#hopefully this is mild enough to not be and issue

[wyrdle]

[AI Clavell has initiated battle.]

An au based on @derpyfangirl AI Clavell AU and @k-chips art, where Clavell sticks around in Area Zero on behalf of the profs. Unfortunately the -raidon incident happens, and AI Clavell is unaware of the Paradise Protection Protocol the profs have placed. AKA, they’re watching the artificial replica of their friend be warped by a system of their own design I guess.

I wanted to play around with animating bits of the comic lol. Good fun! More horror vibes.

[paradoxiii]

I really hate how when I have a headache, it's hard to tell what exactly I need to do to get rid of it. Ibuprofen helps about 70% of the time so I don't usually take acetaminophen, but half the time I take the latter it does work.

And I usually try to make sure to drink more when I get headaches but it doesn't feel like it helps.

[pressureplus]

Various Dating Sebastian Solace Headcannons

Warnings: Mild Suggestive Content, Intersex Sebastian

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He loves to kiss you more than anything, loves to be loved honestly

Please touch him, he hasn’t been touched in so long

He’s got a fascination with scars, any old scars that you let him see he will absolutely trace with his fingers

Mildly obsessive, 100% possessive, he doesn’t really like the idea of sharing you or letting other people flirt with you

Insecurity is the root of it mostly, who would choose a massive fish monster over any average human? Let alone an attractive one.

He tries to make light of his insecurities with jokes but know that he is genuinely concerned he isn’t attractive enough for you. He plays it up like he thinks he’s the hottest man alive…

He doesn’t.

Very playful and makes tons of jokes about lots of things, dark humor to cope included

Once asked if you were a monster fucker, leaned in real close so you could look into his eyes properly

Grinned because he already knew the answer

He doesn’t like being flirted with by other people unless this means he’s getting something out of them, flirting to get more data is not above him

He knows some of the sick freaks down here look at him funny, and though he doesn’t know why, he wont stop them if it gets him something he needs

Never be scared of him leaving you, he’s got attachment issues and trust issues. You’re practically half his heart.

You better be able to handle being pawed at. Maybe not a ton but he likes to grab at thigh, chest, hip, anywhere that has the most meat. He’s got favorites depending on exactly how you’re built

If you’re on the thin side, he wants to squeeze your hips or waist to feel like he’s got a firm grip on you

If you’re on the average side, he prefers anywhere he can see the most pudge, stomach included

If you’re on the chubby side, he absolutely loves your thighs as it’s the easiest thing to grab for

He only squeezes and bites you when he’s fully comfortable, and would be happy to accept the same

Leave marks. He’d like that.

He doesn’t grab things off shelves for you unless he’s in a hurry or in front of other people

He prefers to pick you up and lift you to whatever you’re trying to grab…he has a habit of not letting you go after though so be careful

He does have a sex drive, he’s just not super open about it…again, insecurities

He doesn’t exactly have a human dick anymore you know

He’s got female anglerfish DNA too…so he also has pussy just cuz I feel like he should.

Yes he struggles with the idea of you being disgusted by that, he had some body issues for a while over it too

Honestly thinks you’d be disgusted with him if you wanted to sleep with him, so he’ll never bring it up and he’ll be nervously avoidant about the topic

Plus, he’s practically twice your size! That probably wouldn’t be fun for you at all anyway

All in all, insecure but loyal and quietly loving. He’s still rude and honestly? Most people would probably tell you to leave that guy. Definitely not the brand of man you wanna bring home to mama

But he’s in love with you. Genuinely. Hopefully that’s all you need from him

[gotham-adrenaline]

Can I make a request

Plsssss I never get picked can you do a

Tim Drake x reader where the reader is a girl and she lives with Tim in their own apartment and that she just came home from getting her hair done and it’s this awesome Red Robin streaked patterned in her hair and she surprises Tim plsssssssssss I never get pic for requests 😩😢😩😢😩😢

I gotchu babes- I got way too into my feels during this so the fluff may be so thick it'll choke you, but hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Tim Drake x fem! reader

Word count: 1900

Warnings: None really, mentions of fear toxin and Tim's specific brand of issues, and also near-lethal levels of fluff

So maybe it was a little silly to be nervous, considering the situation. Or a lot silly. Either way, acknowledging the ridiculousness of your current feelings didn’t make them actually go away, much to your disappointment.

You just really wanted him to like it. You wanted him to understand like he always did. 

When you told Tim you were going to get your hair done this afternoon, he didn’t seem surprised, likely because you had told him you were considering getting a new style almost a month ago when you first got the idea. 

Stepping into the elevator, you made a mental note to send the salon a muffin basket at some point this week. The tip you left was fairly large, definitely larger than the standard amount people give, but most people don’t spend almost an hour making sure the shade of red dye will be absolutely perfect while being unable to explain why it needs to be so specific and why all the photo references are weird and extremely close up. The hair stylists who dealt with you today deserved far more than muffins. 

The black dye was much simpler thankfully. 

Your stylist warned you that the colours would wash out and change over time, which was to be expected really. The particular shade of your hair didn’t need to last forever, just long enough for you to get home. 

Because Tim had an eye for details. He noticed so much and cared enough to store all those tiny facts, and yet he was always surprised when you remembered anything about him, even major things. He was so used to going unseen, even by those close to him, and that wasn’t fair. 

You loved Tim. You loved him, and you noticed him, and you needed him to know that. You needed him to know that saw him and loved him because of that, not despite of it. 

Your reflection stared back at you in the spotless reflection of the elevator doors, black hair with large red streaks running through it hanging loose around your face. 

Yeah, maybe a dye job like this shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but Tim would (hopefully) see the specific shades and understand. You didn’t spend so much time matching the red exactly to his Red Robin suit for no reason, after all. 

Tim “told you” he was Red Robin over 3 years ago now, if you consider telling you as him showing up at your apartment (the one before Tim and you moved in together, a tiny flat in a less-than-ideal neighbourhood of Gotham), bleeding and suffering a mild reaction to fear toxin. He insisted on “guarding you” until Batman (who is apparently Bruce Wayne? Sometimes you truly hate Gotham) showed up half an hour later and found Tim curled up, unconscious, on your coach with you trapped underneath him (for safety reasons, of course). 

When he showed up the next day looking like a kicked puppy, clutching a container of baked goods from Alfred, he seemed genuinely surprised when you steered him inside and back to the coach with a cup of hot chocolate so he could explain while comfortable (“Tim, I saw you less than 12 hours ago, bleeding on my kitchen floor and shaking in fear while trying to protect me from people who weren’t there. Sit down before I make you.”). 

And yeah, sure, maybe it would have been nice to know the guy you’ve been dating for a year was a vigilante who fought criminals and patrolled Gotham every night, but that knowledge could be incredibly dangerous for you, Tim and his whole family. You got it, as much as you could as a civilian, anyhow. This is the same guy who got injected with a new strain of Crane’s drug and immediately became so terrified you were in danger that he ran from his entire family to ensure your safety. You couldn’t argue that he didn’t care enough to tell you about his night job even if you wanted to, not after something like that. 

Even now, you could tell that the obligation of being Red Robin weighed on him, especially recently. He’d been stuck on different missions almost constantly this entire last month and when he finally made it home during the small breaks in between, he was exhausted and usually in pain. Then he’d try to ask you about your day as if his hands weren’t trembling from sleep deprivation. And worse, he’d look guilty when you ushered him into the shower and heated leftover soup for when he got out, apologizing after he nearly fell asleep sitting up at the table as you told him about the new drama at your job. 

As if the world nearly ending at least twice within two weeks was his fault. As if he wanted to be so busy lately, working to his breaking point. As if he hadn’t been trying so desperately to be available for you, insisting on flying straight back to Gotham after a battle instead of resting, calling you almost every night before you went to bed regardless of time zones, asking Alfred to drop off brownies because you mentioned craving them offhandedly in a message the night before. 

As if he hasn’t made sacrifices for you time and time again. 

So yeah, you missed him like hell over this past month, but you also loved him more than enough to compensate for that pain. And Tim showed how much he loved you in return so clearly it almost hurt that he couldn’t see it. He didn’t need to feel guilty that being Red Robin made life difficult recently, that was out of control. Everything that he could have done to be here for you, he did. And you saw that. You saw him. 

The elevator dinged gently, startling you out of your thoughts. Slipping out the doors as they slid open, you dug your keys out of your pocket as you approached the apartment. 

It wasn’t always easy to tell, but Red Robin’s uniform was a different shade of red than Robin’s. While the style of both outfits has changed over time, Tim always kept the colour tones individual. Once, cuddled up with you in a pillow fort you both assembled on the living room floor during a movie night, Tim admitted that it was intentional. That he sometimes still needed the reminder that Red Robin was different, a separate entity from Robin. That he was different. And that those differences could be a good thing. 

So it just wasn’t fair that he felt guilty over something he suffered so much for when it was all for the sake of others. He gave so much to protect people, including you, and still tried to make sure you knew you were loved. 

So maybe matching your hair perfectly to the colours of the Red Robin outfit probably wasn’t the biggest gesture in the world, but it meant something to you, and knowing Tim, he’d understand what you were trying to say. And if he didn’t, well, you’d have to trap him on the coach for another emotional conversation, even if he whined the whole time. 

The front door opened with a click and you pushed inside, hanging your keychain on the hook near the coat rack. Tim’s voice drifted out from the living room, talking with someone on the phone. Admittedly, you were still a bit nervous, but this was Tim, and you loved him. With a measured breath, you walked into the room. 

“-but that’s not how donating works, Damian, and being a Wayne doesn’t mean you can try and steal elephants from the zoo- no, I don’t care that she looked lonely and that they’re Dick’s favourite animal, you could have-” Tim’s mouth clicked shut mid-sentence when he saw you, staring wide-eyed as you enter the doorway. 

“I gotta go, call Dick,” and ignoring the younger boy's annoyed squawks you could hear from the other side of the room, Tim hung up the call. Setting his phone down on the couch, he fluidly rose to his feet and closed the distance between you both in 4 long strides. 

Hovering his hand beside a loose strand of red hanging by your face, he gently wrapped it around his finger and looked down at you, the smallest smile on his face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is gentle, far quieter than it was on the phone a minute ago, as if speaking too loud would break the moment and you’d disappear in his hands. “This is new.”

And of course Tim would ask a question without making it a question, as if you tripped and somehow accidentally got your hair dyed in his colours. 

You hummed, leaning into him further as he fiddled with the bright piece of hair, a smile of your own pushing across your lips. “Yeah. You like it?”

Tucking the lock behind your ear, Tim pulled you even further into his arms, the hug so encompassing you could hear his voice rumbling through his chest. 

“You’re wearing my colours, baby,” He laughed disbelievingly, long fingers carding through your hair, drifting from black to red and then back again. “Yeah. I like it.”

Sighing into his shirt and letting him take some of your weight, your eyes drifted shut, focusing on his steady heartbeat and the pleasant shivers across your skin from his caresses. 

“Hey,” Tim whispered, hand sliding down to cup your cheek and tilt your head to look him in the eye, and he looked so soft right now in a way you haven’t seen recently, too stressed and guilty to indulge in himself like this. “I missed you.”

“I know.” 

Pressing yourself up to meet his lips, you allowed your hand to drift into his own hair, keeping your movements as slow and loving as you could. 

With the life your lover has lived, Tim knows how cheap words could be, so you found yourself trying to show how much you loved him in other ways. With homemade soup and pillow forts and stupidly long hair appointments. But just in case-

Pulling back after only a few seconds, you cradled him close and grinned up at him. “I love you.”

And he got it. Of course he did. Because it’s Tim, who noticed all those tiny details, all the things he could about you, and loved you because of those details and not despite of them. Yeah, he could be blind when it came to people's affection for him, and the stress of recent events only made his mind fixate further on the “what ifs”, on what he sees as his own inadequacies, but even he couldn’t miss this. 

When he kissed you again, he was smiling so wide you both had to pull away far too soon. He pressed his lips to your forehead instead, hiding his grin against you. 

“I love you too,” and then, “Thank you.”

And it’s hard to say what exactly he was saying thank you for. Thank you for supporting him as Red Robin enough to wear his colours, even knowing the teasing you’ll receive from the rest of his family? Thank you for understanding that he missed you, even if he couldn’t come home? Thank you for loving him? 

It didn’t make a difference, in the end. You understood what he meant.

[blackynsupremacy]

THERE’S SOMETHING

ABOUT YOU.

CHAPTER 4

pairing: smallville!clark kent x black!fem!oc

fandom: smallville (2001-2011)

guest starring: aaliyah haughton as lyric james

also starring:

michael rosenbaum as lex luthor

emmanuelle vaugier as dr. helen bryce

rick gonzales as omar reyes

bianca lawson as trina davis

summary: ever since lana lang has moved in with the sullivan’s, clark kent’s nightly telescopic views of the galaxy and daily glimpse of the sunrise tend to get lonelier. that is until a moving truck, a wandering amicable feline, and her frustrated owner, lyric james, makes her debut in his life as her family are the new owners of the old potter house next door. things between the new neighbors start to shift as clark is tasked as her personal tour guide at her new school. one little slip is all it takes for her to learn he’s more than meets the eye in this small town.

taglist: @sabrinasopposite @camiesully @zombigrlll @ellethespaceunicorn @rosiestalez @afrogirl3005 @afrowrites @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl @xoxoglittergossip @hnch33rios @paisholotus

contains: lots of words, friends to neighbors, use of gifs for visuals, tooth rotting fluff, long flashback, really heavy angst, heartbreak, emotional cheating, mention of death, depression, anger, lyric and clark getting closer, mild swearing, cute moments, slow burn, main audience is black readers but everyone is welcome. lyric’s thoughts. clark’s thoughts. chloe’s thoughts.

PLEASE READ: CHAPTER 3

the golden afternoon sunlight shown down on lyric nd clark’s faces as they waited for chloe to arrive. they were outside of the barn and clark wanted to kill time by shooting some hoops while lyric sat on the side to observe. as she saw him jog and dribble the basketball to shoot it perfectly into the net, she realized that clark had a very athletic build. she could see it in his arms, legs, and best of all, his torso and chest. lyric broke her stare and chided herself for such thoughts, but one had to be a fool to not think clark as tall, dark, and handsome by any means. he also had the proficient athletic skills, and almost perfect academic standing, but he never mentioned anything about being on one of smallville high’s several athletic programs. no football, no basketball, not anything. it just seemed like a waste of talent when she saw the ball flawlessly glide through the net once again.

“you sure know how to hoop, clark!” lyric complimented with a slow nod of approval. even though clark was a little exasperated, his smile couldn’t resist the girl’s praises.

“gee, thanks, lyric! i can’t take all of the credit. i learned mostly from pete’s older brothers and they told me it’s all about technique.”

“you never fail to be modest. that’s got me thinkin’— do you play any sports at school? you never mentioned it, but it’s impossible because you got the skill, you got the grades, and you sure as hell have the looks for it!” she enthusiastically hyped, gesturing her hand towards his six foot frame. for some reason, clark’s face got heated. his cheeks flutter with a hue of red. he wasn’t so used to friends of the opposite sex speak so fondly of his appearance. calm down, dude, it’s just a compliment. take it with a grain of salt. he clears his throat and shyly wipes the sweat off his brow with his forearm.

“well, i do want to play football. i’ve tried it once earlier, but things didn’t quite work out with the coach. he had some—anger issues among other shady things that my parents weren’t exactly comfortable with. hopefully, i can give it another shot down the road while we’re still in high school. maybe if i’m good enough, i could make the quarterback spot.”

clark said as he bounced the ball and stepped towards where lyric was standing. he could remember it like it was yesterday. he joined the smallville high crows football team after so many attempts to convince his parents to at least let him try out. they only forbade it due to the risk of clark’s powers being exposed, but he’d figured he’d have a handle on them by now, and it was an activity that made him feel like a normal teen. it was all fun and games until the head coach was caught helping his players cheat on tests, so they could play. when the principal got word of it and set out the proper consequences for the coach, things got heated…literally. clark spared lyric the details because she was already so curious about the wall of weird and the last thing she needed was for her to feel like she wasn’t safe in this supposed quiet small town.

“oh. well, that’s too bad, but when you do, i’ll be rooting for you from the stands! you’d have a pretty good shot at it. i’m more of a basketball fan, but i guess i can make the exception.” they both fill the air with light laughter and their conversation comes to a halt at the sound of a tooting horn. a vibrant, red volkswagen beetle swiftly pulls up in front of the barn. the driver’s side window rolls down to reveal a smiling chloe behind the wheel and pete seated comfortably in the passenger.

“hey, you guys! are you geared up for the most exhilarating studying session of your entire lives?” chloe wittingly questions as pete chuckles and shakes his head before chiming in,

“you can always count on chloe to call a regular old studying session ‘exhilarating’. ”

“hey! in my defense, wherever there’s coffee, i might as well do what i do with caffeine in my veins.”

clark and lyric give each other a knowing glance, a glint of humor within their eyes before they make their way closer to the car. clark leans against the driver side with his arm propped up against the top. his piercing blue eyes meets chloe’s gaze with a charm that she knew too well and loved too much.

“exhilarating, huh? it sounds to me like you’re putting that vocabulary list from english to good use, chloe.” clark commented with a lopsided smirk.

“well, if i’m ever going to make it big at the daily planet as a journalist, i’d better possess some type of flawless vocabulary, clark.” the blonde retorts and leans her head over to the side to spot lyric and greet her.

“hey, lyric! you can hop in and sit in the front with me, so we can have some girl talk on the way to town.”

lyric received the offer with a grin, but shook her head to politely decline. she saw that pete was there first and didn’t want to be rude by putting him out of his seat.

“i appreciate it, chloe, but i don’t wanna take pete—“

“oh, nonsense. he’ll be fine! he can just sit in the back with clark. it’s my car after all.” chloe urges by cutting her green eyes to the boy beside her, signaling him to move to the back. pete doesn’t protest. he gathers his bag and meets with clark in the right backseat as lyric meets with chloe in the passenger seat. the teens all buckle up their seatbelts and chloe pulls off onto the dusty path out of the neighborhood to journey to downtown smallville. during the ride, chloe’s natural inquisitiveness takes over when asking general questions about the new girl next door in her passenger seat. the boys casually sit in the back quietly to observe the conversation.

“so, lyric, where you do hail from?”

“new york. brooklyn, to be exact.”

“ah, another fellow city girl. i’m from metropolis which isn’t too far from smallville, but new york to smallville is quite a stretch. is there a specific reason why?” lyric purses her lips at the question and swallows to easily get past without dwelling too much on the reason.

“my family just wanted a new scene. someplace…quiet and peaceful.” her soft voice drifts as she gazes at the lengthy path of cornfields at the side of the road.

“that’s valid. um, so what do you like to do?”

“nothing too extreme. i like to listen to vinyls, chill with my cat, and i take some pictures here and there.”

“aw, a cat! what’s their name? if my dad didn’t have such a fatal allergy, i’d love to have a furry friend.” chloe enthusiastically coos passing the sign that indicated that they were entering downtown smallville.

“her name is noir. she’s a black cat that looks like she could do no wrong, but it’s a whole ‘nother story. don’t get me wrong, i love her with all my heart, but she’s so damn sneaky sometimes that she’s almost sent me into a nervous breakdown. i’ll say if it weren’t for her, i wouldn’t have met clark though, so i guess there’s a light at the end of that tunnel.” chloe presses further to her details of the day.

pete tuned in as well to hear lyric recount that hectic morning. chloe picked up on lyric’s tone. chloe liked to her the girl beside her talk. her voice was smooth, soft, and gentle like rain to the ear. she can hear the frustration of when lyric discovered that noir was missing in a new area shift to that of ease and resolution when she discovered a well fed and content noir in the arms of the noble farm boy next door. pete turned from lyric’s direction to momentarily glance at clark as she spoke. he witnessed the sky blue pupils of his best friend attentively focus on lyric as if he were hearing this story for the first time. there was a certain positive emotion that rested on his face, he even chimed in his own perspective and a little inside joke causing the duo to dissolve into laughter. pete saw that was usually new. when clark talked to girls, he’d be a bit guarded, but friendly enough, but from what he saw between clark and lyric just now, clark looked to be so at ease, so at liberty.

once the volume of the chatter diminished to a peaceful silence, lyric’s deep, brunette pupils wandered at the sights of the many local owned establishments this quaint city had to offer. there was quite a few people out enjoying the serene, golden afternoon as they strolled with their pets and families on the sidewalk. clark, pete, and chloe were kind enough to point out some key areas that were worth exploring for when lyric was ready to take that new step. they passed an array of shops, boutiques, restaurants, and community centers, but lyric had one burning question.

“these all seem really cool, ya’ll, but does smallville have a music store? i got a whole collection to keep up with at home.” lyric inquires with expectant glance towards the trio. pete immediately knew the answer as he and his family had lived in smallville for ages.

“i know one that’s not too far from here. i think it’s called main street melody. i believe from the talon it’s just down two blocks and it’s a cool place. i’ve been there a couple times for some mixtapes. we should go check it out after we study if you’re up for it.” pete stated scooting his body forward from the backseat to the middle, positioning himself with his elbows on the console between the girls.

“yeah! i’d like to see what they got. i really appreciate that, pete. you’re a real one.” lyric’s eyes locked with his and she flashed a congenial dimpled smile of gratitude to which pete took it with a tingling sensation in his stomach and a bashful grin of his own, his chestnut toned face heated slightly.

“i-it’s, uh, it’s no problem, lyric. i’m glad to be of some help.” he lets out a stammering chuckle and scoots to the backseat. a dazed, delighted look was etched on his face. he didn’t even notice that clark examined him with an arched brow and tilted head. guess i’m not the only one. clark thought to himself. chloe was listening to the conversation unfold, she chuckled after witnessing pete’s reaction to lyric’s natural beauty and charm. for a city girl, she had that small town girl-next-door charisma down to a tee.

“ask her out, why don’t you!” chloe snickered and slowed the car down to precisely parallel park in front of a building. like smallville high, it possessed the color palette of red, gold, and black. it resembled one of those classic movie theaters from the seventies and there was a large, neon sign that displayed the word, TALON, vertically letter-by-letter in gold lettering. lyric found it to be aesthetically pleasing in an old-fashioned sort of way.

“chloe!” the guys whine in sync at chloe’s forwardness, not wanting to be put out there in front of lyric. clark knew that chloe was directly talking to pete, but he still felt like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. lyric chortled, shaking her head and playfully rolling her eyes at chloe as the girls unbuckled their seatbelts.

“come on, chlo’, don’t bug him like that! it probably didn’t mean anything. leave them alone!” she joked and leaned down to grab her belongings and passed over chloe’s bag for her to receive.

chloe shrugged her shoulders, pursing her pink glossed lips.

“i admire your modesty, lyric, but i’ve been around them long enough to know when a guy is completely smitten. you should ask clark when it comes to lana lang.”

clark’s eyes cut to chloe in annoyance with a deadpanned expression. despite chloe trying to humor lyric, there was a hint of envy underneath her lighthearted tone.

“girl, i already know! i mean, lana seems nice and she’s gorgeous, but you are too! who wouldn’t want to be looked at like that? it’s an exciting feeling—it’s an experience to appreciate while you still got it…don’t trip on pete and clark so much. they’re good guys.” she compliments with a glance towards the backseat and proceeds to gather her belongings, exit the car, and wait for the others to follow suit. clark walked passed lyric, chloe, and pete to hold the door open for all of them to enter to the crowded hangout. once she stepped in, lyric was amazed with the turnout of this place. she noticed that the main population were teens and young adults, but there were good bit of older patrons as well. the interior was setup like any lounge of a modern coffee shop with individual tables that were scattered throughout the room. the decor was set to look like the royal palaces and chambers of ancient egypt, the walls and pillars were engraved with hieroglyphics. there were lights that were strung along giving the room such a faint ambient glow. the warmness of the luxurious golds and yellows mingled with the cool, sophisticated regalia of the blues and violets. the talon was so immense that it had a stairway and so much more that lyric wanted to gawk at before chloe grabbed her wrist to leave the boys behind to grab a table and lead her to the counter. it was there where she saw lana lang preparing a drink order by maneuvering the large, chrome coffee machine. when the girls made it to the counter, chloe’s bubbly voice caused lana to stop what she’s doing and welcome them with an award winning smile.

“hey, you guys! lyric, i’m so glad you’ve came. welcome to the talon. so, what do you think of the place so far?” lana questioned with her hands to gesture at the lounge.

“thank you, lana! i love the setup, the theme, and it’s huge! no wonder why it’s so jumpin’ here. it looks like one of those old movie theaters from the outside.” lyric compliments which lana graciously accepted before she gives lyric the run down on how the talon was in fact a movie theater where her late parents met. she’d quit cheerleading causing her to fight tooth and nail against her aunt’s expectations of her high school career and to keep the place open by converting it to a coffee shop and movie theater after partnering with lex luthor. ever since then, the talon has been thriving more than ever.

“if it weren’t for lex, this place would’ve been a distant memory.” chloe stated, her eyes perusing the scene laid out in front of them. lana solemnly nodded in agreement.

lex luthor. where did lyric hear that name before? right, at dinner with the kents. it was the rich guy that clark saved and they’ve good been friends since then. i don’t remember much about what he’d look like, but he’ll most likely stand out from the rest of the citizens of smallville for sure. lyric sympathetically nods, lending lana her congratulations and condolences while still feeling curious.

“i’m so sorry for your loss, lana. they would be so happy that you did this to keep their memory alive. i respect you for that!”

“thank you, lyric, would i be more worthy of your respect when you get your first free coffee?”

the girls briefly giggle and lyric decided to play it safe by requesting a regular cappuccino. chloe ordered the usual for her and the guys before they both walk to find clark and pete at a corner table, with their books and papers all set out for the academic cramming to begin. one empty seat was to clark’s left and the other, to pete’s right. as the girls approached them, lyric lightened the mood at the sight of the boys’ serious, focused attention on the assignments.

“did we keep ya’ll waiting that long that you’ve already started the assignment that’s due next week?” lyric joked, sharing a chuckle with chloe when clark and pete’s head’s simultaneously peer up at the sound of her voice. chloe gestured to the empty seats,

“we’ve already ordered the study fuel, by the way. mind if we sit?”

“no, not at all. here, lyric. you can take this one.” clark offers after putting his book down on the table. he stands up to pull out the empty chair next to him for her to sit. lyric felt that familiar fluttering within her stomach as she came closer to the table to sit down next to clark. girl, calm down. he’s just being a gentleman, it’s not like he’s never pulled a chair out for you before. once she was scooted in and comfortable, she thank him with a smile of gratitude and rummaged through her backpack to find the unfinished assignments she had to complete. chloe took the seat next to pete and she couldn’t help, but feel a bit—slighted. don’t get her wrong, as much as she loved clark (more than) platonically, she was unfortunately living with the reality that he would never reciprocate those feelings for the sake of their friendship and his own feelings for lana. although, she’d never seen him move so quick to have a girl next to him besides…lana. especially not a girl he’d just met a couple days ago. chloe pondered if it was just the effect of that house. god, what’s in the water there? clark nip? her train of thought halted at the sound of an annoyed ground.

“mmcht! don’t tell me that i— ugh, where’s it at!” lyric hissed as she frantically searched through her bag with a confused, yet frustrated expression.

“what’s the matter, lyric?” clark asked with inquiring, blue eyes.

“i think i left the monte cristo book at home. it’s only my first assignment and the last i need is to be behind even more. ugh!” she huffs and assertively zips the bag closed after gathering everything else.

“here, we can use mine. i haven’t quite finished reading yet, so we’re gonna have to split it.”

“that’s really cool of you, clark, but are you sure—“

“lyric, i insist. that’s what good neighbors neighbors are for, right?” he questioned with his amicable gaze locked with hers, flashing that cheeky, pearly white smile that she knew so well, but for so little. her face heated with a nervous grin and chuckle. to keep herself composed and promptly get the assignment done, she didn’t choose to argue.

“if you’re gonna put it that way, clark, i might as well. hell, it’s not like i got a choice. thank you—again.” she concedes and opens her notebook before scooting a little closer to clark to steal a decent glance of the text.

“it’s always my pleasure, lyric.” he softly responds with a lingering grin before filling her in on the chapter they’re supposed to report on.

as they silently read and briefly gave each other’s analysis of a phrase, clark’s attentive gaze focused on her as she spoke, but his nostrils naturally inhaled the scent of the sweet fresh, natural scent of cocoa butter mixed with hints of vanilla and coconut. it was such a pleasant aroma that complimented the smell of brewing coffee. clark was so caught up, that he didn’t even notice lex luthor waltz in the door with his fiancée, dr. helen bryce, traveling closely by his side with their fingers intertwined. the luthor’s eyes darted from table to table to find his good friend with his usual circle. to his avail, he found them at their table in the corner. there was also another person he hadn’t seen before and she was sitting awfully close to clark while chatting and taking notes. lex found it odd to see clark in such a position with a girl besides lana. with burning curiosity, he lets helen know that he’s going to speak to clark momentarily while she can use his card to get them some coffee and pastries. helen agreed, as she wanted to minimize any interaction with the farm boy knowing what she knows, but she’ll civilly swing by after she handles business at the counter, so they go their separate ways.

“long time, no see, clark.” lex says as he strides to the table of the four preoccupied teens that shift their attention to him. clark receives lex with an amicable smile and immediately greets him back,

“hey, lex! it’s good to see you out of the shadows of the mansion. how’re things going with you and dr. bryce?”

lex casually grins while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his tailored pants.

“not too bad. we both had a bit of a catastrophe of a work day, so we decided to unwind with some coffee and sweets. i hope i’m not interrupting important, you seem to be preoccupied—with your studies.”

“oh, no, not at all. let me guess, you and mr. luthor had another falling out?”

lex confirms with a silent, tight lipped nod. his inquisitive eyes shift to lyric who returned her own curious stare.

“i guess i left my manners with my father back at the mansion. it’s nice to meet you, my name is lex luthor, ceo of luthorcorp , and you must be…?” he pauses, leading her to answer,

“i’m not trippin’ over it. i’m lyric. lyric james. my family and i just moved here from new york on saturday. i’m also clark’s new next-door neighbor and i’ve heard so much about you, mr. luthor.” she cordially regards, knowing this man was definitely not in high school. he holds his hand out for her to grasp and shake briefly before pulling their hands away.

“all bad, i suppose and please, call me lex. my father, lionel, should be referred as such.”

“no, sir, mr—lex. not from the way clark talks a good deal about you. i won’t front, i’ve heard some bad, but i can’t be the one to judge too quick because i don’t know you like you don’t know me. you must be lucky to have a friend like clark to save your life.”

“when you say it out, lyric, i couldn’t agree more with you. i’m always grateful for him and the kent’s. perhaps one day, you’ll see what i mean.”

lex received her statement with a warm smile upon his face. whoever this james girl was in clark’s circle, didn’t know him from a can of paint and still gave him a fighting chance without the use of a bribe, blackmail, nor smalltown gossip. he could see why the farm boy had a bit of a entranced look on his face towards her when he walked in. there was definitely something about her that was more than more than outer beauty. lex all of people would know.

as lyric and lex finished their conversation, she didn’t notice a blushing clark that hastily averted his gaze from her to his book, but she did see a beautiful young woman saunter from across the room and stop to stand closely beside lex. she possessed long brown hair, round brown eyes with long lashes, and full pink lips. by the way she stood so close to lex, lyric could obviously tell they were romantically involved.

“lex, they didn’t have the maple scones today, so i just got us some danishes and our usual drink order.” the woman said, handing him the pastry and a cup of coffee which he gratefully received by kissing her on the cheek. she pulls her blushing face from his lips and amicably greets the group before her,

“hello! i hope you all are doing well. chloe, pete—clark, and i’m sorry, i don’t believe i’ve seen you before. my name is dr. helen bryce i work at the local hospital here in smallville. who might you be?” she inquired with her amber gaze pointed to lyric. lex helped to save the girl’s breath by giving helen the introduction.

“thank you, helen. this is lyric james, she’s the kent’s new next door neighbor. her family had just moved to smallville from new york a few days ago.”

helen squinted and registered the familiar surname before the lightbulb of realization came on,

“ah, right! when i heard “james”, i had a hunch it was you. i know your mother, crystal, she’s one of the newest nurses on my team. even though she just started, i can tell she’s a very dedicated woman to the profession. she’s mentioned that she had a daughter attend smallville high and here she is. it’s so nice to finally meet you, lyric.”

“likewise! thank you, dr. bryce for the kind words about my mom. it was great to meet you both!”

lex and helen bid the group a farewell and took their exit of the establishment. lyric beamed at the praise about her mother. it made her feel a twinge of guilt when she felt an ounce of resentment towards her parents for working so many hours of their demanding careers, but it warmed her heart at the knowledge that they made a difference, no matter where they went. hopefully, she’ll be able to live up to that expectation. two hours of studying pass by and the sun was beginning to set. chloe, clark, pete, and lyric are ready to throw in the towel and start packing up to go home. lyric wanted to check out the main street melody store, but one, she was already exhausted and two, she had a ride that she wouldn’t dare to keep waiting. she’d see it again another day.

one by one, chloe drops off her friends and wishes them a goodnight. once they made their stop in front of kent farm, chloe doesn’t leave without lyric spotting her a ten for gas. clark spectated as the girls playfully argue for two minutes because chloe kept refusing and lyric kept insisting. given her order was free, she didn’t have to spend anything and she wanted to return the favor. chloe finally conceded, took the money with gratitude, and pulled off, leaving lyric and clark alone again in front of his house. the quiet silence was filled with the sound of chirping crickets and the steady footsteps of lyric and clark as he walked her home. as they approached the james house, the driveway was bare and most of the lights were off. it appeared that her parents were still at work. clark didn’t feel right with her staying all alone in the house. outside of the light snack and coffee, he wasn’t certain if she had dinner. not to mention, the welfare of her black cat that he’s grown attached to. they stood on the large, round porch at the front door. lyric searched her bag to retrieve the entrusted house key. when she reached to turn the lock, the touch of a hand on her shoulder caused her to stop and turn around.

“what’s up, clark?”

“lyric, i think it would be safer for you and noir if you guys stayed at my house until your folks get home. at the end of the day, it’s your decision, but if you come over, you can try to call your parents and let them know. if not, just reach out if you need anything.”

lyric pondered on the farm boy’s offer with pursed lips. she was so used to this back home and it was quiet around here, so what could possibly go wrong? or so she thought, what if one those people infected by meteor rocks happened to stumble on what seemed to be an empty house with an unsuspecting teenager and her vulnerable feline sleeping peacefully? with a careful review of clark’s perspective and a deep sigh, her mind was made up.

“if it’s cool with mr. and mrs. kent, i’ll leave my parents a message, scoop noir, and we’ll be there. i didn’t want to intrude because i’ve done this before. i—“ she was cut off when a rumbling sound erupted from her abdomen. the two were dead silent for two seconds before clark broke it,

“i guess you wouldn’t mind intruding for dinner and you do know that you’re always welcome, right? judging by the sound of your stomach, it looks like you wanted to come over anyway.” he teased with a lopsided smirk.

“not too much on me, clark.” she playfully chided with her finger pointed in his direction. their laughter fills the air as she unlocks the door and she invites him to follow her inside. it didn’t take long to hear that familiar mewling sound and the soft jingling of a collar. noir cuddled herself against her owner’s ankle to receive loving pets upon her furry head, chin, and spine. when the cat spotted clark, she stood on her hind legs, tiny paws pressing against his jeans. clark took his cue to scoop her in his arms and gently hold her while lyric stood and watched in awe. she won’t lie, she loved how trusting noir was with clark. it made the butterflies in her arise when he saw this gentle giant of a farm boy cradle noir like that was his child. to keep herself down from cloud nine, she had another idea.

“hey, you want to listen to some records after dinner? that’s only if you want, we can just come back here and chill. it’s no pressure, if you’re tired i’d un—“

“lyric.”

“yeah, clark?”

“were you ever going to give me the chance to say ‘yes’?”

he grins, softly bouncing noir in his arms. she releases a faux gasp and playfully whacks him in the forearm, causing him to dissolve in laughter.

“i—clark kent! don’t mess with me right now, i know i talk a lot, but it’s been a long day. there’s nothing wrong with valuing other people’s time.” his gaze softened as he watched her take a piece of hair from that fell in her face to behind her ear.

“okay, okay. i’m sorry for teasing and thank you, i respect you for that. i’d love to come over to hear some records. it’s about time i’d expand my musical horizons. just like how you explored a literal horizon with your camera.”

“you’ve got a way with words, clark. now i can definitely see you being a journalist now. it’s a deal. you give me early morning sunrises and i’ll give you late night jam sessions, ya dig?”

he gives a nod of approval and lends lyric the chance to use her landline to call both her parent’s work extensions. crystal didn’t pick up, so she left a message. fortunately, joseph answered and gave his approval, but sternly teased lyric for her and clark to listen to records with her door open, whether he or crystal were home or not. the james girl concludes the conversation before her and clark proceed to take the familiar path to kent farm where she and noir were warmly received by jonathan and martha. they spent the next hour and a half indulging in the hot meal that was meticulously prepared and they were going around the table to share how their days went. even noir was content in the tuna and milk that was prepared for her by martha. when all were fed and the kitchen was tidy, the teens return back to the james house where lyric leads clark upstairs to her bedroom.

“welcome to my crib!” she exaggerates with wide arms as they enter and he chuckles at her quip. even with the new posters, furniture, and arrangements, clark knew that this was lana’s old room. he’d only really caught a glimpse of it through his telescope or within his odd dreams concerning his powers, but actually stepping foot inside felt so surreal. his blue eyes peruse to various spaces like to her bed, vanity, closet, and the overall setting that made the room reflect lyric of who she was. this was now her home, her room, and her space, so clark had to make peace with the fact that the past was in the past. it’s time to live in the now.

she led him to take a seat on her plush, lavender rug. while playing with noir in his lap, she walks a few feet away and squats to the record player to routinely adjust it to the proper settings. they endure a comfortable silence as lyric places the vinyl from stevie wonder’s 1971 album “where i’m coming from” on the turntable after scavenging through her growing collection.

her fingers gingerly lift the head-shell to delicately place the needle on the vinyl. as it starts to spin, the soft, soulful notes of “never dream you’d leave in summer” began to fill the room, lyric found herself lost in the music, her ebony gaze shifted to the window where the sky had transformed from a warm gold to the deep, dark shade of her cat’s coat. the melancholy melody solemnly filled her senses as the memories of him start to flood back like restless waves in the ocean. the song crooned, and lyric felt that painful lump form in her throat and the heaviness weigh in her chest. the memories all flash back within her brain —images of laughter, love, warmth, and the sharp sting of loss and betrayal that she thought was left in brooklyn still seemed to follow her no matter what she did , where she went, or who she talked to, lyric can’t forget about him. she glanced at clark who immediately met her gaze. his defined features softened by the dim amber light of her lamp. as his eyes were starting to paint the image of concern, she pondered on how long she could keep her inner turmoil a secret any longer. besides her parents, he was the only one who picked up on her sadness during the sunrise.

she realized that as the music played on, it was like a bittersweet reminder of everything she had faced back in her hometown. her bedroom suddenly felt charged with an energy that gave her the courage to speak, to finally share the real reason that why the james family would move all the way to smallville, kansas. after taking a drawn out breath, she turned her whole body to him, her lips slightly agape before she breaks the silence,

“clark, do you remember this morning when i was acting a little funny when it came to taking those pictures?— i tried so hard to play it off like it didn’t bother me of why i stopped, but if i’m going to live in the present, i need to let the past of my chest. if we’re going to be friends, the least we can do is be honest with each other, right?”

clark slowly nods and he could hear her heart racing. he sensed there was an urgency, she was scared, but of what? of who? he had hoped to the stars that it wasn’t of him. did he slip up and then perhaps she saw him use one of his powers? neither the matter, his concern was growing and he placed his hands on top of hers.

“lyric, you can tell me anything. i’m so glad that you could trust me enough to do that. just know that i’m here for you. i’m listening.” with a nod of his head, the look in his encourages her to take the time she needed.

she took one last deep, deep breath. she closed eyes her briefly to gather the millions of thoughts she had into one story.

“back in new york…i had a best friend. he became my first love then he became my worst enemy, and he’s long gone, but clark, i can’t let him go… his name was omar.”

BROOKLYN, NY 2000-2001

omar reyes was lyric james’ childhood best friend back in new york and her first love. he was a sweet boy that lived a decent childhood until his parents divorced and his dad had full custody of him after his mother moved away. to keep himself busy, omar decided to play basketball all throughout elementary and middle school. he’d study more often to make his parents proud and boy, were his grades were top tier. in the midst of that studying, he grew fond of science and anatomy, but his mind was already made up that he wanted to be a professional NBA player or a coach like his father after college. lyric could remember when he was just practicing shooting hoops on the street after the older kids excluded him for being too short to play and even though she didn’t have a deep knowledge of the sport, she learned to love it as she supported him. lyric pushed omar to show those bullies he that was capable of exceeding anyone’s expectations. the bond between him and lyric was unbreakable. omar was the one that gifted lyric with the hoops that she oddly still adorns to this day, they had their first kiss on her thirteenth h birthday, and when they turned fourteen, omar confessed his feelings and officially asked lyric to be his girlfriend to which she immediately accepted and the bliss of young love took its course in their lives.

he was a great first boyfriend for lyric. loyal, kind, affectionate, attentive, and humorous. her parents enjoyed his company, but things took a turn when they entered high school and not for the better.

omar seemed kind of…off.

he seemed to appear to be thinner and more fatigued than usual, but he just dismissed it as stress from school, sports, and life in general. while practicing in the gym, he had a hard fall that resulted in so many bruises on his body that he had to quit basketball indefinitely, so the school wouldn’t be held liable. it all came to a head at the beginning of freshman year when he was tutoring lyric at her place while crystal happened to be home preparing dinner. everything was fine until omar stood up to go to use the restroom and then he harshly collapsed to the floor after taking one step, rendering him unconscious. crystal urgently called the paramedics and his father to get him to the er. after the doctor ran some tests, omar was diagnosed with stage two leukemia and had to start treatment right away. lyric didn’t hesitate to stay by his side and visit the hospital as much as she could for the strength her boyfriend, herself, and their relationship. lyric hoped and believed that the treatment he was receiving would be the light at the end of the tunnel and everything would return to normal, right? wrong.

it all changed so drastically as the condition worsened from stage two to stage four. omar had to be sent to duke hospital for treatment. duke hospital was in durham, north carolina—which was almost five-hundred miles away. omar and lyric decided to make a long distance relationship work by writing letters and talking on the phone when they were both available. lyric and omar consistently corresponded with each other those first few weeks. well—mostly lyric, but she understood because he needed to focus on getting well and the best she could do was stick by him like a loyal girlfriend, right? she added in something special to each letter, a developed photo that she snapped with her camera. each photo possessed the inspiration that captured the essence of their home and memories.

days turn to weeks, and weeks into months with no update from neither omar nor his parents. lyric grew weary, a bitter vile feeling within the pit of her stomach. something wasn’t right. one day, she came home after school and she was baffled to see both of her parents were home, sitting in the living room. they tell her to sit down in order to relay the message from the reyes family: omar lost his battle and he was gone. lyric was so in shock that her parents voices faded out, so she couldn’t even register the details of a funeral, a wake, or a cremation. seven days of mourning passed and the event of the funeral arrived. clad in all black with dark loc shades, lyric was cold and numb, but at the urging of omar’s family, she was permitted to say heartfelt remarks about the deceased. how could she explain a lifelong bond within two to three minutes? she looked at some familiar and unfamiliar faces in the crowd as she recounted her times with boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend. by the time she was done, the tears silently rolled down her cheeks and her mother consoled her through the entirety of the service. everyone in attendance came back to reyes’ home to eat, give their condolences, and chat about the mundane. lyric was seated on the sofa and just stared at the minimal portion of food on her plate. she’d rarely had an appetite during the time of her bereavement. her state of disassociation was paused when an unfamiliar, high pitched female voice breaks her out from her solitude.

“so i guess you must be lyric, huh?” the james girl gazed at the other teenaged girl in front of her. she was a few inches shorter. although heartache painted her face, she had striking features that consisted of tawny brown skin, deep almond shaped eyes, high cheek bones, and full lips.

“is this seat taken?” the girl asked to which lyric shook her head side to side, giving her the cue to sit. the girls sit in an awkward silence for about two minutes and the latter began to speak,

“i already know your name, so it’s only fair that you know mine— i’m trina davis. um, my mom and i came up from north carolina to say our final goodbyes. she was actually the lead nurse that helped with omar’s cancer treatment at duke.”

“it’s nice to meet you, trina. how long are you in town for?” lyric inquired.

“likewise! we’ll be flying back the day after tomorrow—lyric, may i ask you a question?”

lyric deliberately nods and placed the untouched plate from her lap onto the coffee table. she turned her body to trina, awaiting the question.

“i don’t want to pry, but i’m gonna try to make this make sense as much as possible. so—i’ve heard in your speech that you were omar’s girlfriend, how long have you guys been together?”

“well we made it official this past july. he got diagnosed in september, went to duke in october, and now it’s february, so a good six months, if my math is on point.” she dryly chuckled.

“why?” lyric quizzed and her eyes caught onto trina’s dumbfounded expression. lyric noticed the gulp that ran down the girl’s neck as her jaw clenched.

“you know how i said that my mom was the lead nurse for him, right?”

lyric nodded again to lend the girl a listening ear. trina began to explain how her mother had inspired her to work in the field of caring for cancer patients, so she decided to do volunteer work by reading to the patients and keeping them company, you know to get that experience. that was when she met omar in mid october. she would read titles such as to kill a mockingbird or the count of monte cristo. omar expressed that he was looking forward to reading those books in his honors english class, but life happened. with her mother’s permission, the teens would sit in the hospital garden and chat beyond the analysis of the characters in the texts they’ve read. on a weekly basis, they’d converse about their pet peeves, hobbies, interests, music tastes, favorite movies, and anything under the sun really.

at the start of november, trina sat at omar’s bedside and he was dozing off. that was her cue to leave silently and she ran into a nurse who had an envelope with omar’s name on it in his hand. trina told the nurse that omar was sleeping and that she will place it on his bedside. the nurse gives the envelope to trina and took his leave as she examined the enclosed message. her natural nosiness wanted to know of the hand that inked her new friend’s name in blue with such skilled calligraphy. trina stopped herself from her the temptation to open it and sat it down beside him. the next week in the garden, she questioned omar about the letter. he then dismissed the value of the letter and that it was his from his “home girl lyric” from his hometown. to ease trina’s worries, he reassured her that would read it later that day.

omar received lyric’s letters frequently, but with the sickness that took toll on his body had hindered his correspondence. it wasn’t like omar didn’t cherish her letters and photographs that he received at first, but with each passing day his heart for their relationship grew more distant as he started to grow more tired of his condition and tired of his life. omar couldn’t sit in denial that he fought the good fight for long enough. at that point, he was ready to raise and wave the white flag in surrender, but he didn’t want to tell lyric anything. he didn’t want to cause her anymore heartbreak than he already had, so he just stopped responding all together. he had hoped that one day lyric would find it in her heart forgive him, whether he lived or not. trina unknowingly accepted the answer and reassures him that his friend would understand. she joked that if she was his girlfriend then there would be some suspicions, but if they’d agreed to make that work, then lyric would be a saint.

by thanksgiving, trina and omar grew closer in their emotional connection. even though trina enjoyed the day with her own family, she found it in her heart to urge her mother to drop by duke to at least deliver omar a light plate of her grandmother’s home style cooking, with his appetite willing. jovial at her mother’s approval, she was already up the elevator and knocked softly on omar’s door before she sauntered her way in with her offering. the teens faces beamed as they saw each other after a short time apart. trina placed the aluminum foil covered plate to reveal the basics such as turkey, dressing, mac n’ cheese, and potato salad. omar looked at it like it was first —or last meal. he told her he’d eat it tomorrow when his appetite allowed him and she put it to the side. the two made small talk before she attempted to leave the room only to feel a hand meekly grab onto hers.

“omar is everything ok—“ her sentence was cut short as her face collided with his chest and both of his arms encircled around her. trina was stunned at this.

“just stay with me…. i’m scared.”

he pleads for her presence and her heart grew heavy in sorrow as omar’s tears rain on her scalp, so stayed for a little bit longer. omar knew that he wouldn’t have much time left and he needed her to be by his side until then, so it didn’t take long for them to get emotionally involved through the holiday seasons until his untimely demise.

lyric sat there as her emotions internally wreaked havoc in her mind. she swallowed before she stuttered her words out.

“y-you’re telling me t-that you and omar were—

“yes.” trina somberly interrupted. “we were together until he died. he only called you his good friend, so i thought it was okay. i’m so sorry, lyric. i swear i didn’t know because he’d rarely talk about you after that.” trina’s voice started to crack and got higher in pitch as the tears rapidly streamed down her cheeks. she gazed down at the ground with such guilt and disappointment.

“god, i wish that my nosiness made me see the truth in that letter, but i respected him that much, so i didn’t. lyric, i’m—“

“it’s fine.” lyric cut her off.

“no—no, lyric, it’s not fine. we knew of his condition and he knew it was getting worse, but it doesn’t give him the right to fool us like that. especially not to you, i only knew him in his last moments and you, his whole life! if i were you i’d be—

“don’t tell me how i should feel, trina. i said it’s fine.” lyric sternly affirmed, her face stoic as her finger brushed a piece of hair from falling in front of her eye. she deeply sighed as her eyes looked up at the white ceiling, sliding her tongue across the front of her top teeth before resuming,

“you didn’t know, so i’m not mad at you, trina. i just wish i knew why he would do that and i know that i will never get my answer. not from you and definitely not from omar, so in that case, it’s fine.” lyric wraps her arm around trina’s shoulder to wish her the best when she travels back to north carolina and departed from her seat on the couch before fishing her parents out of the sea of visitors and informing them that she was ready to leave due to nausea. not exactly a lie, but a good excuse for the james family to leave quickly to their home.

to say that lyric was an emotional wreck was an understatement. for those next few weeks, her tears poured out until they ran dry and irritated her skin. she secluded herself within the four walls of her room, all day and all night unless she had to relieve herself. she didn’t care anymore. reassuring words didn’t fix this. sleeping for several hours didn’t fix this. toni braxton’s “unbreak my heart” on repeat certainly didn’t fix it. she closed herself off at school and floated by to at least pass the ninth grade, she didn’t want to celebrate her fifteenth birthday back in april, and the only ones she invited into her life were noir and the tunes on her record player. her parents were worried that it was just more than omar’s death that caused their daughter to spiral into such a state and they made that decision to get her counseling when summer break began. in the first and second sessions, the therapist wanted to get to know lyric personally on her own with her parents waiting outside the door. by the third session, joseph and crystal were present in the room. lyric didn’t want to speak nor cooperate. she was surprised that she got out of the sanctuary of her bed and went in the car without putting up a fight. no matter how many questions they’ve asked or exercises they were trying to perform, she’d stay frozen like a guarded statue until she reached her boiling point when asked,

“tell me this, lyric—if omar were sitting in this room what would you say to him now?”

her brows furrowed and a scowl was painted on her face. every muscle tensed as the word vomit was about to explode all over the office.

“everything around here reminds me of you. i want to let you go because you hurt me. you hurt me and i don’t want to think about you, but i need answers! how the hell could you break my heart without me noticing until you were gone?!”

lyric rose to her feet and began to pace around, her dark eyes shifted to a corner where she could see a vision of him so vunerable as he laid in the hospital bed, with trina at his side. “i swear, omar, if you weren’t dead already, i’d kill your ass—why the hell would you agree to a long distance relationship when you knew it wouldn’t work? if it wasn’t gonna work, why didn’t you hit me up or write me back? all i did was send you letters to tell you how much i loved and missed you, omar, but you just gave up—and you didn’t want to tell me, but you had the strength for somebody else. a girl you knew for a couple of months! wow. why? why, huh? WHY!?”

lyric confessed her plight to the therapist and her chest heaved as she collapsed with her head buried in her hands. her body was quivering as the hot tears flooded like water down her face. joseph and crystal quickly come to her aid. they had never seen their daughter be so enraged and emotionally inflicted. later that night, crystal and joseph had a private conversation, made some phone calls, and decided it was best to get lyric away from new york indefinitely.

SMALLVILLE, KANSAS 2002

“so, that’s why we really moved here. that’s how they ended up here in kansas. we had to get away and find a new scene, so that i couldn’t appear the girl that went mad with grief, but clark i still have those moments where i feel so empty. i felt like i was left to hang alone.”

by the time she concluded her story, the intensity of stevie’s voice increases, lyric tears up a bit and her lips start to quiver. she takes a deep breath and averts her gaze up to the cieling to bottle up what she couldn’t contain any longer. before she knew it, a pool of tears started to flow down the smooth, brown skin of her solemn face. clark clutched onto her hand to lightly squeeze it of reassurance.

“you’re not alone, lyric. i know what it’s like to lose someone and they’re the only ones who have the answers that you need. you feel that you miss them because…they’re the key to the truth and there’s nothing wrong about wanting to know the truth, no matter how life altering it could be. we just have to—oh!”

clark is interrupted when her arms are clutching to his torso and her face buried was near his middle.

“thank you—so much. all you’ve done has helped me since i came here. i can’t be grateful enough for you, clark.” her muffled, soft voice vibrated against his skin.

clark responded with one action that night: being there for her. he immediately wrapped his arms around her and let her sob her sorrows out until she dozed off to sleep with her head in his lap. noir sat by their side and observed the two as her tail softly swished across the floor. thankfully, lyric was a heavy sleeper. clark gingerly adjusted his body off the floor, so that he could carry her bridal style to gently lay her on the bed. he managed to tuck her in within the lavender duvet as he heard a car pull into the driveway and the sound of her parents call out to her. clark jogs downstairs to formally greet mr. and mrs. james. clark explains what went on that evening and that lyric was safely tucked in and asleep. at first her parents were so worried that lyric would endure another breakdown when omar situation was brought up, but they felt relief wash over them as they knew that clark was there every step of the way and that she was safe. they appraised him with their gratitude and offer for him to visit often. his family had made their family welcome and it was in due time to return the favor, especially for all of what the young kent has done for their daughter. clark bid the james family a goodnight and walked off of the porch before giving a final glance to lyric’s bedroom window. it was completely dark and his eyes of blue met with the yellow-green of noir’s. the feline was perched on the window sill.

“take good care of her for me, girl.” he said to the distant cat in a hushed tone before utilizing his super speed to get him home in a timely manner.

[cripplecharacters]

hi! do you have any advice on how to get started writing disabled characters? like, get over that fear and start putting the pen to paper? I have my research and my character and stuff but Im nervous that Im gonna fuck it up and make bad representation. how do you think is the way to determine I’ve written a character “good enough” in representing a disability?

Hi!

If you have a character and done research, you're already doing pretty good! I don't think that there is some magical way to know if what you're writing is "good enough", mostly because people will have different standards when it comes to representation.

The best thing you can do is try your best and be open to feedback from your disabled readers. I think that also questioning why you're doing certain things with your character can be helpful, because we all have biases (myself included obviously). I often see people have their characters with facial differences be "edgy, violent, dark past, etc." with the author defending it as "they just are like that!" but at the end of the day, it's a fictional character that a human being made, the character doesn't have free will. So if your worry is bad rep, sit down and try to figure out what exactly it is that bothers you, and examine it - why does it worry you? is this attached to some bias? are abled characters treated in a similar way, or is the disabled one singled out? what are the elements that could be inaccurate, and if yes, why are they like that?

Obviously, you can't catch every single issue that could ever occur, because that's impossible for anyone. But I'm absolutely sure that if writers simply thought about their choices a bit more, the general state of representation would be miles ahead of what we currently have.

Some of my suggestions to help with the fear of starting:

Consider basing the character off someone you know with the same disability. Try to think if your recreation of that is true to how they exist or not so much. If you have a real example of the kind of person you're trying to represent, it's much easier to catch yourself writing something that doesn't make sense. It also helps that you could ask them a specific question about what you're writing and get some first-hand information that theoretical research doesn't generally give.

Perhaps start with disabilities that aren't as impactful on the character's life. (Start is a bit of a key word, because I absolutely want people to write more severely/moderately disabled characters too). Obviously, disability is disabling, but there will be a difference between writing a character with mild photophobia and a character with high level complete quadriplegia. There's just ultimately fewer things that you have to consistently consider, and that can be helpful when starting. And once you're more comfortable writing disabled characters, you can diversify the kinds of characters that you include!

Honestly, if you did your research and aren't falling into any basic tropes, the vast majority of disabled readers will forgive the small inaccuracies (unless you're going to be writing about a character having a seizure and someone else putting an object in their mouth. We are going to correct that because that's dangerous). E.g. if your character with a large scar is portrayed respectfully and kindly, I will look over the lack of mentions of nerve damage because though it is nice to see as well, that's not the main thing I'm looking for. If I was looking for 100% accurate writing about disability, I would be reading non-fiction by disabled writers.

If you have the specific character mostly conceptualized and are willing to share, feel free to just send us the background and parts that worry you, and we will try to give some hopefully useful feedback! =)

Thanks for the ask! I hope it's helpful

mod Sasza

I agree with everything Sasza has said! I'm adding a couple of my own thoughts:

If you are really stuck and really don't have any specific ideas on what disabilities you want to write about, try adding a little randomization. You can search for something like "common disabilities in [character's age group]" or "common health conditions in [character's geographic location]" and pick one at random. Roll dice if you need to! I'm not saying this to be glib or dismissive – I know I can often get stuck when it comes to making decisions, which includes creative decisions like making characters. The aspect itself of getting stuck can be a little intimidating. So if an aspect of randomness helps you get unstuck, you can dive into more specific research a bit more easily – like, if the dice roll led you to cerebral palsy, then you can focus on researching cerebral palsy instead of trying to think of all the possible things you could choose for your character.

You can visit a couple of websites for different conditions and disabilities, including subReddits. I don't mean to start participating in these discussions, but it helps to see disabilities in a context that isn't just "this is how you/your family member will be diagnosed and this is how the treatment will be." It can feel confusing and a little lost to only see disabilities in that context, so seeing it in a broader way – like people just talking about their life experiences – can help take some of the intimidation factor away.

And I just want to reiterate, if you focus on writing with care and treating your character like a full person of their own with their own inner world, agency, and ability to take part in the story, if you make mistakes it will not be the end of the world. The thing I want the most out of disabled characters is for them to be people more than they are tropes.

Hope this helps!

– mod sparrow

[glutengoblin]

Overwhelmed (Sebastian Sallow X Reader)

A/N: Hi all! Apologies for being MIA recently after always promising I have new work coming. I've been incredibly busy with work and applications (and managing my health, honestly), so I haven't had much time to write at all. I finally hit a bit of a wall and needed a break, so I figured I might as well write something. Applications will hopefully be over in the next few weeks and I will be back to normal!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and that it reminds you to take a break when you need it <3. Love y'all!

Summary: Just some fluff to hopefully make you feel better if you're overwhelmed! (She/her pronouns, house neutral)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mild language

Disclaimer: None!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Y/N muttered to herself as she meandered down the hall, savoring the silence that had enveloped her. It seemed like this was all the peace she could hope for nowadays - some quiet between classes, some quiet before she was reminded of the insane weight of her life at the moment.

Sure, no longer was she under the life and death pressure of her fifth year, but somehow this seemed to weigh on her just as much. Perhaps it was worsened by the fact that she didn’t feel comfortable sharing her anguish within anyone else yet. Her fifth year - and the death of her mentor, Professor Fig - had left many scars on Y/N, but her lack of willingness to admit when she was overwhelmed seemed to be the most pervasive.

It was a tricky thing being the the “Hero of Hogwarts”. Y/N never exactly wanted the tilted, but now that she held it, she wanted to do her best to live up to the expectations of her. She had been through much worse, she had defeated Ranrok and she had lost people close to her. To admit that she was feeling stumped by her classwork and even her career would be too much.

So, she kept it to herself as she made her way through the Hogwarts’ halls towards the potions classroom, shivering at the temperature drop as she descended into the dungeons. Y/N felt like a mess as she walked into the classroom, the weight of her stuffed book bag pulling heavily at her shoulder. She was thankful that it was still cool enough outside to don a robe, meaning she could hide her abnormally disheveled shirt. Frankly, Y/N was pretty sure that as much as she felt like a mess, she looked even more like one

The potion classroom was abuzz with conversation, likely a symptom of both Professor Sharp not showing face yet and what had occurred in the last class period. While Garreth normally had issues with potions, this time, he had managed to explode a whole cauldron of their latest assignment, not only covering the walls in green slime but Ominis as well. Ominis was particularly livid, given the slime had managed to dye his pale blonde hair a sickly shade of green - one that had gained enough bad jokes from Sebastian that even Ominis knew it had to be a horrid sight.

Y/N had tried her best to help Garreth clean up after the incident, feeling bad for the boy per usual, but there were still some green spots on the ceiling that were visible if one took the time to squint.

She made her way over to her normal station with the boys, plopping down in her seat next to Sebastian as she began to remove her books from her bag. Sebastian’s eyes passed over her frame with worry. In the two years they had been dating, he had yet to see her as stressed as she was now. He had tried to approach her about it a couple of times over the past week, but as always she had denied that anything was wrong. Y/N was always stubborn, but even to Sebastian, this was a new level.

Once she got more settled, Sebastian offered her a small smile and snatched her hand in his, squeezing it gently. He studied her face, a smile appearing on his lips. “How are you doing today m’love?” Y/N let out a sigh in response, kindling hope in Sebastian that she might finally admit what had been bothering her.

“Well, Sebastian. I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed with classes at the moment… But I shall handle it.” She pulled her hand away gently, as a frown began to pass over Sebastian's features. He took a few extra moments to study his girlfriend, before deciding that perhaps it was time to finally call her out on her bullshit.

“Y/N… please. I can tell you’re not fine, you haven’t been fine for a few weeks. Can you please talk to me about it?” Y/N’s borrows furrowed at that, but based on the expression on his face, she knew there was no getting out of this conversation.

“I… I suppose I’m just overwhelmed with classes at the moment Sebastian. NEWTS are coming up and I’ve been trying my best to keep up with everything… but…” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her, clasping her hand again.

“But?”

“I really haven’t been handling it well.” Y/N let the words out hurriedly as if it wasn’t a statement she wanted to consider the full weight of herself. Sebastian nodded his head, honestly just relieved that she had finally admitted what he had been assuming out loud.

“It’s understandable, Y/N, entirely. You’re taking more classes than pretty much any other student right now. I obviously think you can handle it, being the incredibly smart witch you are… But, when was the last time you took a break? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you outside of classes, meals, and crossed wands lately.” She shuffled under his gaze, running a hand anxiously through her hair.

“Honestly, a good few weeks.” She cowered a bit, as concern grew on Sebastian’s face.

“That’s probably it then. You need to relax Y/N. It’s Friday… Meet me at the Room of Requirement, tonight.” It was then Y/N’s turn to raise her eyebrows. The expression on Sebastian’s face was resolute. As much as she typically loved to argue with him, she knew there was no winning this time. Besides, Professor Sharp had finally made his appearance and now Y/N had to start monitoring Garreth again to ensure that another color wasn’t added to Ominis’s stylish new hairdo.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was a few hours later when Y/N finally left the confines of the library and began making her way up the long steps to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower. She had opted to skip dinner to make more time for whatever surprise Sebastian had in store for her. Y/N was beginning to regret that decision though, as her stomach began to grumble.

When she pressed on the wall and walked through the door, she wasn’t surprised to see Sebastian standing in front of her. The top couple buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, his tie was loosened, and his sleeves rolled up. The light dusting of pink on his cheekbones further hinted at the fact that he had been setting something up and Y/N grew ever more curious.

Sebastian was rocking back and forth between his heels and toes as he smiled at her. “Please put your things down here. I don’t need you being tempted to do any more studying when you’re supposed to be relaxing.” His extra emphasis on the last word made Y/N do as he said, setting her things neatly down by the entrance.

With that, Sebastian took her hand in his, and pulled her off to the left, into the larger room that typically housed her personal study and potions stations. Instead, where her desk and chairs normally stood, a large white sheet covered the furniture, creating a makeshift tent. When she leaned down to get a better look, she realized there were cushions lining the floor, both large and small. He had enchanted some strings to admit a soft light, adding to the cozy ambiance of the space. Off to the side, a plate of muffins sat, and what looked like something she hadn’t expected to see at Hogwarts.

Y/N’s eyes traveled over to Sebastian, who had a wide grin on his face. “Well… Do you like it? Whenever Anne and I were feeling overwhelmed with the world, we used to make forts as children.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, the earlier flush deepening on his cheeks. “It helped make us feel safe… Forget about everything for a while. I was hoping it could do the same for you.”

She couldn’t contain her smile as she pulled him into a tight hug. A sense of relief began to wash over her, as she realized just how much she needed this break from studying. “It’s wonderful Sebastian. But I am curious, where did you find a Backgammon board anywhere near Howgarts. Its a muggle game.” Sebastian flashed her another smile, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ve been saving it. Ever since you mentioned it was your favorite board game in your childhood, I bought a set. I was just saving it for the right occasion to give it to you.” Y/N melted at that, hugging him even tighter, murmuring into his chest.

“I… Thank you Sebastian. I love you. You’re too good for me.” He stiffened at that, tucking his fingers under her chin to get her to look at him.

“Please don’t ever say that again Y/N. You’re the one who is too good for me. Much too good for me… After everything I put you through in fifth year - let's just say I count my blessings every day that I get to call you mine.” His smile lingered for a bit longer before he unsealed the hug, tugging her to the fort. “Now, we have some games to play I believe!”

The two students proceeded to munch on muffins and play multiple rounds of the Backgammon until they were eventually tied - the only way their competitive natures would let them stop. With stomachs full and hearts happy, Sebastian let out a content sigh as Y/N moved to his side of the board, tucking herself against his side and they laid down.

Sebastian pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, stroking her hair gently as he pulled her higher to his chest. “I love you, Y/N. And I know you’re capable of anything you set your mind to.” She murmured happily against his cheek, her lips just ghosting against his skin.

“I know you are too. I love you, Sebastian.”

With that, the two lovers fell asleep in each other’s arms, not stirring until sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the Room of Requirement.

[authorred]

To Love Kaz Brekker | Kaz Brekker x fem!Reader | Shadow and Bone | Part 2

Masterlist

Preface: A botched solo mission leaves you injured and forced to kill to escape. You enter the Crow Club in a hurry and don’t talk to anyone. You isolate yourself in your room so you can fix yourself, but someone decides to make his presence known outside your door.

Kaz Brekker is a different kind of ‘love from a distance’ yk

Part 1 Part 3

Warning(s): Mild injuries, mentions of blood, description of injuries

Tags: Softcore pining, awkward interaction, losers in love

To love another is no easy feat. It takes patience and trust. Respect and compassion. To be able to wait for someone through a finite storm is an ability not everyone has, nor wants. But you have it. And you’ll wait through any severity of weather, even if there’s no promise of a rainbow at the end.

Hobbling to your room like a battered old woman, you made sure to cover yourself with a cloak you took off a merchant before your arrival. Jesper and Inej observe you skirt around the Crow Club, hugging the side walls before scurrying up to your room. The sharpshooter and wraith share a look before shrugging. They’ll check in on you later and they know better than to annoy a heartrender.

You shrug off your outer clothes and examine your wound through the shredded fabric of your shirt. Some shitbag nailed you right in the torso with a bullet. Luckily, he didn’t hit anywhere vital, but it still hurt, and you’re still bleeding. With a soft grunt you untie your shirt and carefully peel it away from your body. A clean entry wound presents itself at the front of your torso and you’ve no doubt the exit wound looks worse.

With a sigh, you carefully sit down on a chair, grunting lightly when you irritate the injury. Looking down at yourself, you carefully start to weave your tissue and muscles back together, face cringing lightly from the feeling. It didn’t hurt because you were blocking pain receptors, but it felt weird to your other nerves. The squirming and sewing-together of your insides felt equivalent to sliding your hand through a large trough of mucus-covered meat. You wanted to shiver but you couldn’t. 

Sewing together your entrance wound took an agonizingly long time. If it was on someone else, you could’ve done it in ten minutes. Perhaps it was due to the fact there’s no rush; you’re safe in the Crow Club (hopefully). The real issue is trying to do the exit wound, which is almost directly behind you. You’ll need mirrors and very flexible shoulders.

Standing and shuffling around your room, you manage to assemble a doable set up--with a standing mirror behind you and a wall mirror in front of you. You adjust both to be able to see your exit wound--which is as gnarly as you thought. You sigh deeply and bring your arms behind your back, attempting twist your wrists so your palms are facing your body. You succeed, but it’s extremely uncomfortable, and you already hurt from being shot.

That’s when you hear it. A strong, steady heartbeat outside your room. No one announces themself--no one knocks--but they’re standing there. You know who it is. You know why they’re there.

“Kaz,” you call out. “People can suffer in silence, you know. You have to see them to know if they’re okay.” A few seconds pass and you know Kaz is thinking. You turn your head to the door when it slowly starts to creak open. 

When Kaz opens the door enough to walk into your room, he immediately looks to the side when he sees you in undergarments. You can see him swallow nervously and his heart picks up speed a little. 

You look back at your reflection. “You should be coming up with a new plan with Inej and Jesper. I didn’t fail, but I did alarm. And that’ll cause problems.”

“The planning can wait until you’re fixed.”

“I’m already halfway there.” Your wrists and hands flex uncomfortably when you move them, soft grunts leaving you. “I’ll be patched up by the time you’re done.”

Kaz sneaks a glance at you, eyes lingering on the wound you’re trying to patch up. Then his gaze moves to your arms and hands, which are in a specific position that makes you look like a demon’s possessed you. You’re succeeding; he can see your wound being manipulated and the hole getting smaller, but you’re struggling. Swallowing, he takes an unsteady step forward until he finds himself traipsing over to you.

You pause your heartrending when you see his reflection standing behind yours. You blink, then slowly turn your head to look at him. “What? You can’t help with this.”

He’s struggling to keep your gaze as it switches between your eyes and down at your arms. Picking up his cane to hold between his arm and side, he slowly reaches out to gently press his gloved hands against your arms.

Your brows scrunch when you’re trying to figure out what he’s doing. He’s not grabbing your arms, rather he’s supporting them. He’s taking tension from your shoulders.

You turn your head back around and continue to heartrend yourself, having an easier time than before. You’re painfully aware of his close proximity to you--you’re insanely aware of his physical contact as well. You can feel him shaking and you can hear his heart racing.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say quietly. “Your heart is racing. Please move away if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” his response is slightly forced and shaky. “Stop listening to my heart and focus on fixing yourself.”

You sigh softly and try your best to fix yourself as fast as you can. You cringe lightly when you reach a particularly painful part of your body where you didn’t block the pain receptors. You let out a strained grunt in response and you can see Kaz’s eyes look at you in concern from the mirror.

“I’m fine,” you quickly say. “It just hurt a little. I’m almost done.”

Kaz nods and looks back down at your hands and back, silent.

You’re done in two minutes and as soon as you are, you move away from him to keep him from being uncomfortable. You turn to him and smile softly. “You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve managed.”

Kaz places his cane back on the floor and leans on it. “You got done faster though, didn’t you?”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I did. Thank you.”

Kaz attempts a small smile, but it’s almost indiscernible--it looks like a weird wince. “We meet at the bar in ten.” He turns and walks to the door. “Jesper and Inej are wondering if you’re okay.”

“Tell them I’m fine and I’ll be down in five.”

Kaz nods, not turning to look at you. He closes the door on his way out and you can hear his heartbeat move farther and farther from your room.

You notice how it’s faster than before.

You notice how yours is faster than his.

Ah, yes. To love Kaz Brekker is no easy feat.

[lee-lucius]

Fatherly Love

Summary: Zeff isn't used to dealing with kids, especially not one like Sanji.

Word Count: 5,630

Warning: Mild spoilers for Sanji and Zeff's backstory (The Baratie Arc)

There is nowhere near enough content for Sanji and Zeff, and I had to do something about. I've only seen the live action and started reading the manga (hopefully it isn't too ooc 😅), but I'm already unreasonably attached to these two. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 💙

Zeff never saw it as anything complicated. When they finally did get off that godforsaken rock, Sanji had nowhere to go. And, well, he'd already given up a leg for the boy; he didn't see why he shouldn't give up piracy as well.

So they started over. Neither of them were ready to give up the sea, not until they found the All Blue, and Zeff always enjoyed sharing a meal. So they opened Baratie. 

Maybe it wasn't the best place for a kid to grow up, on a ship full of angry brutes, but the little eggplant got on well enough with the crew—Zeff made sure of that—and he seemed content enough. At least, better than he had been after their rescue. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible, either.

But there were still moments that shattered their illusion of peace, like right now. Sighing, Zeff pulled off his sheets, slowly sitting up and slipping his legs off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself. It wasn't as easy as it'd been in his younger years. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the wooden leg, or the little eggplant's muffled cries that kept him up almost every night.

It was odd, considering what a deep sleeper Zeff had been when he was younger, but it was almost as if he had a sixth sense for when Sanji needed him; when he'd wake up, shivering and sobbing over his latest nightmare, Zeff woke up as well, lumbering over to his room to provide what little comfort he could for a boy who'd been through far too much.

Knocking lightly, he waited for Sanji's muffled consent before entering and closing the door softly behind him. He didn't know why he'd bothered giving Sanji his own room when Zeff spent the night there more often than not. Something about a growing boy needing his privacy; how simple he thought it'd be.

"Just me," Zeff said, as if they both weren't already used to this routine. It still made something stir uncomfortably in his chest every time, seeing Sanji's small figure curled up in his bed, blankets huddled around him like a faulty shield, head tucked into his chest to hide his tear-stained face, though Zeff still saw the way his shoulders trembled and heard the pained, hiccuping gasps Sanji tried to hide.

Zeff didn't say anything else. There was no reason to bombard the boy with pointless questions, especially when it only seemed to send him slipping further into a panic. 

He never knew what he was supposed to do in situations like this. He liked to think his presence helped; after all, he was the only who'd been there with Sanji, though Zeff thought his issues began with something long before the shipwreck, and Sanji never stopped letting him in. But he'd never quite been a smooth talker, save for with women, and always found himself tongue-tied in situations like these. Zeff wasn't one for emotions, and Sanji was perhaps the most emotional boy he'd ever known.

There wasn't much to do besides perch on his bed, sitting as far away from Sanji as possible to give him space, and frown, trying to act as if his heart wasn't ripping in two at each muffled cry.

It must have been an especially bad night. Zeff realized that as his cries slowly quieted and his small, trembling frame steadily inched closer. Finally, Sanji's knee, barely a fraction of the size, touched his own. He was tense, more than before, and skittish, as if any wrong move from Zeff could send him running. It probably would. So Zeff did nothing, allowing Sanji his own time to decide.

They'd never been affectionate with each other. Zeff had never been affectionate with anyone, really, except for in the brief way that sailors met with women, something as intimate as these moments with Sanji but in an entirely different way.

Zeff had only ever used his body for that and fighting, which only made this harder. It wasn't like the other times Samji had reached out for him, right after the rock, or even in the midst of it, when he threw himself at Zeff in a moment of reckless grief, while Zeff wrapped his arms around him, trying to offer comfort in a way he didn't know how.

This was different. Slower. Intentional. Calculated, even. 

It wasn't a helpless boy blindly reaching out to soothe the ache in his heart, but it was a helpless boy reaching out to him.

Sanji wanted him.

Zeff waited. Sanji continued to creep closer until he leaned into Zeff's side, and finally, slowly, gently, slower and gentler than he ever thought he could be, Zeff wrapped his arm around him, pulling Sanji into a hug.

Sanji buried his face in his chest, his own clumsy arms wrapping around Zeff, clutching handfuls of his shirt as if he was afraid to let go, afraid this would end.

"You're alright now," he said, voice gruffer, and a bit more emotional, than he intended. He lifted one hand, stroking his hair, the other rubbing his back, trying to remember what soothed him all those long years ago when he was a boy. "That's over. You're alright."

Sanji held onto him all night, crying until he finally slipped back into sleep, and Zeff stayed there, awake and cursing the growing ache in his back, until it was time for morning prep, when he shook Sanji awake, squeezing his shoulder one last time before leaving him to get ready for the day. 

-

Neither of them spoke about what happened.

They barely spoke at all, save for a mini-screaming match when Zeff tried to drown Sanji's dish in oregano before it was sent out to his patrons.

It was a busy day, but at least they had had a functioning waitstaff for once—thank god for small mercies. Zeff didn't have the time to babysit Sanji, not anymore than usual, when he had to try and keep the rest of his rowdy crew in line, though he figured the reason at least half of their customers were there was in hopes of seeing the rumored fighting pirates.

There was hardly even a moment for him to sit down, rest his leg and back, and get some shut eye, though the sips of alcohol he savored between the lunch and dinner rushes helped.

But at the end of the day, he was more drunk on exhaustion than anything else, practically stumbling over his feet as he stalked through the kitchen, ensuring every surface and every dish was up to his standards. On days like these, the last day before they hauled up their anchor and moved on, his men tended to get lazy, a problem he could never solve no matter how many times he yelled at them. Except for one, who shared his dutiful dedication to maintaining a clean kitchen.

"Shouldn't you be heading off?" Zeff asked, glancing at Sanji as he silently swept the floors. "A growing boy needs his rest."

"I could say the same. Doesn't a shitty old man need his beauty sleep?"

He grunted. They both knew why he was so tired, and they both knew why Sanji didn't want to go to sleep, but they both said nothing. Didn't matter much tonight, anyway. They could both sleep in, supposing Sanji managed to stay asleep for once. Zeff put a kettle on the stove. Tea usually helped Sanji get through the night.

"Come here, kid," he called, after the tea was brewed. Sanji always preferred it sweeter, so he added a dollop of sugar and spoonful of honey, while he added something a little stronger to his.

Zeff kicked a stool in his direction, and he sat down, gratefully taking the mug that came along with it and enjoying a long sip. 

"Not as shit as usual," he said, which was about as good a compliment as any, coming from him.

Leaning against the counter next to him, Zeff took a much needed drink of his own, glaring down at him. "You don't need to help me down here every night. Not that you're much help."

"'Not much help'? I'm the only reason people come to this shithole!"

"Mm. Are you then?" He didn't have the energy for this now. Damn kid.

"I'm the only half-decent chef you have!"

Zeff would never understand where his arrogance came from, not that it was entirely unwarranted. He had made Sanji his sous-chef for a reason, and it wasn't just his fondness for him.

"And who's the one that taught how to make those fancy little dishes, eggplant?"

"It doesn't matter when you drown everything in oregano."

"It's a delicacy!"

"It's for savages!" He slammed his empty mug on the counter, his one visible eye glaring daggers at Zeff, who had to resist the urge to laugh. It'd be a good few years before Sanji got anywhere close to intimidating him.

"You're too young. Palate hasn't developed yet," he waved him off, collecting his glass to wash it in the sink. No need making the kid do it, not when he was practically about to fall off his stool.

"No, you're too old. Can't taste shit anymore."

Zeff rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he always started a fight. Just his attitude, he supposed. He had to take in a kid with the worst personality imaginable. And it didn't help that he was eerily similar to how Zeff had been at that age.

"I can still see well enough, and you're done for the night."

Sanji stumbled to his feet, knowing he was right but not wanting to agree with him. "You look worse than I do."

"Mhm. Then let's both get to bed," he said, because Sanji was right too, and he couldn't bother to keep up with any more banter.

Nudging him in the back, Zeff wasn't prepared for Sanji's violent flinch that almost sent him toppling over. He resisted his instinct to reach out and steady him, figuring that would only make things worse. Instead, Sanji's fingers dug into the countertop, clutching it so hard his knuckles paled, and he turned towards Zeff, eyeing him wearily.

They stared at each other for a moment, silent, before Zeff sighed. 

"Go on. Up to bed."

Sanji only nodded and trudged along. Zeff supposed they hadn't made as much progress as he thought. He'd have to be more careful next time.

-

Zeff always preferred days when Baratie was sailing. As much as he enjoyed the regular hustle and bustle, serving whatever customers had washed up that day, he enjoyed these quiet moments more.

It was good, standing on deck and watching the ship bob in the water, breathing in the sea breeze that was never the same when they were stagnant. He craved the movement, the sailing. And the quiet. Which made him feel like the old man Sanji always insisted he was. As if he was coaxing into retirement and savoring easy days on the sea.

But there was never anything easy on Baratie. 

After he'd assembled his men to yell at them about their lazy behavior yesterday and lack of respect, they were dismissed and shuffled out of the kitchen, grumbling among each other but knowing better than to stand up to Zeff.

They'd be really punished later, but a light scalding was enough for now. Especially when he had other plans.

Sanji crept into the kitchen, eagerly buzzing around with a frantic energy Zeff rarely saw. That was another good thing about it. On days like these, Sanji was more excited than Zeff had ever seen him.

It was like there was finally life in the kid. His cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and joy palpable. He couldn't shut up either. The whole time he was rambling, trying to spew out his mess of ideas all at once that had been building up in his head since the last time they did this.

It really wasn't anything that special, and it always led to more than one argument between them, but Sanji liked to offer his input to these menu changes, even when most of his ideas consisted of trite, over-inspired pieces of shit. Though Sanji felt the same way about most of Zeff's dishes. 

After gathering up all of his ingredients and managing to form his ramblings into something coherent, Sanji prepared his sample dishes with Zeff watching closely, correcting his mistakes or suggesting alternate techniques. Sanji was always surprisingly receptive to his advice, though he was always an enthusiastic student, and Zeff thought he preferred it when they were alone like this. Even if he still protested oregano coming anywhere near his food. Damn rebellious kid.

It took the entire day and only two fights that escalated so far Zeff worried Sanji would grab the knife on the cutting board and stab him, which was better than usual. They'd sampled enough dishes that neither of them were hungry, nor the rest of the crew, not when they called in a member or two for a third opinion, or a witness when their fights got especially heated.

The kitchen was a mess, but it wasn't their problem. Zeff wanted to head in early, and his crew had to be punished for their mess yesterday, so making them deal with disaster was only fair. With all of them working together, it wouldn't take too long anyway, unless they got into a fight—no, until they got into a fight, forcing Zeff to straighten them out again.

But until then, he pulled Sanji with him above deck to relax for a change.

The sun was already beginning to set; the sky fading into a pinkish-reddish color as Zeff sat down to watch it. Now he really was acting like an old man. Maybe he should start thinking about retirement. 

He glanced at Sanji, but he seemed to be enjoying himself as well, even with something as simple as this. It seemed they both savored these little, simple moments.

Now would be a good time to continue their other training. Zeff had been teaching the boy to fight, only simple moves so far, though their progress was slowed by Zeff's own efforts to adjust to his new leg. But it was late, and they were both tired, even if yesterday was one of Sanji's better nights. He'd put it off for another day.

Zeff was so absorbed by his thoughts that he almost didn't register the movement in the corner of his eye. Not until Sanji was noticeably closer to him.

It was different this time. Maybe it was because of his excitable attitude today, or maybe he was starting to feel just a bit more at ease around him, but Sanji, in one quick, casual motion, pressed into Zeff's side, leaning against him. 

His body was stiff, no matter how nonchalant he tried to act, and when Zeff looked at him closely enough, he could see the slight shake in his hands. It took a few minutes before Sanji began to relax, his tense muscles easing into the touch, and in another act of courage, he leaned his head against Zeff's shoulder.

He was warm. That was the first thing Zeff noticed. He wasn't used to being touched like this. Besides Sanji's fits after his nightmares and consoling his men who managed to survive the battle but not much afterwards, he hadn't been this close to someone since he was a child. Even then, no one ever reached out to him, curling up beside him the way Sanji did.

It was oddly comfortable, and Zeff found himself enjoying the affection more than he should. This was something he never could've imagined, not at his age. 

While he never disliked children, he'd never been particularly fond of them either. And as much as he respected women, he never found one that interested him; no men either, so he never imagined settling down with someone, starting a family, not when his first love was cooking. But here he was, with Sanji. And he couldn't deny his growing affection for the boy, even if he was as rude and shitty as most of the grown men Zeff knew and more traumatized and disturbed than any child should be. He couldn't be sure—it was something he'd never experienced before—but Zeff thought his affection must have been something like that a father felt for his child.

It was a troubling thought that was becoming more persistent, and he had no clue if Sanji felt the same, but that was a problem for another time.

Now, it didn't matter. He simply shifted, leaning his own head against Sanji's to reciprocate the touch and imagined the nervous smile on the kid's face that he must've been fighting so hard to hide.

-

Maybe this had gone too far, Zeff realized, far, far too late to do anything about it.

It started simple enough. 

Sanji had always been a fidgety kid, a fact that Zeff and practically anyone who knew him more than an hour could realize. He was never still, always moving, always squirming. And clumsy, too. He was prone to tripping over his own feet, something that their training had made marginally better so far, but Zeff still held onto the hope that he'd fall out of it with age when the rest of his body grew into his long legs.

Zeff didn't mind; truly, he found it more entertaining than anything else to see the boy bounce around the kitchen. It never interfered with his work, Sanji was far too professional for that, but there were times when Sanji's body moved and fidgeted around so quickly Zeff swore his limbs would fly off, and Sanji swore that he'd die of boredom if something didn't change. 

So Zeff came up with a solution. A rather practical one, he liked to think. Instead of twiddling with his fingers or tugging at the strings of his apron or furiously flapping his hands, Zeff, like a practical seaman, taught him how to tie knots. Figured it'd pay off, considering how much of his life the boy spent on a ship.

He'd bring him up to the deck, show him the ropes and give a brief explanation, then show him how to tie every knot just right and send him off with a smaller scrap to practice.

It seemed to help, though they never talked about such things. Sanji simply practiced his knots, asking Zeff when he wasn't sure if he'd gotten it right, and he'd whip it out and practice anytime he got bored, during lulls between the dinner and lunch rush or at night, in bed, when he was trying to fall asleep.

Zeff didn't know how it ended up like this. He'd noticed Sanji's habit, how he'd begun to unconsciously twist strands into his complicated knots, like his apron or the loose fibers on his cheap blanket. It'd escalated fast.

Sanji must've known it would be another bad night, because he didn't bother going to his own room, instead silently teetering after Zeff to stay with him. He didn't like to be alone on bad nights.

There hadn't even been any sign of it, any indication; he simply leveled a heavy stare at Zeff and not asked, ordered him.

"Stay still. I need to try something."

"What are you planning?" He asked warily, recognizing that glint in Sanji's eye that was only there when he got up to mischief, an occasion that was becoming less and less rare.

"Quiet. I need to focus."

Then Sanji was sitting cross-legged in front of him as Zeff sat, back pressed against the headboard. He had to lean down an uncomfortable amount for Sanji to, much to his horror, reach his mustache as he began working on whatever convoluted idea he had.

Zeff wasn't sure what he was doing, as his eyes were firmly closed—and Sanji began yelling at him anytime he so much as tried to peak them open—but it seemed as if Sanji was styling his hair, hands working with a surprising gentleness and expected hurriedness, though it seemed as if his rush ruined his work, judging his heaving sigh every few minutes as he straightened out Zeff's mustache to start over. Always a perfectionist.

It was annoying, like Sanji always was, but Zeff found he didn't mind the intrusion as much as he thought he should. Not that or the tedious ache once again spreading through his back or the feeling of pins-and-needles in his legs that had fallen asleep under Sanji's weight, who sat precariously on top of them.

Perhaps he couldn't complain because he knew what Sanji had been like mere weeks and months before, and that boy never would've afforded Zeff with this casual closeness, one that made an unsettling happiness grow in him, because he knew that they were getting somewhere, that this makeshift ship was becoming closer and closer to the little eggplant's home, and that did, ashamedly, make Zeff happy.

"Okay, I'm done," Sanji finally announced, and Zeff let out a sigh, of relief or disappointment he wasn't sure.

"On with it then," he opened his eyes, this time without any urgent protest from Sanji, and shifted his good leg with a smile too fond for his liking. "Up so I can look."

Something resembling a scowl appeared on Sanji's face, but it was gone just as quickly as he scrambled off of him, rolling onto the side of the bed. Zeff took his time, ignoring Sanji's protests, to stand up, letting feeling come back into his limbs as he stretched before trudging over to his drawers, accompanied with a small mirror hanging above it.

It was about what he'd expected. Zeff's mustache was styled into two somewhat unkempt braids, tied up with his usual blue ribbons. It wasn't half bad, not for the eggplant's first try, and Zeff didn't recall teaching him any braids. He wondered where he'd learned how to do that, but now wasn't the time for questions.

"Right. We done here?"

Sanji's cheeks puffed out slightly, tinged red as his face morphed into a pout. He always did wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Reluctantly, he nodded and stood from the bed. 

Zeff turned out the lamp, settling back down into his bed and sparing a glance at Sanji. "You layin' down or not?"

There was a moment of awkward shuffling, Sanji's head darting back and forth between Zeff's bed and the door, looking as if he wished he had that rope on him to give his body something to do and soothe his mind.

After an uncomfortable amount of time passed, Sanji perched himself at the edge of the bed, slowly laying down, as if he was scared Zeff would change his mind and yell at him to scram.

He didn't. He had an extra blanket and pillow, so he didn't mind at all, though if he had to, he knew he would've given his own to Sanji to make him comfortable—the kid hardly got enough sleep as it was.

"Night," he grunted, then added, far too impulsively, "Didn't do half bad with the hair."

For a moment, he thought he imagined Sanji's muffled sounds of joy, but then he only laughed quietly to himself, thinking about all the trouble this dumb kid brought with him.

Zeff was going soft, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

-

Morning was quiet. Zeff woke up first, squinting at his window, watching the faint rays of light trickle in.

It was early, but he wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Instead, he carefully shifted in the bed, turning on his side to face Sanji. He was still sleeping, lying curled up on his stomach. Zeff didn't realize how much he moved in his sleep, not until Sanji woke him up more than once in the night with a flying limb.

He'd seen him sleeping before. After Sanji had crossed to his side of the rock and discovered Zeff's secret, there was less distance between them. Less reason to hide. And Sanji seemed to, for whatever reason, like the company of bitter old men, apparently as much as Zeff like the company of snarky young kids. But there were some nights when Sanji fell asleep there, with Zeff. He'd moved around too then, violently, thrashing so much Zeff feared he'd fall right into the ocean. He was prone to nightmares then too, but he didn't have any more tears to cry by then, just hiccuping gasps that sounded so painful coming from his dry, aching throat.

He wasn't having a nightmare now. His face was relaxed, not curled up in an aching knot of dread like it usually was. His chest rose and fell with calm, steady breaths. Zeff couldn't see it clearly, not in the dim light, but he heard it, and the noise was a comfort.

Another impulse. That's what Zeff wanted to blame it on. Say that his arm had a mind of its own; that he acted without thinking. He didn't know if that was better or worse than the truth.

But he did know what he was doing. And he wanted to. That was the reason. 

That was the reason he reached his hand out, with a touch lighter and gentler than he ever thought he was capable of, combing through Sanji's hair to fix the disheveled mess.

It was soft and void of any obnoxious clumps, both traits he attributed to Sanji's fixation with his appearance. Just had to look good for the ladies, apparently. Not that any took interest in him. The little eggplant had about as much charm as one.

Hair straightened, his hand trailed further down, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the back of his neck. It was something he normally only did after a nightmare, when Sanji cried and clung to him, but it seemed appropriate now too. He thought it was good for Sanji. He always slept better when Zeff held him.

Except now. Sanji twitched, and Zeff worried he'd wake him, so he lightened his touch, fingers barely grazing the skin, and that's when he heard it.

A giggle.

The noise was muffled by the pillows, but it was unmistakable in the quiet of his room. Something high-pitched and boyish and utterly unexpected. 

Zeff's hand stilled, staring intently at Sanji. His body was still and breathing steady. He'd heard Sanji talk before in his sleep, but laugh? That seemed odd. Unless it was something else.

Curiously, he continued his light movement, holding back a laugh of his own when he noticed Sanji squirm, twisting back and forth but trying so hard to hide it. 

So he was awake. And Zeff didn't see why he shouldn't have his fun.

He changed tactics, switching to scratching at Sanji's neck, touch still light, using just his blunt nails.

There was another noise; this one was more like a muffled whine, low in his throat and barely contained. One of his arms shifted, trying for a subtly he had never been gifted with, and pushed the pillow further into his face, hiding his wide smile. 

How stupid did Sanji think he was? He wasn't sure he actually wanted to know after this. And if Zeff said something, he knew it'd ruin the moment. He didn't want to.

He didn't, so he continued tickling the boy who he'd become uncomfortably fond of.

His hand drifted, grazing across the side of his neck in a way that made Sanji's shoulders scrunch up. He couldn't contain himself anymore, and soft giggles poured out of him. The kid was oddly cute like this, and that fond feeling he had for Sanji only grew.

Zeff was careful. They'd never done anything like this—he doubted Sanji'd ever even been tickled before—and they were still in a somewhat precarious position surrounding the kid's tolerance for any touch at all. He wasn't one to be playful, but Zeff figured this was the closest he'd ever get as he moved to new spots.

Sanji chortled when he scratched under his chin, and seeming to have given up the act of pretending to be asleep, kicked his legs when Zeff's fingers prodded at his ears. The strongest reaction came when he scribbled at his back—Zeff hadn't even known backs could be ticklish—making an alarmed high-pitched sound that Zeff could only call a squeal, grip around the pillow tightening, trying to hide his embarrassment or laugh or something, Zeff figured.

After a few more moments, Zeff stopped, pulling his hand away and waiting for Sanji to collect himself. It took a long time for his laughter to calm down, but Zeff only watched, unable to help his own amused smile.

Finally, Sanji removed his face from the pillow, looking up at Zeff. His face was completely flushed, and he had a large, dopey smile on his face that Zeff had only ever seen when he was talking to a girl. Dumb kid.

"Um…" Sanji brought the pillow to his chest, hugging it tightly and partially obscuring his face. "What was that?"

"Tickling. Ever happened to you before?"

He shook his head, eyes flitting away from Zeff with a sad look. He was quiet, seemingly lost in thought, and Zeff watched him, waiting for Sanji to gather himself. 

It took a few minutes before he dropped the pillow, propping himself up. There was still a trace of sadness, but there was something else, something Zeff couldn't quite place.

His eyes were big and droopy, fatigue weighing down his lashes and a smile, albeit faint, dragged across his lips. In the quiet of these late nights and early mornings, there was something different about Sanji, more tender. Like the darkness of the sky cloaked them in a veil of security, wrapping around his shoulders and tucking him in with the same comfort of a loving parent.

Leaning closer, a yawn breezing past his lips, Sanji shifted further towards Zeff, mumbling, "'t's nice."

"Guess so," he grunted and, seeing the expectant look on his face, reached back out, curling his fingers into Sanji's side until he burst into another fit of giggles.

Zeff supposed it was quite nice.

-

Sanji, by some miracle, had actually managed to fall back asleep after crying for mercy. 

Zeff wasn't tired, but he stayed, figuring Sanji wouldn't like waking up alone, and there wasn't much work to be done today anyway; he could let him sleep in. He grabbed a book at random from his shelf, biding the time by staring absentmindedly at the pages, his attention always somehow drifting back to Sanji. It was almost annoying, the grip that the kid had on him.

When he did wake up, scolding Zeff for letting them stay in that late and wasting so much of the day as if Sanji was actually the adult. It was stupidly endearing.

Zeff, like always, brushed away his concerns. "Then stop complaining and help me get ready."

"Help?" Sanji asked, indignant, and Zeff sorrowfully remembered what an attitude he had on him. "What do you need now, old man? A diaper change?"

Sighing, he only gestured to his face, watching the confusion spread across Sanji's face and sighing again. 

"The braids," he huffed, untying the ribbons. "They need to be redone."

Sometime during the night, or perhaps during his horseplay with Sanji, the hair had become wildly unruly, strands unwinding and sticking out at odd angles.

Sanji stared at him for a long moment like he was stupid. Then asked, in an oddly anxious voice, "What?"

"You heard me. Get on with it."

He couldn't bite back his smile. His whole face lit up, and no matter how hard he always tried to hide it, Sanji still always wore his heart on his sleeve, and his joy was infectious. Shuffling closer, he carefully reworked Zeff's mustache, hair now slightly curled, into a neat braid, redoing them both a few times until he was satisfied with his work, staring at Zeff proudly.

It was better than the ones yesterday; Zeff had to give him credit for that.

"Good work, little eggplant," he said, staring at himself in the mirror. "Now you go get ready. It's late."

Sanji, ever the dutiful worker, hurried out, but Zeff caught the blinding smile on his face before he left.

It was worth the odd stares he got from the rest of his crew, and none of them had the courage to say anything after Zeff stared down the first person who'd so much as uttered a word about it.

Unless it was a compliment, which he tolerated in silence only because it brought that bright smile back to Sanji's face, and the kid deserved the praise. 

The day was slow and calmer than Baratie had any right to be. 

There was an odd lightness in Sanji; Zeff didn't know if it was because of him, but he was glad.

And he was even happier when it seemed to persist into the next day and the next. 

They still bickered, of course—the kid—his kid—just had to bitch about every little thing. They spent long days cooking together, sweating and struggling in their somehow always understaffed restaurant. They trained together on those off days, splitting time between cooking and fighting. And in those early mornings, late nights, and all the time in between, they regarded each other with a new softness, with the playful and affectionate touches Sanji had become accustomed to, the ones he craved.

And Zeff, forever worn out by the rude, annoying kid he'd ended up with, always indulged him, his little eggplant.

[moons-dunes]

Patience

For Kinktober - Prompt: Tabletop

18+ Only MDNI

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

Summary: Steven teaches you a lesson in patience

A/N: This one is quite short. I’ve been having some issues in my personal life and it’s drained my creative energy a fair bit. Hopefully I’ll be back on my feet soon.

WC: ~1k

This work contains: dom Steven my beloved, Cockwarming, mild brief nipple play, rough PiV, sex on Steven’s desk, short and sweet. Please let me know if I missed anything.

“She was quite interesting really, Hatshepsut. Real shame that so many of her statues and paintings were destroyed after her death.”

Steven’s voice was right next to your ear, but your mind was somewhere else entirely.

You were honestly impressed with how casually he was speaking, especially since his cock was buried so deep in your dripping pussy. He might as well have been talking about the weather with how calm and collected he was.

You, on the other hand, were a hot mess. Quite literally. Sweaty and panting.

You should have known better than to bug Steven while he was wrapped up in a book, but you were feeling impatient. You were craving him.

It had started with you just sitting on his lap while he was at his desk, but after awhile he got tired of your incessant squirming and subtle grinding against him.

“You’re going to sit here like a good girl until I’ve finished what I’m doing, yeah?” He had warned as he pushed you up against the desk just to yank your pants and underwear off, removing his own as well before sitting you down on his half-hard cock.

He had the back of your knees hooked over his, leaving your legs dangling out to the sides. One of his arms was wrapped around your middle, holding you tight.

You couldn’t get any friction no matter how much you wanted to.

“Are you listening, darling?” His breath was hot against your ear as he spoke, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You seemed pretty enthusiastic earlier.”

“Steven… please,” you whined as you let your head fall against his shoulder, breathing hard.

“Do I look like I’m done, my love?” He questioned quietly but firmly, bringing his hand up from his book to pet your hair. “Enough whining. Be patient.”

He shifted his hips ever so slightly, making you tense against him as you tried to choke back another high pitched whine.

You were so sensitive, each little shift of his hips and twitch of his cock was the sweetest kind of torture.

As sweet as Steven was, he could also be absolutely ruthless sometimes.

He went back to turning the pages of his book, pushing his glasses up occasionally while you held back little whines.

It seemed like forever until he placed his bookmark between the pages, putting his book on a nearby chair as he decided to take pity on you.

“Was that so difficult?” He teased as his hands travelled under your pajama shirt, grabbing your tits to massage them. You let out a shaky moan as his fingers pinched your nipples, pulling on them a bit. “Does my good girl want her reward?”

You nodded frantically, crying out as his hips moved again. You couldn’t hold back your whimpering groans any longer as you felt his cock throbbing inside of you.

You sounded so pathetic.

He lifted you off of him to stand up and lay you down on the desk, leaving your soaked hole clenching around nothing. He quickly filled you again as he settled between your legs, resting your calves on his hips.

Steven wasted no time before he started pounding into you, each thrust punching a jerky moan out of you as you finally got the friction you desperately needed.

The sound of the legs of the desk scraping against the floor filled the living room, barely outweighing the sound of skin slapping against skin and your wet pussy.

“Better now, love?” He asked through his moans, smiling down at you. “See what happens when you have a bit of patience?”

“Thank you, thank you,” you rasped, surprised you could even form words.

His hands grabbed your legs, placing your ankles on his shoulders rather than on his hips. The new angle had him hitting that magical spot in you over and over.

“S-Steven!” You stuttered out through a broken whine, your hands scrambling against his shoulders and gripping his shirt tightly.

Your mind was buzzing, head spinning as Steven fucked your sensitive hole.

His chest was pressed against yours, pinning you underneath him. His lips found your neck, sucking marks into your tender skin as his hips slapped against your ass.

“Still so tight for me,” he muttered in your ear, burying his face in your hair with a satisfied moan.

He pushed you further up so he could climb on top of you, letting your legs fall across the edges of the desk as his thrusts grew faster.

Your pussy clenched down hard around him as you came with a shuddering shout, your fingers digging into his clothed shoulders desperately.

“That’s it, love,” he praised you sweetly, his hips stuttering and his thrusts growing shallow as he reached his orgasm. “Such a good girl.”

He kept thrusting hard, both of you moaning against each other.

The legs of the desk kept creaking loud, but it quickly became background noise as Steven fucked both of you through your highs.

Through the haze of your climax you heard a loud crack, then suddenly both you and Steven were on the floor with a crash before you could react.

You both yelped as you hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of you.

“Sorry, love!” Steven apologized profusely, pulling out of you and pulling you into his arms protectively as he knelt on the floor.

He cradled your head against him, immediately making sure you weren’t hurt. Thankfully you were both okay.

“Bloody cheap furniture,” he grumbled when he saw the broken leg of the desk, now bent underneath the rest of it. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, looking back and laughing when you realized what had happened as your mind cleared. Steven started laughing with you, relieved when he heard your tired giggles.

“Well then,” you chuckled, looking back at him and away from the busted desk. “I guess we won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 4: Wrath

Pairing: (Secondo x f!reader)

Summary: After being stood up and lied to, Secondo is seething. You should have known better than to go back on your word. Meanwhile, Terzo is facing a wrath of his own...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: Angst, potentially a little dub-con but this is consensual (safe word included), both are willing parties, m dom & f dom, manhandling, degradation, oral (m + f receiving), throat fucking, spit kink, face sitting, face riding, p in v sex, angry/hate sex, BDSM elements, belt spanking, belt leash, breath play 

This chapter features some more extreme sexual themes. If angry sex/mild dub-con/degradation is something you do not think you could handle right now, then please do not read this chapter. If you need plot updates, DM me. I’m happy to share. Your mental health is far more important than a chapter in a fic. Take care of yourself first. 🖤

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: @angellayercake once told me we need more Secondo smut in the world. I agreed. So here you go... 😈 The plot really begins to thicken here... so, please let me know if you're enjoying it so far, and don't forget to reblog to help me share my work! 🖤

Prev: Day 3 - Gluttony | Next: Day 5 - Envy

October 28th 

You could get used to this.  

Expensive silk sheets made a nice change from your usual standard issue cotton. You couldn’t help nuzzling into the fabric, enjoying the soft plush pillow beneath your head and the weight you could feel draped over your waist. As you came to, you reached down and felt the strong arm wrapped around you, the softness of the skin and the tickle of arm hair...  

Papa.  

You awoke suddenly then, eyes shooting open to the lowlight of the bedroom where the drapes were shut and autumnal sunlight tried desperately to push its way through. Papa’s bare chest was pushed up against your back, cradling you close to him. You hadn’t expected to fall asleep here last night, only to have spent the evening and made your way back to... 

Secondo... 

“Shit,” you thought to yourself, panic rising in your chest. You’d stood Secondo up. You promised him you’d help him with his work and you never showed... How long had he waited for you? Thirty minutes? An hour? Longer...? It didn’t matter. Whatever time he’d spent waiting for you was bad enough. You had to go, and quickly.  

Carefully, you lifted the arm curled around you and slithered from Terzo’s hold, letting his arm down gently as not to disturb him. He grumbled a little but settled quickly, and you stood without looking back at him once. Your dress from the previous night had been draped over the back of an accent chair in the corner of the room, and so you reached for it to pull over your still naked form, cursing yourself for having to do the walk of shame through the halls in last night’s dress. Hopefully the time was still early, and the halls were still quiet... You’d hate for your siblings to see you out of your habit. 

The rustling had woken Terzo, whose gaze remained transfixed on your back as you pulled the dress on, struggling a little with the zipper. He kept quiet, a strange feeling of disappointment in his gut. He’d thought that if you were to rush out of here so early, you might have had the inclination to wake him, maybe exchange a few words before running away. And yet, in your panic, you were running out of his bedroom faster than he could say ‘Hell Satan’.  

You didn’t even look back at him – and it stung. 

If you had, perhaps you would have seen the sombre look on his bare face. Sure, he could have said something to stop you – a simple good morning would have sufficed, but he was a stubborn and emotionally devoid man. If you didn’t even think to turn back and say a word to him, then like a toddler he would sulk and stay quiet himself. Have it your way.  

He knew where you were running off to. After all, he was the one to orchestrate this plan; although now he regretted it immensely. Perhaps there would have been another way, but with very little time left to plan each sin and make them authentic, he had to stick to letting you run off to face his brother’s wrath. He hated the thought that today, he wouldn’t get to have you again. This wouldn’t be his day. He had to let you go – and whilst on any other occasion he might have enjoyed the view, today he found himself rolling onto his back and covering his face with his arm after you’d shut the door behind you. He let out a deep breath and a low groan, and allowed himself to sulk.  

In Terzo’s living room, you stopped dead. Immediately you realised you weren’t alone – three ghouls were surrounding the dining table you’d made such a mess of last night. Swiss, grinning wildly at you with a taunting wave, Dewdrop, who nodded courtly and... Phantom.  

And he could barely look you in the eye. 

“Oh, um... Good morning,” you mumbled, adjusting your dress below your knees and folding your arms over your chest.  

“Mooooorning,” Swiss teased. “Quite the mess out here, Sister. Good meal?” This little shit. 

“Yeah, g-good. I’ve um... Gotta...” you pointed at the door and made a run for it, turning your back to the Ghouls cleaning up the stains and remnants of food and dishes.  

“Phantom, don’t stare at Sister ______’s ass while she walks away!” Swiss overdramatically accused, “I know that dress is gorgeous, but have some respect!” 

“NO! No, I... I wasn’t, Sister, I s-swear!” Phantom protested, desperately pleading while Swiss and Dewdrop laughed behind him.  

“I believe you, Phantom. Swiss, shut the fuck up,” you pointed at him threateningly with a scowl, to which he flipped you off – all in good fun, but you rolled your eyes regardless.  

Before any further embarrassment was thrown your way, you quickly left Terzo’s apartment and darted through the halls of the Ministry. Luckily, it was indeed early enough that you didn’t run into any siblings. However, somewhere along your way you had encountered a rather shocked looking Cardinal Copia on his way to his little workshop in the corner of the library where he restored and translated ancient texts; who for a moment let his eyes rake over your body in that fucking dress, before stuttering out a “Buongiorno Sorella” and averting his eyes as you strode past him. 

“Good morning, Cardinal,” you retorted dryly, not slowing or stopping to see the way his jaw had dropped, his cheeks had flushed pink and his poor mind had gone blank as he watched you power walk away. Frankly you wanted to avoid any and all social interaction possible, and so you hurried back to your own modest little abode to change, freshen up, and haul your ass down to Secondo’s office. 

Satan only knew what was waiting for you when you showed... 

The office was empty when you arrived.  

Papers littered Secondo’s desk; papers that he was likely up late working on because you hadn’t shown up. They looked messy, disorganised. It was out of character for him, the most organised man you had ever met. The fear and the dread rose like bile in your throat, but you swallowed it down and took your seat. Looking at the clock on the wall, he should be here already. You were in fact fifteen minutes late, so where the hell was he?  

You began to worry as the minutes passed, your leg bouncing anxiously under the skirt of your habit. You watched the clock on the wall, wondering when he would walk through that door and reprimand you as you’d expected. To busy yourself you stood, wondering over to his desk to begin sorting through the mess of papers and trying to organise them so he at least wouldn’t be mad they were still in disarray.  

After a torturous 27 minutes clock-watching, the doorknob rattled, and the door smacked against the stone wall with a loud bang. You jumped up from Secondo’s chair with a gasp, tripping on the legs of it and stumbling to one side. Secondo stepped into the room and reached back for the door, slamming it shut again so hard you thought the wood might splinter. Thankfully, it did not.  

“P-Papa... you scared me,” you said, trembling where you stood. His eyes flickered to your face as he skulked towards his desk, dark and unforgiving. He didn’t say a word, sitting himself down at his desk and ignoring you completely. “I-I... I wasn’t sure you were coming... I was about to come and find you, I thought maybe you were sic-” you began babbling away out of nerves, but he interrupted you. 

“I’m fine, Sorella. Merely working to your timetable, sì?” It was dry, sarcastic. You knew what he meant; late because you were late. It was petty, but you knew he could be the pettiest man on earth when he wanted to be. It irritated the fuck out of you.  

“About that, I’m sorry I was late last night...” 

“Late?!” he raised his voice, looking up at you now. His face was a picture of fury, eyes squinting and lips pursed. “Late doesn’t cover it, eh? You didn’t bother to come at all, if memory serves me.” Every word dripped venom, like a snake sizing up its prey.  

“W-well... I did, but when I came you were go-”  

“HA!” he scoffed, obnoxiously loudly, “Do not insult my intelligenza (intelligence) by lying to me. By 11:30pm I had neither seen nor heard from you. Not even a call to say you could no longer make it. Perhaps if you had at least granted me that kindness, I would have been okay with working alone long into the night. But no, not so much as a message from a Ghoul.” 

He’d caught you in your lie, and it had made him even angrier. You could see the way his chest rose and fell under his robes as he tried to contain it.  

“I-I’m sorry...” you began, but he simply would not allow you to finish a single damned sentence.  

“Oh, no. It’s fine, Sorella. I’m sure you had more important things to attend to, hm?” His sarcasm was poisonous. If he was angry, then fine. You deserved that much. But his snide attitude? That was never necessary, and it was grinding your last gear... And actually, yes. This was more important than some paperwork he needed doing. Everything you held close to you was at stake if you didn’t complete this ritual correctly. So, you got a little carried away last night. You fell asleep, exhausted. But if he knew the reasons why, maybe he wouldn’t be acting like such a Grade A prick about it all – at least, not if he cared about you in the slightest like he claimed he did yesterday. 

“I think you should know what’s been going on, Papa... I’ve been-” yet again, he interrupted you.  

“Oh, I know where you’ve been. Opening your legs for my stupido fratellino (stupid little brother) and his ghouls, eh? I didn’t take you for such a common puttana (whore), but I suppose a man can be wrong.”  

You stared at him, your eyes wide and glassy with unfallen tears. He’d never spoken to you like this before... He’d been angry at you in the past, sure, for making silly little mistakes in filing or in paperwork when you were just starting out but this? Calling you a whore? This was different. This hurt.  

“If you would just let me speak, Papa,” you spoke slowly, deliberately, and through clenched teeth. It took every ounce of restraint you had to keep your composure, to not let the tears spill down your cheeks in anger.  

“For what purpose? So you can tell me how you spent the evening hanging off my brother’s dick? Spare me, I do not wish to listen to that,” he held up his hand to silence you – and you saw red. 

“No, y’know what? You’re going to listen to this whether you like it or not.” Secondo looked up at you then, eyes wide and wild with rage.  

“Mi scus-” No. He was done talking. Time to listen.  

“I don’t care, what stupid little feud you have with your brother. That is none of my concern and frankly does not involve me, Papa.” You asserted yourself, taking a step closer to where he sat and staring him down. Your tears had spilled by now, leaving tracks on your cheeks but your eyes glazed over with fury instead, heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Just who do you think you are talki-” 

“Yesterday you pretended to care about me, what, so you could throw it back in my face when you felt like it? You said you didn’t want me to be scared of you – well guess what; I’m not. And if you think I’m going to stand here and let you call me a whore to my face, you are sorely mistaken. How dare you judge me, when you have no context to the situation at all!” you yelled at him, your temper taking over. 

“In what possible context would you screwing mio fratello become something I’d be okay with?” he asked, matching your decibels. Anyone walking past would hear every word through the door, but you couldn’t pay that thought any mind right now. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; perhaps you are making your way through the entire bloodline, eh? That’s two of us down...” he mocked, jabbing at the night the two of you spent together after Terzo’s ascension. You scoffed at the idea. 

“That’s hilarious...” you laughed maniacally. “You think I started that? You came onto me. You poured every ounce of resentment you had into a shot glass and chased it with whiskey. You buried your anger and hurt in the closest and most willing pussy you could find that night, which just so happened to be the assistant who’d do anything to make you stop hating her for trying to learn how to do her fucking job!” 

Secondo stood from his chair suddenly, his face hardened in an expression that read solely of enmity. On any normal day you may have cowered, but you could not back down now. You’d come too far, and none of what you were saying was a lie. He needed to hear this. He needed to know that you weren’t going to roll over and take being called a whore or spoken down to anymore – even if it cost you your job at his side. 

“Or maybe you were trying to position yourself by the side of a Papa for status, eh?” he taunted. How could he say that? Didn’t he know you at all...? 

“If there is one thing you know about me, it is that I do not care for such petty things as ‘status’. I slept with you because I thought you needed someone that night, because I could see you going off the rails. You were acting like a petulant, spoilt fucking child who couldn’t stand to see his little brother take his spot after he had been demoted.” 

He snapped at that, your words finally pushing him off the edge... He strode towards you, gripping onto the tops of your arms and pushing you until your back hit the stone of the wall to his left. He got in your space, his nose barely an inch from yours as his mismatched eyes bore furiously into yours. 

“You make it sound as if I coerced you, Sorella. Like you weren’t all over me when we danced, like your hands weren’t wandering when we stepped out for fresh air and a cigarette. Like you weren’t as drunk as I was and the one who kissed me first.”  

You stayed quiet, knowing he was right. He had you there; you had kissed him first that night, but he had been teasing you, flirting with you all night and if it hadn’t been you, it wouldn’t have been long before it was him. You were both drunk out of your minds, and since then you hadn’t spoken of that night with each other even once. You agreed the morning after to keep it a one-time affair; no strings, no feelings, no repeat offenses.  

So how would you explain the stirring in your gut when he pushed you against the wall, pinning your wrists either side of your head? 

“You know for a fact, Papa, that you let your pettiness and spite get the better of you that night,” you spat, choosing to ignore that feeling and continue to fight him. “That's what this is, isn’t it? You were jealous of Terzo then,” you leaned your head forward until your noses were barely touching, staring up into his eyes with your teeth bared, “and now that I’m fucking him? You’re jealous now, too.” 

With a growl you hadn’t expected to rip from his chest, Secondo hauled you from the wall by your wrists and pulled you towards his desk, manhandling you until he had you bent over the wood with your arms behind your back, leaning over you to whisper into your ear with a quiet acidity to his tone that scared you more than if he’d screamed, “I can give you anything il mio fratellino can, Sorella.” 

A thrill ran through you as you found yourself in a position of complete submission, the warmth of Secondo’s breath tickling your earlobe as he whispered.  

“You seem to forget, even intoxicated, I gave you a night of pleasure like no other, hm?” he chuckled darkly, his chest vibrating against your shoulder blades where he pressed you into the wood, “And you think I could be jealous of that stronzo?”  

You’d be lying if you said he was having no effect on you. Anger radiated through your body, pumping hot and fast through your veins and centring on one focal point – your core.  

“If you would like to know what’s got me so fottutamente livido (fucking livid) it’s the fundamental disregard for everybody else around you. You forget your place, dolcezza. You are my assistant,” he shook his grip on your arms as he growled in your ear, your body lifting and slamming back into the wood beneath you, “You are mine, _____. And you will respect me as your fucking Papa.”  

He let go of your arms with a final shove into the desk, and took a step back, watching as you panted and seethed in place unsure if you should move yet or not. Part of you wanted to apologise and go back to being the doting and feeble assistant. Part of you wanted to stand up for yourself, to walk out and take your anger out on someone else. And part of you wanted to see how far you could push him until he truly snapped... 

“I don’t fucking belong to anybody, Secondo,” you snarled his name purposefully instead of his title, standing up straight and turning to face him. You watched as his hands balled into fists, the creases in his forehead deepening impossibly under his paint and eyes turning into slits.  

“You talk too much, Sorella,” he spoke slowly, through teeth clenched so tight you thought they might shatter. You had seen him this angry before, but never at you. You could potentially be ruining your relationship with him right here in this moment, getting yourself fired – even banished if he was angry enough. You had disrespected a former Papa, after all. And the least forgiving... “Get on your knees. Now.” 

He left no room for negotiation, but still you hesitated, eyes darting for the door and calculating briefly how you would make a run for it and where you would go should things turn sour. But there was a nagging feeling in your mind, a tiny voice that told you ‘no, stay. You are safe with him. You both need this...’ 

And so slowly, you did as he told you to, lowering first to one knee, then the other, whilst holding eye contact.  

“You will apologise.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a request. And yet, you stayed silent, chewing on the inside of your cheek as your own anger silently simmered away inside you. He scoffed when you said nothing, threading his leather-clad fingers through your hair and pushing your veil off your head in the process, before tightening his grip and angling your head up to him. He leaned over you, hovering so close you could practically taste him already... “Apologise.” 

A beat of silence passed, before you pushed your luck once again, “you first.”  

He laughed; a dark, menacing laugh that had your cheeks flushing and the heat pooling at your core throbbing.  

“Forget it, then. Perhaps punishment is more fitting, hm? Perhaps, seeing as it is your mouth that got you in trouble, you should use your mouth to get you out of it, too.” He leaned his head to one side, coming to whisper in your ear, “The safe word is ‘cranberry’. If you cannot speak, you tap out three times. Nod if you understand.” 

Your lips parted as a breathy whimper left your throat, your head nodding in understanding without so much as a second’s hesitation.  

“Brava piccola puttana (Good little whore),” he praised, the fingers in your hair tightening with a squeak of the leather and pulling with a pleasing sting on your roots. He stood up straight again, looking down at you on your knees for him and smirked. “Your mouth, Sorella. Put it to better use than talking back to me.” 

As he spoke, he reached between where the material of his robes met. You heard a buckle jingle, a button pop and a zipper undo, some more rustling... but you didn’t remove your gaze from his even for a split second. Not even when you felt the unmistakable silky softness of skin pressing lightly against your bottom lip, where he gently pressed the head of his cock in wait, expecting you to open up for him.  

Secondo had been hardening from the moment you’d raised your voice at him. He liked a challenge, and rarely found a woman who would fight back with him. Having a long line of lovers who are so willing to submit to you is fine, of course. It gets him off, he enjoys it. But on the rare occasion a woman defies him so outwardly, pushes his buttons as much as he pushes hers? It lights a fire hotter than hell itself inside him. 

He half expected you to run for the hills, to stand up and tell him he was being a perverted old man who thought only with his cock, and so he was only just able to hide his surprise when you actually opened your lips to him, and waited for him to push forward. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of engulfing his head for him... 

Slowly but surely, he pushed his hips forward, the head of his cock slipping past your open lips and settling on your tongue. He bared his teeth, clenching his jaw in a sadistic smile when he felt the wet heat on the underside of his cock, and your lips closed around his length.  

“Molto bene puttana, (very good, whore),” he jeered, “See? You do know what to do with that mouth. Now, you’re gonna take what I fucking give you, hai capito? (understand?)” You muffled an affirmative hum around his length, still unable to move your head as he held onto your hair tightly. With his free hand, he lightly slapped your cheek twice as if to praise a pet, before he started to rock his hips back and forth, savouring the drag of your mouth on his cock. 

Secondo lost himself pretty quickly, thrusting only half of his length in and out of your lips as not to overwhelm you to begin with but the pace he set was rapid and aggressive. He grunted with every snap forward, snarling like an animal every time you’d tighten your lips or suck harder on his outwards strokes. 

“Can you take all of me, dolcezza?” he said, the pet name dripping with sarcasm. You blinked up at him and hummed again, your thighs pressing together beneath you as the arousal started to build, and a familiar wetness began to pool between your legs... He pushed himself forward all the way, your nose burying into the patch of hair above the base of his dick where his robes parted, and his suit trousers were undone underneath. His cock filled your throat, and had you not already relaxed it you may have gagged on his length. 

“That’s it, Sorella, take it all...” he growled above you, starting to move your head for you with the hand still gripped tightly in your hair. The pull on your roots was painful, but nothing you didn’t enjoy under the right circumstances – and these were certainly the right circumstances. With each push and pull of your hair, the saliva gathered in your mouth and spilled around his length, creating trails down your chin. Your eyes watered at the force of his cock in your throat and the pain of your hair being pulled. You looked like a mess, and he fucking loved it.  

“Perhaps instead of disobeying your Papa and having an attitude, this will teach you to show me some fucking respect, eh?” he scolded, his hips unable to keep still and meeting his hand pulling on you with each downward stroke of his length. You were struggling to breath, gagging around him and getting tiny little gasps of air through your nose where possible, until he pulled out of your throat completely with a loud gasp and a trail of saliva connecting the head of his cock to your lips. He held your head upright as he stared you down.  

“I don’t... have... a fucking attitude,” you answered back between breaths. His face curled into one of utter disgust, and before you knew what was happening, Secondo’s cheeks hollowed and he spat down onto your face, the glob landing just between your nose and top lip.   

“Shut the fuck up, puttana (whore),” he bellowed, his voice sending vibrations of lust through to your centre. Your thighs squeezed together and your eyes teared up at the humiliation. “Clean yourself up,” he demanded, his free hand now gripping your chin to hold you still underneath him.  

Reluctantly, you parted your lips, your tongue coming to lick at the glob of saliva settled under your nose and gather it on your tongue. Secondo smirked, lining his cock up with your tongue and dragging the head through his own spit, drawing little circles over the surface. You could taste the hint of precum that had gathered on his tip as he watched you.  

“You can take orders, hm? Brava,” he praised, before roughly shoving his cock back down your throat and beginning a punishing pace once again. He threw his head back in pleasure, holding you still with both hands as he fucked your throat. Your hands flew to his thighs, gripping at the muscles to steady yourself and give yourself something to hold onto. Your nails digging into his thighs over his robes and trousers still had a bite to them, sending him spiralling further into pleasure. Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your throat and took a step back, letting you fall onto all fours where you lost your balance gasping for breath and drooling onto the stone.  

“You don’t deserve my cum yet, Sorella. You will work for it,” he panted, gripping the base of his cock to stave off the orgasm that had clearly been so close. “Take off your habit. Sit on the edge of my desk. Do not make me fucking wait,” he warned. 

You gathered a sliver of composure before you obeyed, unbuttoning your habit as you stood, ignoring the drool and tears painting your face. If you had caught your reflection at that moment, you’d have seen your eyes smudged of mascara, your cheeks stained red with arousal and anger, your lips swollen and shimmering from his assault. Secondo thought you’d never looked prettier...  

You hesitate for a moment, once finally nude. You place your palms flat on the short edge of his desk and lean down, your mind racing. He was being the asshole here, not you... He should be the one on his fucking knees for you, begging forgiveness for daring to call you a whore at all. You span to face him, your faced screwed up in fury. Before he could berate you for making him wait as he had so clearly warned you not to do, you were grabbing him by the collar of his robe and spinning him, his ass hitting the edge of his desk as you pushed him flat on his back. You climbed on top of him with a knee either side of him, pinning him in place as you straddled his chest. ��

“My fucking turn,” you snapped, shuffling forwards until your core aligned with his face. You reached behind you to grab him by the wrists, his hands already coming up to attempt to fight you but you took control too quickly, sinking your hips down until his lips came into contact with your wet, waiting core. Secondo growled into you, before obliging and parting his lips, tongue coming out to lick a fat, wet stripe down through your folds.  

You gasped at the contact, leaning your weight back onto his chest where you held his hands still. You rolled your body, grinding down against his face and using his nose, chin, lips and tongue to your advantage, smearing his paints with your essence. You ground your clit down onto his waiting tongue, using him for your own pleasure the way he had used you. The pent up anger and frustration of that morning was pushed into every roll of your hips, grinding harder and harder down with no regard for Secondo’s lung capacity. He knew what to do if he needed to tap out, but he took it. He let you use him, barely tried to fight you as he lost himself in how you tasted on his tongue.  

You wailed as the pleasure built, moans of ecstasy mixing with grunts of aggression. You let go of Secondo’s wrists and immediately his hands flew to wrap around your upper thighs, holding you down against him as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His tongue buried itself deep inside you at every given opportunity, his nose becoming the focal point for your clit to grind in circles to accumulate as much pleasure as you possibly could.   

You fell forwards, hands slamming to the desk to steady yourself on all fours. Your hips bucked onto his tongue, cries of bliss rolling from your own. Heat bloomed and radiated, your orgasm approaching impossibly fast as you put all of your energy, all of your anger into using Secondo’s face to get off. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, completely lost in chasing your high and forgetting that the face below you was indeed attached to a very angry man... he disappeared from beneath you.  

Using his now freed hands he pushed you forward and off balance, sliding down the desk and away from you to stand up, spinning in place to turn back to you. His hands reached out and grabbed your thighs as you screamed incredulous profanities at him, demanding he get the fuck back under you and make you finish. Your focus had been too much on cumming, and you’d lost the power you’d taken within seconds...  

“You’re lucky you got away with that as long as you fucking did, puttana,” he growled, dragging you to the edge of the desk harshly until your legs dropped off, stomach hitting the wood with a thud. You tried to grip the table, to put up more of a fight be he was too quick, and far too strong. You knew you were in trouble, that Secondo would get you back and punish you for that little stunt but it only served to turn you on more, a wave of fresh arousal pooling where his paints were smeared over your dripping cunt while you clenched around nothing desperately. 

“What am I gonna do with this attitude of yours, eh? You think it’s okay to defy your Papa? To use him for your own fucking pleasure?” As he reprimanded you, you could hear the buckle of his belt jingling again and the telltale sound of the leather being dragged through his belt loops. “Clearly my cock in your throat wasn’t punishment enough, hm? You need to really be taught a lesson, Sorella.” 

He gathered the leather belt in his hands, creating a bend and running it down your spine as he held you still with one hand.  

“What, are you gonna hit me with it? Do your fucking worst,” you taunted, wriggling your bare ass and earning a dark chuckle from behind you. Before you had time to ready yourself, he brought the leather down to your ass cheek in one very quick, very harsh smack. Your body jolted, chest falling flat against the desk as you cried out. The sting was incredible, and yet, all it did was turn you on more. That mix of anticipation, pain, pleasure all at once... It was dizzying.  

“Aw, poor Sorella. That’s left a mark already...” he mocked, running his gloved hand over the welt he’d created before delivering another harsh smack over the other cheek, revelling in the way you squeaked and writhed for him.  

And there was nothing you could do – not that you wanted to stop this at all. You had your safeword if you needed it, but the throb of your neglected pussy was all you needed to tell you that you fucking needed this. All of the frustrations and hurt that had built up over the last few months, maybe even years, around your wavering faith and your doubt were coming to a head, spilling out in how you were acting and finally expressing themselves. This experience was nothing but cathartic, whether you were the one controlling it or not.  

Right now, Secondo and his wrath were exactly what you needed... one belted spank at a time.  

Terzo sat at his desk, foot tapping rapidly against the stone floor of his office. He leaned his forehead on his palm, staring down at the document beneath him, re-reading the same paragraph once, twice, three times before he gave up with a sigh, leaning back against his chair. His focus was all off, every tiny little thing around him irritating him to no end.  

His mind was too busy. Occupied, regrettably, with thoughts of you.  

His mind raced with images of the previous night; how enraptured he’d been in you, how he lost himself in the intimacy and passion you’d shared. And in contrast, he ran the events of this morning over in his head; how you’d left so suddenly without so much as a ‘good morning’ or a look in his direction. Probably running off to Secondo, scared of him after you’d stood him up last night.  

Ah yes, Secondo. You’d be with him right now, wouldn’t you? And if all had gone to plan, he’d probably be taking his wrath out on you as he sat there in his office. Or maybe you’d be the one to be so angry at him, you’d taken the control. He wasn’t sure which was worse... 

He despised the idea.  

He regretted putting this plan in motion, using his brother to carry out wrath with you. He should have found a way to do it himself; he didn’t want to share anymore. Yes, that was selfish of him. This wasn’t even about him. These were your sins, it was about your devotion to the Dark One. He needed to help you, to guide you so there could be no mistakes made and each sin was performed to the best of your abilities so you could get the clarity and the guidance you needed when all of this was over. That’s what was so important, here. And some sins required different expertise, potentially even multiple people. He would have to deal with that. 

Wherever this jealousy was coming from, it would have to stay locked up tight. He couldn’t pay it the attention he was giving it already. Nurturing it would only allow it to grow, and his possessiveness was just infatuation. This was just some of the most exciting sex he had had in years. It was nothing more than that; black and white.  

And yet, as his mind unwillingly pictured you and Secondo screaming at each other, taking out your anger on each other in the way he knew you would be, his fists clenched and his muscles contracted. Anger of his own bubbled and brewed, spilling over when he smacked at the lamp on his desk, knocking it so hard it hit the floor with a smash. His breaths turned into long, deep exhales as he tried his best to cool himself down, to stop whatever ugly emotion this was that was presenting itself. But that’s the thing about growing up with very little emotional stability... 

You never learn to control it. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was throwing a fit in his office. Papers went flying from his desk, books being thrown against walls, chairs being turned over and clattering on the floor all whilst he growled and barked like an animal, losing any semblance of control he had.  

He kept picturing his brother’s smug fucking grin when he’d tell him you’d performed wrath together. He kept picturing the way you’d left this morning, leaving him cold and alone after what he thought had been a night of unbridled passion together. He cursed himself for being so fucking stupid as to get so wrapped up in his own fantasies that he actually thought you might be a little more affectionate towards him, that maybe there was something more between you both.  

He felt like an idiot, and his own humiliation and self-hatred had personified itself in a wrath of his own making.  

Terzo stared at the mess he’d made of his office, his chest heaving in deep breaths. Now, in a post-rage clarity, he laughed at himself, dragging his hands over his face in exasperation.  

“Terzo, you vecchio sciocco (old fool),” he mumbled to himself, just before a timid knock on his door brought him back to reality.  

Sister Christine poked her head through as she opened the door slightly, her eyes widening when she saw the mess of his office. She’d heard the commotion, heard his yells and the string of Italian profanities from her little desk in the adjoining office.  

“Is everything alright, Papa?” she asked, scared to enter the room in case he might turn on her. He’d never raised his voice to her once in her time as his assistant, but there was something different about him lately. He was distracted, irritable, overstressed and overworked.  

Terzo chuckled at his own ridiculousness, before meeting Christine’s eyes and smiling softly in an attempt to reassure her.  

“Fine, Sorella. Mi scusi, I had a little... accident,” he lied, not bothering to come up with anything better.  

“O-oh... Well, I’ll help you clean up,” she stepped into the room then, heading for some of the scattered papers on the floor by the door.  

“No, per favore... This was my fault. I’ll... I’ll do it,” he sighed, walking over to where she crouched on the floor and taking the papers from her hands gently. “Grazie, but please. Would you leave me?” he asked, a wave of sadness crossing his features that Christine certainly didn’t miss, but didn’t mention either. Her brow just furrowed as she nodded silently.  

“If you do need anything Papa, please tell me. It is my job, after all,” she said as she left, smiling comfortingly before closing the door behind her. She was a sweetheart, Sister Christine. Terzo knew that anything he needed, she’d happily humour him. She certainly had in the past... Sister Christine had been a source of stress relief for him more than once. Perhaps that’s exactly what he needed; a distraction, or rather, a reminder that you were not the only woman who could give him what he needed.  

Maybe that could break the spell you seemed to have cast over him...  

It was that thought that sparked an idea in his mind. A wicked, devious idea... but it might just work. 

You'd lost count how many welts Secondo had painted into your ass cheeks, tears brimming and flowing from your eyes as he landed one final, harsh blow that hit your swollen pussy between the swell of your ass cheeks. It sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body as you sobbed into the fist you bit down on to keep from screaming.  

“Some very pretty shades of red and purple back here now, Sorella,” Secondo marvelled, grazing his palm over your ass. “Bellissima.” You just whimpered in response, unable to think of anything smart to quip back at him.  

“Does it hurt, dolcezza?” he patronised you, rubbing light circles over the welts.  

“N-no...” you lied, one last act of defiance. 

“Questo tuo dannato atteggiamento... (that damn attitude...)” he growled, “Am I going to have to fuck it out of you, puttana?” 

You didn’t respond with words, instead gathering some strength in your weakened legs to push your ass back against him, his cock still hard and ready for you beneath his robes. You felt his length and chased it, but he backed his hips up out of reach and held you tighter down on the desk.  

“How am I going to keep you where I put you, hm?” he asked rhetorically. Looking back at him, you saw him staring down at you with messy paints where you’d sat earlier. His face was dark and mocking, the belt still looped in his hands. He saw your eyes drift down to the leather, and smirked as an idea came to him. “That could work,” he chuckled, letting go of you and threading the belt through the buckle.  

He leaned forward, looping the homemade collar over your head and letting the buckle slide to tighten the loop around your neck like a leash. He pulled lightly on it and watched as your back arched, head lifting like he’d planned. Now he truly had you where he wanted you...  

“Now, Sorella, you’re going to take every inch of my cock, and you’re going to thank me for it. Do you understand me?” You would have nodded if you had the flexibility to, but instead you whimpered against the tightness around your neck. “Words, puttana.” 

“Y-yes,” you choked. He tugged sharply at the belt. 

“Yes, what?” You chewed on your lip a little, hesitating. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you didn’t have a whole lot of choice in this position...  

“Yes... Papa...” you spat, straining as your hands held you up on the desk for some light relief against your new leash. 

“Bene,” he praised briefly, letting the leash go a little slack while he lined himself up to your puffy and dripping cunt. Without another word, he pushed the head of his cock through your folds and inside your quivering walls. You felt so tight around him, squeezing him impossibly as he filled you to the brim, bottoming out. He grunted, free hand gripping your sore cheeks and squeezing. You clenched around him at the ignition of more pain to your ass and he revelled in it. You liked the pain he was giving you, that perfect balance of the scales of pain and bliss. He often found they worked well hand in hand... 

He allowed you to get used to him with a few gentler strokes of his hips, but before long, he was fucking into you hard. He kept his pace slow and calculated on his outward strokes, but as soon as the head of his cock would be about to pop back out of you, he would ram his hips against your ass in one very quick, very brutal thrust. Each time, he would grunt in satisfaction. Each time, he would pull on your leash. Each time, it would make you cry out. 

It felt fucking euphoric... The girth of his cock stretched you so wonderfully, the pain of your abused ass being slammed into offsetting the undeniable high of direct thrusts to your g-spot. He was using you, teasing you, punishing you. You wanted so much more, needed more stimulation, a release but he was doing just enough to keep you on edge whilst reminding you that he had the control here. You had lost it long ago.  

Secondo poured all of his anger into each thrust, his face carved into an expression that could have killed had you looked directly into his eyes. He was like a man possessed, those slow and deliberate poundings getting quicker and quicker, slowly building as he too lost the control he’d given himself. 

Before long, he gave up trying, allowing his thrusts to get faster without losing that punishing strength. His hips slapped against your ass over and over again, each blissful hit to your g-spot coupled with another shocking burn in your ass. He pulled so tight on the leash your back arched and head fell back, now able to see him upside down as you contorted to accommodate the leather restraint. Your hands kept you upright, the tightness around your neck adding to the high. 

“You’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the last couple of weeks, ______. You think I didn’t notice you whoring yourself out to mio fratello? Your wandering eyes, your tardiness, your blatant disregard for your true fucking Papa?” he hissed, his pace becoming unforgiving. You cried out, already teetering on the edge of an orgasm with the mix of sensations and his degradation. “Tell me who you fucking belong to, puttana.” 

“I-I don’t... belong... to anyone,” you challenged, that same rage from before simmering away at the surface.  

“Wrong,” he pulled sharply at the leash, “try again.” 

“N-Not his...” you snarled.  

“No, not his. Correct,” his cock pounded into you, upward strokes igniting every pleasurable nerve inside you. “Then who?” 

“N-not... not yours... either,” you sassed, sentence broken by each harsh thrust he delivered. He scoffed darkly, using his hand to deliver a harsh smack to your already burning ass.  

“Say that again, I dare you.” You stayed quiet, only whining at the high that you were chasing, so desperate to reach it. “Tell me. Who the fuck do you belong to, _____?”  

That last time you had slept with him, all those years ago, he had been only a fraction of this person. He had been dominant, controlling, angry; yes. But never like this. Never before had he let himself go like this around you. It turned you on to no fucking end...  

“Y-you! Fuck, I belong... to you... Papa...” you conceded. If you didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d never let you cum. And right now, that’s all you wanted. You needed it so fiercely.  

“There’s the truth... brava puttana, (good whore,)” he barked, loosening the grip on the leash momentarily. “Good puttane (whores) cum when they’re told, sì?”  

“Yes, Papa...” You were so close, the pressure in your core ready to burst. 

“Will you cum on my cock when I tell you, Sorella?” he asked, leaning over you to stroke his thumb over your jawline, rutting into you like an animal in heat.  

“Y-yes, Papa... please,” you begged, all defiance and dignity long gone.  

“You ask so nicely,” he scoffed, “cum on my cock. Now,” he demanded.  

You were already too close to be able to deny his request, your body giving in and the build-up of pressure bursting within you like a firework. The sparks flew through your body, igniting every nerve. You wanted to scream, but the sound caught in your throat when he tugged sharply on the leash again, adding another layer to your high. He didn’t relent, stroking his cock over your walls over and over while you clenched and convulsed around him.  

You tightened impossibly on his length as you came down from your delirium, and with just a few more thrusts Secondo was pulling out of you and cumming over your bruised and welted ass. Rope after rope of hot seed hit your skin, the warmth of it only accentuating the burn to your cheeks. The leash around your neck was let go, air flooding your lungs and oxygen going straight to your head. You collapsed to the wood, finally able to let out a gasping moan as your hands gripped the edges of the desk for purchase, for something to ground you. Secondo had to do the same, holding himself up as he caught his breath.  

By the time either of you were able to be coherent, the burn of your ass had dulled and the stains had dried.  

“Sorella, I...” he pushed himself up, standing with a groan at the ache in his back, “I'll get a cloth. Stay there.”  

He hobbled over to the small en-suite toilet, tucking himself back into his trousers and doing them up as he walked. The belt stayed loosely looped around your neck where you lay, your eyes closing in exhaustion and an unwillingness to move. Soon enough, Secondo came back with two damp cloths he’d moistened with cold water. He pressed the first gently to your ass, soothing the welts whilst simultaneously cleaning up the mess he had left there. The second, he dragged over your centre, cleaning you of his smudged paints and your own juices.  

The cool feeling was welcomed, and you were grateful for the care he took. Secondo was a heavy lover, but even last time he had taken good care of you when it was all over. You trusted him to do so now, too. 

He disappeared again with the cloths, rinsing them and coming back to soothe the marks a few times over to cool them once they’d warmed against your skin. Eventually, you felt able to stand, the welts not so bad anymore. Secondo handed you your habit and underwear, allowing you to dress yourself while he took the belt from your neck and removed his robe, hanging it over the back of his chair to thread the belt back through his trousers.  

Rarely did you see Secondo without his robes. He was a proud man, and a stickler for tradition, order and uniform. But each time you would see him in just a shirt and slacks, you were reminded that he too was just a man, under the surface.  

“Difficult to stay mad at you after that,” he chuckled awkwardly, leaning against the back of his chair on his forearms. You adjusted your veil on your head, smiling briefly at him, unable to hold eye contact. You weren’t sure what to do now. Were you to go back to work? Continue your day as if the pair of you hadn't just taken all your rage out on each other in some brutal hate sex?  

“Just for the record... I know you don’t belong to me. Whatever this is,” he motioned to the space between you both, “it’s nothing more than sex. I hold no possession over you, nor do I harbour any hidden romantic feelings for you.”  

You knew that, and you felt much the same. Neither of you had even made a move to kiss the other this time around; just pure sex, a way of venting. Besides, you couldn’t hold romantic feelings towards Secondo. Not now, anyway... 

“I know, Papa. I don’t either.” Secondo smiled softly at that. 

“I know you don’t... Besides, I was more angry that you never showed last night than I was about whatever it is that’s going on with Terzo. That’s your business,” he held up his hands at that, “and you do know how to push my buttons. You probably understand me more than most.” 

He was referring to his jealousy of his brother in general; his anger at being demoted and replaced by a brother he saw as too reckless, too self-obsessed to be ready for the role. You knew how he felt about that after the night of Terzo’s ascension, and his attitude towards Terzo ever since.  

“Not to speak out of turn, Papa, but... you should cut him some slack, I think...” you shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “he is trying to do what’s best for the Ministry, for his flock...”  

He was helping you, after all... 

“Yes, yes... Perhaps you’re right. He does seem to be stepping up to help more, recently,” he chuckled, reaching towards his desk drawer. “Is he helping you?” he asked suggestively.  

At first, you thought he meant sexually... You figured he was making a crass joke about Terzo helping you orgasm or something stupid along those lines. Until, he pulled out a clipboard from his drawer...  

“W-what’s that?” you asked, suddenly nervous. Did Secondo know? 

“I was talking to him just a couple of days ago, Sorella. He said he was helping you with a problem you were having...” he smirked, picking up his spectacles from his drawer and placing them on his nose, pretending to look over whatever was on the clipboard in front of him.  

“W-well... he is, yes. It’s, um...” you stuttered – how much did he know? 

“He figured I might be able to lend a hand. So, dolcezza,” he looked up over his spectacles at you, flipping around the clipboard for you to see the list with three out of seven sins already crossed off, “shall we cross off ‘wrath’ together?” 

The smug look on his face only barely irritated you, instead amusing you as you shook your head in disbelief.  

“You bastards...” you laughed, dragging your palm over your face. “You fucking planned all this.” 

“Sì,” he laughed, “and it worked a little too well, I think. But eh,” he shrugged, taking a pen and crossing wrath off the list, “cathartic for us both.” 

“I’m going to kill you both,” you threatened, taking a seat at your desk and wincing a little at the pain of your bruised ass.  

“I believe it,” he laughed, taking a seat at his desk too and locating his spare paints in his desk drawers with a pocket mirror, reapplying what you’d wiped away earlier.  

Answering your own question, you did, indeed, simply go back to work. Any anger, spite or irritation was cleared. There were no secrets anymore, and now that you knew Secondo was aware of what you were doing there was an enormous sense of relief. He told you what he knew, what Terzo had told him of your doubts, your struggles. He was supportive, only encouraging you to keep going with the ritual. He wanted to see you succeed. He, like Terzo, wanted to help where he could.  

Did it hurt him that someone he held so close to him was doubting her faith in the Dark One? Of course it did, but it was nothing personal. He couldn’t allow it to bother him or cloud how he saw you. And he had enough faith in Lucifer that should this ritual be completed correctly, he would put you back on the right path.  

You wouldn’t waver for long; and so he pledged to give you whatever you needed to complete this ritual; time off, breaks, supplies, anything... He needed you at his side – his devoted assistant. His friend.  

Terzo was seconds away from tearing his hair out. 

His day had gone from bad to worse when Sister Imperator had burst into his office some time that afternoon, demanding more paperwork of him and dropping stacks of it on his desk. She had given him yet another lecture about his ‘conduct’, going so far as to compare his uselessness to that of his father’s; that had not sat well with him at all.  

If there was one thing he certainly did not want to be, it was anything like that lousy excuse of a padre.  

As the sun set outside his office, he looked out at the view of the Ministry gardens from where he sat. Judging by the stack of papers on his desk still, he would be here long after the sun had dipped past the horizon.  

His mind wandered as he took in the colours; the autumnal oranges, reds and browns only highlighted by the orange glow of a setting sun. It was so beautiful outside. He wished he could go for a walk, enjoy the crisp air instead of being cramped up inside his musty old office. He wished you were at his side, strolling through Primo’s well organised flowerbeds. Perhaps he would take your hand in his, enjoy your company, your chatter. He could get to know you more, learn a little about your history, your likes and dislikes. 

Terzo shook his head of the idea, diverting his attention back to the papers beneath him. He couldn’t think of you right now, or let his mind wander in over-romanticised fantasies. He’d only end up drowning in his delusions, finding himself getting more jealous, yearning for something with you that he knew he would never have. He couldn’t; you would never want him and the baggage he came with. He was not a relationship kind of man. Not a single relationship had ever made it past a month, his inability to let anybody in being his Achille's heel. No matter how perfect the fantasies he’d drawn of you and him were, that would never be the case.  

It had taken him a ridiculous amount of self-searching to even admit that he was having such fantasies to himself. If he couldn’t open his own mind up to the idea of more with you, how could he ever open himself up to you? No, this was just fantasy. He kept telling himself, over and over... just fantasy. Nothing more. This would pass, as it always did.  

When the work day had ended a couple of hours ago, and Sister Christine had left for the day, he had removed his papal paints that were cracking with each harsh frown the stress of the day had brought him. His robes hung up in their usual cabinet, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and top button undone; the collar had felt suffocatingly tight in his overburdened state.  

He got to work, focussed on the mountain left for him by Imperator long into the evening with the glow of his lamp – now fixed together with hot glue and a fresh lightbulb – to guide him.  

It was around 8:30pm when you left the mess hall after dinner, thinking you might pay Papa Terzo a visit, tell him that today had gone well and hand him back the clipboard he had given to Secondo. Most of the siblings were in their dorms or hanging around in the mess hall still, and so the corridors were quiet – particularly around the clergy offices, most headed home for the night. At dinner, Sister Christine had sat with you, told you he would be working late. Something to do with Sister Imperator and a stack of files that ‘had to be sorted right away’. You’d sighed to yourself at that; she worked that man too hard.  

Still, at least you knew where to find him. And so, when you arrived at his office door you didn’t knock, assuming he wouldn’t mind you entering unannounced. You would only be quick, letting him know wrath was checked off the list and handing him his clipboard back. 

You opened the door a crack, peering in to see him sat at his desk. He looked exhausted.  

Perhaps it was just the low light, but you could see dark bags under his eyes where his paints usually sat. You realised then, he was completely barefaced. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was underneath it all... The darkness in the room still concealed him somewhat, but you still could see him. In the years you had known him, you had never seen him without a spec of paint on his face. You would have had you not sprinted from his bedroom that morning, but you weren’t to know that. Right now, whilst you could marvel at what you could see of his good looks under the shadows of the low lighting, you could see he looked truly vulnerable.  

He leaned his head on his hand, fingers gripping tightly at his black locks. They were dishevelled, like he’d been running his hand through his hair over and over all evening at the stress. His forehead was creased in a scowl, and he was muttering to himself in Italian.  

So enamoured in his work as he was, he didn’t notice you looking in on him. He’d missed the creak of the door, and was too involved in his work to notice you peering through the crack. You’d never seen him so stressed, and you figured maybe now was not the time to interrupt his flow. Compared to his work, this was just a trivial matter.  

No, you would come back tomorrow after he’d got some rest. And maybe he’d have a plan for whatever the next sin was to cross off the list.  

Quietly, you closed the door again, careful not to let the latch snap shut and disturb him. You hugged the clipboard to your chest and began sneaking away from his door, heading back to your dorm with a heavy feeling on your chest.  

You couldn’t help but feel for Terzo. If it wasn’t for the workload you knew he’d been given, you would have offered him some solace, maybe asked if he’d like to go for a walk through the gardens for some fresh air? Just a small gesture, to ease the stress and give him the break he deserved. And selfishly, you would have to admit spending some time with him wouldn’t be the worst thing, either...  

But you couldn’t distract him. Not tonight.  

Maybe you could help tomorrow, instead. 

Prev: Day 3 - Gluttony | Next: Day 5 - Envy

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

@call-me-little-sunshine84 @thew0man @zombiesnips-blog @ghuleh-recs @popiaswife @anamelessfool @enchantedbunny @haelithra @aslutforgreyhair @togetherasone @lilylovesdew @copias-sewer-rat @copiaspet622 @deetz-ghuleh @loudwombatmugkid @nimbusghoul @portaltothevoid @angellayercake @sodoswitchimage @siouxbauhaus @lydz1977-blog @bitchywitchygardener @sacrificialsake @the-did-i-ask @ghostfangirlsweden @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @copiasprincipessa @gothicwonderlust @ladymer @ghulehunknown @onlyhereforghost @solluna00 @nijiru

[rambleonwaywardson]

https://www.tumblr.com/majorbuckyegan/756637372984197120 gale in the olympics au? u said he had back issues

I’m newly obsessed with this gif so thank you thank you thank you for bringing it to my attention. I went ahead and wrote a little thing based off of it. In my head, this takes place a bit later in the AU than we’ve gotten thus far.

I’m still working on the next official part of the Olympics au (astronaut au took much of my time this past week). So hopefully this can tide people over for now 😊

…

“Is your back ever not tight?”

“Is your knee?”

“My knee is still healing from being completely destroyed a year ago. What’s your excuse?”

“I ride.”

“You sure do.”

Gale groans, an exasperated little noise that starts as long-suffering but ends in an obscene sound of pure pleasure when Bucky shifts the massage gun over what he knows is one of the most troubling knots in Gale’s upper back. “There. Right there,” Gale pants. He squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces against the mild pain, biting his lip and tilting his head to the side in discomfort.

He’s sitting on the bed in front of Bucky, wearing nothing but a soft white robe like Bucky’s room is his personal spa or something. Bucky can’t possibly mind, though, considering he simply can’t deny this man a single thing. Today Gale discovered that Bucky had a massage gun packed in his luggage. He so shyly requested Bucky use it on him, and how could Bucky turn him down? How can Bucky say no, when Gale looks at him like that with those pretty eyes and those soft lips and that messy hair? When he looks so hopeful and yet like he’s trying to play it off as casual, as if Bucky doesn’t know how badly he just wants relief. As if Bucky doesn’t understand exactly what that’s like.

It’s unfair, really, how beautiful Gale is and how Bucky’s lips can’t seem to form the word “no” in his presence.

He doesn’t know when he got so soft, when he became such a pushover, someone who wants nothing more than to please someone else and take care of them. But he thinks it might have started the moment he so much as looked at Gale Cleven. Suddenly, all he wants is to make Gale smile, see him blush, give him everything he wants, protect him and look after him and cherish him as if he’s not a grown man who is perfectly capable of looking after himself. But at the same time, Bucky thinks that maybe Gale needs someone to look after him anyways, that maybe he hasn’t had enough people taking care of him in this life. Bucky has become all too insistent on claiming that role for himself.

So if Gale wants a little spa treatment with Bucky’s massage gun, then that’s exactly what he’ll get.

As the knot starts to release, Gale tilts his head back, his lips parted, and he leans into the pressure. “Fuuucckkk.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I swear you sound more pleased with this than when I fuck you.”

Gale doesn’t even hesitate, just keeps shifting against the pressure on his back, trying to get the tension to diminish. “This might be better, not gonna lie.”

Bucky pulls the massage gun away, and Gale frowns. He glances back over his shoulder, looking like an annoyed cat who wants attention and isn’t getting it.

“You take that back,” Bucky demands.

“Don’t be mean,” Gale pouts. “You said it yourself. You don’t know how I function like this. I need this John.” He shifts his shoulders back and forth in an effort to stretch out the muscles in his upper back as if to make a point.

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. “More than you need me?”

Gale hesitates, his mouth open without any words coming out like a slew of panicked question marks. Because, well, his back has been screwed up for years and only gets worse with age, as does his pressing need to make it go away. At the same time, though, sex with Bucky is… well he has no words for what sex with Bucky is. Otherworldly? Is that ridiculous? Something he never knew he needed but now doesn’t want to go without.

At the same same time, his back is killing him and he needs Bucky not to stop, so what is the best thing to say in this moment to make sure he doesn’t?

Before he can figure it out, Bucky sighs and tilts his head. He stares at Gale with a resigned look and a loving little smile that makes Gale know he’s won.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Bucky mumbles.

Gale tries not to smirk to himself as the massage gun gets back to work, but he can’t hold back a low moan as it presses into his tired muscles. Legitimately, the pleasured noises that come out of his mouth are because it feels that good, but he’d be lying if he said he isn’t aware how much it turns Bucky on.

Sure enough, Bucky can’t resist. “As soon as we’re done here, though,” he adds, “this robe is coming off. We’ll see what makes you moan the loudest.”

Gale’s a little lost in the pleasure-pain as Bucky keeps working on his back, but his cheeks flush anyways. “I look forward to it.”

[xaeethebaee]

baji nsfw hcs? I love urs they’re so funny 😭💗

MINORS! DNI! 18+ FOLKS ONLY!

Thank you so much for being my very first request! I'll try my absolute best to not disappoint, Anon Love!

What's it like to date Baji Keisuke? This Headcanon obviously will contain some NSFW material, fluff, and a little bit of angst.

Warnings: Mean Dom Baji, subreader, very mild blood play, nonconsensual video sharing, and a very subtle hint at sadism

A/n: I know there are a million of these, so hopefully this gives a different take. Also please keep in mind that this is strictly referring to ADULT KEISUKE BAJI!

Let's start with the fluffy parts of your relationship with him!

He’s not very affectionate at first as the most you'll get out of him is hand-holding and maybe brief hugs here and there

He does show other ways of showing his affection for you like randomly kissing your forehead, biting your hand as he holds it, and calling you a cute pet name - Kitten (though it's not always used in a cute way)

He also bites you to mark territory, so he is somewhat possessive

PLEASE play in his hair since your touches are gentle and relaxing to him. It's also the best way to put him to sleep!

Just let him rest his head on your lap and he'll be dozing off in minutes!

It's extra special knowing you are the only person who he'll allow to touch his hair

Style it if you'd like too and he won't mind going to Toman meetings with that hairstyle because everyone knows not to tease him for it. It's also because it is one of his ways of showing everyone who he belongs to.

He does sometimes struggle with having a conversation with you because he does not want to frighten you. That means he tends to avoid talking about his gang-related activities though, it does not stop him from showing up at your place in need of some first aid.

He is the most vulnerable during those moments too. In fact, it is the only time he tells you how much he loves you

It goes without saying that Baji is VERY protective of you

You're never allowed to walk alone at night and go to unfamiliar places. He is either walking with you or he has Chifuyu or Kazutora to accompany you (I'm going to do a headcanon of how the rest of Toman and Baji's mom treats you as his gf in a different post since there is so much to talk about)

Circling back to the biting thing, you two get playful with each other. Wave your finger in his face and he will playfully bite at it.

Baji gives you enough time to move your finger however the times when he does bite it (thankfully not hard enough to hurt) he won't let go

Once you do free your finger from his teeth, he will present the most adorable pout. That moment makes Baji fall in love with you all over again when he sees you smile because of your cute moment with him

You two can keep doing that for over an hour and it still won't get boring

Here are a few not-so-fun aspects of being Baji's girlfriend

He. Wins. EVERY. SINGLE. ARGUMENT!

it does not matter what you two were arguing about, he wins every time because he gets so terrifying (mf has anger issues after all)

Baji can be demanding sometimes whether it is intentional or not.

he has a very bad habit of not saying 'please' or 'thank you' when he asks you to do something for him

prepare for random impulsive actions from him. Most of the time, it is funny but the few times when it is not is because someone got hurt

He's a thieving pyromaniac. Basically, he sometimes steals your things and burns them for no apparent reason.

Usually, he is perceptive enough to tell which of your items you no longer need or use but it is still a mild annoyance

On to what y'all really want to see: the NSFW material!

Remember the pet name, Kitten? There are times when he uses the pet name in a more predatory manner

when he is horny, he basically will see you as his prey that he can devour so he will typically use it before or during sex

it doesn't matter what time of day it is, Baji will send you dirty messages when he feels like it

Baji: send me a pic of ur tits

You: My day has been going well. Thanks for asking.

Baji: then I'll fuck u violently ❤

Baji definitely has a size kink

he knows he is not the tallest however he also knows that he exudes an intimidating aura. That aura makes you feel small (even if you're taller than him) He loves to see the effect his aura has on you. (cheeky bastard)

He ALWAYS initiates sex

You know when he is in the mood because he touches your thighs more. Also, sometimes he'll just blurt out: "I wanna fuck."

don't worry because Baji is typically in the mood when you are as well

MEAN DOM!

those backshots are RUTHLESS!

when in missionary, he does have his hand over your neck and he squeezes it (though you'll still be able to breathe normally)

Despite being a mean dom, Baji does prioritize your satisfaction, so he is a Mean Service Dom lol

he takes eating you out very seriously to the point where his hair is tied into a ponytail before he goes down

those tongue strokes get your legs shaking every time. Yes, he makes you squirt too but don't think that is going to make him stop

the guy LOVES to overstimulate you sometimes

Giving him head is messy because the dude has a very peculiar habit of bucking his hips so he goes deeper down your throat. He may be a slight sadist because he likes watching you choke harder on his length

Don't forget, he's still a BITER during sex too so expect those fangs going in the skin of your neck and shoulders. Sometimes, he draws blood but it is always an accident. He'll lick the blood off though

Baji can last a while during sex but once he cums, he's done (obviously he will make sure you are thoroughly satisfied too)

estimate between 30 minutes to an hour (including foreplay)

As rough as he is, he can also be just as gentle. Sometimes, he just needs slow and romantic love-making, and generally, that happens after you've been such a good partner to him

He does record part of your sessions (with your permission of course) and it is mostly when he is fucking you from behind

He will never share it with anyone (except for Mitsuya and don't ask why and you don't know about that 🥴)

he keeps the recording in his phone for 'self-service' reasons

His aftercare is getting better with time

at first, all you got was a half-assed swipe from a towel but now you're starting to get the princess treatment by being carried to the bathroom. Though he will forget you are bathing and he goes to sleep, so you're just left in the warm bath water waiting for Baji to help you out

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

[I hope you Lovelies enjoyed. I really tried my best to bring a different take to Baji. Fun fact, (like so many people) I started watching Tokyo Revengers for Baji! Somehow, I ended up simping for Shinichiro of all people lol.]

[Requests are always open. My only thing is that I won't accept requests for any Non-Con/R scenes and scenarios.]

[whumperstorm]

Supressing Fire - Part 3

Content: Vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, choking, mild violence, past child abuse

Keegan struggles to settle into her captivity. Even if she wants to cooperate while she heals, she's not very good at it. Kane is his usual angry, lonely self.

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

Part 1/Previous/Next

Keegan spends her week of recovery worrying about her sister. Lohitha can handle herself, but she's still a kid, and Keegan has been gone a while now, and will be for at least another month. She needs to know if she’s ok. That she has a warm place to stay and food to eat. God, she probably thinks Keegan is dead... Or worse, that she abandoned her. The idea alone leave’s Keegan’s heart aching in her chest.

Her anxious thoughts swirl around into a storm of worry in her brain to the point she can't sleep. She's almost glad when Kane returns once her pneumonia clears up. She was about ready to start pounding on the door just for the distraction.

"Good evening," Kane greets as he enters. He's had some time to calm down in the week since. He's glad to be back, too. He's trying to look at it as a fresh start. He can feed from his human like a proper vampire, and everything will be fine and normal from now on. "Are you better now?"

Keegan takes as deep a breath as she can with her injuries. 'keep calm. cooperate.' She reminds herself. 'Even though he has a very punchable face.'

"I am. Pneumonia-wise at least. Ribs’ still fucked." She says, sitting up.

"That's good to hear. Hopefully, such things are behind us now."

"Mhm." she hums, not trusting herself with a response.

He almost sounds like he cares that she's feeling better. But Keegan knows he's just glad he has is bloodbag back. She can't believe he's acting so nonchalant now. 

Kane decides to feed with his human sitting down, worried about causing more damage to her ribs- he does not want to go back to the doctor. He wishes she wasn't taller than him, so it wouldn't be an issue. He'll choose more wisely next time.

He licks the wound shut when he's done. "I'll take a new grocery list." He says. It's been a week, and his human is surely running low on food.

Keegan shudders with disgust. She put bandages on the list so hopefully she can get him to stop licking her once they're delivered. She hands him the note, mostly just restocking what she had, then after a moment she blurts out, "Do you have a phone?"

"I do. Much more efficient than letters for most things, nowadays." Kane can already see where she's going with this. There's no reason she'd be asking otherwise. "And no, you may not use it."

Her instinct is to snap back at him, but this is too important. "Please, I just need to call my sister. You can listen in if you think I'm gonna try to send a code or something."

Kane is neither amused nor sympathetic. "If you think you are getting any concessions after your little stunt, you are out of your fucking mind. Forget about your sister. You're mine now."

The words hit Keegan like a slap to the face. Anger and desperation bubble up in her stomach in equal measure. "Forget about- How dare you! She's only twelve and she's all alone now. I need to make sure she has somewhere to go! This isn't about me."

"How many times do I have to remind you to watch your tone?" Kane snaps back, unwavering. The thought of his human having a caring family makes him angrier, for reasons he doesn't want to think about. "She's just a human, and what happens back in human territory doesn't concern you anymore. Get over it."

Get over it.

Kane can say whatever the fuck he wants about Keegan. But the moment the words about Lohitha are out of his mouth, she's swinging. No one insults her little sister. "You heartless LEECH-"

Kane grabs her arm before the punch can connect. He's furious now.

"You will show proper respect!" he barks. He lets go of her arm, but takes her neck just as quickly, slamming her into the wall. His grip is tight enough that she can't speak, can't breathe. Can't disrespect him anymore.

Keegan chokes, scrabbling at the bruising grip against her throat. Her vision wavers. She has no air! She kicks her legs wildly in panic.

"What? Can't run your fucking mouth now?" Kane mocks- zero humor in his voice, only rage. But he knows that humans can't survive without air too long like vampires can. After about ten seconds, he lets go, throwing her to the ground. Probably not the best for her healing ribs, but he's too pissed-off to care.

Keegan desperately sucks in air, trying to curl up against the pain, but that only makes it worse. She kneels there gasping for a moment until she doesn’t feel on the brink of passing out. She looks up at Kane, who seems much more menacing now, towering over her. ‘Just like-’

"Learned your lesson?"

She nods in defeat, too afraid to speak, in case she angers him more.

"Good." He leaves her alone. 

Keegan remains kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped around herself like a hug, for a long time. Tears burn at the corner of her eyes once again. She fiercely holds them back, thinking only of her hatred for Kane until the ache in her heart is locked away.

-----

Things continue in a similar manner for some time. Kane feeds, his human usually complies, but often mouths off. There are no more major incidents for weeks, and his human's injury seems to be healing. It could almost be called peaceful. He gets her groceries as requested. He never spends more than about five minutes a day with her. 

Kane has always been lonely, but being lonely with someone else in his house is a new experience. He knows it's not the same, it's not like she's a person. But one rainy night, about a month and a half later, he's feeling particularly lonely. He remembers how he and Bellamy would play chess on rainy nights like these when he was a boy. He knows it's pathetic, but after feeding that night, he sticks around. "Would you be interested in playing a game or watching a movie? I'm bored."

Keegan can't help herself. "What, you don't have any vampire buddies to hang out with?"

It sours Kane's mood instantly. Why did he think this would be a good idea? "Shut the fuck up. Final warning." He ignores the question. "And final offer."

Keegan backs off. She doesn't want to ruin this chance. She hates him; she should tell him to fuck off and leave her alone. But she also feels like she's going to tear her hair out if she doesn't get out of this room.

"Yeah alright. Sure." She stands up.

Kane is pleased he's gotten her to accept without needing to embarrass himself. He doesn't really like her, but... he's tired of being alone, and she's here.

He holds the door open for her. "Do you want chess or cards?"

"Depends on if you're willing to teach me how to play chess." Keegan says.

"I am. Everyone starts somewhere." With that, Kane takes the chess set out. He positions it in the middle of the couch and begins arranging the black pieces. "Set up the white pieces on your side the same way I'm setting up mine. White goes first and has a slight advantage."

Keegan sits down across from him and follows his directions. "Aw," She smirks. "Giving me the advantage? How sweet."

‘Maybe this will be ok.’ Keegan thinks. If nothing else, to make them less violent towards each other until she’s able to escape. It feels so weird though.

"You're the beginner." Kane says. It should be obvious that she gets the advantage, right? How pathetic would it be if he took the advantageous position over someone just learning to play, when he's been playing chess for nearly a century? "Have you ever played checkers?"

"Yeah, me and my si-" Keegan cuts herself off. Best not to talk about her sister right now. Or think about her. She starts again. "Yeah, I've played checkers. I tried to get into chess a few times but never committed. But, I'm bored enough to learn."

-----

Kane explains the rules: how each piece moves, how to determine a check or checkmate. He even goes over a few basic opening moves and strategies. "While you're learning, you can go back and change moves if you realize you've made a mistake. You go first."

Keegan follows Kanes directions, and actually ends up figuring it out pretty quickly. It's complicated, but in a challenging puzzle kind of way. Halfway through their first game, she speaks up.

"So earlier, what I said was a genuine question. Like, what do you do all day? You even got a job?"

"I don't need a job, I'm nobility. Tonight's too dreary to go out." There are no windows in Kane's house, but the rain can be heard pattering against the walls. "I'd need to drive instead of run, and parking is aggravating..."

He avoids his human's question yet again, too embarrassed to admit he's a hermit.

"Good to know that traffic is just as ass on this side of the border." Keegan says. "I run just for the hell of it and I've done it in the rain, but I suppose it's different if you're going a hundred miles an hour." She'd love to be running right now. She hasn't seen the sun in over a month.

Keegan moves her rook absent-mindedly.

"Oh, look at that! You made check!" Kane points out excitedly. He's glad the human's picking it up fast: it makes for more interesting games than if he had to just babysit her for it. He makes a move away. "Try to do it again. And yes, it's far different when running. Imagine driving in the rain with no windshield."

Keegan blinks in surprise. "Oh, I did?" She moves again with her knight this time.

She ends up close to checkmate a few times before making a mistake and getting cornered. She finds herself enjoying the evening more than she thought. The two chat idly, it's awkward, but bearable.

She beats him in only her third game.

"Very good!" Kane praises. He must be an excellent teacher. This is ideal: it would be boring playing against a beginner so much, tediously building up her skills. The human's even been nice to be around, far more so than he'd expected. "You're an absolute natural."

"Thanks." It was probably a fluke, Keegan is not very good at tabletop games. She hopes he wasn't going easy on her. Or worse, patronizing her. He sounds genuine in his excitement at least. But then it happens again. And again. The game is surprisingly simple for her now that she knows the rules. She can easily guess Kane's moves and prepare accordingly, almost like moves in a fight.

Now this is exciting. Kane has to admit he's gotten rusty: he hasn't had someone to play chess with in quite a while, and often would only practice against himself in solo chess. That must be why this young human with her fresh ideas is beating him. And it means he has something to work towards. That night is the most fun Kane's had in ages.

----

Keegan's ribs eventually heal. Her bruises fade. She regains her full range motion and a new appreciation for the ability to stretch her arms above her head. She's been in Kane's house for two months now. It's been... tolerable. Kane feeds every evening, and although her pain tolerance is high and the bites themselves don't bother her too much, the repetition is starting to drive her up the wall. Kane also didn't accept her proposal to use bandages, stating that it would be "wasting blood". The disgusting licks continue. 

Now that she's healed, she wants to stop pretending she's ok with all of this bullshit. Some days, when he invites her out for chess, she and Kane actually seem to get along. They're personalities are similar enough that Keegan thinks they maybe could have been friends if they'd met differently. If he wasn’t an abusive piece of shit that kidnaps people.

Kane has allowed her some amenities to help her pass the time. Books, art supplies, etc. However, Keegan has always been outdoorsy, and being cooped up is making her twitchy. She hasn’t been on a run, seen the sky, or had a goddamn cigarette for far too long. Her temper is even shorter than normal, and she's paid the price multiple times when she's mouthed off at Kane. She's still a prisoner and now that she's healed, her mind is screaming at her to Get. Out.

 Which is a problem. Because she has no plan. She has no weapons, any time she's out of the room, Kane is right there, and the door is always locked up tight when she's alone. She wishes she could talk to her hunting partner. Vivian was always the levelheaded one. The one with the plan. Keegan isn’t patient like her. She’s the fighter. The muscle. She isn’t meant to be idle. Something needs to change soon or she's going to blow a fuse. 

It all comes to a head one night while Keegan is cooking dinner. She's been extra pissed off tonight, for reasons she can't pinpoint, but everything is making her skin crawl. She's a ticking time bomb. And it's something so small that does it. She's reaching towards the fridge to fill her cup of water, and her sleeve snags on the cabinet. Something snaps in her mind. She sees red and she hurls the glass across the kitchen, shattering it against the wall with a loud BANG. 

Fuck.

Kane is on the second floor, and wouldn't usually hear anything going on in the human quarters, but vampires have very good hearing, and that was loud.

He rushes to the door. He hesitates a moment, mindful that the human's attacked before. But he took all her weapons, didn't he? And she's been behaving. Surely, this is unrelated.

He flings the door open. "What was that?"

Keegan stares uncomprehendingly at the mess of glass. Her blood is still boiling. That wasn't enough. She hears Kane behind her and that just makes her Angier. Can he not just leave her alone??

"AUGH, fuck OFF!" she roars. Not even specifically at him. At everything. At nothing. She turns back around and swipes her empty plate off the counter for good measure.

"Hey! What the fuck!?" Kane storms toward her with violent intent, instantly pissed-off.

Slap. 

"What's gotten into you? Stop this at once!"

The sting of the hand across her face cuts through the haze of anger, and for a moment, it's no longer Kane standing over her, but her father. Liquor bottle in hand and fist raised with the promise of more pain. Keegan cowers.

"Wait! I'm sorry- I'm sorry! She gasps for breath, her heart pounding. "I just... I need a minute."

"What is this?" Kane gestures wildly at the floor, broken glass and ceramic strewn all over. "You're breaking my things, making a mess, and telling me to fuck off? You'd better be sorry!"

Keegan takes a few deep breaths to collect herself, hoping Kane won't use her silence as a reason to hit her again.

"I can't... I can't do this," She says desperately, grabbing fistfulls of her hair. "I'm going insane in here. I didn't mean to break the- I just got angry."

Kane hates how much he relates to that. He shouldn't be relating to a human. This isn't supposed to be an equal relationship. "Well, you need to clean this shit up and get a handle on it. You're my human now, and you need to get used to it," he says firmly.

"I can't just 'get a handle on it'." She argues. "It runs in my family. I need an outlet or this is gonna happen again. Back at home I had a-" Oh. Maybe that would work? Only if she can convince him though. She stands up. 

"Listen, I'll clean this up, alright? I don't like breaking things. Back at home, when I couldn’t go outside, I had this punching bag that I'd take my energy out on, or just hit for fun. If you'd get me one, I promise not to break any more of your things."

It's not proper. Kane pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. He shouldn't be rewarding his human with gifts when she misbehaves.

But... if it works? If it actually helps her behave? He needs all the help he can get.

"Fine!" he concedes. "No more outbursts or I take it away and all your breakables get replaced with plastic. Clean this up. Now. I'll take the remains when you're done." He's not stupid enough to leave an array of sharp objects in the human's hands again.

He actually went for it. Keegan is surprised, but relieved. Losing her cool is always humiliating, but here, it's a threat to her safety. Hopefully this way she can get Kane off her back. And maybe get hit a little less...

"Got it." She says, trying not to grimace at him ordering her around. She wasn't going to just leave it there. She steps past him to the closet for the broom and dustpan, and his eyes bore into her back while she cleans. Why is he just standing there? She doesn't need a fucking chaperone. It makes the anger simmer back to the surface but she forces it down. 'I'm getting what I want here, just relax'.

Kane waits until every shard is swept up into a trash bag, then takes it. "See to it this doesn't happen again."

It's three nights later when he shows up for his feeding with a gift: the punching bag. He hands it over after he's finished feeding, licking the human's blood off his lips. "Here. Vampire punching bags are far too strong for a human, so I've had to order it special from human territory. You'd better appreciate it."

"Thanks!" Despite the circumstances, Keegan is ecstatic about the punching bag. It makes sense that it wouldn't be a vampire's version, and it concerns her how easily Kane can just get things from human territory, but she doesn't dwell on it. He already stole a literal human from there anyway. She's also not surprised that he doesn't offer to help her set it up and unfortunately that means she's going to have to ask him for another favor. Unless she wants to fight with this thing for the next three hours. 

"Um, I can set up the stand and everything but... Would you maybe... hook it on the chain when I'm done?" Keegan asks. ‘Please say yes, I don't want to throw my back out before I even get to use it.’

"Only if you ask properly." Kane figures he can use this as an opportunity to get his human used to using proper titles. The punching bag will help her behave in more ways than one.

Keegan grimaces. "I'll do it myself." She turns around and starts to unpack the pieces.

Kane sighs. "You'll have to learn your place eventually. If you end up changing your mind, just leave it and you'll have another chance tomorrow." He leaves her, wondering if he's made the right decision. It's been months, and she's still not respecting him. Maybe he should try forcing his hand more with it. He'll see how this goes, first.

Keegan is smug as she sets up the stand. Maybe it's petty, but she'll take what rebellion she can get. She doesn't need him, she can do it. She'll make a pulley system out of her bedsheets or something.

-----

She can't do it. Not for lack of trying, but she just doesn't have the tools or the strength to lift it high enough. She stubbornly works at it for hours, but eventually she has to call it quits when she hears a small rip from the fabric. Her face burns when Kane returns the next morning.

"Please help me lift it, sir." She forces out between clenched teeth.

To his credit, Kane shows no outward signs of gloating, though he is certainly celebrating on the inside. He wants the human to want to address him properly, he's not going to push her away from doing so. He nods, nice and casual. "Of course." The bag is as light as it was when he carried it inside the previous night, and he sets it up with ease. "That looks like it should about do it. Now, mealtime."

---

Keegan is expecting smugness, and Kane’s calm demeanor is almost worse. She knows she just lost this little game of theirs and she knows he knows that. But, the bag is up now at least. She can tape a picture of Kane's face on it later to make feel better.

She has to wait a little while after the feeding to regenerate her blood sugar before she gets to try it out. When she does, it’s perfect. Her muscles burn with the effort after her lack of exercise, but it's satisfying and stimulating in the best way. For hours, she wails all her frustrations out on it. Her anger, her helplessness, her embarrassment. The loneliness and sadness that she's been holding all this time, released through every strike. By the time she's done she can tell she'll be sore as hell tomorrow. But she feels satisfied and relaxed in a way she hasn't since her captivity began.

Her mind feels clearer too. She'll find a way out of here. She'll find a way back to Lohitha.

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

Taglist: @whumpsday @not-a-space-alien @anomalys-taxonomy @what-if-i-just-did @dragonqueenslayer6

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Today's contribution for Disability Pride Month

Obligatory "I don't have this disorder. I'm raising awareness because I'm so fucking sick of women that drink while pregnant bitching about how hard it is being an 'autism mom'". (Autism mom in quotes because a) it's probably not autism and b) the phrase "autism mom" to describe "mom if an autistic kid" is stupid.)

(I'm going to use the term "women" instead of "uterus haver" not to be exclusionary or transphobic. But because I have a severe headache effecting my ability to find words. I am trans-masc. Don't cancel me. I'm not a FART.)

(This is not to demonize people that suffer from alcoholism. Addiction is a very real disability. This is to raise awareness for one of the only known preventable birth defects and hopefully seek help.)

Thank you for the people at @bfpnola discord for checking my post to make sure this doesn't sound eugenics-y.

Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD)

FASD (previously known as fetal alcohol syndrome) is a disability that can range from mild to severe dependant on how much the mother drank while pregnant. It only takes one glass of wine while pregnant to cause this disorder

I already know what the fuck this is. Why are you talking about it?

Because your only know about the severe cases diagnosed as fetal alcohol syndrome. You THINK you know what it is. But the reclassification has only come up in like... 2003? Fetal alcohol syndrome is like... the far end worst severity of FASD. And since the new information of it being a spectrum disorder, estimates have the disorder as high as 5% of the population (and I really think it's higher based on some information I'm about to share).

Fine. So what is this... spectrum disorder?

Very good! So this disorder is HIGHLY misdiagnosed as autism. So all those boomers bitching about "the rates of autism going up?" Yeah they probably caused it. Symptoms include low body weight, facial differences, poor coordination, difficulty maintaining attention, poor memory, poor emotional regulation, slower development, poor reasoning skills, issues with the heart, bones, and kidneys, shorter height, shorter head size,

I have all of those things. How do I know it's FASD and not the autism?

That's kinda the issue. The only real way you can know is ask your mom if there's ANY possibility she's had a drink while she was pregnant. I can't stress this enough IT ONLY TAKES ONE DRINK. For instance I have a lot of those issues, but my mom was so paranoid she wouldn't even dye her hair or drink coffee. Like there's NO WAY.

Like what do I do about it?

Mostly get your accommodations met and raise awareness. Like people are still actively drinking while pregnant because they are still under the pre-2000 belief that just a couple of drinks are okay. It's really not. Not to mention most women don't know they're pregnant until 4-6 weeks in. So they shouldn't be drinking if they're actively trying to have a child. Because that increases the risk.

What the fuck. People are drinking while pregnant? I don't believe you.

Each of these claims are linked.

30.3% of all women reported drinking alcohol at some time during pregnancy, of which 8.3% reported binge drinking (4+ drinks on one occasion)

According to the Center for Disease Control, one in 10 (10.2%) of pregnant women in the United States reports drinking alcohol in the past 30 days.

Despite clear evidence that primary prevention of FASD is possible if prenatal alcohol exposure is avoided, up to 80 % of women drink during pregnancy, many before pregnancy recognition

What? Women are drinking while pregnant? That's fucked up.

This is not to say people with FASD are lesser than.

But all of this "curing autism" when most of this "autism" is caused by a pregnant person's ability to stop fucking drinking for literally 5 minutes. THESE WOMEN THAT ARE DRINKING WHILE PREGNANT ARE THE ONES CAUSING ALL OF THIS GIVING "AUTISM". IF YOU DRANK WHILE PREGNANT. IF THERE'S EVEN A SLIVER OF A CHANCE THAT YOUR DRANK WHILE PREGNANT? ITS PROBABLY NOT AUTISM. ITS PROBABLY THIS DISORDER.

I'm just really fed up with all of these "autism moms" that also make "wine mom" jokes and making light of literal alcoholism bitching about how hard it is to be an "autism mom" because YOU'RE THE PROBLEM. STOP LAUGHING ABOUT YOUR ALCOHOLISM AND PUT THE DAMN GLASS DOWN.

But my parents are literally autistic

So they don't really know the generational effect of FASD because the new knowledge is so new. But since FASD is literally genetic issues caused by alcohol while you're in the womb. It's assumed that it can cause issues that are passed down.

But like this diagnosis is SO NEW that we really don't know much.

-fae

[husbandohunter]

YOOO hello!! first of all, I hope you are doing well Nya ^^ remember to take care of yourself, stay healthy, and drink lots of water, mkay? good good :) (ur writing is astounding btw i love it sm)

second, may i request a childe angsty (not much tho, just missing him- does that count as angst lmao) + fluffy scenario (or the uh dot hcs thing?? with lil scenario after it?? idk how to call it 💀 but yeah you can choose :D) with a timid, reserved s/o? like... you're feeling a bit down and miss him, waiting for him to return- and when he does, you just- dash into his arms, while he sits there paralyzed, since you don't generally initiate the affection. too shy to do so- however when u do he softens at ur cuteness,, (regretting your decision afterwards cause he makes you blush while praising you- way too easily- and he admires you more while u bashfully avoid his gaze-)

and while cuddling he asks as to why you did that, if something occurred... noticing you were sniffling instead of talking, he halted to take a look at your face, freezing once he saw your profile, crystal clear tears painting it. wiping them away, he cupped your cheeks with his greater hands and before he could utter another word, you answered him, his worried expression transforming into a surprised one unimaginably fast.

"I just... love you so much Ajax. I love you..."

repeating that over and over while delicately holding his hands close to you, a soft smile decorating your lips as you leaned into his palms. and he just. smiles too completely melting-

aand that's all i can think of-- i hope that gave you enough fuel to think of the scene hh- obv take your time with it pls don't feel rushed okay? ik you're busy and have many requests already hh ^^ take a break if you must! farewell!!

Sweetness [Childe x Reader]

Synopsis: Childe can expect all kinds of ambushes but not the one that attacks him in the heart!

Genre: gender neutral reader, mild angst to fluffy fluff

(A/n): First off you’re so sweet anon. I don’t mean to take this long but I do think about the blog and you guys every once in a while. I hope this was to your liking, though got self-indulgent with the last part xD Childe is either badass or an absolute clown🤡 there’s no in between

============================

• Childe had been sent away on a mission in Snezhnaya two months ago. He wrote letters to you in his absence. Until the weekly letters became nonexistent. It was due to the fact been busy over the course.

• But you didn't know that. Demands of being the 11th Harbinger had made things difficult for him to even sit down and relax.

• And when he finally got the chance to pick up his inkset, the man falters yet again over another crumpled sheet tossed into the waste basket.

• How on Teyvat should he begin after weeks going cold? Since when was the last time the two of you properly talked? Were you so furious that you didn't write back?

He felt as if he was being physically beaten by these incessant questions, plagued by scenarios that don't exist.

Childe blankly stares at the ceiling of his hotel suite. It was deathly quiet. The candle burns alight, confined in the glassjar designed by Snezhnayan antiques, and he swore he could even hear wax dripping down the sides.

The Harbinger slaps a hand over his face and groans, "Haaaa, I can't believe I'm actually losing my mind over this."

Hopefully no one sees him in his current state. Their Fatui leader fussing with love letters akin to a teenage boy's first crush. Earlier the evening Childe announced to his assistant that no one shall disturb him while he is issuing an important message to overseas, otherwise they meet a harsh punishment under his command. That was an excuse. A very silly excuse. There was no diplomacy to be made overseas, just one man missing his lover.

The picture of your most recent expression shows up and Childe meticulously carves it out of his imagination. While you were not the type to be vocal about your affections, reserved and somewhat aloof, somehow that itself was a charm of yours. Perhaps he likes a good challenge, perhaps the spark between you two ignited when he kissed you on a fluke. And when you couldn't form the words to your clouded thoughts, actions alone were more than enough for the man to be satisfied.

"Let's see where this goes, yeah?"

Then one meeting turns to another, three dates turn to four, and before he knew it, Childe has been looking forward to spending time with you ever since. A part of him waiting for answers yet to be said. Do you like him the way he likes you? Even though everything he does appears to be whimsical and reckless? This long distance makes him think they were almost not real drives him mad.

What if you were seeing someone else?

A pause, the information too great for him to process. Childe spasms in his seat and slaps both palms flat on the surface table, sounds resonating through the room, enough for his assistant outside to hear.

Nah, who am I kidding? The man waves off the idea like an impractical joke. There's just no way. Sure you were attractive and alluring with mystique, Childe is certain that he had no competition. After all he was a Fatui Harbinger for Archon's sake. Crafty, handsome, strong with a good sense of humor, he's your ideal man. No one's got a shot at this other than him.

Except all those statements existed only in his head.

How the hell should he know what you're thinking about?! The man rests his face on a propped up palm, tapping the desk with the other as he thought deeply. No, a love letter won't work anymore. He needs a new way, preferably something enough to encapsulate his charms as he sweeps you off your feet and makes your heart race at the idea of him. He needs a strategy.

Should I invite them for a fancy dinner?

Childe has already done that a few times, something fresh would be more preferable. Oh, he could pull off the classy tactic of buying a bouquet of flowers and surprising you with it. But that's so cliche. Ugh, he cringes, what if you think he's lame?!

The assistant guarding outside knocks on the door, "Sir, is everything alright?"

"Yes," Childe replies back, rather annoyed, "I thought I told you not to bother me."

"M-My apologies," he hears the assistant scurry away in quick steps.

Finally, some peace. The Harbinger checks the time. It was half past sunset. All the soldiers should be assigned to their pre-booked rooms since was going to be their last departure.

"Fuck...." Childe breathly mutters. This is taking longer than it should. He already had you guessing over his actions, for a month in fact. At this rate, he'd have to show up without a pre-warning explanation of why he wasn't answering your calls.

The snowstorm outside ceases to relent like a reflection of his own. What he feels right now, what he's doing, the Harbinger knows well enough this wasn't some fluke. Childe sinks into his arms and looks at the flickering candle, focusing on it's small flame, wondering, if you're thinking of him the same way.

• Sitting by the windowsill, watching the view that leads to your front yard, visualizing a cheerful man with ginger hair and waving from the trees.

• Ajax. You missed him but wasn't sure how to say it. Papers and envelopes were tucked away in a corner where you could easily reach, savored and impatient for his return.

• They were mostly filled with stories about his homeland, places that he wanted to take you, and sometimes mentioning how his work got the better of him. You figured his silence must be the fact he was busy. At least, that's what you convinced yourself to believe.

• What could he be doing right now?

Ajax's name hasn't appeared in your mailbox for quite a while.

The splash of water runs when you release the tap, absentmindedly scrubbing away remains of leftovers and takeout from last night's dish. Two months ago he appeared at your doorstep in his usual brazen entrance. And it was the same day he had to announce his departure.

"Borsche," you said with a smile. Ajax mentioned how he'd personally bring ingredients from Snezhnaya, bringing as in sneaking, so you could be his first ever foreign taste tester. Of course you'd like anything he'd cook regardless, but he was joyful talking about his family from home that you wanted to explore a little more of this new side of his.

You thought you wouldn't mind the long distance communication, however, it seems you've severely overestimated yourself. After the final meal at your house, Ajax walks towards the exit, the both of you knowing how agonizingly slow it was. You recall looking at him in that deep ocean gaze, trying to say what wanted to be said. Him waiting with anticipation.

"Good luck with your mission!"

• What a mistake, that was the perfect chance and you just couldn't muster up the courage to tell him. You know he was expecting something, you know he's been patient with you, and you're tired of guessing.

• There were days where a part of you doubts if he still feels the same. Days when you felt that all of this might be one sided and you were just another fling in his eyes. Days when you think he actually wouldn't return.

• Eventually, you couldn't help but truly believe he left you for someone else, finally fed up with you beating around the bush.

Despite all the obvious signs from Ajax's lack of communication, you wanted to try one last time.

Yesterday was the day he said he would be coming back to Liyue. The sky looked as if it were about to rain any moment. People crowded under the nearest roof they could find. Their bustling noise drowned out to mere background noise as you stayed, keeping an eye out for that cheerful man of yours all the way till the last ship parked beside the Harbor. 

It was empty. By the time the other families went home with their loved ones, you stood there alone, holding a single umbrella.

"Excuse me!"

No news or a forewarning. You had no idea what must have happened. Regardless, you wanted to try again.

Running across the pavement, you tried to catch up with the sailor keeping watch of the seas, "I want to ask if you've seen a tall man with orange hair leave just now?"

He takes out the cigarette chewed between his teeth and takes his time to answer, "Ah you're the person from yesterday," the sailor comments, "Sorry kiddo, but the merchant shipments will be the only ones dropping by this hour."

Your stomach makes an uncomfortable churn as your heart denies what must be accepted, "Ah, I guess that makes sense."

There was no point in being optimistic about it anymore. The seldom appearance of letters, the disappointment evident on his face when you didn't tell him what he wanted to hear, the chilliness of the rain when it hits your skin, hand trembling by the obvious cold. Everything was so much clearer.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you quickly added while wiping your eyes, unable to contain your sadness, "I'm just missing someone. That's all."

The sailor spares you a look of pity, assuming what story it went on with the clues you gave him. He mutters words of consolation but it felt deaf to your ears.

Why couldn't you just say it? Why did you have to be such a coward in the end when all he was trying to do was making this relationship work? Biting your lip, you kept your eyes casted down to not be blinded by the sun, otherwise you might actually cry. You should've known better to not hold back. And now, he's gone forever.

"Hey."

• Childe watches you turn over your shoulder, hesitant as ever and time seems to have halted in the small pocket of this instance.

• Damn.

• You were as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Though of course nothing about your appearance changed at all. Only his feelings, they grew and more apparent during the days he wasn't by your side.

• Yeah, I'm way over the crush phase, aren't I? He could only imagine what kind of expression he was making.

Tension fills the gap between the two of you as neither made an initiative to close it. Childe examines you, unreadable and without his default grin. Your eyes blown wide under the deep furrow of your eyebrows, mouth turned downward.

Welp he deserved the silent treatment. What nerve does the guy have when he shows up to his lover empty handed and a day behind his promised schedule? Minus all the Fatui fiasco he had to deal back in Snezhnaya and no explanation whatsoever.

"So uuuhhh," Childe glances at you tentatively. Ah shit they're mad probably. He was unsure how te begin. It was almost as if you were strangers and that pained him a little, "So how have you been?"

Slap. He mentally facepalms. That was so stupid.

Well fix it you idiot! A million suggestions run simultaneously that reduces his brain into a pile of mush. He had it all planned out earlier, the flowers, the dinner, the play to sweap you off your feet and make you fall for him again. Seems that his reliable swagger had betrayed him entirely. No fancy entrance. No funny remarks to distract the awkwardness. Right now he was just Childe the lovesick man.

"Look, I know I haven't replied to you," Childe rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact, "And I understand if you're pissed about it. We went through a lot back in Snezhnaya which is why don't have any ingredients I promised," he pinches the bridge of his nose, "Ah, I guess I should probably apologize for that too."

This isn't going well. He knew he was trying way too hard to play it cool and most likely makes him look as if here were creating excuses. Screw it, just go straight for the heart, "What I'm trying to say is-"

You threw yourself around him in an instant and buried your face in his chest. Childe nearly stumbles backward, completely off guard for once. He can instinctively expect and attack but not this kind of attack.

Almost gave him a heart attack.

"[Name]...?" He finally whispers out, his sleeve covered arms crawling to return your embrace. The man was trying to feel, to make sure if this was real. Did you just...hug him?

"Ajax."

Then it occured to him that your voice was breaking. The tightening of your hold and the point of your nose against him, he could sense the faint quivering of your shoulders. Childe surrenders all intentions to fulfill his previous agenda as the matters in front of him were much more important.

"Hey, what's on your mind?" he gently hushes, cradling your head with one hand and the other on your back, "I'm listening."

Yes, that's what you needed right now and he'll gladly give it to you, as much as you want. If you allow him that is. Childe knows he can be a bit selfish sometimes and maybe he's jumping to conclusions, but holding you like this is a moment he wants to indulge in. Just cherishing you like he should have.

"I just..." you began, breathly, "love you so much, Ajax. I love you..."

Damn.

Childe is sure he just felt what it's like to float on cloud nine. As cheesy as it sounded. He's somewhat glad your face is buried in his coat right now so you wouldn't be able to witness the goofy smile he's shamelessly wearing. Looks like he had nothing to worry about. Man, did it feel good to know you felt the same way all this time.

He releases you, though not enough to be fully apart because why would he? Your nose was tinged with red and eyes watery, the man swore his heart must have been hit with a pyro reaction. What a cutie pie.

"I've got you, don't worry," he reassures while cupping your face. He leans down to peck the corner of your lips before properly placing a chaste one. The action was so sudden that you weren't mentally prepared for it. He laughs, the same boyish charming manner, "Sorry, couldn't help it. You're too irresistable."

"Y-You're," shades of crimson layers across your cheeks that he's glad he has the privilege for a closeup, "Irresistable..."

Hooooooolddd up.

Childe pulls to a mental stop for a double take. Was that a compliment just now? No, it was a confession. He wasn't used to being praised like this. You may not be the type to vocally speak your true feelings but you were also the type to wear them on your sleeves. A smug smile makes it's way to his face and he tilts his body ever so slightly so you were dipped backwards in a mid-tango pose.

Childe's mouth was mere inches away from yours as he drinks up the image of your vulnerable look, underneath him and no one else to intrude.

"Ajax?!" You stuttered.

"I don't think I heard you clearly. Mind saying that again?" Yes he was being indulgent right now but the opportunity was hard to come by. Also those two months made it so agonizing to bear he needs a remedy to soothe all that drama.

You're pouting now and Childe tips down to kiss you on the cheek, "Don't tease me. Not here in public," you whisper-yelled well trying to push him away similar to a smothering puppy.

"Oh? Now you're going to reject me? I thought you said I was irresistable?" Childe's words muffles against your skin and the vibration spreads across like wildfire.

"Ajax!"

"Fine, fine," he chuckles heartedly, not letting you go. Instead, he repositions his arm until it was swung around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, "By the way I wanted to say that I shouldn't have left you hanging. The mission got real messy last minute and I didn't wanna half-ass a letter to you."

You shook your head, "It's not your fault. I know you were busy. Just that..." you breathed out, somewhat relieved and anxious at the same time, "I thought you were angry that I wasn't being honest with you. I was afraid for some reason. But now, it's a lot easier than I thought."

"Huh? What do you mean?" He asks.

"I thought you left me for someone else."

A moment where his brain short circuits and Childe lets out a howling laugh. You looked at him with awe. What was so funny all of a sudden?

"Gotta say that I'm being tossed left and right with these surprises," he mused, "Guess that even if we're apart, we're still that close, eh?"

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "What do you mean?"

Childe slides his hand up your shoulder bone to pinch your cheek, "Nothing, sweetness."

• You chased after him demanding for answers but Childe doesn't budge. The only thing you could tell that he was in an extremely good mood after that.

• Oh well, all is well, ends well does it?

"Since I don't have anything to cook the Borsche I mentioned to you before, we'll have to settle for something else I'm afraid," Childe shrugs, "Anything in mind you wanna do?"

You sighed, fondly at least, "I already said I don't mind as long as you're cooking."

"S'that so? Well then," Childe moves renewed with energy, extending his hold in a beckoning manner and you laughed at his antics, "Shall we go, my snowflake?"

You take it and squeezed it, "I'd love to."