It’s pretty big,” Keith says, inspecting the new arm critically.

Shiro coughs. The glint in Keith’s eye is making him nervous. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“I could probably sit on it,” Keith continues.

Shiro chokes on his own spit. “Nngh?” he says, eloquently.

Keith looks up, nonplussed. “You know,” he explains, “like, I could sit on it, and you could punch really hard and make it fly across the room like a rocket launcher.”

They’re not on the same page, here, and Shiro honestly isn’t sure if Keith’s idea is better or worse than his. “I don’t even know if the neural connection extends that far,” he protests weakly.

“Then we should try it,” Keith declares. “What could go wrong?”

“I mean...a lot,” Shiro points out. “A lot could, potentially, go wrong.”

Keith gives him a flat look. “You encouraged me to drive my hoverbike off a cliff when I was a teenager, Shiro. How is this less dangerous?”

“Point taken.” Shiro sighs. “Alright, well, I mean...is this room big enough?” They’re standing in an empty aircraft hangar, where they were supposed to be inspecting it as a new hangar for the Lions. As usual when they’re with each other, they got distracted.

“We should probably go outside,” Keith says.

“Where everyone can see us?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine. The hangar is probably big enough.”

“It’s still not very safe,” Shiro hedges.

Keith sighs, stalks over to a workbench, and picks up an abandoned pair of plastic safety goggles. He slaps them on and raises an eyebrow. “Safety,” he says.

“Fine,” Shiro relents.

Keith grins and walks back over with a spring in his step. “Can you put your arm down?”

“Down…? Oh.” Keith is slinging a leg over Shiro’s floating forearm. Shiro really hates that the arm is, in fact, big enough for Keith to straddle it somewhat comfortably. It looks a little awkward, but Keith determinedly hunches over and peers at Shiro over his shoulder.

“Okay, see, this is cool,” Keith says. “Now, you try.”

Shiro wavers. “This is still a terrible idea,” he says, because if Keith gets hurt at least then Shiro can say I told you so, and then settles back into a defensive stance, focusing on powering up the socket in a slowly growing warning whir of sound. He whips his arm back, impressed Keith manages to stay on, then with gritted teeth releases all of the stored up energy in a deafening blast of blue electricity.

It’s amazing.

Keith zooms across the hangar at a speed previously unknown to mankind, lightning arcing through the air behind him. He looks like a witch on a broomstick, if the witch was dressed in a Garrison officer’s uniform and the broomstick was a military grade prosthetic arm that never needed to be as big as it is. But god, is Shiro glad it’s as big as it is.

Keith leaves a trail of destruction in his wake, and it’s probably a good thing there’s not much in the hangar, because dust billows outwards and upwards, an entire table goes flying through the air and smashes into smithereens against the opposite wall, and the unlucky metal husk of a fighter jet crumples pathetically at the blast wave’s impact.

Thankfully, Shiro calculated right, and the energy runs out before Keith reaches the opposite wall. By the time he goes tumbling off with a shout, the arm is traveling at a nonlethal velocity. As it is, Keith lands hard, and Shiro is about to yank the arm back to him and jog over...but it’s a long distance, at least a hundred yards, and he’s got a better idea.

Or worse idea.

The metal fingers grab Keith by the collar of his uniform like an oversized kitten, and Keith only has time to yelp, “Shiro, what – !” before Shiro sends the arm hurtling back towards him like a boomerang, or a very large, fairly deadly elastic band. Keith screeches and clings on for dear life, but Shiro is pretty sure he’s having fun. This is confirmed when a heavy bundle of shocked Keith careens into Shiro’s arms, or rather, arm, sending them both staggering and then falling backwards onto the ground, with Keith on Shiro’s chest.

“Holy shit,” Keith wheezes. His hair is sticking up and his eyes are wide with a delight Shiro hasn’t seen in him for a long, long time. “That...was…”

“Fucking awesome?” Shiro finishes, heart pounding with excess adrenaline as the arm’s system cools down.

Keith snorts, and then dissolves into full-blown giggles, collapsing onto Shiro and burying his face in Shiro’s jacket. “Fucking awesome,” he agrees. “Oh my god. We’re officers, Shiro.”

“We’re also having fun,” Shiro says, and the prosthetic pets Keith’s hair fondly. Keith leans into it, and shoots him a dopey smile. Shiro smiles back, and revels in the familiar warmth of Keith over him, chin resting against Shiro’s chest.

“We should go outside now and do it again,” Keith muses after a long and wonderful moment.

“Yes,” Shiro says with feeling, and helps him to his feet.

*

Iverson gives them an earful later when they show up twenty minutes late to their night meeting, covered in red desert dust and fresh bruises, but it’s totally worth it for the sound of Keith’s laughter, echoing in Shiro’s head like his favorite song long after it’s gone.

*

The next night, they end up in the desert again, at the edge of a familiar cliff.

So many things have changed, but it’s good to know that this, at least, has stayed the same.

“Are you sure about this?” Shiro asks for the thousandth time.

“Yes,” Keith says without hesitation. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Shiro sighs, and tries to stop himself from gripping the handlebars too hard as Keith accelerates towards the cliff. He knows, if they were caught out here, people wouldn’t understand why they’re putting themselves in danger to have fun. But they also wouldn’t understand what it’s like to live every day on the edge of danger, with the threat of it looming over your head at every waking moment.

It’s difficult to transition from soldier to civilian, even more difficult when you’ve been a soldier in space for years dealing with forces far beyond your control or understanding. They haven’t discussed it, but Shiro would bet anything Keith feels the same way – it’s unsettling to go from a hundred to zero overnight. Their expectation for danger is omnipresent, even if, for once, there is none. Safety has become strange.

So, this way, they’re choosing their own danger. Together.

Keith flies off the cliff’s edge, Shiro close behind. He brakes on the top of the cliff instead of following him over, and aims his hand for Keith before releasing it in the same thunderous crackle of noise as before. As if in reply, the clouded sky rumbles, and Shiro’s heart pounds in excitement. It’s the monsoon season, and the thought of a desert storm sends his arm flying faster, almost too fast when it connects with the bottom of Keith’s hoverbike and latches on.

He’s far away, but Shiro, muscle straining, sees the moment Keith’s hoverbike wins against gravity and lifts, swooping gracefully out of its tailspin downwards and back up towards the dark sky. Outlined against the faint moonlight, Keith throws his arms up with a resounding whoop of joy, some strange creature soaring through the night, pale blue lightning all around him.

Real lightning tears the sky open in the distance, over the silhouetted mesas and mountains, and the rain begins to fall. Shiro guides Keith down to the earth before following him over the cliff, with only one hand, and just a human one at that, to guide him. But then Keith shouts, “Shiro, your turn!” and waves Shiro’s hand at him with a blinding grin.

And how can Shiro say no to that?

The hand returns to him, shoving up under his hoverbike, and Shiro’s breath is stolen by the sudden jolt and gain in altitude, wind whipping past him, rain splattering over his worn leather jacket as the storm picks up. He looks down at Keith, staring up at him with wide eyes full of lightning, and just like that his breath is stolen again.

It has nothing to do with the wind.

*

“Keith, you should really sit up,” Shiro says, studying him across the desk, lips pursed. Keith is hunched over his paperwork like a particularly pouty gargoyle, and glares at Shiro like one, too.

“Shiro,” he grits out, “now is really not the time for your nagging.”

Shiro lifts his hands in surrender. “Not nagging! Just...observing. Helpfully. You’re gonna get back problems with that posture.”

Keith grumbles something under his breath, and stretches, his spine popping audibly. They wince in unison. “Think I already have them,” Keith admits. “I don’t even remember the last time my back was this knotted up. It wasn’t even this bad after I slept in the Black Lion’s cockpit for a week straight.”

Shiro’s jaw clenches. “You did what?”

Keith coughs. “Nevermind. My back does hurt. So does my head. But this stupid paperwork has to get done; I’m not gonna leave an entire base without clearance for rations just because I need a massage or something.”

Shiro perks up. “A massage?” he says.

Oblivious, Keith continues, “Yes, but the Garrison isn’t exactly crawling with masseuses, and even if it was you know I’m not the best with strangers touching me, and –”

“What about if I use this?” Shiro’s right hand pops up helpfully, fingers wiggling.

Keith turns red and his jaw drops. “Wow,” he says. “You really just offered to give me a massage with your magical floating hand?”

“I’m still offering,” Shiro says gently, even as his hand creeps across the table on two fingers, mimicking walking. “We can both keep doing our paperwork, and you can avoid a slipped disc.”

“That’s creepy,” Keith informs him, watching the crawling hand, but his expression is thoughtful. “Yeah. Okay. You can try it. But if it’s too distracting…”

Keith is always distracting on some level, but Shiro doesn’t have the heart to tell him that.

When the hand touches Keith’s back, Keith sighs at the contact, scooting forward in his chair to give Shiro space to work. He starts a new page of work as Shiro stretches the fingers over his shoulder blades, focusing on feeling for the tense muscles, digging in when he finds them and working his thumb and forefinger into the knotted tissue. Keith sighs again, louder and more content, and for a second he glances up, half-lidded eyes meeting Shiro’s.

Thank you, Keith mouths, and quietly goes back to work, rolling his shoulders into Shiro’s touch.

Shiro may have accidentally given a few bases triple the rations they needed, but frankly it is unrealistic to expect him to do math when he can feel Keith’s rippling muscle under his fingertips.

*

“I mean, I want you to try it, at least,” Keith says stubbornly, sitting up on his elbows and peering at Shiro’s lubed up fingers. “I’m okay with it, really.”

Shiro puts his head in his other, non-lube-covered hand. “These are like, twice the size of my normal fingers,” he groans. “I don’t think…”

Keith shrugs. “So it’s just like starting with two. That’s fine. We’ve done that.”

“You could just fuck me instead?” Shiro suggests hopefully.

Keith considers it for half a second, then sighs. “I’ve already done that, like, every time since we got back to Earth. You can’t run from this problem forever, Shiro.” Read: oh my god, please just fuck me, we both know I’m going through withdrawal.

“It’s not a problem! I can use my left hand –”

Keith’s glare silences him, and he winces. Yeah, fair point. He’s really awful at using his left hand for, uh...this. Ambidexterity has its limits. “You could, and I could use my own hands, but I’m asking you to try with this one, Shiro. Please.”

“Okay,” Shiro finally says, chewing his lip. “If you’re sure.”

He’s very, very careful. Keith’s face still scrunches up, and his stomach flips. Shiro starts to pull it out, and Keith grabs his wrist instantly, shaking his head. “Uh-uh,” Keith grunts, and oh, his voice is uneven already. Shiro presses into him a little harder, and Keith’s mouth falls open in a sound he would probably call embarrassing but which Shiro can only describe as hot.

Shiro curls the thick metal finger and Keith whines.

“Huh,” Shiro whispers. “That’s new.”

“Not a word,” Keith warns, though it falls a little flat when he’s arching up into Shiro’s touch and all but verbally begging for more. Shiro, suddenly, wants to make him beg, and shifts over him, forcing Keith’s legs open wider. He pours more lube over his fingers, trying to ease in a second, and Keith pants, open-mouthed. He’s so hard, and Shiro wants to make him come so, so badly.

He leans down, emboldened by Keith’s honest pleasure, and lets his teeth graze the flushed shell of Keith’s ear. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” Shiro tells him, soft and private. “I think I’m just gonna use my fingers tonight, baby. What do you think?”

Keith shudders without an ounce of protest and whispers, “Yes,” squirming under him.

“Yes, what?” Shiro needles, letting the second finger rub and press, but not breach.

Keith shakes his head. “You’re a menace,” he hisses, gritting his teeth.

Shiro wonders if he can get those teeth to sharpen into fangs, again. Preferably in a kinder way than a sword fight. Or maybe in a different sort of sword fight.

Another day, Takashi. They have time now, for that...for rain checks and other days. The thought is almost unbelievable. Almost. It’s easier to believe they made it this far when he’s looking at Keith. Everything is easier when he’s looking at Keith.

“I’m also your boyfriend, lucky you,” Shiro chuckles, still braced over him, still teasing, shoving aside the tangled emotion.

“I am lucky,” Keith says then, earnestly, and Shiro falters, emotion rushing right back to him faster than the rocketing arm, his elbow almost giving out from under him where he’s braced over Keith on the bed.

“Oh,” Shiro says.

Keith’s eyebrows draw together. “Oh?”

“I think I changed my mind,” Shiro says breathlessly, “because I need to be inside of you, like, yesterday.”

“Oh,” Keith says, happily, and kisses him in enthusiastic agreement.

*

Shiro wakes up with Keith wrapped around his arm like a sexy octopus.

No, nope, bad thought. Keith is not an octopus. Keith is a Keith, and Shiro loves him very much.

God, Shiro’s coffee dependence has hit him full force since their return to Earth and his body’s rediscovery of the dual blessing and curse of caffeine. Groggily, he tries to sit up, but freezes halfway – if he moves, he’ll wake up Keith. Keith is the Universe’s lightest sleeper, other than Shiro, and he needs all the rest he can get these days.

Also, after last night.

Carefully, he tries to extricate Keith’s arms from around his arm, but it’s a futile mission, and when Keith’s nose wrinkles and his fingers twitch, Shiro backs off. Hm. Well...he doesn’t really need his right arm. Right? He has lots of meetings today, but those don’t require having two arms.

Currently, Keith requires the arm a lot more. A lot more. It definitely has nothing to do with how appallingly adorable Keith looks curled up against it, cheek smushed against the warm metal, ruffled hair soft against Shiro’s finger sensors when they curl through it…

Come to think of it, he might as well test this thing’s control radius. He latches onto the solid excuse, kisses Keith on the head, and gets ready for the day, petting Keith’s hair from the other room while he makes a pot of coffee.

When he’s putting on his shoes, he freezes at the sudden and unmistakable sensation of someone kissing his palm, then nuzzling into it, followed by the soft vibrations of continuing snores.

Shiro muffles his garbled sound into his palm. Keith. Just kissed. His hand. In his sleep.

Shiro thinks he might cry. This is the best day of his life.

Iverson gives him an earful again, but Shiro’s too busy savoring the sensation of Keith’s soft, warm face cradled in his hand half a mile away to hear a single word. 

[raendown]

Happy birthday @officerjennie! Was I more subtle than you were? XD

Pairing: ItachiShisui Rated: G Word count: 2865 Summary: Shisui was only out here training because his sensei had told him to improve skills he already thought were pretty good. He's insulted and tired. Then he's confused and maybe a little bit frightened when he makes an incredible discovery simply by being in the right place at the right time and saying the right thing.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Smoke Without Mirrors

Training was boring. Alright, not all training was boring and Shisui was usually rather good at it but he found standing in one place and doing the same thing over and over again to be very much not fun. Doing something he was good at would have been fun. Instead he was stuck here blowing one fireball after another because his sensei said they weren’t big enough.

“Grand Fireballs are supposed to be grand,” she’d told him with a scoff. “You’re better than this. Practice until they’re the size of Fugaku-sama’s.”

Shisui kicked at the grass under his feet a few times, irritated just remembering how the shame had burned through him at her words, then took his stance again and reached deep in to his rapidly emptying chakra reserves. His Grand Fireballs were just fine as they were. So what if they weren’t as big as his clan head’s? There weren’t many in the whole of their clan who could match his fireballs and he didn’t know why his sensei thought he, a sixteen year old, would be able to do so. Sometimes it was more obvious than others that she had not grown up as part of a clan. Civilian born, an excellent soldier, but she had frighteningly little concept of how clan jutsu worked.

Letting his irritation fuel him, Shisui ran through the hand signs he had memorized years ago and brought his fingers to his mouth, blowing through the circle with little regard for how the heat of the flames stung his hard-earned callouses. He had about three and a half seconds to stare in awe as pride welled up inside his chest upon seeing how massive that fireball was. Then he realized he had aimed poorly in his anger and the only tree in this barren muddy field was now alight with happy little flickers of orange and yellow.

“Ah crap,” he muttered under his breath, reaching down to his hip where there should have been a skin of water for just such an occasion. He was no expert at water jutsu but he’d bullied the Hatake kid in to teaching him something simple once; all he needed was a source of water and he could put out small blazes like this.

The only problem lay in the fact that his water skin wasn’t there on his hip. Shisui twisted to glare at his belt, personally offended by the sudden realization that he had left it by the river when he refilled it earlier.

“Well that’s not good.” Lifting his head again he gnawed on his lip indecisively. “Uh…please stop burning? Damn it, I’m gonna be in so much trouble if I burn down another tree.” It wasn’t his fault everything around him was always so flammable. And it wasn’t like he did these things on purpose, it was always an accident. Trouble just seemed to follow him around like a clingy ex-lover some days.

Shisui twisted his fingers together and wracked his brain as he watched the smoke grow and collect – much more smoke than such a small flame should warrant, he noted without really thinking much of it. He definitely started thinking more about it when the smoke billowed out and rushed back towards itself like a sentient cloud. A thick plume shaped more like an arm wrapped itself around the small fire until it was no longer visible, holding in place for a few breathless moments, and then dispersed to reveal that the flame had been completely smothered. Which should have been good news except all Shisui could do was stare as the smoke rushed back inside the tree.

His legs trembled underneath him with fear. In his short career as a Konoha shinobi he had seen some really weird stuff but nothing like this – and all the weird things he had seen until now had always had an explanation, a human will behind them casting their jutsu and manipulating the world to their benefit. There was no one here now but him.

“Always has to be me,” he grumbled. “I always find the weird shit. No one’s going to believe me that the tree smoked its own fire out. Not that it matters; whatever the hell that was is clearly going smother me too when I turn my back. Great. Wonderful. Death by smoky tree, just how I wanted to go!”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“WHO SAID THAT!?” Shisui didn’t think his eyes could get any wider but he proved himself wrong just then as he spun in circles trying to find the source of that voice. He was no sensor but every shinobi worth their salt could tell when they weren’t alone and he was absolutely sure that he was alone – or he had been up until about five seconds ago.

His useless search came to a halt when he noticed that the tree had once again began to smoke. Shisui could have sworn the fire had been completely smothered but even if there were still some lingering coals left burning they definitely should not have been enough to make that much smoke, a good-sized plume billowing out rather than up and then dropping to gather an inch or so above the ground. He was just wondering if this was all a very strange prank – one of his teammates thought she had a great sense of humor even though she really didn’t – when the weird smoke contracted within itself and coalesced in to the shape of a human.

From somewhere within the shifting darkness two eyes opened, burning red and black in a mirror of the Sharingan.

“What the fuuuuck,” Shisui whispered to himself. His feet shifted back a step, preparing the run, but he stopped when the red eyes in the smoke blinked at him sadly.

“Oh, I frightened you. My apologies.” Whatever it was, it sounded sad. Shisui found that sort of offensive in a way. Nothing so unnatural had any right to feel sad about frightening him. It was too innocent of an emotion and he really didn’t want to stand here thinking about how cute that was.

He still paused, even knowing how stupid it was.

“Uh…thanks for putting out the fire I guess, Mr. Smoke Demon Thing. Please don’t eat me?”

“I’m not going to eat you.” The human shape tilted its head. “And I am not a demon. I am an Enenra.”

“Oh. Hello…Enenra.”

“That’s not my name.” Red eyes crinkled softly with amusement and Shisui wondered if he was going crazy, seeing things that weren’t really there and giving them emotions they shouldn’t be able to feel. “I am made of smoke and…well, I suppose you could call me a demon after all.”

He looked saddened by the admission and even though he knew it was crazy Shisui couldn’t help but want to take that sadness away. It was in his nature, to the dismay of his clan head, although he had never understood why kindness should be a bad thing. A shinobi should also be allowed to be human. Fugaku-sama had seemed to agree when Shisui was younger but after his firstborn son passed away only a few days after being born he had changed, become insular and more aggressive with little time for his dreaming nephew.

“So if Enenra isn’t your name then it’s your…species?” he guessed, trying for a cheerful tone. “Do you have a name?” His efforts were rewarded when those pretty red eyes brightened.

“Yes. My name is Itachi.”

“Well that seems like a silly name for smoke. But I think I’ve heard it somewhere else before.” One hand rubbed at his chin in thought as he wracked his brain for why that sounded so familiar. He almost missed the way sadness crept back in to Itachi’s eyes, his form wilting and blurring around the edges.

He got an answer before he could ask. “I suppose you probably have. Most in the clan would have heard my name, though I doubt many would recognize me now.”

“No I don’t think I’ve heard any legends about smoke creatures. I just think I knew a guy once. Hey, do you do anything super scary? Like, you’re not going to fill my house with smoke now that I’ve seen you and kill me in my sleep are you?” Shisui clapped his hands against his cheeks with horror. “You’re not going to take over my body or anything are you? I swear I’m too pretty to die like that!”

Itachi’s form twitched and a moment later he began to laugh quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to do any of those things,” he said. Shisui drooped with relief.

“Good, good. I mean, I had sort of planned it all out, you know? A nice heroic death on the battlefield when I’ve reached a good age so I can sacrifice myself nobly and go out as a legend. That sounds pretty good don’t you think?” Mostly joking, Shisui was startLed when Itachi seemed to be giving his words some serious thought.

“I think any death is a terrible one.”

Pinching his lips, Shisui tilted his head. “Alright so if you’re not going to eat me then why did you…show yourself to me?”

“You asked the tree to stop burning. I was going to hide in the smoke so I could go find somewhere else to wait for nightfall but you were so polite and I didn’t want you to get in trouble. You seemed worried about that.” Leaning forward, Itachi’s body seemed to densify even more until Shisui could make out the faint outlines of an earnest expression.

“Huh. You look more human now.”

“Oh! I hadn’t realized!”

“Realized what? Whoa!”

The hand he had lifted in a thoughtless jerked back instead when Itachi’s vague shadowy form gave one final twitch and solidified completely. Instead of being human shaped he now looked like a human, fine details and skin, clothing and all. His long hair was dark and pulled back in to a low ponytail, wispy fringe hanging down to frame large eyes and deep tear tracks. Pouty lips were twisted to one side in an anxious grimace while his long thin hands twisted themselves together.

If Shisui had met this boy on the street he would have said he were another Uchiha. He would have thought ‘damn he’s cute’ and gone to talk to him – especially if he were toeing the ground in the adorable manner he was now. What he would not have thought was that the boy in front of him was anything other than human, so good was the disguise.

“Gotta admit,” he mumbled. “That is as impressive as it is scary.”

“I thought it would make you more comfortable,” Itachi said.

“Hm. It sure made me more something.” Tilting his head side to side, Shisui decided that the transformation was seamless. Nothing about the boy in front of him showed any hints that he was, in fact, an Enenra.

The smile Itachi gave him was disarming and dangerously adorable. “You’re funny.”

Shisui nodded and said nothing for a minute. Now that he had taken a closer look he realized that Itachi really did look like an Uchiha. Every detail from the smooth dark hair to the pale skin to the way he held himself, there were more than a dozen people Shisui could have guessed he was related to. It was eerie, suspicious, just out of place enough that he couldn’t set it aside as a mere coincidence.

Not that he had to say anything; it seemed Itachi noticed him noticing.

“Ah. Are you, perhaps, wondering where you might have seen me before?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. Itachi nodded and his expression saddened once more.

Turning his head to look off towards the center of the compound he said, “You might have met me, I wouldn’t remember, but it would not have been in this body. I was…much younger then.”

“Eh?” Shisui tilted his head. When Itachi beckoned him closer as though intending to tell him a secret he went without questioning it. Later he would realize how stupid that had been, of course, doing whatever a strange entity told him to and coming close enough to be attacked – or worse, possessed. He was lucky that this time it turned out the smoke creature wanted nothing more than to whisper to him quietly in a field where they were already quite alone.

“Do you know a woman named Mikoto?” Itachi asked. “Or a man named Fugaku?”

“Yeah, they’re my aunt and uncle.”

“I see. And did you know their…their son?”

“You mean Sasuke?” Shisui asked.

He was startled to see Itachi’s eyes widen with shock. “They…they had another child, then?”

“Another? Oh!” Shisui bonked his own forehead with the heel of one hand. “You meant their first child! They did have another son years and years back but he passed away of some sort of sickness. I think he had underdeveloped lungs or something. Don’t really remember his name though, it’s been so long. It was something like…like…”

The blood in his veins ran cold and Shisui felt a tingling running up his spine. Itachi, he noticed, watched his eyes grow wide with no sign of surprise on his own face. He didn’t seem too worried about having his secret figured out.

“You…that was…but…how?” By the end of his spluttering Shisui’s voice was coming out as a frightened whisper.

“As you said, I was sick. But I was not ready to leave this world just yet.” Itachi shook his head and sighed, turning his gaze back towards where Shisui now realized his clan head’s house would be. “Father believed in following tradition. When he cremated my body – he didn’t mean for anything to happen I’m sure but – my spirit was released in to the smoke from the pyre and I have been here ever since, watching. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in…I don’t know how many years it’s been since I took this form.”

“Fourteen,” Shisui provided faintly.

“So many? It doesn’t feel like that many years have passed.”

More than one thing raced through his mind at once and Shisui felt a little woozy trying to process them all. Firstly that he was speaking with the spirit of a dead boy who had attached itself to a new form made of smoke and then had the audacity to grow up regardless of whether he was still alive or not. Secondly that he had mentally called a dead spirit cute because that also seemed important at the moment and he couldn’t help but still think Itachi was on his way to becoming a damn attractive teen.

And thirdly, the most important, that he had known Itachi. They had met several days after the baby was born, though Shisui was so young he remembered little more than a tuft of dark hair and the worry on all the adults’ faces when the baby wouldn’t cry. For some reason he felt responsible for this boy, dead or alive, and he had to fight the urge to invite Itachi home with him.

How he would have explained a smoke demon to his mother was beyond him – not to mention he had no idea whether Itachi slept, let alone where they would have found room for an extra futon.

“So…what’s being dead like?” he ventured after enough time had passed that the silence was getting painfully awkward.

“Lonely,” Itachi answered.

“I, uh, should have guessed that.” Scratching at the back of his head he made an offer without stopping to think it through. “Maybe I could, like, come hang out sometimes? Do you always spend your time in trees?”

“No, this was just the first place I thought to conceal myself when you came in to sight.”

Shisui snickered, breaking out in to true laughter when Itachi gave him an affronted look. “Well I guess it wouldn’t be the most terrible thing to come see you again. You seem like an alright guy. And hey, it’s not like we don’t know each other, right?”

He tried very hard to deny the flutter of his heart when Itachi granted him another smile. It was a really nice smile, so sue him. Getting to see it again wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him. And if he got to keep that smile to himself for a while until he figured out how to handle the fact that their dead clan heir was still hanging around with a body made of smoke? He’d done stupider things, he had to admit.

When Itachi shyly reached out to touch his arm Shisui’s heart made a good effort to leap straight out of his chest. Knowing they could physically touch made it all the worse.

“Would you like me to give you a few pointers on how to perform the Grand Fireball Jutsu you were working on?”

And he was intelligent? Shisui closed his eyes and wondered vaguely whether Itachi would taste like smoke if they kissed. He was so screwed.

[sugaxjpg]

danse macabre; m

⤷ As a newborn vampire, you still have a lot to learn ― fortunately, someone is very happy to teach.

“Step number one: pick your prey.”

✓ Couple: Taehyung x Reader | Vampire!AU

✓ Filed under: light angst and horror; smut

✓ Look out for: gore, violence, mentions of death, blood play

✓ Words: 13,702

Author’s Note: Adapted from my old persona, and switched to second person. If you say that this entire fic was an excuse for me to write blood play, you are absolutely right. Have fun. 

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, the raven sky of dawn crawled away slowly, giving its place to a kind morning semblance, a pale shade of pink that originated in the horizon. The streets found themselves in the transitory state between the ebullient sibilation of night encounters and the gradual awakening of a mundane day, utterly relinquished beneath the consolidated ashen clouds.

Despite all that, not every aspect of that stationary instant was permeated by peace. Somewhere amidst the grey buildings and endless traces of monochromatic asphalt, a reticent scream was muffled in trepidation and fear; eyes blown wide in absolute panic. The man’s fingers were already faithlessly gripping to the asperous brick wall behind him, clothes bathed in the deepest of cardinal as he merely watched, impassive and hopeless, as his life was drained from him, dripping down his figure and accumulating in deep, ruby puddles around his trembling feet.

You could hear a strong, booming pulse around you, a frantic heartbeat that fought to keep living on as it echoed inside your skull, reverberating in your chaotic thoughts and sending waves of heat through your ecstatic body. It was not your own, and you had no idea who it belonged to. In fact, there was no reasonable facts within you that could call you back to the perceptions of reality, for, in that dark alley, you were absolutely overtook by an unknown euphoria, moved by the most absolute carnality of your existence. The amative, enticing aroma of blood involved your very personality in an embrace of sadism, engendering you to carve your canines even deeper inside the stranger’s bloody flesh.

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, you could feel everything.

The man’s knees fell limp and his body sluggishly drifted away from your grip, dragging down the brick wall as another call for mercy cut his tight throat. Groaning, you allowed for it to meet the floor and, after a mere second, you were already moving on top of it, sinking your sharp teeth once again into his colorless, numb skin. The phlegmatic human was cold underneath your touch, the iciness of his figure reaching for an overwhelming crescendo of necrosis. Nevertheless, you could not care for it. Hunger was finally being satiated, striking your senses and sending your rampageous mind into absolute overdrive. You were feeding, and could no longer stop yourself.

With a compediary grunt, you swallowed all you could, savoring on the metallic palatableness of such delighting scarlet hue. Rationality and sanity long forgotten, the blood being dove into your most primal impulses, the concept of consciousness scattered around your hysteria. Your brain got dangerously vertiginous, unfocused; fingers losing their force around the stranger’s shoulders — was there something wrong?

You did not care.

It was gradual, almost unnoticeable; but the delectation of the meal was transforming into a slight feeling of confusion, accompanied by an odd numbness at the region of your stomach. Almost as if your body was warning that some aspect was out of place, you felt your fangs retrieving back to the gums; causing for a frustrated groan to vehemently echo on that deserted alleyway, both grievous and filled by fury.

Even though your limbs grew weaker, you could not move away. The taste of blood was less delightful, but yet far too craved to be ignored so rapidly. Lackadaisical, you forced yourself to continue savoring the human being under you, even though all signs pointed that it was better to choose otherwise. You were starving, drowning in the famine those excruciating weeks had concentrated—

There was an impact. So unforeseen you could not react as it gripped the back of your dress, so vigorous that it sent you flying across the narrow alleyway the very next second. An anguishing scream of pain perished in your chest as your back collided against the humid brick wall, a dim crack rupturing your shock and warning your bespattered mind that the sharp pinch on your lower body was mostly caused by a couple broken ribs. More of surprise than of agony, a spasmodic whimper fell from your wet lips, eyes fighting to stay focused after the abrupt attack.

Now, there was no doubt that something was wrong — you could not get up.

The silhouette of a man was atramentous as onyx, surrounded by the hypnotic lines of falling raindrops. For an instant of diffused images, all that echoed inside your mind was the sounds of his shoes against the wet concrete ground, his silky voice sounding as strangled as if you were miles and miles underneath the seven seas. Wrapped in a long, dark raincoat, he moved instantaneously in your direction, stepping over the decaying victim’s body as if it was nothing above a meaningless doll.

You coughed twice, droplets of blood hitting the floor and painting the accumulated water in pale pink, “Who—”

Before your sentence could meets its ending, the figure moved as fast as a lightning bolt; standing in front of you in mere seconds. A dumbfounded exclamation was captured in your esophagus as his slender fingers curled around your neck, pulling your body upwards against the cold surface. You could only perceive a vague flickering of his profound eyes as they were painted by detestation, ears ringing in a distant call for your to wither into unconsciousness.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he venomously spat. The stranger’s voice was rusty, low; barely a furious groan beneath the merciless rain. In a desperate attempt, you opened your blood-painted lips, impulsing your body forwards: no avail. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

All forces had ran like the translucent drops of water in between your fingers, body left completely helpless. You were going to faint, “I-I ca—”

“—You newborns are always so damn ignorant,” the stranger cursed, taking a step closer. With his chest pressed up against your own, he increased his force around your neck, and you were sure he could tear it in half if he truly wanted to. “You cannot drink from them when they’re dead.”

Those were the last words that reached your ears, the terminal warning that echoed amidst the pandemonium of your thoughts as you began to lose consciousness. Befuddled, you could merely behold the movement of his lips as he said something else; alarmed tone intermingling with the incessant, roaring mourning of the storm above their heads.

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, your universe was absorbed by caliginosity.

The vague aroma of vanilla and wine was the primordial fragment that reached your senses, gingerly curling around on the placidity of the warm indoor air while your blinking lids battled against the need to dive into unconsciousness anew. Lightheaded and discombobulated, you fought to open your eyes, reality slowly painting the world around your as you did so.

Scarlet bathed the dimly lit accommodation, mingling with the flickering of candles as the incandescence of fire embraced the atmosphere in a surreal, almost sepulchral aura. The long alabastrine curtains were closed; utterly immobile as they contrasted with the gloominess of the unfamiliar location. In progression, as your vision started to regain focus, you could define the outline of a bed enveloped in red silky sheets, in which a slim figure sat, its gaze locked on you.

A suppressed groan left your mouth as you attempted to move, but, with the unmistakable ringing of metal, you soon found out your arms were handcuffed together. Placed behind your back, the chains passed through a silvery metal ring that was drilled to the wall, making it almost impossible for you to remove them anytime soon.

In consternation and anger, you turned your fulminating eyes back to the unrecognizable man, knowing without a doubt that it was the same person from the alleyway, “Where am I?” you firmly questioned, inducing for the man’s eyebrows to elevate in sheer interest.

“My house,” he answered promptly, tone much more euphonious than aforetime. Now that you were a bit more tranquil, it was possible to contemplate the way his caramel-colored hair fell over his cardinal eyes, delineating his features with undeniable winsomeness. You knew, as his gaze burned in the purest of amber, that he was the same beast as you — however, the cognizance did not feel as alleviating as once envisioned, for you felt much more vulnerable than ever before. “More specifically, the guest bedroom. Hope you appreciate the decoration.”

You neglected his unfitting comment, the tingling of moving cuffs impregnating the quiet room as you formulated your next inquiry, unsure for a second if a response was, in fact, wanted. “Who are you?”

“That is not important for now,” the stranger murmured, leaning forwards on the bed and crossing his legs. He took one hand to his lap, and you observed the dim silver glimmering of a small key sprouting from in between his slender, cadaverous fingertips. “I’m more curious to know who you are.”

“Tell me why I’m chained up,” your timbre came out in a middle ground, pending more towards a bargain than a cold command.

“For your own good,” he remarked promptly, talking with so much fluidity and peacefulness that you questioned the mundane aspect of those circumstances for him. “Don’t worry, it won’t be for long. I simply want to talk to you, and you would never allow me to hold a conversation otherwise.”

“Let me go and we can talk,” you said within a heartbeat. As your usual collected thoughts returned to your mind, the hunger once felt now lingered right beyond your perception, ready to crash once again. Calamity would ensue once again if you allowed for your barbaric impulses to tyrannize you, and the very last thing you wished for was to go against that unknown beast. “I promise I will behave, I won’t try anything.”

He chuckled, finding entertainment within your masked distress, “Oh no, love, you cannot give the orders here,” he spoke, raising the small object in front of his face to prove his point. It scintillated under the anemic lights, causing for a breath to get stuck in your parched throat. “I’m the one with the key.”

After reflecting on his words for a breviloquent moment, you spoke again, yanking at the chains. “I'll just let myself out, then.”

The man simply watched as you attempted to get free from the silver ties, pulling and forcing on the chains. Both knew that, under different conditions, such objects would have been quite easy to break for a species like yours — but, as you looked up at him from the corner of his gloomy bedroom, there was a mutual knowledge that you were far away from the most powerful position at that instance.

“You are far too weak for that, aren't you?” he examined, but held no bad intentions in his tone.

“Hell,” you cursed, giving up on your futile fight. Just by that simple effort, your arms had already grown sore, trembling.  “What do you want from me?”

One second passed by as he took in the susceptibility of such situation, delighting on the way his prisoner's features were so gracefully embraced by the ruby radiance of his crepuscular room. There was something within your harsh, malevolent gaze that tempted him into voicing his curiosity, “I want to know who bit you.” he verbalized.

His question lingered around the air for a thick instant before an answer came, “What?” you blurted out.

“You heard me,” he pressed on, running one hand through his silky locks. Now with his hair pushed back, his gaze burned even more, so piercing that you felt as if you were shrinking underneath his gargantuan presence. “Who did it?”

“I don’t…” you shook your head, both trying to find an answer and pushing those dreadful images away from your perception. Regardless, nothing emerged within your brain. “I don’t remember.”

It was dubious, nebulous within the corners of your mind, but a lost fragment of such recalling remained there, ruptured into incomprehensible bits of information — the sharp pain in your throbbing neck, the cadaveric, cold grip around your still-human shoulders. You remembered the pale glow of the stars above you, the rapid beating of your own heart as you battled against the faceless beast, but could not draw the features of the one who caused your so much torment. Nor did you wish to.

After a second of ponderation, a long suspire departed from his roseate lips, “What a shame,” the stranger lamented, disappointed, “I thought that would be the case. Whoever it was, did a horrible job on it… How rude of them to leave you alone and not even bother to see if you were dead and not transformed,” at that, a dry chuckle left his plump mouth. “These kids are getting worse by the century.”

You frowned at that, “I don’t think I understand what you are talking about.”

“That is exactly my point… I cannot blame you for drinking dead man’s blood. Of course you would do something like that when you didn’t have any sort of assistance,” his shoulders fell, velvety tone getting softer as his aura subsided into a more inviting, lukewarm posture. That was all that he needed to hear, for you were not the one to punish. “You are hungry and scared, not exactly on your most rational state.”

The man remembered, even against his intention, how horrendous those first days could be. Even if his own transformation had occurred countless centuries ago, the image of his petrifying panic was still clear within his mind, playing like a broken record during moments like those. He would never admit so, but the older vampire he saw himself in you, and could not simply allow such clueless child to dive into your own demise. Not the way he did.

Your tongue felt dry as a desert, and struggled to get any words out after a second of silence, “Listen, I don’t know who you are—”

“—I’m Taehyung,” the stranger exposed his identity promptly, almost as if he was expecting your defensive posture to continue tormenting him. His name did not bring any memories back, and you were not sure if that was a good sign or not. “You?”

There was a second of hesitation before the answer distastefully left your chapped lips, “YN.”

Taehyung seemed content with what he got, for a modest smile effloresced on his scarlet lips. As much as your distrust did not allow your to fully dive into his beauty, you could perfectly acknowledge the uncharacteristic ethereality of such monstrous being; the empyrean traces of his soft features, “Well, YN, lesson number one: dead man’s blood is toxic,” he continued, voice as monotone as if he had said that countless instances before. “You would have been dead by now if I weren’t there.”

You scoffed, unamused, “Maybe that’s for the best. I would rather be dead than to be this… thing.”

“That can be arranged,” under the dim lights of his room, Taehyung’s eyes coruscated in michiviancy, and you had a glimpse at the true murderous being living within him. “Even though I’m not big on killing my own kind.”

“That’s a shame,” you pronounced, sounding as if your heart found itself somewhere amidst the skepticism and fear. Though, against what he conceived, your worries were not directed towards what he could do to you, but towards the everlasting need to savour the mouthwatering taste you longed for. “I’m not big on killing anything. But I guess there is a first time for everything.”

The man leaned back slightly so he could dive into his own paradoxical thoughts, wondering if the wisest decision would be to let your go alone or, perchance, use it as an opportunity to be the mentor he never had. A silent symphony delicately fell over the unfluctuating room, causing for your to close your eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore famine reappearing in your body.

Taehyung’s eyes fell to the rising movement of your blood-covered chest, and he noticed that, even though you did not need to, your organism still fought to breathe in mere habit. For a blood being, you held the danger of a ticking time bomb, and he was sure there were only two sides you could explode into — either would lacerate countless humans for a single drop of crimson, or would starve to death, hiding behind the fraudulent facade of mercy.

He could not simply let you go.  

“Do you want to know how it is?” Taehyung abruptly questioned, causing for your eyes to shoot open. The craving for blood was becoming so unbearable that the world had morphed into white noise, and you had almost forgotten your current position.

“Know how what is?” you asked back.

“To hunt,” he explained, pale fingers foolishly playing with the silver key. “I suppose you should at least try it before you give up entirely.”

Even though you tried otherwise, your words came out lacking the certainty you wanted to pass. “I’m not a killer.”

“Funny,” the beast smiled, finding humor in such denial. “The dead body I found you on top of says otherwise.”

You licked your lips, cursing the doubts that appeared around your once again,  “I wasn’t—”

“—Thinking straight, I know,” Taehyung completed, tone much softer than expected. The man looked like something other than a monster, you noticed. There was too much perfection within him to reflect the darkness of his identity; incalculable knowledge glistening inside his amber eyes — those were eyes of stupendous, perpetual maturity; of absolute experience; eyes of a being that had walked earth for too long now and that held the secrets only immortality could provide. “I’ve been where you are, we all have.”

“Your empathy doesn’t make me feel any better,” you debated.

“It’s not supposed to,” the man recognized, slowly getting up from his bed. Now on his feet, he stared down at your with undeniable wisdom, his tired eyes holding the very iciness of his existence. “We are all hesitant at first, it’s normal. But I can see you already noticed how things may change when you get around blood. I could teach you how to hunt, how to do it right. How to control those animal-like impulses, maybe even use them in your favor.”

At the mere mention of what you so desired, your teeth found your lower lip, biting down in a faint attempt to hide your anguish. You could feel as your gums itched, canines digging their way through flesh as the revenant of such delicious, ferruginous scent reached your nostrils once again. If your heart were still beating, its rhythm would increase in the silence promise of blood, shivers running down your spine in utter expectation.

What had you become?

“Don’t try to hide it, dear,” Taehyung chuckled, amused at your distress. The monster was now in front of you, crouching to reach your level. “I bet you’re aching to taste it, aren’t you? You don’t want to, but you can feel your limbs heating up just at the thought of it… the warmth running down your mouth, eyes blown out… It is truly delicious, I cannot blame you.”

You licked your bruised lips, chest tightening in anxiety. The stranger looked down to find that your mouth was still vaguely outlined in a pale red hue, and he found beauty within that sight. “I don’t want it.”

Taehyung chuckled, “It won’t change anything now, you know?” his aura was consuming you, now so threateningly close to your own. With darkness pulsating behind his actions, your capturer took his hands to the handcuffs. “Not drinking blood won’t turn you back to human, it will only make you starve to death… if that can be achieved again.”

“I’m not a monster,” you guaranteed as the metal clicked open, key falling to the floor as the other vampire moved back. The purple rings around your wrists did not reflect on the absence of pain, and were quick to fade away as you stared down at them. If there was something good about your kind was the rapid way your wounds healed.

“Only monsters feel the need to say that,” he rationalized, voice soft as the silky sheets on his bed. Taehyung smiled fondly, taking his fingers to hold to your chin, making your look up at him. His digits were glacial, but your skin was no different. “Come on, darling, let’s have some fun. You’ve been here for almost a day now, aren’t you hungry?”

You could observe amaranthine details of how his interminable stare were so dangerously empty, but yet could pass an enlightenment you could not even begin to comprehend. You did not know him, but was confident about how demonic Taehyung was, a master of manipulative words and fluid movements, someone who was able to read inside your very soul and take out of it the fragments he needed to bend it just the way he wanted to.

Tired, starving for energy — you could no longer withstand the utter necessity for your most carnal of desires, the hypnosis of his presence pushing your over the edges of hesitation, “Teach me,” you, at last, consented.

The man smiled and, when his eyes sparkled in eagerness, you envisioned how peculiar that night would be.

Night had once again casted its penumbra over the vicious cityscape by the time the two blood beings departed from the cloistered residency. Just before the construction melted into the horizon, you thought how it resembled a deteriorated victorian mansion, pondering how was it possible that its conserved interiors did not match such decaying, putrid facade.

Taehyung laughed when you shared such reflections with him, guaranteeing that it was never his intention to copy that specific era of architecture. Furthermore, in his words, there was no reason to adapt his house to the current times, for it was better if humans saw it as a mere deserted residency, “They come explore, I don’t even need to hunt,” the vampire smirked, “Adventurers walk directly into the lion’s open mouth. It’s almost adorable to witness.”

Downtown was flaming in phosphorescent lights once you two finally reached the outskirts of a booming club. Even from across the crowded street, your sharp senses were able to perceive the indisputable redolence of alcohol and cardice; the percussion of the electronic melody being repressed by each individual, idiosyncratic heartbeat of the mortals around. Against your best judgement, you could almost visualize the ambrosial, mouthwatering liquid as it was pumped through their bodies. Such conception was driving you towards the margins of sanity, black pupils expanding to cover up the redness of your eager irises. Your hunger was barely at its primordial state, but it was strong enough for your to feel how your canines started to puncture your gums, tongue growing drier by each frantic beating of a human heart.

You just wanted to drink from them, what was the problem with that?

Taehyung’s voice ruptured the suffocating silence between your slender figures, so abruptly that you could not camouflage your unpreparedness, “Do you remember what I said was your first lesson?” he asked.

You assented, clearing your throat. The thoughts of blood were pushed back inside your mind just enough so it would be possible to respond, but still mocked your lack of free will when it came to its denial, “Dead man’s blood is toxic,” you recited, almost robotically so.

“Correct,” the man agreed, then placed his hand on your lower back. Just as you were about to protest against the proximity, he motioned towards the side of the building with his chin. “I see you’re a fast learner, keep playing along. Let's go this way.  

Your arguments perished within the captive of your throat, exasperated eyes flickering to absorb every detail of that scene — the golden hue of streetlights, the penumbra that overtook the alleyway you two were headed towards; the effervescent mumble of oblivious citizens sounding like a serpentine hiss to your ears, “Are we breaking in?” you reluctantly asked and Taehyung merely chuckled. After he was sure you knew the path to follow, he removed his icy palm from your body. Inexplicably, you perceived its absence with certain disappointment, but soon ignored it and moved to other, more relevant inquiries. “So... what am I supposed to do?”

“Before all, don’t kill them,” he said, ignoring your translucent skepticism. Next to the two night creatures, a long line of humans seemed oblivious to your presence, raising their heads to glimpse at the entrance door in expectation. Their heads were as hollow as their hearts, you thought, “You have to drink from your prey when they are alive, stop if they faint. The problem with newborns is that you don’t have self control just yet, you are all so… eager.”

“I’m not eager,” you denied instantaneously, but were not as certain as you wished to be.

The yellow streetlights casted their aureate incandescence on the man, embracing his face in a sanctified semblance — something, to your perception, quite ironic, “We’ll see about that, love,” he purred, eyes expertly moving through the ebony-painted streets. Two more steps, and his features were immersed in shadows, “But don’t worry, I will be right behind you to help you if anything goes wrong.” he made sure to add.

“That doesn’t calm me down at all,” you informed, relieved once they finally entered the dim alley. The idea of being the same as the one he found you in crossed your mind, but it was nothing more than baseless paranoias — different part of town, different alleyway. “I’m pretty sure I’ll lose control the second I taste… it.”

Taehyung smiled at that, finding it quite adorable that you would admit such thing — that was good, he thought, that meant you were not as prideful as other newborns; not arrogant enough to believe that you would be able to battle against your most primordial, savage desires, “You can’t lose something you never had,” he uttered, his entertainment not diminishing once he felt your burning gaze, “What? Darling, control is something you earn, something you fight for. It’s not gifted to you.” he spoke further.

“Seems like I have the rest of eternity to earn it,” you ignored his claim with a sarcastic scoff, “It’s been three weeks, you know? I guess I would have earned control by now.”

He smirked, glimpsing at the humans behind you in mindless expectation. Equally as before, they made no mention to even recognize your presence, even less the form how you two had clearly walked towards the side entrance, ignoring the main line, “Not quite a justificative: you can fight for control at the first day, or ten centuries after your transformation,” he contradicted, pausing so he could ponder on an emerging inquiry, “How many times did you feed?” Taehyung voiced.

“About... four,” you replied, meeting his expression — a visage that resembled a concoction of stupefaction and skepticism, “Why the look? I told you I’m not a killer.” you said.

With a small shaking of his head, Taehyung chuckled, “It’s not a surprise you tore that poor man to pieces, then,” remarked the vampire, “You were starving yourself. No blood creature has control in a position like that.”

Acknowledging his reflections, you merely hummed in agreement — it made sense, after all. You had never felt so hungry, so malnourished, in your entire existence, “Your point?” you questioned.

Now before the doorway, the rufescent neon lights of the club dripped down Taehyung’s lineaments. Smirk embellishing his gloomy features, you swore you could die drowning in the profoundness mischiviancy of his deep ruby eyes, “I still have faith in you,” he responded, placing his hand flat against the magenta door, then opening it with facility. “Shall we?”

If not for the way a lock fell on the other end, hitting the wooden floor of a dusty room, you would have claimed it had been left unlocked. Just by that mere presentation of superhuman strength, you internally questioned if you, too, did not know your own force — if you, too, had lost all residuals of humanity. Oddly so, you did not wish to know the answer to the second inquiry.

Time did not mean much for an eternal creature, and you were comprehending that a bit faster than you prophesied. Even if you had been bitten merely three weeks ago, your previous life was now far beyond the limits of your most fabulous fantasies; the shattered spirit of a personality long departed. Humanity had been depleted from your organism, barely an eidolon of who you once was, and could never be again. Perchance, you thought, it was one of the side effects contained within your predator’s venom; for it would make a much more efficient killer the ones who did not grow attached to their previous existence.

You tried not to do it. you swore you did, but it was much tenacious than any self control you still had. The hunger was devouring your inside out, burning the cords that held your to sanity as it did so. It was scorching, barbaric; much more devastating than any other sentiment you had ever experienced. Famine made your slaughter innocent lives in an infinite seek towards a satisfaction that you shall never reach. Famine made your into the monster you so feared to become.

It was a bit sad how you could not recall your inaugural victim. Memories saturated your mind in the form of diffuse conversations and nonconcrete recollections, the face of the poor young man barely an abstract constitution within your brain. As much as you tried, you could only solely look back at the nectarous redness that ran down his neck, the suffocated screams that echoed amidst the lonely park, a final melancholic song for no one to hear. You drank from him until he passed out, but had to stop once your enhanced senses caught someone reaching closer — the man was left there, barely a faceless mannequin drowning in a pool of his own blood as his attacker vanished, mingling with the penumbra of night.

A few minutes later, you heard a scream. You did not look back.  

Indubitably, you thought that would be the end of it: you had, at last, given in to the most carnal needs of your kind, and was now free to turn away from them. To your demise, such utopian conceptions were not made reality, and the hunger you imagined would subside only came back stronger the very next day. You had tasted blood and, now, it would be so much harder — if not impossible — to stray away from it.

“—Are you listening to what I'm saying?”

Taehyung’s voice made you blink as you flickered back to substantiality, confused at the sudden awakening of your senses, “I'm sorry, what?” you inquired, lost.

In fact, the switch was so intense that you saw yourself growing vertiginous at the thundering compass of the song, the intoxicating redolence of alcohol and perspiration resembling poison being inhaled. As much as you still found it terribly strange not to breathe, you forced yourself to cease the rise and fall of your chest just enough so the smell would not bother your any further — when did you two arrive at the main floors, too? You needed to focus.

“Attention on me, dear,” the man chuckled, resting against the bar counter. Psychedelic lights danced on his raven hair, and you swore it was almost enough to cover the nefariousness radiating within his pupils. “I know this might be a bit overwhelming, but you should focus if you want to learn something from this peculiar night.”

“I'm focused” you said instantly, battling for your words to come out with conviction. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, the sweet misery of newborns,” he verbalized his amusement, shaking his head in inner skepticism. Taehyung pondered how his interaction with your was like a mirror; a vortex that took him directly to his long gone past. He could not declare that he liked it, but it was an interesting experience at the very least, “I was telling you to focus on something other than your hunger.” he repeated.

It was your turn to shake your head, traveling gaze wandering on the fuzzy, smoky landscape behind your company, “Easier said than done,” you asserted, tongue feeling nearly as arid as sand dunes. “Just keep talking. Let’s get this over with.”

Taehyung smirked at your reaction. “See? You’re eager.”

You repudiated his sarcastical claim, “I’m hungry, not eager.” you contradicted.

He scoffed, “First step is acceptance, dear.”

“Don’t test my patience,” you warned back.

“Very well. Let’s move along.” he accepted your behaviour at last, leaning with his lower back against the counter. You had perceived the manner the bartender seemed almost puzzled at your presence, but, unlike the other guests, he did not approach neither of you to question about the beverage choice. It was almost as if the stranger was supraliminal, in some downreaching level, of the inextinguishable malevolence that surrounded the two of you but, logically speaking, could not determine the foundation of his peculiar hesitation.

Now back to your usual attention, you could observe with unshakable reasoning that, in reality, the barman was not the only one to be acting like that — humans passed by the two of you as if you did not belong to the land of the carnal, your own images as transparent as the one of a poltergeist; only to explode in surprise once they finally recognized your presences as being substantial. Only then, mortals would be petrified but, at the same instant, pulled in by the magnificence of such ethereal beings.  

Analogous to quicksand, they dove in deeper every time they attempted to fight back.

“Step number one: pick your prey,” Taehyung started, incapacitated to dissimulate his crescent, impetuous enthusiasm, “See anyone you like?” he questioned further.

By mere habit, you took in a profound inhale — only to feel nauseous once the smell of alcohol and artificial smoke reached your enhanced sensations. Camouflaging your repulsion with a subdued hum, your eyes scrutinized the place that expanded before the two of you: concatenating the imaginary pathway that originated in the exhilarated dance floor to the ivory couches placed near the tall walls; then from the bar counter to the second floor, where you finally found your target.

Bordering his mid-twenties, a young man came down the stairs with a cyan drink in his hands. His exquisiteness was undeniable, and the perfection of his sharp traces caught your attention instantaneously, “Him,” you voiced, “the young man on the stairs.”

Taehyung followed your stare until he met the figure that was now entering the margins of the dance floor, soon vanishing amidst the frenzied ocean of bodies, “Adorable choice,” he praised, “and a very convenient one too. He has been eyeing you since we arrived.”

“For some reason I don’t believe in you,” you frowned, revolving to your previous conceptions. Despite the fact that you was convinced the handsome stranger did not discern you, you could not disacknowledge how truthful Taehyung appeared to be, “What now?” you pressed further.  

“Step number two,” he impassively continued, getting to his feet. Amidst your mercurial thoughts, you understood it was time for him to take a step back and merely guide your from afar if so needed. “Make your prey hunt you.”

The prospect of being alone with a human — a so called prey — was alarmingly disconsonant. You felt as if you were glaring at the barrel of a gun, watching dispassionately as you walked directly to the edges of your minimum self-control. To you, albeit you desiderated blood like nothing else, you did not want to collapse into the primitive temptation of carnality once anew.

Regardless of your internal preoccupations, you voiced an inquiry that did not match your apprehension. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“First, you should start breathing again,” he smirked, delighting in the adumbration of horror that was casted over your apprehensive features. “I am well aware of how disgusting the smell can be, my dear, but some sacrifices are necessary in times of need.”

“Very well,” you reluctantly consented, taking in breaths short enough so it would not envenom you, but also predominant so it would reflect on a false progression of a respiration. “Is there anything I should know about how to keep his attention? As far as I'm aware, I'm merely playing the seductress.”  

Diverted by your unconventional correlation, Taehyung permitted for a smile to bloom in the mists of his delicate traces, “Here's a funny little thing about mankind: they are quite fascinated by the darkness of existence,” remarked the immortal being, such words ringing to the ballad of his superotemporal wisdom. “You don't have to lure him in, he already wants you.”

You frowned at his unforeseen claims, “So I'm just supposed to stand here and wait for him to show interest?” you asked.

He took one step backwards as an imperceptible hum reverberated on his broad chest, “I think he’s quite interested already, you don't have a lot of work to do” Taehyung assured, certain of his own declaration, “Flirt a bit, but don’t give him everything just yet. Once you get him out of here, you can take him to the alley we came through, and have your so expected meal.” he advised.

At those propositions, you finally articulated your worries with an empty sigh, “It feels as if there is a huge margin for mistakes,” you admitted, hoping that your companion would prove otherwise. “I really don’t want to murder anyone else, I’m tired of losing control.”

“Don’t be nervous, my dear, I’ll be your self control for this lovely dawn,” he assured you, the enjoyment in his abysmal gaze not crumbling for one mere second. Taehyung found it strangely entertaining to see such hungry creature still holding space for empathy — or the closest your kind could ever reach. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?” you impulsively questioned, feeling as if you were nothing above a lost child.

Taehyung could not battle against the chuckle that poured from his chest, “I can't do your work for you. Just have fun, I bet you'll like it more than you think,” the man assured before, at final action, walking away.

You accompanied his silhouette as it dematerialized amidst the tides of bodies, unsure about which sentiment you should be experiencing. There was no true sense of worry now, but an hollowness almost as immeasurable as the undying gaze of your instructor. Famine was still present, however, it was sequentially gifting its position to what you could only characterize as the thrill of the hunt; the splendiferous sensation Taehyung had preached so much about.

As the stranger you were eyeing slowly made his way through the rhapsodic crowd, your gazes met the at very instant you embarked in the realization that such experience was just being born, for you never fully ruminated on your actions before taking them. No, your delectation was much more punctual, holding hands to the ephemerality of your bursts of savagery; no more than delirious combustions of satisfaction before the entire perverse circle of starvation and craving began one more time.

Monster was a word that haunted you ever since your transformation, but never once had you reflected that, perchance, you were already acting as one. By abnegating your organism from its most fundamental necessities, you had been piling up a disatisfaction that constantly crumbled down in a massacre, a seek for such needs. Monster was what you had made of yourself, but now had a chance to ameliorate it — regardless of your moral code, you needed to feed just like any other living being, so you might as well do it in a safer manner, in a way your victim would not meet death by the hand of your imprudence.

That night was one of many, you came to understand. The unfamiliar man now standing before your was solely the primordial victim of countless to come, but also the chance you had to prove you were not the barbaric creature you envisioned.

You could only compare that futile, diaphanous conversation the two of you shared to the booming thunder before a storm, the lightning that coruscated within thick clouds before cascades of rain came crashing down. As much as you had been paying attention to the stranger’s words and his explicit flirting, your interest was forever deadlocked on the pulsation of his heart and the ensorcelled rise and fall of his chest; the way his neck moved every time he swallowed dry.

He had presented your with his name at some point, but you feared it had already been forgotten amongst your roaring appetite. Young, full of life — those were the two adjectives you would apply, amidst your internal derangement, to elucidate such idiosyncratic creature; a human whose own ravenousness blinded him from the awful veracity of the blood being standing right before him, “Are you staying for long?” the nameless man questioned at some point, resting his empty cup on the perfectly polished counter. You found it whimsical how his mesmerized stare could not leave your for one sole minute, your aura enticing him closer like magnets to a piece of metal.

Hair delineated by the iridescent bar colors, abyssal gaze trapped underneath the thickness of your black eyelashes; you had your prey under the shadow of your tantalization, and you were tired of playing those futile games, “Depends,” you responded after a second chewing on your answer — he found you absolutely enthralling; even the movement of your cherry-painted lips appeared to ignite his most intense lust, “When do you want to leave?” you asked.

His gaze lit up at that, grasping the meaning behind those conventional words, “I just need to go to the bathroom before,” he mentioned, blinking twice in a faint attempt to awaken his senses from the spell you had casted upon him — no avail, “but then we’re free to go wherever you want to,” he made sure to add.

“Sounds good,” you smiled, fingers tracing indescribable patterns on the wooden surface of the bar. Even the delicate dynamism of your fingertips seemed spectral, surreal to the man, and he could not understand his desire to dive deeper into the fascination you instigated within him. “I’ll wait right here.”

Not long after the unknown man had walked away, your companion returned.

“He went to the bathroom,” you spoke with patience, not allowing yourself to look too long inside your teacher’s irises — they were dangerous, you came to understand, able to rearrange your thoughts with a mere glimpse, “Whatever you have to say, you should say it quickly.” you rushed.

Taehyung smirked at that, but perceived that the hurriedness of your voice did not match the true sentiment of your voracious eyes, “No need to rush, that was quite good for your first try,” the creature pridefully admitted. “I must say, dear, you impressed me.”

“I impressed myself too,” you confessed with an exhale, turning on your seat to better converse with the newcomer. Taehyung was both as sepulchral and breathtaking as you recalled, and that made your wonder if mortal beings perceived you equivalently. “I barely had to do anything, I suppose you were right about his interest.”  

He leaned against the counter, but made no mention he planned to seat down before you, “After being dead for so long, you could say I’m a fairly good judge of character and intentions,” the older creature remarked, running one of his hands to remove a few strands of hair from the front of his attentive eyes, “Darkness pulls them in, even if they wish otherwise. Have you ever heard of the undead being hypnotic?” he inquired.

You thought for a second, and some tales regarding such seduction came to mind, “In victorian stories for all I care,” you breathed out, overlooking such frivolous subject. You wondered if your eagerness to feed was again distinguishable through your disposition and, in the form a frown withered on Taehyung’s features, you thought that was exactly the case, “Regardless, what am I supposed to do now?” you anticipatory pressed on.

“Oh, love, now the fun part begins,” the older vampire presented your with a wicked smile, noticing how expectation  was already blazing inside your body, “and also the one you might be expecting the most since our little… adventure started.” he said further.

You suspired, “Finally,” you sounded relieved, bliss sparking in your cardinal irises. “Tell me I’ll—”

“—Step three: hunt them,” Taehyung interrupted, watching as assuagement dominated your pulchritudinous, statuesque features. He had found you beautiful before, but, as the night moved along, those thoughts creeped back to him time and time again. “And this also takes us to lesson two: the blood is not in control, you are.”

You swallowed dry, the wondrous taste of blood infiltrating your every sense — you needed to drink it again, it was consuming you, “Easy for you to say,” you declared, visibly affected. “Why did you have to remind me of it?”

Before Taehyung could give a proper response, his eyes flickered to an umbrageous silhouette beyond the bar, “He's coming back,” the vampire warned, but held to apprehension as he did so. You noticed how imperturbable and collected he was acting, as if your companion was already assertive of which outcome that night would have. “Remember, love, you cannot kill him. Dead man’s blood is poison.”

Your lips parted slightly as a sentence hung at the tip of your tongue, but it was never verbalized. The other blood being moved away from your with the fluidity and placidness of a running river, mingling with the fervent landscape beyond your reach. From behind you, a now familiar voice resounded, rupturing your germinating preoccupations, “Ready to go?” it said.

In anticipation, you swallowed the dryness of your throat before responding, “Sure thing,” you consented as you turned around to face your prey, then gladly took his hand as you got up.

You were walking the wire that divided your humanity from your intrinsic monstrosity, absolutely affrighted to look down and see which side you would fall into. The stranger’s heartbeat was overlapping every other sound that echoed in the cosmos of your temptation, replenishing your mind singularly with the hankering of such scrumptious meal. You had been thinking about blood for a prolonged period of time, your lucidness was far too fracturable, too fragile to take in its sapidity and not shatter under the avoirdupois of its elation.

Perhaps you were eager and, even worse, you might have been far too capricious when pushing such bestial reflections to the back of your nubilous awareness. Nevertheless, those disturbances did not fully pollute your mind until the frigidness of the midnight breeze enveloped your stuporous figure and perforated your consciousness with the veracity and precision of your position — as imponderous as a feather, the realization delicately landed on your perception: you were about to feed. At last, your hunger would be satiated, the phenomenal flavour of blood would once again greet your tongue with its lukewarm, metallic substantiality.

You could not hold back any longer.

Once you two crossed the obscuration of the side alley, you made your move. With serene, controlled actions, you dissimulated your inner distress as you joined your lips in a suave kiss, feeling his muscles tense up in stupefaction. Regardless, the anonymous man was soon giving in to the temptation of your mouths, the awe-inspiring waltz they performed under the cimmerian hue of dawn. You had him under your incantation, and you too was being taken over by the carnality of such caresses.

If contemplated, the circumstances would trace parallels the one in which Taehyung had found your aforetime: ambushed in a hurricane of a fervent kiss, your victim had his back against the icy wall, showing no concern as your hands ever so expertly navigated up his torso to sense the heartbeat beneath your fingertips. He could only concentrate on the spellbinding manner you drew him in, sucking and biting his lips as a groan resounded in his throat, “Damn, you’re so eager…” he struggled to speak out. As he leaned his head upwards, he noticed how peculiarly vacant those streets were, seeming as if the two were the only beings in a particularized macrocosmos.

Heavens, it was right underneath the edge of your tongue, throbbing against your sensitive lips. You could nearly taste your meal as it invaded your mouth and poisoned your being; gums itched as your fangs carved their way out of them, mouth salivating in sheer euphoric expectation.

Chuckling at his almost hypnotized state, you choose to neglect the man's mouth, humming in content and anticipation as you trailed the path towards his pulsating neck, “You have no idea,” you whispered against his warm skin, fingers traveling to his shoulder blades — precaution, for you knew he would attempt to fight back.

And so, in between two feather-like kisses on his neck, you dug your canines through his flesh.

If he attempted to scream, the sound did not reach your suppressed hearing. After puncturing his skin, you withdrew your teeth from the fresh laceration and suctioned so impetuously that any cry for help from his part would be instantaneously quietened. The disequilibrium that indicated his weakness and powerlessness only came as a copacetic hysteria to you, the delightful liquid filling your mouth with its magnificence and drowning your tongue in sheer pleasure.

You swallowed and swallowed, fingers unflinchingly holding the man down from any attempt of getting away from your constraint. In the depths of your delirious mind, you were aware of how carelessly you were giving into your so repulsed monstrosity yet again, permitting to have your empathy drained by the ravenousness for more — more blood, more satisfaction.

His pulse was dangerously lethargic now: you were getting carried away. You had been enchanted by the spectacular sensation of the febrile liquid burning down your throat and dripping down your chin; falling in the valley between your breasts and accumulating in small crimson puddles around your feet. You were making a mess. You had sliced his flesh and was sucking more than you should ever take away. Death was embracing his weak figure, cooling his skin right underneath your firm fingertips.

Just as you was starting to think your victim would meet his demise, a familiar voice broke the catastrophe of your euphoric mindset, inducing for your to come crashing back down on the reasoning of reality, “That’s enough, love,” Taehyung muttered from besides you, his figure eveloped by the aurelian emanation of the faint streetlights. Even in the low luminescence, the glow of the street was able to make his image border on perfection — surrounded by pale particles of dust, between the exquisiteness of the living and the utter melancholy of death. “Come on, now. Remember what I told you.”

Blood is not in control, you are.

Contradictory to every impulse that oscillated in your body, you forced yourself to pull away from the inconscient man with a throaty groan. His figure crumbled on top of the slatternly cement, harmonizing with the arrhythmic compass of his hunter’s steps as you moved backwards, utterly overtook by the ravishment of such succulent, lascivious meal.

Kaleidoscopic, exhilarated lights danced on your nubilous vision as you turned to Taehyung, hoping and wishing that his reassuring stare would be sufficient to keep your anchored down to the verisimilitude of reality. He, discordantly, merely intertwined his pale fingers in your own, muttering a hushed, “We need to leave now,” before trailing off into the tenebrosity of dawn.

The euphoria was gargantuan, annihilating your reason and turning your thoughts into a pandemonium of nonsensical conceptions. You allowed for your companion to navigate your dazed figure through back alleys and adumbral streets, his senses preventing them from finding mortals, that could be frightened by the cascade of blood weeping down your body. You felt overwhelming gratification and pleasure, the abstraction of the universe around your causing for your discernment of realism to be embellished by the fantastic, paradisiacal sensations of the fresh vital fluid you had consumed.

Blood was your poison, but it had also become your antidote.

“Taehyung,” you called at some point, slowly coming back from your high. The man followed the actions of your figure as you leaned against a dirty brick wall, finding shelter under the crepuscular shadow of a dead tree, “This is a lot, I need a second to compose myself.”

From the way he swallowed hard, you pondered if he was as affected as you by the palatable scent of blood, “Understandable, love,” he cleared his throat, but avoided to cross his gaze with your own. The redness was sickening to him, an endless provocation, “We cannot stop for long, though.” he added.

With a trembling breath, you overlooked his claims to call for his name once again, this time in a whisper, “Taehyung,” you verbalized, pausing for a second to delight on the ferruginous aftertaste that lingered in your senses. “Look at me, please.”

Reluctantly, he did as you requested. His cimmerian eyes burgeoned into sheer desire as he did so, scintillating in burning carmine as he took in the mind-bending pulchritude of your blood-bathed form. Taehyung could not censor himself from taking a subtle step closer to your immobile silhouette, absolutely overtook by the magnificence of your ensanguined countenance, “I am looking at you, love,” his stormy eyes shone under the anemic moonlight, blooming in the most vivid of ruby. The older vampire, as disciplined as he was, also had his limits when it came to being so hazardously close to the remnants of such ambrosiac meal. “You look... simply marvelous.”

You could not move as he took one of his hands to your face, slender fingers delineating the outline of your wet lips. Humming in content and satisfaction, Taehyung examined carefully the blood on his fingertips before taking it to his mouth, savoring on the succulent liquid, “Look at the mess you’ve made… you newborns are always so careless,” his voice sounded groggy as he trailed off, eyelashes fluttering shut as he pushed himself to step away, crashing back to his most logical senses. “We really should go now, my dear, we can't make a fuss.”

Bewildered and frenzied by the sudden switch of his uncharacteristic demeanour, you consented to his decision and, at last, followed him into the shadowy veils of dawn. On your skin, the ghost of his touch still lingered.

Sat on the corner of the silk-covered sofa and facing the consuming light of the fireplace, you swore you could perceive your own faint figure overlapping the conflagration of licking flames; eyes as a mirage amidst the golden refulgence, but bathed by the same burning yellow. Inside the unmoving living room, your silhouette contrasted against the outline of the scorching, phosphorescent flames, its heat never entering your cadaveric figure.

From the half open window of the perpetual, unapproachable construction, the pleasant odor of petrichor crawled inside the caliginous room, mingling with the vague symphony of a strangled violin, an old classic tune playing to the ghost of your presence. You had been in that position for what resembled hours, the concept of time a mere fluzz within your ecstatic mind; senses overtook by the euphoria of your recent meal precipitating for your to simply swirl in its magnificence — experience the satisfaction, but not present it.  

Your beauty was something Taehyung could solely designate as tragic, the kind of elegance and refinement that resembled the melancholy of damaged roman statues. He had been eyeing you ever since the two of you had arrived back in his residence, feeling as his vision melted into fuzz each time it met the germanium-colored scintillation of semi-dry blood. The older being could not tell if the allurement that pinched his insides came singularly from the presence of his craved aliment, or if it was enhanced by where it was located — down the curvature of your cheeks, around your lips, then dripping down your neck and curling between your breasts.

Taehyung’s momentary trance was broken once your vague gaze traveled upwards, rupturing the stillness of your figure. Oblivious and unfocused, you soon distinguished a portrait amidst the penumbra, a canvas that rested superior to the golden, halcyon hue of the fireplace. After your vision has grown accustomed to the change of brilliance, an interrogation left your throat, “Is that you?” you curiously voiced.

He gifted your a low hum of concurrence, taking a step closer to the object of interest, “Oh, yes, centuries ago.” Taehyung acquiesced.

“You look… alive,” you trailed off with a slightly groggy voice, squinting your deep red eyes as if some constituent of your psyche was still abnegating the reality you were presented with. Although you could contemplate the unquestionable resemblance between the two men, the rosy cheeks and lively eyes did not match with the undead that accompanied you.

“Very observant,” Taehyung sarcastically complimented, placing his pale hands inside the pockets of his ebony trousers. For the first time, you perceived how the creature made no sound as he moved towards your figure, almost as if he was not even material, “It was before my transformation. Merely a couple months, if I’m not mistaken,” he added.

Your ensanguined lips opened slightly as you chewed on your succeeding words, considering not even pronouncing them, “Who did it?” you articulated, taking an instant before completing your inquiry, “Who bit you?”

The older creature pondered, but judged to be far too personal to share with his new colleague, “It is a long story,” Taehyung stated, seating by your side in a swift lowering of his silhouette. “Let’s just say it was… a friend.”

“A friend,” you echoed, scrutinizing every faint contour of such vintage artwork. The lines were starting to get erased by the sands of time, the medieval-type attire standing out to your like bright stars in a moonless sky, “What kind of friend would do such thing?” you pressed on.

“A friend that was willing to listen,” the man implied, quicker than he could contain himself. It had occurred so many centuries ago, but Taehyung could recall faultlessly the form he had requested for such fate, “I asked him to bite me, to transform me,” he explained further.

Stupefied, you raised your eyebrows, “Why did you do that?”

Vanity, Taehyung mentally responded. One of the many sins condemned by the church during the fourteenth century; the peccability that anathematized his soul for eternity. Forasmuch as he had always acknowledged and dove into his privilege — of being born into the richest family of the local village �� and ethereal looks, he feared that the damnation of the Black Plague was the last drop he needed to understand how evanescent his life was.

Taehyung had been target of countless courteous compliments when he was a young human and, after that long, soul-wrecking period of darkness and pestilence, the ephemerality of youth and beauty came crashing down on him in a thunderous epiphany: he would lose it all, just like all the dead men and women around him had lost their essence. Matter not the money nor the diversion of his adolescent years, for they all would come to a drastic, merciless ending.

Looking at his own juvenile traces so freakishly portrayed in a messy painting, he found himself below a storm of realization, the veracity of those comments bursting over his head like booming thunder. He had perceived, as his pulchritudinous face stared back at him, that all that was nothing more than mercurial semblance: for cardinal would soon vanish from his perfectly-painted lips; wrinkles would break his face, and childlike eyes would fall into the fatigue of existence. He would age, lose everything he once dwelled in.

He simply could not take such horrific thing.

“Immortality is... tempting,” he explained in simple manners, eyes losing focus as he dove into his own dreamy abstractions. From the form his speech slowed down, you could tell memories started to consume his brain, the despondency of his former times coming back to him. “Especially after you lose your entire family to the Plague. Who wouldn't want to live forever?”  

You took an instant to fully comprehend his words, then added your own point of view, “I can say with certainty it was never my dream,” you contradicted, gaze locked on the painted figure before you; malice seemed to irradiate from the mere gaze of the oil-made image. “I’m sorry about your family.” you made sure to add, even if your feelings were not so genuine.

Turning his figure towards your own, Taehyung found a more comfortable position on that couch, his gaze traveling from the nostalgic artwork to the scorching incandesce of the fireplace, “It's no bother, dear. I stopped grieving centuries back,” he truthfully assured, waving your worries away as he looked back at you — for a second, taken aback by your ethereality yet anew, “Now, we should get you cleaned up. You've made quite a mess.” the man smirked, looking down at the tinge of dahlia that oh so perfectly reflected the warmth of the fire.

“I don’t really mind,” you shamelessly confessed, irises flickering into interest as you met his ever so concupiscent stare. Taehyung looked at your as if he was about to consume your body, and you were not exactly bothered by it, “Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't seem like you truly want me to do such thing.” you dared to comment.

A low chuckle fell from his curled lips, “I must say I would not rush it,” Taehyung concurred, “Come closer,” he induced, placing one of his hands on your waist. If your heart still beated, it would have quickened at the spontaneous prospect that emerged inside your nebulous brain — Taehyung was leaning in. “Let me have a taste, love.”

Instead of what you had presupposed, his lips featherly met the delicate skin of your neck before sucking on it lightly. Taehyung first kissed his descent into the extension of your clavicles, then came back up to dwell in the sensationalistic sapidity of his so craved meal. Almost timidly, his tongue jubilated at the blood that adorned your physique, savoring its luscious taste as a low, satisfied moan dripped from his throat.

Sooner than you would like, his touch departed from your body, “Marvelous,” he complimented as he leaned back, mouth now stained by the liveliest of carmines. The spectral, greyish skin beneath his fingertips might have not exposed your allurement, but your blown out pupils did it flawlessly. Although, he was not any different, “Simply marvelous.” he repeated, hypnotized.

Parted lips hung slightly open as you fluttered your eyes shut, experiencing the sensation of his hands as they slowly contoured the droplets and lines of blood that ran down your flesh, “Thought you had more control when it came to blood,” you teased.

“I wasn’t commenting on the blood,” the man whispered underneath his breath, gaze lost in the profound ruby that contoured your features with such breathtaking impeccability; the winsomeness of his companion in coalescence with the idealism of the vital red fluid. The metallic redolence of such craved liquid had now completely overpowered his conduct, causing for him to come dangerously nearer to the petite contours of your ensanguined mouth, “Come here, my dear,” he requested once again, now with distinct intentions.

From the very instant your lips met, you were certain that his kiss was like tasting death at the tip of your tongue, the sourful honey that involved your like the melancholic melody of a solitary siren. It was an harmony that induced for your to land your palms on his broad chest, pushing him against the silky couch as you dared to move nearer — craving for more — embracing every hum and sigh that resonated in between your bodies.

The prurience that emanated from him was as atypical as that amaranthine dawn, astringent and pungent as the fantastic palatableness that lingered in your lips. With a imperceptible sigh, his hands drew around your curves as you gingerly placed your weight on top of his lap, legs straddling his thighs as the kiss deepened even further.

Taehyung grunted the very instant their tongues met, the heavenly, ambrosial taste of blood poisoning his senses and igniting his instincts into absolute ecstasy. He kissed you with the same lasciviousness you presented him, held to your hips with the force of someone who feared their beloved would disintegrate in any given second. The two of you were moved solely by a mixture of lust and hunger, lost amidst the ebullience originated by the thrill of the hunt — mortals could never understand how phenomenal it was the delirium fundamented by the magnificent, incarnadine liquid, the form it sent their minds into complete, feverish mania.

In a single act, his hands flew to your waist, pulling your body hard against his torso. The movement was saturated by sheer devotion, the famishment to savor more of such paradisiacal liquid only causing for him to move faster. Not long after, his fingers were already working their way to undo the zipper of your dress, harshly pulling the fabric down towards your hips.

Enraptured by the magnificence of your caresses, Taehyung leaned away from the messy kiss, plump lips working on the path down your cold neck — the blood was now as gelid as your skin, but still sensational to get a taste of. He hummed and groaned as he kissed, sucked, and licked your flesh; consuming all he could from the fluid, “Just take a look at you, my love,” he muttered after a particularly sharp bite on the curvature of your neck, followed by a deep grunt as you pulled your center against his clothed arousal. “Look at the mess you've made…”

You could not distinguish if his comment was in regards of the luscious fluid, or the effect your red-painted figure was having on his discipline. Your response came bordering on a whisper, timbre filled by the deepest of desire, “Seems like you're already cleaning it,” you observed, hearing the throaty moan that vibrated against your body; Taehyung’s lips zestfully working on your naked chest. “Is your self control gone as well?”

“How could it not be?” he inquired, not expecting an answer from your part. With a gentle bite, his mouth navigated around one of your breasts as the other was squeezed by his hand; the softness of your flesh causing for him to moan in complete delight, “You're driving me insane, my dear...” the man groggily spoke out.

It was the blood, he observed, the lascivious crimson that enchanted him to need to have you more than anything else. Taehyung might have been older than you, but some primordial compulsions could never subside enough for him to fully ignore: consonantly to any other member of his species, he needed to feed, was required to drink of the essence of scarlet — and now, it was bathing one of the most beautiful, sumptuous creatures he had ever seen.

He used the palm of his hand to spread the liquid down your exposed chest, using it to massage your breasts before trailing the outlines of your waist with such gorgeous carmine, “Beautiful,” Taehyung murmured, looking down at the masterpiece he had just created, the blank canvas he had painted in the purest of sanguine, “So, so beautiful…” he echoed.

Humming in delectation, you stared down at him, your desire only increasing as you found the absolute lust shimmering within his empyrean traces, “Didn't think you were one to play with your food, Taehyung,” you teased, making sure to pressure your hips against his hardened member — an action that made him grunt in an immediate response.

Taehyung opened his lips to respond, though, as soon as his hooded eyes met your own, needy ones, all the remnants of his self control shattered underneath the exquisiteness of your existence. His fingers left your waist with the same agility his other hand moved to the nape of your neck, guiding you to crash your lips against his once again. Taehyung moaned against your mouth something that resembled the fragmented syllables of your name, cursing mentally as his member made his trousers grow tighter.

You interlaced your fingers in his silky strands of hair, moaning against his mouth as you felt his hands moving downwards, hastily playing with the fabric of your dress, but never once removing it, “Don't you dare rip it,” you warned against his swollen lips.

Taehyung chuckled in diversion, “You read my mind,” he shamelessly admitted, then removed hands from the piece of clothing. Before his consequent words collapsed on the tip of his tongue, the man took his time to kiss your profoundly, groaning as blood danced in their mouths, “Take it off for me, dear,” requested your companion as he suavely pulled away from your scarlet lips.

Consenting to his request, you stood up before the couch, silhouette so magnetizing that completely overtook the luminescence of the burning fireplace behind it. The absence of your aura was smoothened by the astonishing spectacle you gifted him — the form your slender fingers curled around the piece of clothing, sliding down your legs before it met the polished wooden ground; your chest covered by the same traces of blood that accumulated at the corners of your mouth turning your image into one of the most splendiferous works of art Taehyung had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Your beauty was as overwhelming as he expected, your naked body so lascivious that the man could not hold back from removing his own trousers — eyes never leaving your figure — and delicately placing his palm above his member, only covered by the thin cotton of his underwear. Although, as soon as you removed your own intimate pieces of clothing, Taehyung moaned out in sheer delight; pressing down on his erection in a faint attempt to contain his desire.

More than the aphrodisiac sight, he could smell the saporous redolence of your dripping core, and the scent only increased in force once you sat back down on his lap. The sacchariferous aroma of your nectar was erasing all traces of his sanity, presenting him with the lusciousness of your figure yet again, “Let me feel you, love,” the man verbalized in what resembled a supplication, joyous at the manner you ever so promptly agreed to his appeal — raising your hips just enough so one of his hands could slip in the humble space between their figures.

A throaty, guttural groan resounded throughout the room as his digits dwelled in your arousal, experiencing just how ready you were for him, “Dear, you are absolutely soaked,” Taehyung purred, long fingers trailing the wet pathway from your clit to your entrance, “How do you expect me to hold back when you provoke me like this?” he inquired.

You perked up your hips as his fingertips unhurriedly entered your center, a small sigh escaping your crimson lips, “I don't,” you breathed out, leaning your head to the side to place a small peck on his bloody mouth, “I need to have you.” you confessed.

Anticipation was poisoning his perception, the absolute craving for your figure taking over his most logical senses, “You have me,” he responded in a drunken mumble, eyes falling shut as your delicate hands found the hem of his underclothing, “Love, I need to feel you before I go crazy.”

Those words, as transparent as they might have sounded, were what you necessitated to perish into your desire. Volcanically, the need to have him inside of your erupted in the form of a motion that pushed your forwards, sending your to collide your mouth against his once again; this instance moaning his name against his blood-stained lips as you leisurely rolled your lips against his rigid member.

Taehyung hissed against the kiss as you finally pulled the item of clothing away from him — a sound that soon crumbled into a long whine of desperation as your slender fingers curled around its shaft, teasing its way towards your wet center, “Love, don't make me beg for it,”  what was intended to be a warning transfigured into a weak request halfway through your figures, the hoarse voice of a man that could no longer take the prolongation of his craving, “I want you to take me.” he helplessly spoke out.

A faint, debilitated whimper exuded from his chest as you moved down on his member, his hands flying to find shelter on your hips as your walls clenched around him. Groaning in overwhelming satisfaction, his eyes fell shut as he leaned his head against the seat in the purest of felicity, “That’s right, love,” praised Taehyung, slowly thrusting upwards in a inaudible imploration for you to move, “Take all of me, just like that…” he trailed off.

You then started to move your hips against his; rolling, rising and falling. Taehyung dwelled in the symphonious rhythm of your constant sounds, those being the most melodious notes to ever grace his ears. Ecstasy took over your bodies as you moved on top of him, causing for the man to start raising his own center against yours in a faint attempt to reach even further inside your core, “You feel so perfect, love...” Taehyung gasped, fingers digging to your waist while you moved up and down in an hypnotizing pace.

You pushed him towards the boundaries of delirium, thrusts slowing down as the pleasure increased inside of him, following the progression of a bittersweet ballad. The man wanted to prologue that ravishment for as long as he possibly could, feeling the extraordinary way your walls clenched around him until he could no longer endure it; until his lungs gave out and he had lost all energy to keep moving forward.

You cried out his name, fingers digging to the skin of his shoulders as you attempted to find your relief. Taehyung felt oh so delicious, hitting all the pleasurable places and calling for your name in empty, constant worships. His touches, ever so frequent, explored the path from the bouncing of your red-painted breasts to the curves of your ensanguined hips; greedy to glorify every place at the same instant.

Taehyung thrusted up and down with absolute concupiscence, moaning and grunting next to your ear in a way that it bordered on the primal. He licked the path of blood down the curvature of your neck, biting softly on your flesh as his movements made your entire body shake in lust. His gaze fell to the movement of your chest and to the rhythm of your hips, dancing oh so palatably to the sound of your intertwined moans. From your bloody lips, resounded whines and cries, swimming in ecstasy as you felt your orgasm approaching; those sounds pulling him towards absolute hysteria.

“Dear, you'll make me go insane,” the man moaned out, delighting in the ferruginous scent that invaded his nostrils. The overwhelming sensation of your insides clenching around him made him lose his trail of thought and, with that, the remnants of his composure. “Hell, you feel j-just perfect…”

The roughness of his actions made your whine out in delectation, perking up your ass as he reached even deeper within your core. It was all becoming too much for your to follow, and the flavour of blood lingering on your bruised lips only induced for your to succumb even more into lust. The liquid felt as if it was everywhere and nowhere at all, consuming the remnants of your spirit as you moaned out in sheer pleasure, “Taehyung, please—” you cried out, fingers digging to the pale skin of his broad, tense shoulders. “Yes, please, don't stop—”

He groaned as your walls grew tight and pulsated around him, signaling your approaching release, “Are you close, dear?” Taehyung questioned, his voice barely a broken whisper next to your ear. He too was not far away from his apex, sensing it as it tingled just at the base of his spine.  

After a prolonged moan, your response came out in a air-deprived storm of pants and whimpers, “Y-Yes...” you answered, completely overtook by the heaven of his touches, the manner you felt so deliciously full of him.

“I want you to come all around me, love” the man practically commanded, his own climax starring to show its signs. God, he wished he could never stop, that he could feel that marvelous sensation through his never ending days. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes—” you whined, the pressure in your lower abdomen already unbearable. “Don't stop, please—”

A long, deep groan reverberated on his chest as Taehyung threw his head back in absolute bliss, “I won't,” he breathlessly assured. His very tone was bordering on the orgasmic, utterly filled by libidinousness, “Come for me, l-love, I want to see you.” he requested again.

And, so, you did.

The pleasure that took over your was feverish, ecstatic; pumping through your veins and you called out his name in stammering, incoherent pleas. Beneath you, Taehyung panted and groaned; his heavy breaths echoing around the heated environment as he thrusted up inside your heat, lips parted open as successive, desperate moans fell from his mouth. you felt too good to be true, far too stupendous for him to control himself. It was all too much — too euphoric — for any of you to endure.

“So... beautiful,” he acclaimed amidst fatigued breaths, holding tightly to the flesh of your hips. The man continued to thrust upwards, his member throbbing inside your heat as he slowly reached for his so craved climax, “All of you… for m-me…” Taehyung moaned out, looking at the cherubic forms of your figure as if it was all part of a spasmodic, preposterous reverie.

“T-Taehyung,” you whimpered, nails digging on his shoulder blades. Oversensibility was starting to show its signs, causing for your to flinch a bit as his harsh movements increased in speed, “It's too much—” you averted, vacillating.

He gasped, experiencing the delightful sensation of your clenching and pulsing around him, “I know, dear, I’m close—” Taehyung moaned out, interrupting his own sentence with a long whimper. Your name dripped from his lips in never incessant, languorous prayers, echoing again and again as he grew dangerously closer to his peak, “Oh, fuck—” he whined.

Soon, he too came undone.

Skin against skin, chest pressed against chest. Taehyung found his release as his swollen lips crashed anew against your on; his messy, erotic kiss muffling the honey-like moans and whimpers that dripped from his mouth. Finding support on the curvature of your waist, the man rolled up his hips a few more times in absolute ecstasy, disunited syllables fluctuating in between your faces in what resembled fragments of your name. At the same pace his stamina decreased, he decelerated his actions back into stillness, holding to your body as if it was his own version of redemption.

With a trembling sigh, Taehyung placed his forehead against your own, taking a few seconds to dwell in what had just occurred. It all seemed simply quixotic, merely a fantasious delusion he was living in, ready to wake up from once the aureate rays of the morning sun signaled the start of the new day — although, as such imagery did not come, he decided to open his eyes meet your stare, wondering if you were as overwhelmed as he was.

God, were you breathtaking. From the rise and fall of your fatigued breaths to the ethereal way your cheeks were still nebulously painted in dim vermillion, Taehyung could no longer hold himself back from smiling under the exuberance of your silhouette; submerging profoundly inside the expanse of your sagacious gaze, “My dear, we might have gotten a bit… carried away,” teased the older being, voice hoarse.

“Just a little,” you acknowledged with a small, diverted chuckle. The tenderness of his embrace was comparable to the calmness after a merciless storm; a vernal breeze amidst the icy claws of winter.  Neither of them thought too much about the unforeseen twist at the end of their night, but they could not claim they despised it, “I believe this marks the end of our lesson,” you weakly spoke out after a second of silence, causing for his experienced eyes to meet the sempiternity of your own vague stare.

Smoothly, he removed one strand of hair away from your face, using the opportunity to then place his hand at the base of your neck, “Oh no, my love,” Taehyung denied, the smoothness of his voice as predominant as ever. From below your figure, his claims waltzed in the warmth of the now motionless atmosphere, a heat that could never infiltrate your bodies again, “That was only the first class.” he contradicted.

You elevated one eyebrow in unquestionable interest, gaze crumbling to his sanguine-stained lips, “I look forward to it, then,” you verbalized your position and, in the form his eyes shone in blazing amber, you were sure he had understood the hidden meaning behind those simple words. “I believe there is still a lot left for me to learn.”

With a deep chuckle, Taehyung concurred as he took one of his palms to your cheek, caressing the place with tender fascination, “I agree,” the man purred, moving closer to your bloody lips. Now, however, it was not solely the sensation of the red liquid that invaded his mind, but the enthralling dance of your mouth against his own — the never ending possibilities only immortality could provide the two of you. “And oh, dear, how entertaining will they be.”

[nervouscreatordreamercowboy]

Cracks

Cracks

It started with her fingers: the skin dried out as the cold months settled in and the costumes came out. If left untreated the patches would begin to crack open until crimson peaked through the gaps. The scabs spread up her arms, on the soles of her feet, into her scalp until the bleeding kept her from school for days. Her mother used to warn her each night before bed, “take care of your hands, they’re your God-given tools to take care of those around you. You must never let them crack, understand?” The question was left hanging in the air to haunt Paisley’s thoughts until sleep would finally relieve her. Superstitions were not uncommon in Meriden, but the belief in cracked skin was one that seemed to appear in the Hudson’s family alone.

Paisley had grown up on her Grandfather’s knee, pestering him with countless questions while he retold the story of their cursed bloodline. Deep down she knew he was exaggerating, by then she was big enough to phane the innocence and curiosity that used to linger on her mind. Her Grandfather would play up the great “horrors” their old relatives possessed, the most frequent being cracked skin that hid the truth beneath. Paisley drew those stories, reinventing the villains as misinterpreted beauties. Her Mother even bought her a book of geodes as a comparison to the hidden layer beneath their skin. Paisley often caught herself dreaming of these creatures, wondering what magnificence had been smothered by human’s irrational fears.

“Remember, princess,” he would always begin, “it’s only a fairytale. No one could ever be such a monster, not now not ever. Do you understand pumpkin?” She’d squeal as he tickled an answer out of her, laughing along with his granddaughter until their sides ached.

“What if there were a monster?” She’d manage once the game had ended and her imagination got the best of her tongue.

Her Grandfather considered the idea for a moment, then released a long sigh. “If there ever were another,” his twinkling eyes darkened with his words, goosebumps raced up Paisley's arms at the sudden change in tone. “If there ever were another beast,” he began again, steadier this time. “I would take my shotgun off the wall, hold it up to him,” his frail arms lifted into position as if with their own intentions. His limbs shook with the effort it took to hold them steady, fingers poised on an invisible trigger as he slowly continued, “and say ‘you got no place with us, and we ain’t afraid of you!’” With a tremendous shout, her Grandfather’s body shook with unseen fury as he fired the gun.

It took a moment for Paisley to realize that the tears welling in her eyes had slipped down her cheeks. Her stomach twisted, threatening to return her breakfast up onto the bearskin rug beneath them. Sliding off her Grandfather’s knee, she scrambled to the bathroom down the hall and promptly vomited. They didn’t go back to her Grandfather’s for the rest of the summer.

The trees had a mind of their own, bowing low in the wind and snapping back upright as the thunder rumbled solemnly in the darkening sky overhead. Paisley shivered, tugging her rain jacket tighter around her shoulders as she jogged to catch up with the others before the downpour could separate them completely. Katherine glanced back, dropping into a slow walk to join Paisley.

“You don’t have to come with us, you know.” Her perfect curls hung soaked in the rain, mascara stained her pink cheeks. “The cars are still unlocked if you want to turn around.”

Paisley considered the girl for a moment. It had only taken a single night for the girl to decide that perhaps the freak in the back of the classroom could be worthwhile, a bit of last minute fun before senior year drove her friends halfway across the country in search of overpriced schools and cramped living quarters. The invitation to join them had been simple, although Paisley wasn’t overly fond of the idea of passing notes in class, it would have been a crime to turn down Katherine White. The details of the excursion had been left unshared, not that Paisley minded. But finding herself tucked in Meriden’s most unpleasant hiking trail whilst stumbling through the freezing rain sometime after two am was not what she had in mind.

“I don’t want to turn around,” she managed through clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

A flash of disapproval smeared over Katherine's features. Her red lips curled into a sneer, but before the words could top off her look, Michael called from up ahead, dragging her attention back to the group. “Where here!” His voice was a muffled shout through the sheets of rain.

“Fantastic!” Katherine chided back, grabbing hold of Paisley’s jacket as the faint outline of a cabin came into view. “Just try not to mess up too much,” she added as the pair reunited with the others on the steps of the house.

Michael tried the door handle, swearing as the lock refused to budge. Taking a slow step back, he surveyed the shattered windows and molding siding for a new entrance. Paisley felt Katherine’s grip tighten, “didn’t you mention a cellar entrance last time we were here, babe? Maybe one of us could go check it out.”

He considered the option a moment, pushing past annoyed couples to scan the side of the rotting building. “It could work,” he finally admitted, “but I don’t think the gap is big enough for any of us to get through.”

“Paisley is small enough,” the blonde beamed with delight, ushering their newest recruit down the steps. “It’s just to the right, the doors shouldn’t be too much of a squeeze for you. Once you’re inside just unlock the door for us and we’ll be ready to get this party going.”

Paisley kept her mouth shut as she trekked through the slick mud to the cellar doors. A rusted padlock hung on the handles, and one of the faded white doors had caved in at the base. Tentatively Paisley applied pressure to the weakened boards with her boot, easing her weight on until a satisfying snap sent more wood chips tumbling down the stone steps into the black room below.

“Any day now!” Katherine’s voice floated through the storm, pushing Paisley to reluctantly slide into the narrow gap.

The passage down was slick with fresh downpour, and the musty smell of aged memories invaded Paisley’s senses until she could hardly breathe. A quick try at the lights confirmed her suspicions that the home had been alone for quite some time now. Each creak of the wooden supports overhead reminded her of the grieving cries of an abandoned child, left alone in the woods to crumble apart.

Reaching into the depths of her jacket pockets, Paisley retrieved the flashlight Michael had lent her back at the parking lot. Flicking the switch, the damp room revealed its secrets, which mostly consisted of molding sitting chairs and forgotten dinner platters. Following the stairway leading up, Paisley let herself into the living space and promptly unlocked the door.

Michael swaggered into the room, arms open as he breathed in the smell of the cabin. Turning to the group, he grinned. “So, who’s up for a game of truth or dare?”

Paisley picked at the frayed end of the blanket as the teenagers giggled around her. The game had been dragged out an unnecessarily long time after Cindy and Ryan had decided that their dare was better off done away from the others, leaving Katherine, Michael, and Paisley to listen to the rain until it became apparent that the pair would not be rejoining them for quite some time.

“Alright then,” Michael sighed, taking a swig from one of the brown bottles Ryan had insisted on bringing, “truth or dare, Katherine?”

Katherine threw her head back in thought, sending a wave of golden curls down her nearly bare back. “I think I’ll go with truth this time,” she shared a wink with her boyfriend, “sorry to disappoint.”

Paisley felt her dinner threaten to find its own way out of her body.

“Tell us about your Dad.” He chuckled over his drink, “I don’t believe you’ve shared that yet.”

The color faded from the girl’s cheeks, her fingers dug into the blanket as she shook her head. “No, are you insane, Michael?”

“Aw baby, don’t be like that.” Michael frowned, “it’s just part of the game. Why do you have to be such a-”

Katherine held up a perfectly manicured hand, wrapping the other around herself as she stood. “Don’t call me that. I’m going back to the car.” All grace evaporated from her walk, Katherine managed to the door before facing them once again. “Can I have the keys, Michael?”

“Not until you give us the truth.” He snarled back, his rancid breath hitting Paisley like the heat of a roaring fire: unpredictable and dangerous. Katherine’s frame shrank at the sound of his voice, lowering to the base of the door until she sat shivering on the floor.

“I have a secret.” Paisley mustered, her hands trembled against her ruined jeans. She cast Katherine a hopeful look, sent a silent prayer that the girl wouldn’t tell the world, and lifted her cracked hands to her face.

She’d only managed the trick once in the seventh grade when her Mother wanted to prove a point to their pastor, and even then scars lined where the skin had broken. Paisley reminded herself of the worn book of geodes on her desk, imagined the beautiful crystals hidden beneath layers of grey rock, and dug her nails into the dry patches of her scalp. The skin beneath her fingers began to peel away, pulling strings of mucus along with it. Pink flesh curled back to reveal slick darkness beneath, green eyes blinked away the slime to peer at the screaming boy beside her. It felt incredible to be free again, even if only for a moment.

When Ryan and Cindy came rushing down the stairs, pulling their sneakers and jackets back on, Paisley was at the door escorting Katherine down the stairs saying something about leaving her phone in the car. Michael stared at the door as it shut, mouth agape as he attempted to form words that would never be believed.

As Paisley wrapped her jacket around her new friend, Katherine couldn’t help but wonder what she’d tell her parents when Michael McClain came pounding on their door claiming that he’d seen a demon, when all she’d seen was a new friend.

[ghoulboyboos]

fic prompt: magic shenanigans. do with that what you will. could be a crack-ish fic, if you so please!

Okay I wasn’t sure where to go with this but I havenever written a Hogwarts AU before so I hope it’s okay. (They’rethe same age here because otherwise you never interact in thisschool, it seems.)

Ryan stares at the page and tries to recall if he hadalready added the worms wart or not. A double dose would probablydestroy his cauldron and he just bought a new one.

Hesheepishly glances at his classmates. Potions classes weren’t tooterrible for Hufflepuffs, because thanks to Professor Sprout, theyknew at least half the ingredients they work with. Still, it doesn’thelp that his mind is somewhere else. He’s thinking about theupcoming Quidditch game and about the Christmas party and … well.Ryan looks up.

The boynext to him is frowning at his cauldron which has started to spit outorange and green bubbles. Ryan suppresses a snort. Shane has been hisbest friend since they met in first year in the Hogwarts Express andstarted chatting excitedly about what was waiting ahead. Ryan haddescribed himself “half-and-half”, meaning one of his parents wasa muggle and Shane had cheerily stated that the only other magicalperson in his family is his grandmother who had basically thanked allheavens because Shane’s siblings were muggles and she had thoughtshe would never have a grandchild that went to Hogwarts.

Eventhough they ended up in different houses, they spent a lot of timewith one another. After the second wizard war, the houses had sortof… melded together a bit. There was still some good naturedrivalry between them, but the hostility had faded under the terror ofwhat these splits could cause. Shane loved to hang out in theHufflepuff common room, mostly because he hated to take the stars allthe way up to the Ravenclaw tower. But one evening, when he had beenhalf asleep, he had whispered that the main reason why he liked tohang out there was, that it felt very much like Ryan’s home. And heloved to spend time with Ryan.

TheHufflepuff boy had tried not to think too much about it. Year six wastough, there was a lot to learn, a lot to prepare for and a lot ofnew subjects. He really tried to focus. And yet…

“Shane?”

Shanelooks up from his cauldron. He has poured the Unicorn milk in thereand the potion is a bit too thick compared to the goal, but at leastthe bubbles have stopped.

“Doyou remember if I put the worm wart in this?”

“Uh.I didn’t pay attention.”

“Shit,neither did I.”

Shanechuckles. Then, he pauses and his face lights up. Ryan can basicallysee an idea pop into his head.

“What?”

Shanewinks at him – which always makes Ryan kind of fluttery – andtake his hand. Ryan is about to protest when Shane brings up hisfingers and sniffs them. It’s so weird that Ryan is just…standing there, kind of frozen as he stares at Shane.

“Youdid.”

“Wh-how?”

“Wormwart stinks to high heaven. I never get that off of my fingers.”

“Oh.”

Ryanstares at his hand after Shane let it go.

“Thankyou.”

“Noproblem.”

Shanegrins and drops the elderberry in, mutters something – Ryanrealizes it’s not a spell, it’s just Shane saying “Please forthe love of Peeve’s stupid hat let this work.” - and spits in thebrew.

Thesmell of mint spreads around them and Shane punches both hands to theceiling in silent celebration. Ryan golf-claps, trying to hold hisbright smile back.

-

“HeyRyan?” Shane asks one evening over a match of wizard chess.

“Hm?”Ryan nudges his pawn to smash Shane’s knight into pieces. Shaneisn’t paying attention, clearly.

“Doyou want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Ryanglances up.

“Sure?What did you have in mind?”

Shanesmiles.

“It’sa surprise.”

-

Hogsmeadeis cold and snowed in but beautiful. Ryan is laughing as Shane shovesa long, way-too-colorful hat over his ears and lets the pompom on topbounce. He looks ridiculous and Ryan’s face feels oddly warm.

Theygrab a butterbeer each and wander around the village afterwards.Somewhere between the center and the outskirts, Shane has snuck hishis hand into Ryan’s and Ryan has pointedly ignored any chance tocomment on it.

Shanehasn’t yet let up what the surprise is and Ryan is getting a littlenervous. But Shane is humming a Christmas song and holding his hand,so he feels like he can “endure” the situation a little longer.

Finally,on top of a small hill, Shane stops.

Ryanlooks around. All he can spot is a field. Far away, almost near thehorizon he can see the outlines of the Shrieking Shack. He exhales asShane pulls his hand away, willing himself not to be toodisappointed. His breath billows out in a cloud in front of his mouthand Ryan can’t look over at Shane, because he’s afraid of what iscoming.

MaybeShane has figured out what Ryan is feeling and wants to let him downgently. Maybe he wants to tell Ryan that they can’t hang out overChristmas. With Ryan’s parents working in the USA, Ryan usuallyspends Christmas at Hogwarts. Shane alternates between spending it athome and at Hogwarts. When Ryan had asked why, Shane had shrugged andsaid he wanted to spend it with his friends sometimes. He hasn’tgone home last year. Maybe he is going to tell Ryan that he will gohome this year, instead.

“Ryan?You in there?”

Ryanblinks and looks over at Shane. His face is a little too close and hecan see the slight freckles around Shane’s nose. His Ravenclawscarf almost hides his mouth completely, but Ryan just sort of knowsthat he’s smiling.

“Yeah,sorry. I was thinking of the holidays.”

“It’sgonna be fun! I asked for a new wizard’s chess! We can play allthrough till New Years.”

Ryanlaughs.

“Allthat practice still won’t get you to beat me.”

Shanesticks out his tongue, but he’s grinning.

“So Istill got that surprise.”

“Okay.”Ryan takes a deep breath, preparing. “What is it?”

Shanewinks at him and pulls his wand from his sleeve.

Ryanfrowns at Shane widens his stance and points the wand at the openfield. His eyes stay on Ryan for some reason and Ryan feels a littlenervous.

“Shane…?”

Shanelicks his lips for a moment and then grins at Ryan widely.

“ExpectoPatronum!”

Hethrusts his wand forward and despite the bright sunlight and thesnow, Ryan can see the silver thingburst out of the tip of the wand and rush out into the field. It’sa small creature and Ryan catches the sight of four legs and floppyears before it bounds off. He’s staring, open mouthed.

“You-You did it!”

Hisvoice jumps a bit as he turns to Shane with wide eyes and his armsthrown wide.

“Youcracked it! You created a patronus!”

Shaneis grinning widely. His cheeks are dusted pink and he turns to Ryanand before Ryan knows what’s happening, he is wrapped in a hug. Ohwell. He won’t complain.

Hesqueezes Shane back and they pull away again. Shane looks a littlesheepish.

“Iwanted to show you first because… well… You kind of, helped me.”

“Helpedyou?”

Shanelooks out on the field. His patronus finished the dash across thefield and is running back. Ryan glances at it…

Andnearly falls over.

Asmall, excited dachshund is bounding towards them. He is silver andsee-through, but there are still the hints of marks on its back andhead. Ryan is looking at the patronus-version of his family dog,Micki.

“Whatthe-”

Thedog stops in front of him, jumps once, twice against his leg and Ryanfeels the barest brush of air when it does. The dog yips and itsounds faint and echo-y and then it disperses.

Ryanlooks up.

Shane’seyes are trained on his face and his best friend looks apprehensiveand… almost scared.

“Shane...”Ryan starts carefully. “Why… Why is Micki your patronus?”

Shaneswallows visibly.

“Because...”He starts carefully. “Because thinking of you is my happiestpossible thought.”

“Oh.”Ryan says, understanding.

Hecan see Shane’s shoulders droop as his friend lowers his gaze tothe ground.

“Yeah.So… I guess, I wanted you to know.”

Ryanfeels his heart beat fast as he steps closer. He cups Shane’s facein his hands and tilts it up a little so he can look up into it.Shane is so stupidly tall, but right now, he doesn’t care.

“Thankyou.” He says, because he doesn’t know what else to say and thenhe kisses Shane.

Theystand together for a while, fresh snow falling around them. Ryanholds Shane’s hand, their fingers entangled and the other hand onthe back of Shane’s neck. His stomach feels like a whole collectionof Weasley Fireworks is going off inside and his feet are gettingcold and Ryan feels better than he has all year.

Fuck.Now he has to practice his patronus. Shane clearly won’t let uptill Micki has Dori to run around with. Oh well.

Thereare worse goals.