#i cleared all palettes last night

[kaeirou]

order

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Angel of Music (Azriel x Reader)

AN: guys this is always one of my emotional support movies/plays I’ve seen it a million times so it only seemed fair that I give it the ACOTAR collab it deserves. 

Summary: It was the inner circles first time at the theater and from the way the Shadowsinger was blushing they all had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. (the reader plays Christine Daae in Velaris’ adaptation of The Phantom Of The Opera and Azriel falls in love with her, but he’s afraid that she won’t like him because of his scars because she choose Raoul in the play) Set between ACOWAR and AOFAS

Warnings: Angst because of Azriel’s scars, shy az, but so much fluff, (just a little Az brain rot, didn't take this too seriously)

Word Count: 3,070

It wasn’t the shadowsinger's usual scene. Bustling people dressed to the nines, plush red chairs, gold sconces, orchestras. But Cassian had been tirelessly trying to make Nesta smile, and Ferye wanted to try and get her sisters together, so here he sat in the box that Rhysand had purchased for the night. 

Nesta loved the music and dancing, Elain loved the romance, and Feyre loved the costumes and color palettes of scenes. Cassian wanted to see Nesta smile, and Rhysand would do just about anything Feyre asked of him. 

In all his 500 years of life, Azriel had never thought to go to the theater. When he was a child he heard of his parents going but of course, he never got to go. As he grew the idea of going to see a show simply never crossed his mind.

When the lights went down and the orchestra came to life he spent most of his time watching Cassian, who was watching a very intrigued Nesta. He stayed that way until a clap and a spark echoed throughout the room. At first, he thought there was danger, but as soon as he turned his attention towards the stage he saw the large chandelier raise itself to life bringing the dilapidated stage with it. Golds, reds, and vibrant colors filled the room. 

Still, Azriel had trouble following the plot. But as he watched Nesta and her sisters become entranced by the music and dancing. The loud organ had stirred something in him, but he didn’t truly feel moved until her. 

Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye…

Azriel was sitting in a box at the edge of the theater, but even from this distance, he could tell that she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen.  He scooted to the edge of his seat a tad just to be that much closer to her. Her voice was that of a siren, no not a siren, an angel. His shadows danced around his ears and his wings at the sound of her ballad. Even the rest of the inner circle seemed to be entranced by her spell. 

As the play went on he found himself becoming irrationally jealous of Raoul. The pretty Viscount had not given her a second look at the beginning of the play. It wasn’t until the organ sounded again that the sound of her voice graced Azriel’s ears. The woman walked through a mirror towards a masked man. 

Who was this masked man? Where was he taking her? It wasn’t until Mor rested her hand to where he was gripping his chair with white knuckles that he remembered it was just a play. He sat back in his seat more, trying to tell his shadows to calm down. But as her voice climbed and climbed that beautiful crescendo they twisted and turned around him. 

Azriel spent the rest of the play being utterly entranced by the beautiful singer’s relationship with the Phantom. The masked man was dark and radical, staying in the shadows where no one could see him. He observed her from afar. Much like the shadowsinger did himself in every aspect of his life. 

It was clear to him that the Phantom was in love with Christine. So when Raoul and Christine kissed he nearly felt his heart shatter. The way the Phantom mourned, and cried, it felt all too personal to Azriel. 

I  gave you my music, made your way. And now how you’ve repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…

  From there on out Azriel found himself rooting for the Phantom, the man he saw so much of himself in. He nearly shed a tear when he found out why the man wore a mask. A scared child in a cage made to perform. 

He looked down at his mangled hands sitting on the arms of his chair. He had known a similar childhood and had suddenly wished he had something like a mask to cover such torn flesh. Maybe then the beautiful woman on stage might look at him with that same lovesick gaze, she wore now for Raoul, but he knew that could never be.

For a moment he felt joy, seeing her kiss the Phantom with such passion, such love. Only for that joy to be extinguished like a candle when she walks out with the Viscount. Of course, she would choose him, life does imitate art after all. It wasn’t until the curtain went down and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause that Azriel broke from his trance, standing to applause with them. 

“Well that was wonderful,” Feyre beamed, linking her arm with Rhysand’s. 

“I’ll say, that girl sang like an angel,” Mor gushed, fanning herself with her program as we all made our way out of the box. “Even Azriel seemed to enjoy it,” the female smirked, bumping Azriel with her shoulder. She had seen the lovesick gaze in his eyes. 

“It was so romantic the way Raoul came to rescue her,” Elain swooned, grabbing her sister's other arm. 

“Oh please, the Phantom was the obvious choice!” Nesta huffed at her sister's comment. 

“Nesta, would you like to meet the cast? Maybe talk to some of the dancers?” Feyre asked, changing the subject quickly before conflict arose. 

Nesta thought for a moment and spoke again, “Yes I would.” all she said. 

Of course, it was an easy task for Rhys to sweet-talk his way backstage, the inner circle sticking out like a sore thumb as they weaved past props, costumes, and the ensemble. Azriel’s eyes stayed ever vigilant, unable to let go of years of training as they walked down a dark hall. A cast member opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal mirrors with glimmering faelights around them. Vanities with every manor of makeup and costume jewelry. Two men he recognized as the actors who played the Viscount and the Phantom. 

The Phantom had washed off the makeup that made his face look scarred. Once again Azriel wished he too had that ability. Rhys and Feyre shook both their hands introducing them to the whole inner circle, but Azriel paid no mind. His hazel eyes were searching for a hint of her.

“Oh y/n there’s someone who wants to meet you!” called out one of the actors. 

“Oh, really who?” called a voice so melodic Azriel just knew that she had to be an angel. 

His shadows wisped around him frantically, calling out her name in his ear, like they were excited to finally know it. Rhys and Feyre’s eyes looked to their friend and smiled at one another. 

She walked around from a changing screen, tying the strings of the robe she was wearing that looked similar to the one she had worn on stage. She nearly stopped in her tracks as she saw her High Lord and Lady staring at her. 

“My Lord, My Lady,” she bows. “It is an honor.”

“No, no, please don’t bow,” Feyre rushes over, bringing the singer upright. “If anything we should be bowing to you. You sang like a goddess out there, you are truly talented.”

“Why thank you, my Lady, I’m truly happy you enjoyed the show,” she smiled and Azriel’s heart all but glowed. 

“Please call me Feyre,” the High Lady smiles, extending her hand. 

“Y/n,” the singer replied, taking her hand and shaking it. 

Azriel kept to the sidelines as the inner circle conversed with the cast and crew. Feyre and Rhys praised the play director and claimed they would be purchasing their box for the rest of the season. Nesta picked the brains of the dancers and their instructor, Cassian listening dutifully behind her. Elain chatted up the Phantom and Raoul, both actors seemingly falling for her, once again showing how life imitates art. 

Mor talked to y/n, about what? Azriel didn’t know. But the second Mor caught Az gazing at y/n she held out a hand to him. 

“Y/n I’d like you to meet Azriel, spymaster for the night court,” Mor said, beckoning Azriel over. 

Azriel quickly put his hands behind his back, not wanting to scare her with his scars. He could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks tint a shade pinker as he approached, looming over her in size. 

“How do you do?” y/n asks.

It takes a second for Azriel to realize that her angelic voice is speaking to him.

“Oh um, very well thanks.” he stutters, already feeling like a fool. Gods she was even more beautiful up close, he found himself suddenly longing for the box that offered him sanctuary, or a mask like the Phantom had. 

“Did you um, enjoy the show?” she probed and Azriel realized that Mor had conveniently dismissed herself. 

“I did,” he said quickly. “You have a beautiful voice, I could’ve listened all night.” 

Once again he swore he saw y/n blush as she looked down at her feet, “Thank you, though I think I fell flat a little in the first song. Opening night and all,” she laughed nervously and oh Cauldron, the sound of her laughter was enough to make Az take one step towards her. 

“No it was perfect, all of it.” he spat out, not standing to hear her say one more bad thing about herself. 

“Well thank you Azriel,” she said and by the fucking Cauldron she smiled at him. His name fell off her perfect lips and she smiled at him. He must’ve been dead and somehow gotten to heaven, there was no other explanation. 

The rest of the inner circle watched the pair intently. Feyre sank further into Rhysand’s side as they both realized they were watching Azriel fall in love in real-time. The yin and yang of the pair was near poetic and Feyre told herself she would pain this exact moment tomorrow morning. 

“Y/n why don’t you come to dinner with us? We would love to hear more about you,” Rhysand smiled.

His words broke the trance y/n was in, “Oh my Lord I truly wish I could, but I have an early day tomorrow and my apartment is clear across town.” She apologized. 

“No worries, it sounds like we will all be back for tomorrow night's show as well. Though I would hate for you to walk home alone,” Rhys smirked trying to get Azriel to bite at the bait.

“Not to worry I make the trek all the time,” she smiled, picking up the many vases of flowers people had left for her on her vanity. 

“Azriel could walk you home, couldn’t you Az?” Mor chimed in and Azriel shot her a look. 

“Uh, yeah I could if you’d like,” Azriel mentioned stuttering over his words as he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Oh no I wouldn’t want to take you from dinner with your family,” she assured him, picking up two large vases of flowers. 

“Not at all, I would be honored to walk you home,” the shadowsinger said a little too quickly. Feyre tried to stifle her laugh in Rhys’ side, she had never seen her spymaster so flustered. 

“Okay then,” the girl smiled and soon enough they were off down the cobblestone street, their way lit by dim faelight. 

y/n’s pov:

“Your shadows are incredible,” I smile watching as the dark wisps carry the various vases of flowers down the road. 

I had been more than happy to have the High Lord’s shadowsinger walk me home. In all honesty, I was captivated by the male the moment I set eyes on him. Sure he was hard, dressed in black, and over a foot taller than me. 

A sane woman might’ve kept her distance from the male, he was dangerous after all. But I knew the moment he spoke that he wasn’t a threat. There was a quiet and gentle calm underneath all that darkness.

“Thank you,” he says and I swear I see him blush. “They seem to really like you.” 

“They do? How can you tell?” I laugh as one of the little fellas brush against my cheek like a cat brushing against an ankle. 

“They went wild when you were singing tonight,” he chuckles, seemingly remembering how they danced. 

“Really?” I ask balking a bit. 

“I’m serious, give it a try,” he smiles, motioning for me to sing again. 

I shrug and clear my throat before singing a line from the play, “Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel,” I sang softly and sure enough the little shadows danced and swirled around me. Threading themselves through my hair and around my arms where they held my vases of flowers. 

“That’s amazing,” I breathe finally watching the small wisps die down, hiding behind their master like they were shy. 

“You’re amazing,” their master spits out and then blushes. ‘

I can’t help but feel myself blush too, shying away from the hulking Illyrian. He didn’t look so tough as his shadows carried dozens of flowers behind him. He had walked down the street with his hands behind his back the whole time, not needing to lift a finger. 

The little purple door I’m so used to seeing comes into view. Outside the cottage are dozens and dozens of roses and the light inside is out. 

“I leave these here,” I say gesturing to the flowers I’m holding as I set them on the front porch. 

“Why not take them home? Were they not gifted to you?” Azriel cocks an eyebrow as his shadows place the flowers neatly next to the ones I set down. 

I laugh starting back down the path towards my place, “I get so many, I can’t possibly keep them all. Marla is an elderly woman who lost her husband years ago. It brings her joy to have them, so I leave them for her. Besides it’s not like they’re from anyone special,” I shrug, subtly dropping the hint to Azriel that I’m not otherwise engaged. 

Azriel pauses beside me and approaches a rose bush blooming near one of the cottages. Drawing his dagger, he carefully slices off a vibrant red rose. Before offering it to me, he painstakingly removes every thorn with the same blade, as if to protect my hands from even the slightest prick.

“You deserve to have at least one flower,” he says offering me the rose. 

I blush and go to reach for it when I catch sight of his hand. The mangled and marred flesh. I can’t help but feel my breath hitch as I wonder who could’ve done such a thing to such a gentle soul. The scarred hand pulls back a bit as if realizing my staring. 

“I guess I’m more Phantom than dashing Viscount,” he utters sadly, referring to my play and my role in it. My heart shatters as I see his broken expression. 

“You know,” I smile, taking the rose from his scarred hands. “I always thought that Christine should end up with The Phantom, he was clearly the better choice.” 

His head whips up as if I’ve uttered an inconceivable phrase. “Even though he had ugly scars?” Azriel inquires, his face tight like he might not want to hear whatever answer I provide.

“Who said he was ugly?” I laugh, did this beautiful specimen of a male truly believe he was ugly because his hands bore scars? 

“So you would choose the Phantom?” he cocks an eyebrow as if trying to read if I was telling the truth.

“In a heartbeat,” I affirm confidently and honestly.

He takes a step towards me, his form getting even bigger, “and what about scarred hands? Is that a deal breaker?” he probes, holding out his hands so I can see that they both harbor similar markings.  

I shake my head taking another step towards him, appreciating the beauty that is him. From the white scars that ran up his hands, to the shadows that danced around him like they they were whispering to him.

“So if I asked you to dinner after your show tomorrow?” he queries taking a step towards me as well.

“I would ask you where we are going?” I reply feeling my cheeks heat up. Was he asking me out? I tried to push the butterflies down in my stomach.

“Rita’s ?” he shrugs, stepping forward. 

“Sounds like a plan,” I smile moving towards him more, like I was compelled to.

“I’ll swing backstage after the curtain closes,” he smiles, seemingly becoming more confident in himself as we step closer together just a few feet apart.

“I’ll put your name on the list,” I say, feeling his presence pull me in. 

“And if I were to send you flowers? What kind would you like?” he interrogates further. 

I think for a moment, no one had ever asked me what flowers I might like to receive. My eyes look around as if searching for inspiration until they land on a blue siphon adorning his chest that’s right in front of me. 

“Something blue,” I blush knowing that when I see the cobalt flowers on my vanity I will know they are from him. 

“Consider it done,” he smiles and I suddenly realize that we’re mere inches apart now. 

I turn to my right where the blue door to my house beckons to be opened. Pulling out my keys I unlock it and use my shoulder to shove it open as it always gets stuck. 

“Well,” I say shyly. “Thank you for walking me home,” 

“Anytime,” he smiles looking down at his feet. 

The sight of the bashful warrior on my front doorstep has me melting. His face is so beautiful and perfectly carved I can't help but lean up on my toes and kiss his cheek. I almost regret it when it’s over but the violent red of his cheeks makes me smile again.

“Well goodnight,” I say, trying not to let my words shake in the process. 

“Goodnight,” he smiles, brushing a hand against his freshly kissed cheek.

I close the door and place the single, thornless, rose he cut for me in a vase. It isn’t until I turn on a light that I hear him take off into the night and I swear I hear him let out a grand whoop from way up in those clouds.

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202 , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark , @cheneyq

[hyunebunx]

DENI!!! i've been a little bit out of here 😣😣 but i received the notif of your post......... the soft thought ( more like domestic details, which i love ) is painting hyune's nails. you do not know how to properly do it, because the nail polish always lands on the skin surrounding the nail, and even if you try to do a desing, like a little flower w a couple of points, it ends up all messed up. imagine a quiet afternoon, after watching some tv show, all cozy and warm, and he offers you his nails to practise a little bit. even if you mess it up again, he might actually paint yours and try to follow the same messed up pattern to go matching 🥺

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff and even more fluff!!

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: MARS!! i wrote this in one go, istg this is the cutest idea ever :( thank you for helping me and letting me write soft hyune fluff, this fixed me fr. i hope you enjoy, my love <333

“Can I do it?” You ask, eyeing his clean nails as Hyunjin reaches up to fix his face mask before doing the same with yours, making sure neither of your headbands fell too low on your foreheads.

“Hm?” He hums, smoothing the thin layer of the sheet mask on your already smooth skin, smiling once your eyes meet. “Do what?”

“Your nails.” You nod towards them, catching one of his hands and bringing it to your lips to peck the back of it, much to his displeasure as the action moves the mask around your face awkwardly. Even so, he was so close to you on the tiny couch that you could feel his heart beating wildly, betraying his true feelings.

Hyunjin tries not to smile too brightly as he nods, fondness clear as day in brown eyes even in the dim light of the living room. “Knock yourself out, baby.” He was never one to reject you, no matter how silly or out of pocket your requests were. Hyunjin would move mountains for you, after all, if that meant you’d be happy forever and keep smiling for him until the day he took his last breath.

The tv ran idly in the background, a rerun of one of your favorite shows as you got to work, gently placing both of your boyfriend’s hands in your lap. His small collection of nail polish was laid before you on the coffee table, accompanied by a file, a bag of cotton pads and nail polish remover. Just in case, you know.

Gently taking one of his hands, you subconsciously intertwine your fingers together as you look over the bottles, brainstorming. Hyunjin takes this moment of silence as an opportunity to reach over and turn on one of lamps by the couch, providing you with more light.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is low, not wanting to disturb you, softly pulling his hand away to massage your palm instead.

“Ladybug nails.”

“What?” He laughs, scooting closer.

You nod, reaching for the bottle of red nail polish. Not like you had many options to begin with, Hyunjin’s palette was limited – something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Your nails are always so dark, I was thinking of doing a cute design for a change.”

He arches a dark brow. “You could use white.”

You pause, tearing your gaze from the bottle to stare at him blankly. “Ladybugs aren’t white.”

The laugh that escapes him has your heart double in size, feeling all warm and fuzzy as he throws his head back in genuine amusement, finding you even more endearing than usual. “Alright, ladybug, do whatever you please. I’ll stop interfering.”

And he keeps his promise, quiet as a mouse as you begin painting his nails, attention stolen by the tv and the snacks you’ve prepared for your weekly movie night. Hyunjin has mastered the art of eating with a face mask on, no crumb landing anywhere near and messing it up. There was nothing he couldn’t do, it seemed.

You’re almost done with his one hand when he slowly reaches to remove your face mask, joining his on a napkin on the table. Usually, he’d also massage the remaining serum into your skin but you could tell he didn’t want to bother you from your new favorite past time. A past time you weren’t particularly skilled in, the nail polish getting everywhere around his nail and even on your clothes, staining the material.

“Uh…” Hyunjin turns to you, wondering why you were sounding so disheartened. “I think I messed up.”

Bringing his hand to eye level, Hyunjin studies your work curiously, analyzing every brush stroke and the big, blotchy black spots that were supposed to be polka dots. The colors were everywhere, on his cuticles and even further down to his knuckles. You’ve mostly stuck to the area around the nail so he couldn’t understand how a black spot managed to go that far.

“Baby, are the ladybugs trying to escape?” He smiles, holding back laughter.

You pout and he leans over to plant smooches on both of your cheeks, trying to make you feel better. “Don’t make fun of me, I tried my best.”

Hyunjin nods, grabbing the black polish from your hand. “I can see that.” Without warning, he starts applying it down his index finger in a strange pattern, causing your mouth to fall open in shock. “And it looks great, love.”

You knew he was lying to try and make you feel better, there was no way he actually thought that.

Biting down on his plush bottom lip, he eventually puts the brush away and gets a hold of your hand before pressing the back of his onto yours, squeezing lightly. You’re so confused that no words escape you, wondering if this was his way of getting back at you for messing up his nails and getting his hand all dirty.

“Done!” He beams, looking so much younger with his hair all pushed back and bare face, cozy and cuddly in his soft pajamas. “Now we match.”

Looking down, you realize the pattern he drew on himself was now on your hand too, tiny lines and spots resembling even tinier footsteps. A ladybug’s footsteps. Or tracks, actually.

Forget beating, your heart almost bursts out of your chest and latches onto him, first his cheek and then plump lips, smooching the area before intertwining with his own and running away together like two forbidden lovers. Hyunjin brought so much needed light into your life, you could barely believe he was real and not a fragment of your rich imagination.

“The ladybug that ran away from my nail has found its way home to you.” He finally laughs, eyes two crescent moons. “It’s silly, please forgive me.”

“Silly?” You blurt out, dragging him by the hand just so he can fall into your waiting arms, hugging him tightly. “It’s only silly if you don’t actually draw a cute ladybug on my hand now.” His arms sneak around your middle, face hiding in your chest as yours move over his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him.

“Only if you do my other hand.” He murmurs, placing a linger kiss right above your beating heart.

You can’t help but grin, thankful for having such a kind person by your side. “Deal!”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

A Night Forgotten

Part Six

This is going to be a longer one

He looked at the drink on the table, seeming intrigued. Picking it up without permission – he still had that bad habit of thinking the world was his oyster and he could pearl dive any time he pleased, regardless of personal space or property rights – he held it to the light and look up at it. One dark brown eyebrow cranked up with interest. Then, he took a sip from her straw, seeming to savour the flavour a moment, measuring it across his palette. When his curiosity was satisfied, he put the drink back down in front of her.

“Interesting,” was all he said.

This was all very typical Erik.

“What did you mean by what you’d said earlier? And don't give me any half-baked answers like the last one,”Emoni demanded, taking up her new drink and sucking down a mouthful.

He shrugged and nudged his chin towards the barge. “Vegas is the city of vice and sin, Daniels. Did you really think I was only interested in coming here for a wedding, especially knowing you were here – having fun without me?”

Her heart thumped into her throat. She took another sip for courage. "R-really? And why's that?"

His gaze moved back to hers, locked on and held hard. A simmering heat warmed up those inky-black orbs that stared into her soul and a small confident smile graced those luscious lips. "You know why."

Emoni now knew what a deer in the headlights felt like. A nervous energy radiated out of her tummy and flowed across her limbs, making her hands shake. She put the drink down and refused to look away.

“What are you saying?”

Emoni required full disclosure. No games. She wasn't built for innuendo. With her, direct was always better.

“What do you want with me?”

With slow, purposeful movement, Erik uncrossed his legs and leaned into her. His knee wedged between hers, and his hands leaned on the arms of the lounge chair Emoni sat in outside of the ballroom, caging her. His mouth moved with clear intent towards hers, stopping as he pillowed very softly right over them. It was an almost-kiss. His half-lidded eyes looked directly into hers without flinching.

“I want you to have the best damn night of your life with me. I want you to let go and tap into your wild side…explore Sin City and forget morals…”

Emoni blinked slowly at him and then she parted her lips to speak.

“…And?”

“…I want to fuck you.”

She’d never been more scared of sex in her life than she was in that moment. Even her first time had been comfortable. She’d planned that night out in detail after all, fully prepared. Since then, She’d only been with two other men – one a short summer fling, and the other a toxic relationship. After they'd failed, She’d sworn no more until Mister Right came along.

Erik was staring at her in the face right now, telling her that he wanted to fuck her, and the heat in his eyes said it would be to within an inch of her life. Emoni knew his reputation, she knew he was skilled and hung and… oh my God, it didn't matter that he had a potential witless fiancée back in Wakanda waiting - Emoni wanted him! She felt like she’d been waiting all her adult life for this moment. It was terrifying.

She gathered her courage. Could she do this? It was crossing some serious moral lines that she’d once upon a time, when she’d been younger and more naïve, believed in maintaining at all costs. She didn’t understand why she was struggling with this. After all, she did plan on leaving tonight with some random fine ass man!

Yet, it hadn't been her who'd made the proposition. Erik was the engaged one.

“What about that potential fiancé of yours back in Wakanda? And that model chick back in Cali?” Emoni challenged.

He frowned a bit. “What about them?”

Emoni shoved on his shoulder and tsk'd. “Aren’t you engaged?!”

“No, that’s where you have it all twisted. They want me to marry this woman back in Wakanda but at MY request, I want to find my own suitable princess. Fuck all that old fashioned bullshit.”

It was her turn to frown. “What does that even mean?!”

Erik shrugged. “She's obviously not someone I want to marry. She feels the same to be honest. She’s got her own shit going on with some dude she’s into.”

Now, Emoni was getting angry. “So, you thought you'd just go on out and get a piece of your own while the cat is away? Any port in the storm - that it?”

That infuriating smirk crawled up his dimpled cheek. "Not any port, no. A particular one, yes."

Her jaw fell open. "You're unbelievable! You have the audacity to just…"

{ Kiss }

Emoni didn't get any more out as he leaned forward the rest of the way and kissed her for the first time. Her toes curled. She thought her head was going to explode from the pleasure. Seriously. Holy shit, Erik Stevens could kiss! Emoni wanted to curl up in his lap right then and there and let him kiss her until the end of the world rained down upon their heads. His lips were plump and soft, his tongue tasted sugary and it slithered into her mouth so skillfully she almost fainted. The little breaths he released shot straight to her drenched folds. It was the type of kiss she’d had wet dreams about.

“You're using me,” Emoni trembled against him as he pulled back a bit.

“I'm not,” he vowed, very assured.

She shook her head as he dipped over her lips with peppering kisses.

“What is this if not using, Stevens?”

His tongue slipped past her open mouth and twined with hers. He growled, and she heard it over the music in the background. She felt it in her ribs.

“You're thinking too hard – again,” he contested. “Stop. Just feel.”

“This is crazy,” Emoni whimpered. “You'll hurt me.”

Erik pulled back to stare deeply and intensely into her eyes. Emoni searched his gaze, this overpowering emotion between them strong.

"I won't. Come with me," he took her hand, and backed up to give her room to stand with him. He tugged, and Emoni flowed up into his arms, which held her tight to his muscular frame. He smelled incredible – a spicy, musky cologne that tantalized her senses. His lips hovered over her ear again like he did on the dance floor.

“Be mine, Emoni. Let me show you. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Oh damn, fuck, shit, I’m doomed, aren’t I? Emoni thought.

Gathering her purse, she threw a last look over at the dance floor as he led me away.

———

The interior of Erik’s sports car with butterfly doors was pristine and smelled like him. They zoomed off away from the wedding, the garter Erik removed from Emoni’s thigh wrapped around his gear shift and his mask resting atop his head. Emoni clutched onto the handle above her seat and clenched her thighs together. It was something about the speed and the way Erik maneuvered the car that turned her on. A few stray curls had slipped from her up-do and fell into her eyes. She looked pleasantly disheveled.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess before?”

“H-huh?”

Erik gave Emoni a quick glance with a chuckle. He reached out to turn down his music so she could hear him better.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni slowly nodded her head, “I’ve ridden passenger side with my ex many times—”

“No, no. Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni pondered his words, too intoxicated to think straight. She finally understood what he was asking her and a fresh wave of arousal showered her. This was going to be a long night of fucking and sucking for the both of them.

“I—no. No, I can’t recall that I have…”

Her chest heaved up and down as she watched Erik take his free hand to grip her knee closest to him. He forced her leg apart and his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of her inner thigh.

“Take your panties off and give them to me.”

“What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them. Enough questions, Emoni. Remember, relax and just enjoy.”

Emoni exhaled and went to work taking her red lace panties off. She slowly held them out for Erik to take and he plucked them out of her hand before taking a quick whiff and placing them in the front pocket of his cotton dress shirt. Emoni sat there with her mouth unhinged and wide eyes.

“This is what’s gon’ happen. You’re gonna cum from my fingers like a true passenger princess, and you’re gonna clean the mess you make off of my fingers. Understand?”

“Erik—”

“For the duration of our evening of naughtiness, Miss Emoni, you are to refer to me as daddy. Your Highness is good too…”

Erik stroked her chin quickly before making a turn. So many rules to his little game. What if she wanted to make some rules too?

“…okay. And if I don’t?”

“Easy,” Erik cut his dark eyes at her, “You’ll get a spanking.”

“As if—”

“Emoni, I’ve waited for this moment for a very, very, very long time. I’ve wanted to do things to you…things you wouldn’t be able to handle. One of those things is putting you over my knee and spank that impertinent ass. Stop with the questions, okay? Breathe.”

She was stunned to silence.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and relaxed into her seat. She giggled to herself while staring out of the window.

“Maybe I am prudish. Who am I to deprive myself of a good time? Even if that means being a bad girl.”

A slow, sly smirk crept up Erik’s face.

“So, when do we get to cement my position as passenger princess, daddy?”

Erik almost slammed on his breaks. Emoni brought her knees to her chest and teased Erik while inching her dress up past her thighs. He was fighting the urge to take his eyes off the road. The smooth, shiny flesh of her beautiful legs had him drooling. The sight of those petite ankles, the slim width of her feet and their pretty arches, along with those adorably painted toenails made him uncomfortably aware of his growing erection. Shit, he'd never been a 'foot man' before, but he had the feeling that after tonight, he was going to be a convert to the cause. Every inch of her body would be revealed to him soon enough and he couldn’t wait to taste and touch.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Tell me more,” Emoni cooed, blinking her eyes seductively with a bite of her lip.

“Your intellect turns me on. When you’re mad you make the cutest face and I just want to nibble all over your cheeks. You always smell amazing. I wish I was your first instead of that dumb ass nigga all those years ago. You make me feel all types of ways and I just��I just—”

Erik turned his gaze toward her.

“You just what?” Emoni questioned.

{ Say It }

“I’minlovewithyou.”

The words came out jumbled as if he were forced to say those words. Emoni stared at him unblinking.

“…Did you just say that you love me?”

“I did…didn’t I?” Erik chuckled nervously, “uhh—”

[ Say It ]

“I love you too!”

They were at a red light. Both Erik and Emoni stared into each other’s eyes.

BEEP! BEEP!

Erik blinked away suddenly and floored it. Emoni’s head collided with the seat. She glanced over at Erik, catching his eye. Both of them giggled.

“I’m so in love with you, Emoni Isabella Davis. DAMN. It feels so good to say that. I’ve been dying to say that to you.”

“We’re in love,” Emoni said with a whimsical laugh, “love! I’ve wanted to tell you how much I love you for so long! What a relief!”

“I know, right?! Such a relief.”

“I love you Erik N’Jadaka Stevens,” Emoni said cheerfully.

“And I love you, my precious Emoni.”

Erik’s hand slipped between Emoni’s thighs and she gasped with excitement. His touch was electric. Like a zing she felt it from head to toe. Her chest thrust out and she grabbed onto his wrist. The tips of his thick fingers feathered over her plump outer lips. She hadn’t waved in over a month and for a second she wanted to refuse his hand out of embarrassment but it just felt too good. He grunted like a primal animal when his fingers tore away from her moist center.

Erik inspected his fingers and neither of them could believe how much arousal seeped from her opening. She’d never been that wet because of a man. You’d think she used lube to get herself that slick. Slowly, Erik sucked on his fingers. Emoni whimpered at the visual.

“Fuck,” Erik licks his lips, “Spread your legs more for me, baby…”

Emoni opened up wider and watched Erik’s hand creep between her legs again. This time, he parted her lips to feel further in between. His middle finger flicked upward on her clit and her back arched from the seat. Erik maneuvered the car through a tunnel with the windows down and one hand on the wheel. Erik couldn’t believe how wet she was. Emoni could feel herself climaxing already. She threw her head back, shut her eyes tightly, and closed her thighs around Erik’s hand.

The pulse under her skin began thrumming with speed. She felt a little dizzy from his intimate touch. They were simpatico in their desires for each other, it seemed. Maybe she wouldn't end up quite so devastated from this in the morning. She hoped, anyway. She was feeling as bold and sexy as she had while drinking that cocktail at the reception, and although she had little experience, she’d done enough reading on the subject, and seen plenty of porn. Emoni knew what might work, and she rolled with it, allowing the buzz from the alcohol to chase away her inhibitions.

“You just came for me…already? Mmm…you needed me, baby…I’m the only one that can make you feel like this…”

“Yes, please, daddy, stick your fingers inside…”

“Like this?”

Erik slipped two fingers deep – his middle and ring finger – groaning as he fit his fingers into her powerful passage. She expanded and lubricated his digits more the deeper he went. With each decent, her walls would clench. Emoni didn’t know this, but Erik’s dick was painfully hard. It was morning wood times a hundred. Hard and unyielding. Pulsating with a need to be freed. Balls tight with an unbearable lust to be emptied. More precum than he’d ever witnessed staining his briefs.

“Oh, shit, that pussy feels amazing, Princess. Damn, this pussy is nice and fuckin’ wet.”

“it’s so deep…oh, fuck…daddy…right there…more…unh!”

Emoni’s legs spasmed with her second release. This time, she creamed all over Erik’s fingers. Jolts of pleasure came over her body the more Erik finger-fucked her. He didn’t stop, he needed to see it again. He pulled into a parking spot outside of a Karaoke club and unfastened his seatbelt swiftly. Erik brought Emoni’s seat all the way back and he leaned over her body to capture her lips. His tongue snaked into her mouth while his thick fingers pumped in her deeply. The flesh of her cleavage bounced, she was breathless, and her eyes were closed tight.

Erik broke the kiss to watch her face. Emoni’s eyes slowly slid opened and her gaze connected with Erik’s.

“Watch me…I want you to watch how beautiful you look cumming for me,” Erik pulled down the mirror so she could watch her face, “You look like a goddess, baby. So beautiful…so wet for me…such a good girl…”

Emoni blinked back tears of pleasure. Erik couldn’t keep his mouth off of her. He was attacking her neck now like a wild beast, licking and nibbling all over her flesh. His lips made its way to the tops of her breasts, the sensation mixed with his fingers going in and out of her causing her to moan out loud. The windows are rolled down, surely someone heard.

“Daddy! You’re making me cum again!”

“Cum, baby, let it out…that’s it…”

Emoni tore her eyes away from the mirror and smashed her lips into Erik’s. One hand fisted the front of his cotton dress shirt while the other squeezed his bicep like she was trying to pop a muscle. When the last bit of tremors wore off and their kissing stopped, Erik’s fingers gently slipped out of her opening. Emoni dropped her eyes down to his hand and couldn’t believe how much cream coated his fingers.

“Suck.”

Emoni parted her glossy lips and Erik’s fingers sat on her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his fingers and suctioned while staring into his dark eyes.

“I can’t wait to have you, Emoni. I’m so hard right now…”

His fingers left her mouth and Erik raised her seat into its original position. He fixed her dress and smoothed a few curls from her eyes.

“Where are we?” Emoni asked, still on cloud nine from that amazing foreplay.

“Karaoke. I want to watch you sing.”

“Wait…Erik, I’m a terrible singer! Why can’t we just go back to your beach house and fuck?! This is embarrassing…” She covered her face with her hands.

“Remember what I said, this is a night to let loose and have the best fucking time of your life. Stop worrying about being perfect all the time, Emoni. Come on.”

Erik made sure he was decent before leaving his car and walking around to open Emoni’s door. She grasped his hand and Erik helped her out of her seat, fixing her dress and hair before retrieving her hand bag. He closed the butterfly doors and led the way towards the entrance. Emoni’s heart was hammering away at her chest. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this in front of an audience.

———

Emoni was about to experience Karaoke the Vegas way. They entered a vibrantly lit bar decorated with neons of all colors. Although she was nervous, she actually loved the vibes already inside KAMU Karaoke. Erik guided her towards an open high-top table next to the karaoke stage. He pulled out her seat and startled her by picking her up and placing her on the stool.

Erik took a seat across from her, rolling up the sleeves to his cotton button down and undoing the first two buttons so he could loosen his tie easily. Emoni couldn’t look across at Erik without clenching her thighs together. He gave her a knowing smirk as if he could read her mind.

“You want another drink?!” Erik asked.

“Uhh—how about shots?!”

“Shots?! You sure?!” Erik gave her a scrutinizing look with his thick lips twisted, “Whatchu want?!”

“Chilled Patron shots with a lime garnish please!”

“Ooh, my kind of girl!” Erik reached over to caress her chin with his thumb, “I’ll be right back!”

Erik hopped down and headed towards the bar.

Two months ago, if anyone would have told Emoni that she’d one day be the recipient of Erik Stevens’ sexual interest, and that she’d actually crave him back, she would have laughed herself silly. Now, she wasn't finding the idea so funny. Provocative? Certainly. Humorous? No.

Erik had returned with four shots, carefully placing them down on the table before taking his place across from her again. They each grabbed a glass, toasted each other, then tapped it on the table before knocking it back. It went down smooth and the taste of the lime on her tongue was an added bonus.

For several long seconds, they stared at each other – Emoni was caught off guard and clearly surprised by what had transpired between them. Erik smirked with amusement at having thrown her for a loop again. His eyes drifted lazily down her form during that momentary pause, appreciating her beauty. He surprised Emoni by reaching across and tugging gently on a curl.

“Take down your hair.” Erik commanded.

Emoni gave Erik a nervous glance before reaching up to remove the pins that held her curly updo in place. When she’d retrieved the last pin, Emoni placed them in her bag and shook her curls out with her fingers. Chocolate-brown ringlets framed her face and fell into her eyes. She looked over at Erik expectantly as heat crept over her melanated flesh. 

“Different,” was what he came up with, and Emoni could just barely make out what he said over the noise around them.

She scowled at him. That wasn't the word she’d been hoping to hear. 'Beautiful,' 'amazing' or maybe even 'tasty' would have been much more appreciated. 'Different' was safe and utterly unflattering. Sheraised an eyebrow in displeasure.

“Quite,” She said louder and with a bitter tone so he'd hear her, and then she rolled her eyes.

He knew exactly what to do to piss her off.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and a calming sensation washed over her body.

Unexpectedly, in that same moment, that familiar voice of his sent a shiver up her spine. “Different and delicious, Daniels.”

She nearly dropped the shot glass.

“Drink every drop for me,” he bade in that same compelling tone, “I want to taste it on your lips and tongue later.”

Instantly, the flash of desire warmed her lower extremities, making that fluttering in her stomach kick up a pace. She felt her nipples tighten at the thought of what was to come.

Oh, no - absolutely not a mistake coming here tonight.

“Are you gonna go up there?!” Erik raised both of his brows at her.

“I don’t know. There’s too many people here!”

“Emoni. Get your fine ass up on that stage and have some fun! Trust me, nobody will laugh or make fun of you, baby. And if they do…I’m knocking ‘em out.”

Emoni looked over at the stage and giggled at two drunk white girls singing Spice Girls- Wannabe. Her eyes moved over the crowd of people and most were cheering them on and singing along while others were too drunk to care. Emoni knew she could do it. She’d presented in front of a larger audience before at work and during her college days. With a final exhale, Emoni finished her shot and stood up from her stool carefully. The two girls exited the stage and that gave her the opportunity. She gave Erik one look and he gave her an encouraging smile with a tilt of his head.

Emoni walked towards the stage and took her time climbing the short staircase. Instantly, she could feel people watching her. She walked up to choose a song, tremors in her fingers a reminder of how nervous she was. Emoni found a song and grabbed a mic before turning to face that room full of people. Erik was standing closer, a reassuring look in his eyes that gave Emoni a boost of confidence. The song started and the crowd instantly started vibing to the classic.

You've been waiting so long, I'm here to answer your call

I know that I shouldn't have had you waiting at all

I've been so busy, but I've been thinking 'bout

What I wanna do with you…

She cleared her throat a little and gave a nervous nod in Erik’s direction when he shook his head for her to keep going. Suddenly, she felt like she could do anything. One look at him and she forgot all about how afraid she felt.

I know them other guys, they been talking bout the way I do what I do

They heard I was good, they wanna see if it's true

They know you're the one I wanna give it to

I can see you want me too

Now, it's me and you…

Emoni was swaying her hips to the sultry beat, giving off seductive energy, locking eyes with Erik, and not once did she stumble over her words.

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting (Waiting)

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me if you like it (Tell me if you like it)

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me how you like it!!!!

People were out of their seats, wolf whistling and clapping. From the looks of it, she was the most entertaining that evening thus far. Some men gave her hungry looks, some women envied her, and the others were so excited they sang along to the lyrics. Erik couldn’t contain his smile and his utter shock. Emoni Davis was having fun and cutting up. She strutted over towards Erik with her adorable self and started singing to him with the sweetest voice and her finger pointed at him. Erik’s eyes grew wide and his smile widened with his dimples popped out.

Baby, I’ll love you all the way down!

Get you right where you like it, I promise you'll like it (I swear)

Just relax and let me make that move (It's our secret thang)

Keep it between me and you!!!!

It's me and you, now (Oh Yea-a)!!!!

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now (Move now)

Baby, tell me if you like (Tell me if you like it)

I’ve been waiting! I’ve been waiting!

The music faded and Emoni covered her face while the audience cheered her on. She couldn’t believe she did that. Emoni gracefully exited the stage and she held out the mic for Erik to take.

“It’s your turn now, Stevens. Let’s see you get up there and sing!”

Erik challenged her with a single brow raised and a slight smirk. He snatched the mic from her hand, brought it to his lips, and leaned in towards her face.

“Watch how I outdo you.”

Emoni folded her arms sassily with a scowl and a smirk. Erik slipped past her and to that stage. She was about to witness Erik Stevens singing. She needed to record this. While he searched for a song, Emoni rushed to retrieve her phone. She made it back in time when a song she recognized started playing. When she realized what it was her eyes lit up and she started giggling.

Yeahhh yeah—yeahhhhh!!!!

Girl, I wish that I could spend time with you each and every day

Playing all my love and emotions that's the thing that's got me open

And I don't know what it takes to let you know you're my girl

To let you know you're my baby

And even when they say we won't stay around

If they only knew that we were meant to be together

Forever and ever whatever there's no better thing

Me and you girl, that's why I write you love letters saying!!!

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it…

Erik sang to his heart’s desire with his eyes closed and a hand to chest. He knew all the words without even looking at the screen. A true Millennial. He had all the black people in the room jamming. Emoni Could only imagine a twelve–year–old Erik singing to this and writing love letters.

Sometimes I want to be the one you be checking for, can I get a second for me

Me and you to be alone tell me if you think it's wrong

Love is nothing but the time it takes you to say I'm on your mind

Let me tell you I'm always there, oh yeah

Let's get a little time away, go to the movies on a Saturday

Meet me at the finish line so I can tell you one more time

Girl, you know I'm not scared to let you say that…

Erik was down on his knees singing to Emoni! She was stunned. Everyone made too much noise, almost drowning out Erik’s singing.

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it!!!

He dropped the mic and threw his hands up while the room erupted with applause. This man could do no wrong. He left the stage and walked up to Emoni. Erik grabbed her chin and pressed his lips into hers. They tongued each other down, both unable to contain their laughter. They returned to their seats while the next person took the stage. Emoni fanned herself while staring at Erik.

———

“What did you mean by different?”

They were both seated on top of the front of his sports car sharing French fries from In-N-Out and staring up at the crescent moon. They needed to eat something to soak up the alcohol.

“You have a different aura about you when you’re less wound up and tense, Emoni. I’ve awakened something in you that’s been locked away far too long. I’m sorry you had to feel like you needed to tuck some of the best parts of yourself away because of that stupid nigga. I see your potential, even beyond your beauty. I always have.”

Emoni tucked her chin and blinked away tears. She hated being so vulnerable. It was definitely the drinks. She gathered enough courage to look at him again.

“Thank you,” She gave him a warm smile, "You’re the only man to ever see me as more than just my physical appearance. You challenge me and your cleverness and natural born leadership turns me on more than that pretty face and those plump lips of yours. And don’t stare at me like that, Stevens, I just might leave a wet spot on this car…”

He sat up straighter, encouraged by the fact that she'd taken that much effort to pay attention to him.

“…When you laugh with true sincerity it sounds nice, you have impeccable table manners, are well organized, and you smell rather pleasant on a regular basis." She counted them off once more and then nodded, satisfied. “There, we're done.”

All of her compliments were rather touching, honestly, but one in particular grabbed his attention.

“It's Wakandan. Custom.”

She blinked. "What is?"

“You said I smell rather pleasant. It's my cologne. It comes from Wakanda, and is tailored so that everyone smells whatever they most desire from me,” he explained, hopping off his car and approaching her side. She looked ready to melt by the time he'd bent down in front of her and leaned over her, putting his neck near her nose. “What do you smell?”

Her warm breath panting against his neck sent electric tingles down his spine.

A beat later, she had her nose pressed against the lee of his throat and was taking deep, drawing breaths in and sighing in pleasure on the exhale. When she moaned in longing, Erik thought he'd never heard a more desirable sound, and his body reacted by going hard and tight. "What do you smell, my princess?" he coaxed, placing his mouth next to her ear, caressing the delicate skin with his soft lips. “Tell me,” he whispered, in a dark, enticing tone.

She began to pant, and her hands crept of their own accord to grip his shoulders. With a light pressure, she dug her nails into his skin.

His heart began to pound hard in his chest.

“Sandalwood, cinder ash, wine, and…red roses.”

Ghosting his lips up the side of her throat, he sighed, pleased by her imagination. “Beautiful. That's your idea of love-making, Daniels. How you see it…with me.”

“Hmm?" she asked, slowly coming back into herself, pulling away from his collar. Her grip on his arms eased up. "Love-making? With you?”

Erik wanted to set a sultry tone that would linger with her thoughts after this round was over.

“The scent is meant to evoke your passion and trigger your unconscious desires for me,” he explained in a soft murmur. “Black satin sheets and silver moonlight…you want me to dominate you, but you want it done seductively at first then rough. A warm fire and wine…you want things between us to burn slowly and smolder before we lose all control and overindulge in each other.”

“…I haven't been able to unwind in, well, a long time.”

Emoni was embarrassed to admit.

“That's because you play too little and work too hard,” Erik agreed.

“I can't help it,” she breathed a frustrated sigh. “There's always so much to do, and it's hardwired into me to get it all done!”

“As your boss, I command you to ease your mind. You can loosen up a little," he tried to sooth her. “Just forget the world outside for now. Relax and enjoy this.”

He gently placed his lips over the curve of her neck and shoulder, leaving small, barely-there kisses as he went. With a quick swipe, he touched his tongue to her warm skin. She was powdered with honey dust, a delicious treat he hadn't expected, and which explained how her skin sparkled under the light. Underneath it though, she tasted as if she'd just stepped out of the ocean.

The flavour had his chest going tight and sent his dick straining for its freedom.

Mine.

If anything could have confirmed for him the truth of what his heart and body had been telling him for years, that right there had done it.

“Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but you never did out of fear.”

Emoni pondered.

“Uhm…oh! I’ve always wanted a belly ring but I’m too scared to get it. It’s such a sexy piercing, you know?”

“Hmm, I like belly piercings. You should do it.”

“Oh, no. I think I’m good.”

“Emoni, c’mon, ma. You could get one tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Emoni looked up at Erik with wide eyes.

“Okay, how about this,” Erik ate the last fry, chewing it and swallowing before he spoke again, “If you agree to get your belly button pierced, I’ll get a tattoo. Whatever you want.”

“…whatever I want?” Emoni pointed to herself.

That didn’t sound too bad. She loved the idea of deciding what Erik should get tatted on him.

“Yes. Whatever you choose, Baby girl.”

“Okay. Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Erik grinned at her before reaching out to grab her hand. He walked her towards the passenger side and helped her in before sliding across the car to his side, causing Emoni to laugh.

Drunken nights with the Prince of Wakanda was absolutely glorious.

———

They stepped inside of a parlor and was greeted at the front by a receptionist. Erik inquired about piercings and a tattoo and luckily they had artists on staff that evening. Emoni was allowed to chose what ring she wanted to decorate her navel. She wanted to find the cheapest option since Erik was the one paying for the service.

“This one looks okay.”

It was a simple piercing. Nothing too flattering. Erik frowned slightly.

“I don’t really like that one. Are you sure?”

“I—I don’t want to get something expensive, Erik.”

“This one looks really nice. Very sexy…”

“What?! This is too much—”

Erik gave her a look, “Moni. Stop it. I’m treating you.”

Emoni rolled her eyes, “So, you’d buy me something like this?”

Erik pointed to a dangling belly button ring with 14K white gold diamonds. Emoni gawked at him.

“Erik…that costs 2700 dollars…”

“Okay, we’ll get that one then—”

“I MEAN…you’re offering…”

The receptionist giggled.

“You’re a trip. Just admit you want me to spoil you.”

An impish glint appeared in her gaze, followed by a very wicked, sultry smirk. "You’re going to spoil me, Stevens.”

Erik blinked in astonished exasperation.

"…Beautiful," he murmured, moving in to feast upon her luscious mouth. "You're so fucking beautiful, Daniels." He groaned, losing himself in the singe of his blood from her touch and flavor.

“We’ll take this one,” Erik pointed to the expensive piercing through the glass.

The receptionist retrieved the belly ring and Erik whipped out his wallet to pay for everything. Afterwards, they sat down in the lobby until they were serviced.

The artist is from New Orleans. Emoni could make out the inspiration from The Big Easy. Anxiously fidgeting, she looked around, admiring the photos and art. Erik stroked her back to calm her down.

“What was in those drinks? I can’t believe I’m about to do this shit—”

“Ready?”

A heavily tatted Asian woman with hot pink hair walked out to greet them. Erik and Emoni stood up and he grabbed her hand as they followed the woman towards the back of the shop. She was led over to a table for her to lay back on. Emoni spotted the tools she planned to use and almost freaked out if it wasn’t for Erik calming her down.

“My name is Suzie. I’ll be taking care of your piercing. Beni, the shop owner, he’ll do your tattoo. Did you read over the paperwork thoroughly?”

“Yes,” Emoni gave Suzie a nervous smile, “Sorry, this has me feeling nervous.”

“It’s alright. Believe it or not, belly button piercings are relatively painless when you’re relaxed. Too much anxiousness can make it uncomfortable. It’s important to stay calm. I mean, you definitely should because there are risks. Let’s take a look at your navel…”

Emoni went to lay on her back on the table and she remembered that her underwear was no longer in her possession. With wide eyes, she glanced over at Erik and they both burst out into a fit of laughter. Suzie watched the exchange with confusion and a smirk on her face.

“So…I’m not wearing any panties. Is there something I could cover up with?”

“Oh! Sure,” Suzie giggles, “I have a pad I can place over you.”

Suzie went to grab a pad and Emoni lifted her dress up to her chest. Erik’s eyes raked over her exposed flesh. He couldn’t wait to have her. All of her.

Suzie draped the pad across her, placed new gloves on her hands, and began sanitizing the area thoroughly. Emoni glanced over at Erik and he gave her an encouraging nod with two thumbs up. Suzie used a surgical marker to mark where she’d pierce. This was a good chance for Emoni to make sure the piercing location is where she wanted it to be.

The moment of truth.

“Breathe in…”

Emoni inhaled and Suzie pierced the area.

“Breathe out…”

She exhaled a shaky breath.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Suzie asked.

“No, actually,” Emoni chuckled, “it was quick I could barely register the pain.”

“Good. Now, there will be some discomfort. Be careful with certain garments. Use a mild, fragrance-free soap or saline solution to gently clean the area around the piercing. You can also try a saltwater mixture of half a teaspoon of sea salt per cup of water to remove dried secretions. Avoid twisting or rotating the jewelry while cleaning, as this can cause irritation and introduce bacteria. Rinse the area thoroughly and pat dry with a lint-free cloth or clean, disposable paper towel. Don't rub the area dry. You can also soak the area in a sterile saline solution for 5–10 minutes daily. Don't use alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin, or other ointments, as these can slow healing or irritate the area. Any questions?”

That was a lot of information at once, but Emoni understands what she needed to do. She was given a bag filled with items to start her cleaning process since she didn’t have anything handy until she got home.

“I think I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It looks good on you. If you guys want, you can head back to Beni.”

“Thanks,” Erik helped Emoni off the table. They both admired her new body jewelry in a mirror before exiting. They entered the next room and it was dimly lit with a reclining leather chair. Beni had just finished setting up what he needed and then he looked up at the pair with his pure hazel eyes. He stood at 5’7 with thick curly brown hair and tattoos covering his entire body. He shook Erik’s hand first and then Emoni’s.

“I’m Beni. So, what are we looking to do?”

Erik pointed to Emoni, “She’s deciding tonight.”

Emoni smiled brightly, “What’s your pain tolerance?”

Erik cocked his head and smirked at her before lifting his dress shirt, revealing tiny raised scars, “Emoni…really?”

“Jesus, my brother,” Beni stared in disbelief, “scarification?”

“Yeah. So to answer your question, baby girl, I have a very high tolerance.”

Emoni hadn’t seen Erik shirtless in years. She was rendered speechless. Erik wanted to know what she was thinking, but that could wait until they were alone. For now, it was time for a tattoo.

“Snap out of it, gorgeous. What do you have in mind for me?”

Emoni blinked away from him and looked at Beni, “Uhm…my name. Get my name tatted.”

“Simple. That okay with you?”

Erik gave a half shrug, “Fine with me. Where do you want your name?”

Emoni couldn’t tear her eyes away from his body. She wanted to feel the raised bumps against her fingertips. Skimming each one like braille. It was so fascinating and sexy at the same time. And don’t even get her started on his muscles—

“Princess?”

“Oh—uhhh—right bellow the V-cut,” She pointed to the area while looking at the physical display of hard work in the gym and discipline in the kitchen. It was his lower right side, only visible if he were naked. Discrete.

Imagine sucking his dick and staring at your name inked into his flesh, Emoni thought.

“You’re so naughty. I know exactly why you want it there,” Erik chuckled, “Fine with me. Let’s get to it.”

Erik made himself comfortable and Emoni sat on a stool at his side. Beni placed the transfer paper onto Erik’s skin and afterwards he began tattooing.

“Tickles a little,” Erik smirked with his eyes closed.

It took about thirty minutes and when Beni finished, he let Erik take a look.

“The best decision I’ve ever made. Permanent and meaningful.”

Erik tugged on Emoni’s hand, drawing her closer and crashing his lips against hers. They tongue kissed ferociously and Erik’s hand made its way between her legs again, stroking her pussy lips. Emoni whimpered into his mouth and held onto him tight, trembling from head to toe even in the aftershocks. Finally, when the sensation became too much, she took her hand from his shoulder, smoothing it down his arm, and silently requested he remove his hand from between her legs before she made a mess. He complied easily, refusing to break off from the kiss quite yet, however. Wanting more…

“Not here,” Emoni gave Beni a look but he was too busy cleaning, probably used to this.

Erik groaned in disappointment.

Pulling away reluctantly, he looked up at her. There was desire in her eyes. Her quaking hand was still holding onto his wrist and she was struggling to regain control. All he did was stroke her outer lips. Obdurate, steadfast, tenacious Emoni Davis had finally let her barrier down. With shimmering chocolate orbs for eyes, and candied lips, she looked positively edible… and scared half to death.

@hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixt @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @princessxotwod @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics

[wave2tyun]

strawberry kisses | ☆

pairing: beomgyu x reader

genre: fluff

summary: when you accepted your boyfriend's sweet request to do his makeup, you weren't expecting the fiery turn that your little makeup session was going to take

warnings: none<3

word count: 875

a/n: reposting with much love for my dear 🐾 anon!!😼💞💞 to this day i still don't know what possessed me when i wrote this fic tbh ASBHJDBSJ my turn to experience this when.......?<//3

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

“ah-“ “-it’s so cold” beomgyu exclaimed, slightly moving away from you.

“stay still-“ you grabbed his face again, dabbing the concealer you had just put on his face with a sponge.

beomgyu had been all over you that night, begging you to recreate the makeup look you had on your last date with him. but he was just so cute doing it, there was no way you could ever refuse him. so now- here you were, beomgyu sitting down on the edge of your bed with you on a chair, leaning over to do the base of his makeup. your hands were shaking a bit, even though you weren’t gonna leave the house again after this was done. it was just beomgyu who got to see the result. perhaps that was actually the root of your worries, you were nervous whether beomgyu would like your work or not.

“my neck hurts” beomgyu complained again. you let out a laugh as you got up, wanting to get your eyeshadow palette from the nightstand.

beomgyu’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist, bringing you down with him on the bed. “w-what was that for?” you asked, flustered by his actions.

“i think i like this position better- my neck feels more relaxed this way.” he replied with a shrug.

beomgyu’s hands rested on your waist as you straddled his hips and continued continued your work. sometimes his fingeres travelled down to your thighs, tracing patterns on the velvety material of your pants. you grabbed his face again. every single one of your touches had his body melting underneath you, he was so infatuated with you, simply letting you do whatever you needed without questioning anything. he was content watching you do your thing, enjoying how all of your attention was on him and him only.

“your eyelashes are so pretty” you whispered, putting on a light coat of mascara on him. your cold fingers touched his skin, soothing down the burning sensation that bloomed in his cheeks from such simple words. your hand slid down to take hold of his chin and lift it up “pout your lips for me gyu”

“do i get a kiss if i do that?” beomgyu asked you cutely, voice laced with honey.

you playfully tilted your head to the side “maybe” you teased.

beomgyu closed his eyes, pouting his lips exaggeratedly. the feeling of the lipstick touching him instead of your own lips made him open them again. beomgyu huffed; he looked at the floor, sulking, instead of looking at you. you held back the urge to laugh and carried on with the final step, blending the crimson color with the pad of your fingers, feeling his plush lips against your skin. you could notice the way his face lit up, eyes glistening with mischief from the idea that just crossed his mind. one way or another, he was going to receive the kiss that he wanted from you “you know what this lipstick would look good on?”

“hm?” you lifted your eyebrows, waiting for beomgyu’s response.

“you” he answered, giving you a quick peck, chuckling at your surprised face.

you glanced at his lips, smudged lipstick on his face inviting you to mess it up even more. you leaned down, moving away the bangs covering his face to return the favor.

the continuous tentative pecks slowly raised in intensity, and with each kiss you would linger against his lips more, blood rushing through your veins. beomgyu took hold of you, rolling you on the bed so that you could be the one underneath him. he held your wrists above your head with one hand, his other one playing with some strands of your hair as he left kisses all over your cheeks, red marks from the lipstick blossoming along, as a clear sign of his adoration towards you. beomgyu’s heart fluttered at the sight, he took the lipstick tube and placed it in your hand, silently asking for more. he pouted his lips once again, and this time, you couldn’t resist him. your lips captured his in a shy, chaste kiss before fulfilling his request. the corners of his lips turned up and he gazed directly into your eyes as you colored his lips again. then, his head dived down, painting your neck with the same crimson marks that adored your cheeks. he nipped and gently bit at your skin, his tongue swiftly gliding over those same spots, letting out a sigh as he let himself become more and more absorbed by you, the worry of keeping his makeup intact long forgotten. he covered you with his love, slightly pulling the collar of your shirt down to cover the area right underneath your collarbone with more kisses. as much as beomgyu relished telling you that he loved you, he was much fonder of showing his endearment towards you through actions. he loved seeing how you couldn’t control the blush rushing into your cheeks as he kissed you, how you held on tighter to the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he travelled down your body, soft gasps escaping past your lips whenever his kisses turned slow and sensuous.

his face came back up, rosy lips curving into a smirk as he looked at you again “what a beautiful sight”

[cyberslvts]

COME BACK TO ME || w.maximoff

Summary: As you struggle to decipher your feelings, it becomes increasingly apparent that Wanda is not willing to let go of what you once had.

Warnings: 18+, angst, arguing, Smut, restraints, fingering (r recieving), oral (r recieving), desperate Wanda(creaming), happy ending.

WC: 6k

a/n: I had way to much fun writing this chapter.

Part 1 || Part 2

———-

Your office was a realm of muted grey and white, the color palette matching the heavy clouds that hung low in the sky outside. The city rain tapped a soothing melody against the windows, filling in the silent gaps of the room. Droplets trickled down the glass panes, distorting the view of the cityscape bellow.

You sat in your swivel chair, your fingers absently tapping a rhythm on the armrest. Your eyes were fixed on the raindrops, as if they held the answers to the turmoil within you.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cityscape appeared gray and hazy, the tall buildings shrouded in mist. Your thoughts were as cloudy as the weather outside, your heart heavy with unresolved emotions.

The heaviness in your chest matched the atmosphere outside, a weight that had yet to lift since that fateful confrontation. The events of that night constantly replayed in your head, never leaving your mind as if they were following you like your shadow.

Its been about four months since youd last spoken to Wanda. Legal matters and discussions, were conducted solely through your lawyers, a clear boundary you had set. As for Wanda, she was promptly banned from your office building, further deepening the growing rift between you two.

Your eyes felt heavy as you stared out into the city. You had started to spend more time at the office, shwoing up hours before all of your employees, and leaving when the halls of the building were as quiet as the streets bellow. You couldnt stand being in your apartment. The space that once felt like a refuge now held a haunting echo of Wanda, The silence of your home was loud and overwhelming, Each room seemed to be haunted by the ghost of your relationship, a constant reminder of what once was. So you instead chose to bury yourself in your work day and night to try and erase the growing void in your heart.

It was during those late nights at the office that you would catch glimpses of her, seated on the black bench outside your building. The sight of her there was like a ghost from the past, You could see the weariness in her posture, the heaviness in her eyes. She appeared as lost and broken as you felt.

As you stepped out into the night air, your eyes would inevitably find her. Silently sitting, watching cars zip past her. A jolt of surprise would cross her face as she noticed you, and then a flicker of hope. She would scramble to her feet, her gaze locked onto you as she rushed to intercept you before you could walk away.

“Y/n, wait, please,” Your strides were beginning to widen and You could hear the clacking of her heels behind you “Please, I just want to talk.”

Abruptly, you spun around, halting in your tracks. Wanda faltered, her heels nearly causing her to lose her balance as she struggled to come to a stop.

“Fine, then talk,” you stated, your arm extended slightly as if urging her to get to the point

Wanda's words stumbled out, her voice laced with a mix of anxiety and determination. “I miss you,” she confessed, her gaze holding a raw vulnerability that pierced through the space between you.

You watched her, the ache in your chest growing with every passing second. "You betrayed me, Wanda," your voice held a hint of bitterness, a mix of hurt and anger that you couldn't fully hide.

"I know," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I can't change what I did, and I can't take back the pain I caused you."

Your fists clenched involuntarily, the turmoil inside you threatening to overflow. "Do you even understand what you've done? The trust you shattered?"

Wanda's shoulders sagged as if each word you spoke weighed her down further. "I do, y/n. And I'm so, so sorry."

The two of you stood there on the empty sidewalk, the world around you seemed to blur, Wanda's eyes remained locked on you, her gaze a mixture of regret, longing, and a silent plea.It was a scene heavy with emotions, a moment frozen in time.

"I can't just forget what happened," you finally said, your voice cracking as you struggled to maintain your composure.

Wanda nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "I don't expect you to. I just... I wanted you to know how sorry I am."

The ache in your heart was overwhelming, a mixture of love and pain that you couldn't untangle. You turned away, your steps carrying you toward your car.

"I need time, Wanda," you said over your shoulder, your voice laced with a sadness that mirrored the rainy night.

"I understand," her response was a whisper, barely audible against your retreating form. "I'll wait.”

You sat up in your chair, the memories of that night jolting you from your trance. A suffocating wave of despair started to build within you. Before you could let it fully consume you, you spun around in your chair until you were facing your desk. Clicking your mouse to wake up your screen in order to resume the previously abandoned pile of work.

You missed Wanda more than you could let yourself admit. You wanted to hate her, and after what she did you should hate her. And you tried, you really did. You locked yourself away from her, you buried yourself in work in hopes to erase any happy memories you once had with her, so you could replace them with the cruel and heartless version of her you knew now.

But the truth was different. You couldn't erase the way her eyes lit up when they met yours, or the way she made you feel—loved and safe, in a way no one else ever had.

You think you would always remember her this way, a constant reminder, etched deep into your heart.

—-----——-

You returned to your penthouse drenched, the rain having caught you off guard without an umbrella. The water had rendered your hair a shade darker, and you left a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floors as you made your way towards the bathroom.

You shed your wet clothes and stepped under the stream of hot water in your shower, feeling immediate relief as the tension in your muscles began to dissipate. The air was filled with the refreshing scents of lavender and sandalwood as you lathered up and cleaned yourself.

After finishing your shower, you stood still for a moment, the steam swirling around you like a comforting embrace. The warmth and solitude created a cocoon of serenity, shutting out the world beyond the bathroom walls.

When your fingers began to wrinkle from the water, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower, reaching for a fluffy towel to wrap around yourself.

You were in the midst of lathering lotion in your hands when a loud knock stopped your movements. You looked down at yourself, seeing you were naked and only covered in a white towel. You debated on changing but decided not to assuming it was your neighbor coming to get the spare key she left you, having locked herself out multiple times.

The ends of your damp hair left small droplets on the floor as you padded to the door, twirling a pair of keys. absentmindedly in your hand. When you peered through the peephole, your breath caught in your throat. You practically ripped the door open upon seeing her. Wanda stood before you, her appearance slightly disheveled, her hair displaying a touch of frizz despite still looking perfect. The collar of her shirt was creased, and her makeup seemed to be fading – signs that she might have come directly from work.

“Y/n I can't do this anymore.” Wanda spoke before you could even fully comprehend why she was here. The sight of her there, standing at your doorstep, caught you off guard, and you struggled to process her sudden appearance.

“What? Wanda, what are you doing here,?” Your voice trembled with a blend of confusion, your grip on your towel invonultarily tightened when you felt her push past you until she was standing in your living room.

Wanda's impatience seemed palpable as she brushed past you, her steps echoing in the living room. “I know I really fucked up, but I cant keep doing this,” her voices wavering as she began to lightly pace across your dark floors.

“I dont understand, you cant do what anymore” you shot back, your own voice carrying a mix of exasperation and pain.

“Be away from you!” she declared, finally turning to face you fully. The frustration in her eyes was clear, mixed with a weariness that seemed to emanate from deep within. “I know you wanted space, and I get that, I do, but are you just never going to talk to me again?”

The intensity in her gaze held you captive for a moment, and you felt your heart tug in response. But you couldn't let yourself fully give in. “Wanda, I don't know what you want me to say to you. You lied and went behind my back for months,” you responded, the weight of your words underscored by the lingering hurt.

“And I am so sorry for what I did, you know I am,” she pleaded, her desperation evident. Her words stumbled out as she struggled to find the right ones. “Just… Just tell me what I have to do to make this right.”

Her next words hit you like a wave, unexpected and powerful. “I'll give up everything if that's what it takes. The company, the money, all of it.” You looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but the determination in her eyes was unwavering.

“Are you insane? you cant just show up here in the middle of the night-”

“I love you, y/n, and I know you still love me,” her voice cracked with vulnerability. “And I will spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, but this can't be the end for us.”

A sharp retort formed on your lips, fueled by your anger and the pain she had caused you. “Well, you're wrong, Wanda. I don't love you anymore,” you stated, your words a defense mechanism to shield yourself from the turmoil inside

A fleeting expression of hurt crossed Wanda's face, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “I don't believe you,” she responded with a firmness that matched your own, her unwavering gaze locked onto yours as if she could see right through your facade.

“Well you are going to have to believe it” you harshly responded, With a frustrated sigh, you turned abruptly on your feet and began walking toward the hallway that led to your master bedroom. The echo of Wanda's footsteps followed closely behind, the tension between you two was concrete.

“Where are you going?” Wanda questioned as she followed after you like a lost puppy. Her voice, still heavy with determination,

"Well, I'm not planning on lingering here half-naked in a towel,” You responded, the annoyance and sarcasm evident in your voice. “since you don't have plans on leaving any time soon”

The door to your bedroom swung open as you entered, and you didn't even need to glance back to know Wanda was right on your heels. It was almost comical how she managed to keep up, considering the weight of the conversation that hung between you.

With a huff, You made your way into your closet, turning around you shut the door right in her face, an offended expression painted her features as if she was expecting to walk right in with you.

Wanda leaned back against the gray walls of your bedroom, her gaze fixed on the closed closet door. She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, frustration and resignation mingling in her expression

"I can't believe you actually tried to convince me that you don't love me anymore," she scoffed, her voice dripping with a mixture of disbelief and anger, her words a response to the emotional grenade you had thrown earlier

You continued your search for clothes, the sound of fabric rustling and drawers opening serving as a background to the tension in the room. "Oh please, Wanda," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because nothing says 'I love you' like secretly sharing confidential information with our competitors.”

Through the door, you heard a muffled sigh, signaling Wanda's exasperation as she leaned against the wall. The room felt like a battlefield, the air heavy with unspoken regrets and unreleased emotions.

"Are you seriously bringing that up again?" she pushed herself off the wall until she was once again face to face with your closet door.

She could practically hear you rolling your eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that supposed to be forgotten in the grand gesture of you showing up unannounced?"

Wanda's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze narrowing at your words. "I came here to try and fix things, y/n. I'm not just going to disappear from your life."

“My life would actually be a lot easier if you did disappear from it.” your voice slightly strained as you reached behind yourself to hook on your bra.

“Oh shut up, you don't mean that.” Wanda rolled her eyes, her frustration is evident as she crossed her arms over her chest. “For God, sakes how long does it take a person to put on a pair of pajamas?” she slapped her hands on the side of her legs and looked up at the ceiling her patience seemingly wearing thin. There was a beat of silence, while Wanda was waiting for you to respond, assuming you were just choosing to ignore her now.

Wanda let out a breath, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she slowly made her way across the room to sit on the edge of your bed. The sound of fabric rustling filled the otherwise silent room, and while you were engrossed in changing into your night clothes, Wanda battled an intense urge. She fought against the impulse to barge through your door, to grab hold of your unclothed body, and to never let you slip away again.

The ache within her was unbearable at times. The depth of her longing for you was a constant weight, an ever-present companion she couldn't shake off. It was a desperation that kept her awake at night, leaving her tossing and turning in her own lonely bed. She had become accustomed to falling asleep to the rhythm of your breath, to the warmth of your body beside hers. Without that, her nights felt empty, restless, and devoid of the comfort she so desperately craved.

How badly she yearned to touch you, to feel the softness of your skin beneath her fingertips. How she wished she could hold you close, wrapping her arms around you and never letting go. The memories of your touches, your kisses, and your whispered words of affection haunted her every moment.

She missed you, missed everything about you. Your absence left a void in her heart, a hole that seemed to grow with each passing day. She missed the mundane routines, the simple moments that now felt like precious memories. She longed for the times when you would both come home from work, tired but content, and share stories of your day. She missed the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the way you would fit perfectly in her arms.she missed waking up to you. She missed the messy hair that would cascade across your face as you slept, the way your brows would furrow just slightly before your eyes fluttered open.

As Wanda sat there on the edge of your bed, a whirlwind of emotions surged within her. She couldn't help but wonder if you missed her as much as she missed you if you felt as tortured as she was.

And then, like a sudden lightning bolt, a horrible thought struck her. Was there someone else? someone who had taken her place. It was a painful idea that clawed at the corners of her mind, igniting a pang of jealousy that she struggled to suppress. Was that why you hadn't called? Or why you seem to be perfectly fine while she felt like she would die if she had to go another day without seeing you.

The mere thought of another person filling the void she had left behind was enough to send a wave of nausea crashing over her. She wanted to believe that you were suffering too, that the separation was as torturous for you as it was for her. But the uncertainty gnawed at her, feeding her jealousy like a hungry fire.

Wanda recognized the unfairness of her jealousy. After all, she was the one who had shattered your trust and broken your heart. Her actions were inexcusable, and she had no right to feel possessive or envious. And yet, the images of you with someone else, sharing the intimacy and love that had once been exclusively reserved for her, were like poison to her soul.

Her determination to win you back was stronger than ever. She knew she had to make amends, to prove to you that her love was genuine and that she was willing to do whatever it took to earn your forgiveness. The thought of you in someone else's arms was unbearable, driving her to fight for you with an almost desperate fervor. As she sat there, wrestling with her emotions, she knew one thing for certain: she needed you back in her life. The pain of being apart from you was too much to bear, and she was willing to confront her own mistakes head-on to rebuild the connection that had once been the center of her world.

Wanda heard the sound of your closet door opening and immediately spun around, a burning flame of determination in her chest. She was fully prepared, ready to win you back no matter what the cost was. If she had to stay here all night declaring her love for you, then so be it.

But as soon as her eyes met yours, she froze. Every single thought in her head felt like it evaporated.

There you were, in the door frame wearing a set of lingerie, a stunning shade of scarlet Her favorite color. Her favorite set. On her favorite girl. She felt herself begin to get hot as a flame of lust ignited inside her. The bra, a work of art, lifted and accentuated your chest, offering a subtle allure that both revealed and concealed. The patterns of the lace danced across your skin. The panties, a matching masterpiece, hugged your hips with a gentle grace, the lace tracing a delicate line along your waist and hips. The fabric caressed your curves with a tender touch, leaving just enough for Wanda's imagination.

You cocked your head to the side in confusion at Wanda's sudden quietness. The atmosphere seemed to shift, the air growing thick with tension. Your attire, in contrast to the serious situation.

Wanda found herself taking an involuntary step closer. She felt as if she were under a spell, her attention drawn completely to you. But abruptly, she stopped, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features. What exactly were you playing at? Were you testing her? Teasing her?

“Y/n.” she broke the silence, Not tearing her eyes off you for even a second as you waltz over to her. For the first time in a long time, Wandas mind went completely blank. All she could do was hopelessly stare.

“I figured this would make you shut up,” you retorted, a hint of playful defiance in your voice.

You took her by the belt. Looping your finger inside the leather material and pulling her forward until her lips met yours in a rough kiss. Wanda's hands immediately went to your waist, holding you agaisnt her.

Wanda felt like she was floating. She couldn't get enough of you, pressing harder into you, her hold on your hips tightening as if you were going to slip away. You sighed against her lips missing this feeling just as much as Wanda. You slipped your tongue into her mouth, moaning when you felt her gently suck on the wet muscle in return. Wanda felt herself beginning to get lost in you. The feeling of finally having your undivided attention was euphoric.

With each press of your lips against hers, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in a suspended moment. Your hands worked quickley at the metal buckle of her belt. You sudden eagerness took her by surprise. The sound of clickling metal was echoed throughout the room as you pulled out the belt from her pants. Wanda was to lost in the feeling of your tongue in her mouth to feel you gently take her hands from you waist and lightly wrap them behind her back.

Your lips journeyed down to the curve of her neck, where your teeth grazed her skin, eliciting a throaty moan from her. “Fuck, baby,” she panted, shutting her eyes to relish the sensation.

Wanda's attempt to move her hands to run them through your hair was thwarted by her realization that she was now bound. She broke herself from the kiss, whipping her head around her shoulders to see her belt tightly wrapped around her hands into makeshift cuffs.

“Where did you learn that?” her tone a mix of concern and curiosity. she brought her face back around to yours, her breath tickling your lips.

“Internet.” You smirked, Placing your hands on her shoulders and shoving her until the back of her legs reached the bed. As she fell you admired the bewildered expression on her face. She always looked so adorable when she was confused.

Wanda attempted to stand up but before she could you swung yourself over her, your legs on either side of hers. Your hands place themselves on her shoulders. Keeping her back pressed against your soft white comforters. Wanda looked up at you with her mouth slightly agape. She flexed her arms trying to free herself from your restraints.

“Y/n. What is this? Why am I tied up” She questioned, wiggling her arms and shoulders in an attempt to free herself. You ran your hands over her body, soothing her frantic movements.

“You know, you really hurt me.” you softly spoke, faking a pout, and leaning down so the ends of your hair were on her face. Wanda's eyes softened into yours, She wanted to move her hand up to cup your face but realized she couldn't given her position. “You made me hate you again. And just when we were starting to get along” you tisked your lips, faking a disappointed expression.

“Y/n. Please. Im sorry.” Wanda spoke with desperation in her eyes, The guilt slowly eating away at her heart. You brought your finger up to her lip, hushing her gently.

“You didn't think you would be getting off scot-free, did you? Your voice suddenly dropped an octave, which made Wanda shiver. The heat and lust between the two of you rapidly growing.

Wanda's eyes widened at the realization of what was about to happen. She lifted the upper part of her body off the bed so her face was right in front of you. Her lips near touching yours.

“No, baby, please,” she murmured, her voice taking on a submissive tone that sent a jolt of electricity through the air. Softly, she kissed you, her words almost a plea against your lips. “It's been so long. I need to feel you.”

With a willpower you didn't know you possessed, you pulled away from the kiss, eliciting a frustrated whine from Wanda.

“Now how would that be fair? Huh,” you teased, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. The tension in the room was thick, the air charged with a mixture of longing and unresolved emotions.

You sat back on her legs and reached behind to unhook your bra. Wanda's gaze glazed over as your chest was revealed, and you discarded the bra, your hands tracing sensually over your skin. A soft moan escaped your lips as your fingertips caressed your hardened nipples.

Observing this, Wanda's mouth began to water, her desire growing. She leaned forward, eager to taste you, but you gripped her shoulders, preventing her from moving further

"Patience," you whispered, your voice a sultry purr. "I'm not done yet."

Wanda's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her anticipation evident in the way her eyes were fixed on you. She bit her lip, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she fought back the urge to pounce.

Your fingers continued their dance across your skin, teasingly grazing over your curves. Your hips started to grind against the flesh of her thigh. Wanda let out a groan, feeling your wetness soak through her thin pants. The low moans that escaped your lips seemed to echo in the room, a symphony of pleasure that played to Wanda's eager ears.

"Y/n," Wanda practically whimpered, her voice dripping with need. "Please, I can't wait any longer."

A knowing smile tugged at your lips as you watched her squirm beneath you. The power you held in this moment was intoxicating

You maintained your hold on her shoulders, savoring the way she practically trembled with anticipation. Your eyes bore into hers, a mixture of dominance and affection in your gaze.

"Tell me, Wanda," you cooed, your voice a velvet caress. "Tell me how much you want it."

Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving yours. “so bad," she confessed, her voice a soft plea. “I want it so bad”

You let your fingers trail a tantalizing path down your body, inching lower with deliberate slowness. Wanda's gaze followed your movements, her pupils dilating with desire. You slipped your fingers into your panties and began stroking yourself, coating your fingers in your wetness.

Wanda dug her nails into her palm watching your eyes flutter shut as you fucked yourself on your fingers. Her wrists burned from the tightness of the belt, rubbing together in an attempt to free herself.

You withdrew your fingers and lifted them to Wanda's awaiting mouth. She readily opened her lips, allowing your fingers to glide onto the top of her tongue. A moan escaped Wanda as the taste of you hit her senses, her eyelids fluttering shut as her tongue caressed and sucked your juices from your fingers, savoring every drop. The desire within her intensified. She wanted to taste all of you. She wanted to flip you over and hold your thighs open and bury her tongue into your wet pussy. This felt like torture, She didn't know much longer she could hold out for. To Wanda's disappointment, You pulled your fingers out of her mouth.

“Let me touch you, please,” she pleaded, her lips connecting to the base of your neck. “ill make you feel so good” You let her get a few more kisses in before you pushed her shoulders back.

“No touching. This is your last warning” you asserted firmly, bringing your fingers back to your core.

Wanda's frustration started to bubble up inside her. Watching your chest rise and fall with every heavy breath your let out, Your pillowy thighs squeezing her own as your wetness stained her pants.

Wanda subtly maneuvered her hands, sensing the belt beginning to loosen. Unbeknownst to you, a mischievous grin formed on her lips as you were becoming consumed by pleasure

“God, Wanda,” you moaned, the rhythm of your hips quickening, grinding down onto your fingers. The sensation coiling within your abdomen was becoming increasingly intense

Wanda began moving her leg up and down, matching the rhythm of your fingers. Distracting you from her movements behind her back. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt your pleasure building to an exquisite peak.

Just as you were about to unravel you were abruptly flipped over and slammed onto the mattress. Your eyes shot open to see wanda hovering above you.

Wanda's chest heaved with a mixture of frustration and desire. She was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between her need to reclaim control and the overwhelming attraction that pulsed between you.

You could see the anger in her eyes, her hands aggressively squeezing yours as they pinned themselves on either side of your head. “That's enough. You've had your fun.”

She lowered herself onto your body, her breath caressing your skin with a fiery touch. Her lips trailed along your neck, chest, and stomach, each touch stoking the flames of anticipation. With a swift motion, she ripped off your panties, her lips immediately finding your wetness. She pressed her mouth against you, releasing a primal, heated moan against your sensitive flesh. She was relentless, giving you no mercy against her ministrations. She brought her lips up to your clit and began harshly sucking on the bundle of nerves. Your mind began to muddle into a haze of overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck- oh my god, Wanda” You gasped, Throwing your head back and arching your back into the air. Your hips began to squirm and Wanda threw her arm over your waist, anchoring you down onto the mattress. She brought two fingers up to your entrance and gently pushed them in, immediately curling against your sweet spot. Her tongue continued to roll against your clit as she took a moment to glance up at you.

You looked indescribably spectacular, as you always did right before you came. Your breaths became erratic, your hand reached down to tug at Wanda's hair making her groan into your core. That was all it took to send you over the edge. Your thighs squeezed around Wanda's head, efficetevly muffling her moans as you unraveled under her. She brought her hand to your thigh rubbing circles into your skin, soothing you through your orgasm.

‘Wanda” you pant, watching her come up from your thighs, her fingers still lodged inside you. You cry out when you feel her begin to pump her fingers in and out of you.

“Fuck, please, Wanda,” you implored, your fingers digging into her shoulders as the intensity of her thrusts sent tremors through your body.

“C'mon, sweet girl, you can give me one more.” Wanda purred against your collarbones, beginning to suck hickeys down your chest. Your velvety walls pulsed around her fingers as they slid in and out of your pussy, her pussy.

“Is this pussy still mine baby?”

“God, yes!” you were clawing at Wandas back, feeling your orgasm start to build,

“and who do you belong to.” you went to respond but your mouth fell open when you felt wanda slide a third finger into your wet pussy. The stretch made your eyes squeeze shut, and your hold on Wanda tightened. your nails grazing her back as your orgasm surged forth. The sensation was electric, radiating through your entire being as Wanda continued her assault. The ferocity of her movements only heightened your pleasure, and you felt your body convulse in response.

Even after all this time she knew exactly what you liked and how to make you scream. Wandas entire focus was dedicated to pleasuring you, her fingers pumped in and out of you at a perfect angle and you felt your mind begin to grow fuzzy.

“Answer me.” Wanda's voice was firm, and filled with possessiveness, the thought of anyone else seeing you like this ignited fiery wave of jealousy inside her.

She hovered over you as you writhed beneath her. Her fingers maintained their relentless pace, and your hips bucked against her hand, seeking more.

“You, Wanda. I belong to you,” you moaned, your chest rising to meet hers. The heel of her hand pressed against your clit, sending jolts of ecstasy through you. Your senses were aflame, every nerve alive as Wanda's fingers orchestrated a symphony of pleasure within you

“There it is,” Wanda's voice held a triumphant note as she watched your face contort in pleasure. Her eyes shimmered with adoration, locked onto your expressions as you reached your climax. “Yes, that's my good girl.” Sloppy kisses found your neck, her breath hot against your skin as she reveled in your moans, the sweet sounds that fueled her own desire.

As the waves of pleasure gradually receded, you felt your body relaxing, your breathing slowing down to a steady rhythm. Wanda withdrew her fingers gently, her touch tender as she shifted to lie beside you. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close against her as you both caught your breath. The afterglow of your intimacy was palpable in the air, a mix of emotions swirling between you.

Wandas voice broke the comfortable silence, soft and caring “ Are you okay, love?”

You turned your head to meet her gaze, her eyes a mirror of concern and affection. Despite everything, the depth of her feelings for you was undeniable. Your fingers traced gentle patterns on her arm, a silent reassurance.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice slightly muffled into her chest.

She gave you a kiss on your cheek before gently moving you off her so she could stand up. Your head that was being supported by wandas chest was soon replaced with the soft material of your pillows.

Your heart started to ache at the thought of Wanda leaving you, but she returned a few minutes later with a damp towel and a glass of water. She handed you the glass urgining you to drink it while she carefully cleaned the mess in between your legs.

When she was finished she awkwardly sat back on her legs, unsure of her next movements “if..if you want me to leave I can. I know your still angry, and if me staying here is too much for you I understand”

Your heart swelled at Wandas words, Even amidst the turmoil and the tangled emotions, she was still attuned to your needs and boundaries.

“I just want you to be happy Y/n.” she spoke, her breath faltering before she spoke her next words “And I understand if its not with me. I promise ill leave you alone after tonight”

“I dont want that Wanda.” you confessed, finally looking up into her eyes. "I can't deny that I still care about you," your vulnerability laid bare. "Despite everything, there's still something between us."

Wanda looked up at you relief and hope shimmered in her eyes, her fingers nervously toyed with a loose thread on the bedspread. "I've missed you so much, y/n. And I know I messed up, more than I can even express."

Tears welled up in your eyes as her words hit you, the rawness of her admission cutting through the layers of resentment. "I missed you too, Wanda. But you hurt me so bad."

"I know," she whispered, her voice laced with regret. “And im willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, a complex wave of emotions surging through you. "I still love you, Wanda. But it won't be easy."

“Im not looking for easy.” Wanda's thumb brushed away a tear from your cheek. "I love you, more than words can say."

The weight of your shared feelings hung in the air, a fragile bridge between your past and the uncertain future. But in that moment, you both knew that love was worth fighting for, even if it meant navigating the complexities of hurt and forgiveness.

As she leaned in, her lips met yours in a kiss that was a fusion of longing, remorse, and a tentative hope. It wasn't a magical fix, but it was a step towards healing, towards rebuilding what had been broken.

With a renewed sense of hope and a shared commitment to heal, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter. The past wouldn't disappear, but perhaps, with time and effort, you could build a future that was stronger, more resilient, and filled with the love that had never truly faded away.

As you pulled away slightly, you met her gaze with a tender smile. “Well have to take it slow,"

Her eyes lit up, a mix of relief and excitement dancing within them. "Yeah, slow sounds good."

A hint of confusion crossed Wanda's face as she glanced around the room, contemplating her next move. "So, should I... I mean, can I stay tonight?"

You couldn't help but chuckle, the warmth of her presence reassuring you. Without hesitation, you reached out, gently pulling her shoulder down onto you as you fell back onto the bed "Oh, You're not going anywhere."

Wanda's face broke into a radiant smile,. As she settled beside you, you wrapped your arms around her, holding her close. She inhaled the smell of your hair feeling more at peace than she had in months.

In that moment, you both knew that while the road ahead might not be easy, the desire to be together was undeniable. The past was a part of your story, but it didn't have to define your future. With each heartbeat, you felt the strength of your love growing, and the promise of a second chance filling the air with hope.

Taglist: @reginassweetheart @marvelwomen-simp @lesbianpizza @ilovetlcc @kittnii @romanoffsgff @justabrokensunshine @blueredg52 @bibliophilicbi @ms-brek-ker @lizardslizzie @casquinhaa @dvrkhcld @dmenby3100 @marvels-slut @pawiie @brooklyn-r-dawson @psychickryptonitebouquet @ju-maxi89 @dracarys8287

[missfrustration]

sins and sacraments (priest!sanji x succubus!reader 18+ fanfic)

rating: 18+ explicit, minors do not interact!!

tags: pwp, smut, dubcon, rough sex, fingering, priest!sanji, priest au, succubus au, priest kink, trashy as hell, power dynamics, power struggle, biting, scratching, cigarette burning, some blood, bondage, tears, succubus scent and poison, inaccurate catholicism, not so chivalrous sanji

A/n: This is genuinely the craziest shit I've written. dubcon to the max, dont like dont read!!! i drew some fanart for this, dont look at the hand proportions too hard. on ao3 here!

wc: 7.1k

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

This house in the hideaway stow of the county was one of your favorites to live in whenever you liked to find men from the area. Maybe it was the old-money interior and classic oak spaces that made it stick with you. Regardless, it’s always been the perfect place to lure your prey in.

That was until recently.

Some puny humans have ‘bought’ the thing since the last time you’ve left the area, and have destroyed the place beyond anything forgivable. It seems a mortal husband and wife is treating the house like it’s theirs , tearing up all the lovely decorations from older times into disgustingly awful palettes of teal and yellow. Treating your place with such little disregard, talking about how happy they are to get a house and raise their grandchildren within. 

You’re a succubus. Obviously, it’s not your style to haunt humans, much yet married couples—playing defense is unheard of for you—but after the first day that you surveyed them, it’s clear that they need to be taken care of. You certainly had some time on your hands, and enough strength from the last set of victims to kill them, but camping around and scaring them away instead was certainly a feat you were willing to challenge.

At first, it started with random things falling over, whenever they weren’t looking, you’d find a vase, a lamp, or even a grandfather clock, that would make enough noise when pushed to irk them. You eventually find out the wife really hates the bumps in the night whenever she is alone. One particular night while the husband was away, you made her so scared she fled to the bedroom and started shivering under blankets for days. The husband would wave his gun around when he suspected something, but they’d never find you fast enough.

They departed a week ago, only hastily packing a couple of suitcases before leaving. Finally, the whole house was abandoned yet again to your ownership. While it’s strange how they didn’t pack anything other than a few clothes and jewelry, the thought of it being anything other than a hasty runaway never occurred to you.

Those were your suspicions up until now. You were lounging around your reclaimed house, wearing one of the missus’s dresses and prancing near the large top-floor window when something caught your eye.

It’s a car from a meager wage that suddenly pulls up on the lot— your lot, the one you’ve put insurance in keeping empty the past couple of weeks—as you watch from the sanded window.

You saunter down the stairs, straightening the pleats of the dress’s yellow skirt, and feeling the role of the clothing’s owner when you open the door.

“Good evening, Father, how may I help you?”

A priest looks into your eyes, smiling so warmly at you. A familiar book in his hand, one with leather worn on the outskirts of the surface and worn on the spine. He wears a priest’s clock with a thick cincture wrapped around a cinched waist, a Roman collar, and a long skinny stole hanging down from around his neck. 

This dedicated man of God stands before your devilish domain, yet there’s certainly a need for you to act cordially. Maybe it’s a perverted sense in you to pretend to be an innocent housewife, but a change of pace in getting a new victim is always welcome.

“Father Sanji,” he smiled. “I’ve come on behalf of the church for the family of this house.”

“This is the family you're speaking to.” You say sweetly, clasping your hands together. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I've come upon request to remove a demon lurking in these walls, apparently one that’s been plaguing you since you moved in…” The father cocks his eyebrows at you, looking you up and down. “Surely you must know this?” He says, the smile never falters from his face. His words cause a perfect excuse to fall from your lips in gracious favor.

“Oh, why, of course. My husband loves to tell tall tales, no matter who he wraps up in after it. you’re free to look around, but I’m afraid you won’t find anything.” With a giggle and a twirl of your hand, you feel the posture of Father Sanji standing straighter.

“That's all the permission I needed, madam.”

You step back and open the door wide, allowing the man into your territory. He makes his way to the kitchen quickly when you offer him a cup of coffee. 

You’ve never made coffee–you wouldn’t have even found the stuff for it. However, you found it after whisking through a few cabinets with a stroke of luck. The canister labeled ‘ground beans’ had only enough sediment to cover the bottom of the tin.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Father Sanji asks you by the doorway of the kitchen.

“Usually, I would say no, but you're handsome enough that I’ll let it pass.”

A pause. 

“How nice of you.”

He retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his hand, one with a packaging exterior foreign to you. He ceremoniously shakes one before popping it out, taking a match from the matchbox across the kitchen stove, and flicking the flame until the end of the cigarette begins to cherry.

You fiddle with the kitchen’s chunky coffee machine while he’s distracted.

“I take it your husband isn’t home?”

“I’m afraid so,” You say, “he’s been out for business the past couple of weeks, and it’s been so lonely. I’m glad to have some… eye-catching company.” You leave a lingering whine on ‘company,’ eyeing the priest’s presence. He’s more attractive than the others, and certainly more thrilling if you wrap him around your finger just right; not to mention the power you would acquire from his body.

“Is that right…” He trails off. You busy yourself with the machine. In the corner of your eye, the father finds a tray for ash on the counter, flicking the dead end of his cigarette before puffing again.

You ignore his comment. As you finish your business with the coffee machine, you hear the water inside start to bubble. You turn towards him, idly leaning against the counter and arching your back. You meet eyes again.

“Are you sure you're a priest? You look far too handsome for the role.”

Sanji blushes, fidgeting with the buttons of his cloak before clearing his throat.

“I am indeed of the cloth, madam. It is the path that was laid before me.”

You hum to yourself, saying one of your most ill-suited thoughts out loud. “A handsome man like you is wasted on celibacy.”

You let the words on your tongue fall into the quiet air. The priest's demeanor doesn’t change; he stands still momentarily before reigniting his warm smile. 

“My beauty is merely a gift from God.” He pauses, looking out the window as he lets his cigarette burn on. “It's the same for all mortals, I would venture.”

He seemed to have added that last thought of his– a very strange thing to say, but priests of this era may be just that.

“If we think on that basis,” You hum, “Life is too short. Perhaps you should live a little.”

He pauses, eyeing you down conspicuously.

“Do you usually flirt with men when your husband’s not around?”

You hide a conniving smile. The coffee starts to brew.

“Depends, does it seem to be working?”

“I would be called a liar if I said no.” He says, absentmindedly blowing the smoke. Your smirk grows.

“Perhaps you should stick around, then.” 

You move closer to him, choosing to be in his intimate space as you search his body for cracks–for more hints you’ve gotten under his skin. You run your long, glossy nail from his chest to the seam of his Roman collar before Father Sanji grabs your wrist. You try to move to his neck, planning to scratch the tender flesh, but he gives you no room to do so. The force is unbecoming compared to his gentle voice. 

“I think I found what I’ve been looking for.”

“Oh? What would that be, Father?” 

He pulls you close, surprisingly gentle, enough to make his soft words clear. The kitchen is silent for a moment, enough to hear the gentle wind outside knock the leaves against the house.

“You wouldn’t happen to be that demon, would you?”

That gentle tone isn’t hiding any more secrets. A wry laugh escapes your lips.

“I didn’t know priests liked jokes so much; otherwise, I think I’d be offended.” You try to gently pry from his grasp, leaving much of your sultry voice to falter. A firmness in his grip doesn’t dissipate, rather, it seems to extend.

“Oh, my dear.” he takes your hand, threading the fingers together with his. “You know what I mean.”

His eyes. They tell you exactly what you need. In the hues of blue and gray flecks, there’s a glint of malice. His lids are low, his lips purse, and a bruising grip on your hand; he knows you’ve been deceiving him.

You yank your hands away with a vigorous strength that disconnects you two, turning your heel to get out of his clutches. However, he’s already behind you, pinning you against the teal counter hard enough to fold you over it. He’s a lot stronger than he looks.

Father Sanji sighs. “See, the family who requested my services by letter is out on vacation, something they had to plan rather hastily, strictly so I could perform the exorcism without additional guests. No one should be in the house except, well, you .”

He’s pinned your arm tight around your back, blowing a puff of smoke behind you. You don’t know if the act caused you to feel dizzy or something else, but you immediately feel uneasy in an instant.

“You may think you were so close to tricking me, but you should do your homework first. If you can’t even find coffee grounds in your family house, don’t offer answers you didn’t prepare for.” He chuckles.

So he saw through that, too. 

His soft laugh conjures one of your own. However, the tone colored in your voice is completely distinct from the proper one from earlier.

“Maybe you were feigning ignorance so well earlier, and I suppose I’ve been caught off guard. You certainly have a knack for faking someone so taken by me.” You say.

“It’s against the church to lie, my dear, and you truly are a dearie, so I would prefer for you to leave this house by choice rather than force.”

You cock your head at the last part.

“Force?” You mull over, rather surprised at his little bluff. “I love a challenge; the pain tastes of a sweeter victory.” 

“I see. It seems I’ll need to be more physical than I would’ve liked.”

“Oh, you want to dance with death that bad ?” You utter softly at the priest. “I don’t think a mortal like you can play with me .”

“Give me your other arm.”

“Like I’d obey you.” You spit.

“So be it, demon.”

You saw the signs he had something up his sleeve before you can react. Suddenly, you feel a searing hot pain in your back, burning past the cloth of your dress, spreading like wildfire throughout your nerves. An agonized bellow came with the disorientation that followed. You try not to make the sound of pain, yet a very unfeminine grunt leaves you in your wake. In the heat of your agony, Sanji takes your arm and cranks it behind you. 

“Did, did you just fucking burn me?” You grunt.

“How rude of me. It seems that a bit of cigarette ash fell off. Some that may also contain-“

“Ugh, that wretched stuff!” You grunt. The inside of your throat felt like a husk and your head felt lighter. “Don’t think you can pull your little game off with your church’s backhand trickery.”

“Palo Santo-infused smoke, but yes.” He deadpans, now securing both wrists behind you. “Now, hold still.”

“As if I’d-!” Before you can move, your wrists strongly bind together. Sanji’s hands fly from your arms to your head, slamming it down on the counter. 

“Relax, doll, you don’t stand against rosary beads for a while; the papacy recently blessed them before I got here,” the priest says, tapping the restraint on your wrist. “Now, isn’t this a sight?”

You grunt into the ugly teal marble counter, feeling your pretty body squish into the filth. Is this the stuff humans call luxury? Such degradation of an illustrious spirit like you is unnatural from your male targets—no, unheard of. You crank your head to look at him and see Father Sanji’s face burning his eyes back on you. His palm presses down your head, cheek smushing it into the cool tile. 

“This is funny to you?” You rasp at him. “Watching me in pain is entertainment?”

“Absolutely not. This, however?” Sanji points to your now-discovered tail with a smug expression, exposed from the hem of your dress and whipping wildly in the air. “I see that I’ve made an impression.”

“What, that some flakey preacher thinks he has the upper hand?”

“Oh, no. That’s not it at all.” Father Sanji’s tone feels as pleased, almost lighthearted by your exasperation, as he watches your pointed tail strike the air like wildfire. “You love this, don’t you?”

“You must be out of your damned mind, puny lamb.”

“Let me show you what I see.” You feel a firm grasp on your hair, now pulling you back to Sanji as you feel pain aching from the crown of your head. Father Sanji has no time to soften the pressure, pulling your body back to his, yet…

“F-fuck, mmm .” The pain hits you just right. You’re surprised by the whimper coming out of your mouth, from the pain, from his assertive clutch on your hair, and the way he’s lifted half of your body with ease.

“You see? There’s a dirty little devil in here, and she doesn’t seem threatened by me at all.” Father Sanji says this with audible satisfaction in his voice, almost taunting. He took a moment to take a long, crackly exhale of his cigarette. Another puff of smoke is blowing your way, his face so close to your nape that you feel sickened by it. ”Moreso, ready to be defiled .”

Suddenly, his attitude makes sense.

“Oh, so the vile preacher does know what type of demon I am?”

“How could I be called a messenger of the Lord if I don’t know the hysterics of a succubus?”

He’s toying with you. So conniving for the plain church.

“And you think you can just dominate a demon of the night? What a naive thing. You’ll lose your life trying.” You growl. 

“Don’t get too cocky.” 

He flicks more ash on your tail, causing you to screech and writhe. He uses the opportunity to take it in his hand, wrapping it around in his hands before pulling it back. It flails down and now limps under you. In a panic, you try to move it, yet it’s no use. You don’t feel in control of it anymore; sensation is barely left in it.

“While it’s true your kind gets their power from preying on their male targets, I wonder…” He leans so close that his lips touch your ear. “What would happen if the predator was preyed on, hm?”

With sudden force, you feel teeth bite on the tip of your ear. Hard . The sudden force causes your breath to hitch in euphoria and makes your voice pitch dangerously high. When you realize what he’s done, you writhe against him, yet the hold on your body makes the effort futile. 

“Ahh! Please, you honestly don’t believe a little human like you could please a succubus at their own game?” You scoff, yet the hands that hold you don’t falter. Instead, they grip you harder , smushing your face further against the marble.

“Is that a challenge? Even when I know your dirty secret…desperate to finish me off first to keep your powers. But,” he trails off, “if you were to be pleased first, maybe you wouldn’t be so lucky, hm?” 

No, there’s no way he knows. He couldn’t possibly know.

“You fucking bastard,” you start to struggle more against his grasp. “Release me this instant.”

“Oh, so is it who gets off first?” He asks, and you freeze. Your response is enough of an answer for him, and you hear a content chuckle from behind you. “And here I was just guessing.”

“How the fuck do you—?” You seethed. 

“Language.”

Your back writhes as you feel a burning sensation pressing against your shoulder once again. It graces your flesh fast, and more painful than ever.

“The church educates us after indoctrination,” the priest answers your question. “Ah, but not this part.”

Your skin sears with a hiss as he twists the cigarette below your shoulder blade. The sensation is almost intoxicating, searing through the dress and flooding your body with fiery heat, like a blazing aurora. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth while your head becomes dizzy, but a tongue that feels compelled to let out a string of curses, ones that increase consumption of your flesh. 

And the priest chuckles at this, while you wildly fight against the restraints he’s put on you. 

“You must learn to control your tongue,” he says, his voice smooth like honey. “You’ve been around for a while, little imp, but I can tell you’ve never faced an actual threat. You could go left and right seducing all the men you want, but you’ve never faced a man of God.”

You don’t even hear him. You don’t want to. Even after the initial sear has subsided, the sharp pain lingered, traveling down your back in a dull ache. 

“Men of God inflict pain like this? Please,” you spit. “Is this truly what your god wants, or is that just a flimsy excuse?”

“Ah ah. You don’t need to do that. This is what you’re all about, is it not? Why don’t you give in,” Father Sanji leans in to whisper in your ear, “and let a man make you tremble instead?”

You feel the cool air hit the back of your thighs as your dress skirt yanks up, revealing your naked flesh underneath. 

“One that will treat you so well.” He doesn’t sound surprised to see you donning anything underneath that skirt.

Fury pulses through you. If some human spawn thinks he can get away with this, he’ll be sure to regret it. 

You found your opportunity. His body was close enough to your back and bounded claws, and you wasted no time scratching him, successfully taking a bit of flesh with it. He hisses sharply and pulls back his arm before you can do more damage.

“Little thing,” he grunts, seeing the blood drip slowly seeping outside the skin and down his forearm. “I know what you just did.”

You cackle with a voice nothing like the one you first spoke to him. It’s more real, more raw, and certainly fitting for who you truly are. You barely notice the painful beads tightening around your hands, consumed by your gratification.

“Oh, it’s nothing special, just a push for you to finish what you started.”

You know even the strongest human men are no match for you after a simple scratch from your poisoned nails. A man once wary of your advances, fearful of committing adultery, always falls to his knees—completely blinded by their passion and lust for a succubus. You know Sanji is feeling the same effects behind you, so it’s surprising the aura he carries feels almost unaffected .

“It’s not a challenge when I was going to in the first place,” his thigh dips between yours, so achingly slow to press against your mound you felt compelled to rip him to shreds, yet the quiver in your plump legs don’t go unnoticed by the Father.

“Let’s see how long the stuffy priest can resist a battle of endurance. I’ll have you dead, drained of your lifeforce, before you know.” 

Your neck is craned to see him from behind you, and you see the sight of the handsome blonde sour at your words. Father Sanji gives an experimental, sensual rub of your pussy with his leg muscle, almost testing the waters, yet the stimulation to your pussy is instantly slicking it.

“Your ego precedes you,” The priest grunts, rolling his shoulders back and forth to rid himself of a growing frustration. “Your kind could easily kill a man like me, but you choose the path of lust instead to satiate your hunger.”

When he dives his digits into your pussylips, you can feel how effortlessly your slick eliminates any friction. His fingers easily glide up and down your apex until he breaks past the soft, juicy barriers between your entrance. The rough, warm interior greets his fingers with gusto, pulsing around him like a vice. 

“You could’ve cut my head off when you answered the door, or when you lured me into this kitchen,” The priest says, spending no time roughly pumping his fingers into you, thrusting in and out of your slicked hole. “But instead, you want a worldly experience with me? To take my life force and watch me crumble with glee?”

“I can play along with this if you’d like.” You laugh, turning your neck to see his stoic position. You sweeten your voice, fumble your hands against the restraints, as you fake moan against the marble, mocking his energy.

The sound of his moistened palm smacking against your cunt is deliciously filling the room. Maybe from a bumbling idiot, you wouldn’t feel gratified, but from prey as special as him? With deft hands like that, a few burns from that cigarette must’ve damaged your head more than you thought. 

“You like it, enough, I see,” Sanji says, pointing at the emergence of your identity resting on the sides of your head.

Yes, the mark of your heritage. When the dance of lust befalls you, your true form seems to come out. To the curve of your hips plumping in size, the hardness of your nipples rubbing the marble table, but above all, the rouge, the rough indentation of horns sprouting past your skull and making their appearance. 

You whistle lowly, mocking a false interest.

“Oh, is that supposed to humble me?” You say, voice dripping with disdain. “Think just some foreplay will make me cum like a virgin?”

“Do you think you’re still in control in this situation, demon?” He husks.

“It won’t take long, I would argue,” you drawl. “For you to beg for me, lamb. For my body, my touch, for the sweetness, and tightness of my insides. You’ll worship me like a devoted man you are.” 

Your charming voice exhales out, and a sickly sweet scent from your body follows it. One filled with frankincense and amber tones—the scent that brings men to their knees in pleasure. It’s a tactic you pride yourself in as a succubus, one you’re certain will work on him without fail, drawing him irresistibly closer to your body.

His face scrunches up at the last part of your sentence. His gray, pinpoint eyes are focused on your body, taking in your form in its new appearance, smelling the scent. All at once he grips your sides, flipping your body around with reckless abandon. Your back hits the marble forcefully, your wrist painfully colliding before it’s pinned behind. A noise of both aggravation and intrigue releases from your body as you arch yourself. You try to push past the unsavory noise you made, but never have you experienced such force from your prey. 

“I enjoy how hard you try despite your current position under me, but,” he states, but you can tell of a new lewd view before you with your body facing his. At the lower region of his priest's cloak, you see the indentation of his cock stirring against the fabric. “You will submit to me, temptress.” 

That’s when you see it. 

He sheds the skirting of his cloaks wrapped tightly by the long cotton belt cinched around his waist. Underneath, his erection springs out. 

Priest Sanji’s length may be too long for your vessel. God dammit, you’re not in control at this point to change that, yet you lick your lips in anticipation of a challenge. The conquest of dominating his body will reap rewards beyond your wildest desires. Your ability to gain such an influx of power from his life source, you wouldn’t need a dilapidated house like this. 

You can’t help but smirk, knowing full well that Sanji—his body— is just as impatient as you are. Your agitation about the situation is replaced with the feelings you know too well: the egotistical, maniacal form of lust that courses through your veins.

“That’s more like it.” You purr.

Against the power of a succubus, it seems even he can't resist the allure of your body. Be it the poison of your nails, your scent, or the worldly desires getting to him, his cock seems strained from arousal before you. He presses his erection on your wet apex, rubbing and lubricating himself. 

Priest Sanji’s rough entry makes your walls immediately succumb to him. You grunt from the stretch of your hole around his cock, but it doesn’t take long for you to adjust. You were made for this, after all.

“Feel how I fill you, seductress. Take it good, let me feel you flutter well,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

You feel the urge to give in with his cock tight inside your sleeve, the urge to have him take you like a lass would her lover. Maybe you could enjoy yourself a little. How rare that this man spoke to you in a way that excited you beyond taking him for your meal. His dominating figure and treatment are beyond a sniveling adulterer.

“I didn't know a devil spawn could become so flushed.” He whispers lowly. Like a gravelly wisp, it is quickly replaced by his nails digging into the flesh of your thigh as he hikes the leg up to his face. 

Your limber legs split under his grasp with ease. The angle he’s pumping himself into creates an unknown sensation in you. The deepest parts of you fire up from being touched by him, and the insides of your vessel feel jumbled by the sheer size of his member. 

“Oh darling, you have no idea what I’m capable of,” you say. You lift your thighs using the weight of your hands pinned under you, bucking up to meet the base of his dick with each thrust, enveloping him deeper, yet deeper, inside of you. “I can show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams.” The delicious feeling makes your hands wriggle together, the beads etching deeper into your wrists.

“Blessed be thy lips that speak, doll,” the priest taunts, he sweeps your lip with his thumb in a smothering affection.

In annoyance, you bare your teeth, prepared to bite his finger, but instead, he shoves several down your throat, muffling any pretenses you had against his advances. His soft, firm fingers scrape against the ridges of your throat, urging you to gag, but you refuse to give him satisfaction.

Your teeth, tail, and nails could easily poison his flash again, even slash and crush him to ribbons, but injecting more of your lustful poison won’t speed up the process of his arousal taking over if he’s already been exposed. As for killing him…

No, killing him wouldn’t be worth it. Not with this challenge laid before you. The excitement of it. Maybe he’s not as uptight as you would’ve thought, but no mortal human man is a match for your sexual drive. No one has ever been.

You suck on his fingers, latching your mouth around the digits in deficiency, your eyes never leaving his. The priest’s wickedness falters slightly, replaced by something more flustered. His hand tenses, thumb curling to rest against the underside of your jaw, a tenderness juxtaposes his hard cock aggressively thrusting in and out of you. Your hips move together in your bliss.

Any thrusting prey graced within your body has always worked under their lust, their disgusting selfish desires to speed their climax—a decision that you ultimately win from. But this? This isn't the movement of a man chasing his pleasure, but one that wants to slowly unravel you at the core of your being. One who knows your intentions, yet gambles on his cock and body to do his bidding before a demon of the night. 

The priest’s hand snakes out of your mouth, and grips the fatness of your hips. He alternates his thrusts into shallow, gentle pecks into your core in reverent, pounding jackhammers on a dime. The pressure that differs between each thrust is dizzying, inconceivably unlike anything you’ve ever felt from squabbling and desperate prey in the past. His violent grip on you drives a relentless, random rhythm that has you gasping for air.

“Ahh, ahh!” Your hands grip in the air, for anything that will suppress your body from shrieking its pleasure. “Shit, fuck, ugh, hmph!” You don’t understand it when your mouth babbles in pleas and distasteful curses. Distasteful? Never would you have imagined your tongue and the curses it carries could be so repulsive. This damned priest.

“Speaking in tongues I see.” The priest says mockingly.

Maybe you should kill him.

You regain some of your dignity at his words, realizing how desperate for his cock you may seem. To settle the score, you relax your body, letting his dick pass into you until you clamp your pussy around him. Like a vice, you squeeze hard, just to follow it with a pulse of different pressures against his dick. You pursue it relentlessly, trying hard not to succumb to the beautiful bliss of nerves it stimulates while he starts to stutter at his pace.

“I never thought a priest would want to break his celibacy fucking a demon child.” You coo. “Myyy, hahhhh, how the church must be so ashamed of you.”

His face stills in his huffing, his hand coming up to his shoulder as he quickly plucks off the stole around his neck, slipping it off of him before he lifts it in front of you.

“Your unholy words describe this as a test of faith. Speaking as if you weren’t built to do anything but take this cock. This, however, is my calling to do,” as quickly as he finished his sentence, as he pounds his dick hard enough to distract you, you feel the stole wrap around, tightly constricting your mouth as he pulls the ends behind your head. 

You squirm in protest, muffled by the bitter, vile-tasting cloth. You wriggle violently, irritated that he’s muffled you like an animal.

“Uh, uh, be good for me now,” his voice is light and soft, but writhing when his breath touches your face. 

He presses a hand on your stomach as he leans forward to your face, making your leg bend against both chests, opening your pussy more for him. The pressure on his hand against your stomach tightens your walls, his shaft rubbing against them with divine presence. You could cough up the new intensity, yet he jackhammers into you again.

His purpose for leaning so close to your face, inches away from yours, wasn’t to study you with an irritating smolder. No, it’s always more than that. 

With a sudden jerk, you pull back from his hand yanking a horn on your head, the pain is exquisite, it’s dizzying, it’s fucking annoying, yet you squirm and whimper against the stole. Your neck turns at an uncomfortable angle, but you can’t think of the disrespect when he deliciously shoves his shaft into your walls. 

You’ve never felt humanity, yet when tears bull in the corner of your eyes from the pain in your horns, you feel disgusted by the smirk you get from Priest Sanji. 

“Come on, you can take it, little devil.” Closing the gap, he licks the tear that threatened to fall from the corner of your eye. You feel disgusted as he swallows your tears down in a sick satisfaction no priest would have. No priest should have, nothing that you could imagine, yet you hum in pleasure. Sickening is what you are.

You feel ravenous, you crave your reward too much to stop it, but your body screams to tip him over. In your wake of revenge, you gain enough feeling in your tail to move it underneath you.

Your tail catches him off guard, curling around the small of his waist to push him impossibly closer inside of you. You push and pull him faster, battling him at your own pace.

“Dirty,” is all he says, gripping onto your thighs to position them perfectly, giving you the instant gratitude of his cock head brushing into your cervix, reliving an itch that has never been scratched so well.

Oh, but he has more in store for you. 

He leans over your body, cocking his arms to your shoulder, gripping them harshly, and arching your hips more, until he’s not just brushing into the deepest spots inside you, he’s pounding them. But your body is made for this. he grunts, feeling the effects of his actions like clockwork as you tighten harden around his pulsing cock.

That’s when you hear that irritating voice again. Not berating you, not egging you on. No…

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

That sick bastard is speaking a prayer over your dick-ridden body.

You feel hands on your back. In a bruising clutch, your body twists around and your stomach hits the counter hard enough to leave you breathless. Your arms restrained behind you now gain blood flow. Though you’re unable to see your prey now, you can still hear the retched words spill out of his mouth.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” says the grunting priest. While he’s slapping in and out of you, he feels the need to pray to his stupid god. What a joke.

Father Sanji’s chest is against your back. His hand travels up to your blouse, a rip ringing out and buttons flying in the air as the top of your dress rips apart. Your back arches at the feeling, giving him the perfect opportunity.

“On earth as it is in heaven.”

You moan at the dominance, chest now exposed in the air. the frayed blouse of the dress now limps at your sides.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

A hand from behind reaches toward you and grips your breast with such force, gripping the mound like a knob. An intention to tear the succubus down to her bare necessities. For the first time, he gropes and explores your flesh against his digits; but it’s not for his pleasure. It’s for yours, to build you up higher as you take him in your tight sheath.

“For thine is the kingdom…”

Father Sanji’s voice falters in between his touches of your flesh, yet he doesn’t let go. He instead grips onto the flesh as he ruts his hips once again. You moan as he fondles your hardened nipples, gripping the mound with a brutish strength. Your legs splayed out.

“…and the power...”

You feel euphoric from the sensation, the slant of his hips rolling into you further than ever before. Your feet dangling in the air in ecstasy before latching onto him. You wrap your thighs around his middle along with your tail, hooking your feet together as you increase the pressure of your pussy, now pulling him so close he can barely pump out. His face contorts.

“…and the glory forever…”

You feel overpowered by his lust, edging to the brink of climax at an alarming rate, the pleasure is immeasurable, but you know it’s dangerous. 

One more scratch, one more, as you use enough of your strength to finally release yourself from your restraints, your nails so close to the flesh you can feel it. 

Until you feel a sudden pressure in your horns. 

Both his hands fly to your horns as you’re yanked back, your back tensed as all the slack is pulled to arch it at the most inhumane position that you find hard to breathe, to moan. The pain at the base of your horns aches through your head, and the priest cocks it back to your right to face him, your neck straining from the angle that you squeak, your mouth agape and suckling on the stole. 

Sanji is looking at you now, his wrinkles scrunching his face in pure agony and pleasure. The sweat was drenched on his face, a soft smile on his lips again, but with a dark glint he never had in the beginning.

In a swift motion, he rips the stole out of your mouth, and you’re ready to scream. You’re ready to devour him, to bite and suck his flesh, but he shuts up any thought you have by closing the distance first.

An open mouth kiss is taken from your lips. The priest seethes his tongue into you, as you feel a cool liquid pass from his lips into yours. Before you can sink your teeth into that wet tongue, you open your eyes and pull away as fast as you can. 

“S-shit!” the water burns the insides of your mouth and travels down your throat, clawing its way into you like a furious wave of flames. 

You’ve never known this horrible feeling, but you can tell what Sanji made you swallow. Holy water. The mix of the water and Palo Santo smoke lingering in his mouth travels into you.

“Amen.” Sanji grunts.

He cranks both of your legs further than before, past any stretch you reached before slamming his cock into your hole.

It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore. 

You feel your body crash into an intense, mind-numbing orgasm as you scream and claw at your throat. A shrill, high-pitched yell scratches out of you from the pain and pleasure, the leftover water that didn't travel down your throat sputters out in spats. Your cunt restricts around his member, as your body releases its cum, showering and squirting onto his cock, out of your hole, and dripping like a faucet onto the floor. One more pound into your weeping cunt, and Sanji pulls out of you both he grunts, fisting himself until semen spurts out of his dick. 

He’s pulled out and came right after you did. Not in your pussy, for his semen inside would’ve nourished you from this astounding pain.

You lost. You fucking lost! 

And there he stands, a blurry form in front of you, chest heaving, looming over you, but with that solemn, soft face. The same face he made when you opened that forsaken entrance to the home, those same silvery-blue eyes that fill you with rage.

“And, hack! and I thought I could have some real fun with you, you fucking pig!” you cough out. your mouth is welled up with blood as you feel indescribable torture in your body, a mix of cum and blood drips down the kitchen floor. You wipe your mouth, and in the cloudy film of your eyes, you see your hand covered in bright red, staining your palm.

“But no… you wanted to play— ack ,— the hero. I will, I will kill you… you know. Hah , ahhh… I-I’m going to fucking kill–!”

“Language.”

Your body is doused in scalding liquid. The coffee pot in the Father's hand is now empty. You hear the sizzle of it on your skin. You wail out, clutching your face, your neck, your stomach. the inside and out of you feel exposed to the inside of the sun, blazing through every atom as if it were tearing in half.

“You couldn’t resist me, in the end. Your ego kept you from killing me from the chute.” Priest Sanji says. “Ironic, to say the least, fallen one.”

You can barely fucking hear him. Your body writhes on the floor. Pain, it’s all you can feel in everything. 

Through the pain, you can hear Sanji’s words echoing in your mind. Your ego… it was that that kept you from killing him. You were so blindfolded by arrogance and conceit you couldn’t see the truth of the situation until it was too late.

“Now, you must leave at once demon.”

You howl like a banshee, getting up to attack him, but you can’t see. The sound of glass and plates breaks as your body slumps across the counters, searching for him through the blur.

No. You know now, despite his soft words, his truthful compliments, and the way he delighted your body, he’s the real demon. One so taunting, so deceiving, it fills your weak body with nothing but rage. But you can’t fight him now, you can barely stand. 

“F-fucking… bastard!”

With nothing else left for you to do, with his mere presence making your life force dangerously zap out of your vessel, you claw away on your four limbs, crashing against walls until you reach the exit of the home. 

You stumble out into the night, desperately gasping for breath and clutching at your chest’s faint heartbeat. Your body flees past the lot, past the yard’s grasses. The fear of him reaching you carries until the forest is only illuminated by the moon above.

You’re far weaker than you’ve been in ages, clearly on the brink of death unless your strength is built up again. By the looks of it, it won’t be another hundred, no, even a thousand flimsy men you victimize before you can cast revenge on the priest.

With a flick of your tail and limp in your dash, you’re quick to find your next meal to satiate a burning desire.

A desire to make that flakey priest drop dead the next time you lay eyes on him. 

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 29

Moniker: N/A Risk Level: N/A Brief: N/A Safeword: Refer to first brief. The residents have agreed you need your own space. They’ve never agreed on anything before - Laswell

Well this was terrifying. The current residents were Ghost, Mace, Nikto, König, Velikan, Valeria and at least temporarily Gaz (Nova’s day had cleared her to be released you had been told). Being in a room with all of them was overwhelming, especially when most of them were currently arguing on the best colour for your new “nest”.

“My money’s on Val” Mace said, taking up residence on your right side and watching the devolving argument.

“I dunno, I reckon Ghost will take Gaz’s side” you replied, relaxing a little now that you had another person who wasn’t getting wildly heated about the number of windows in all of the rooms.

“You in the bet?” Mace asked Velikan who had been standing on your left from when you came in and hadn’t made any move to get involved in what was going on.

They always seemed to be by your side when you were alone in the Kennel, a silent protector even now in this room full of people. They just gave your head a pat and Mace laughed.

“Not wrong. Doesn’t matter who wins, they’re going to fold for her no matter what she asks for.”

“Now if only that worked with you.”

“Don’t think I’d fold for you sweet thing?”

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Him? You couldn’t very well see Mace folding for anyone. Maybe Ghost, but you imagined rather than the affectionate giving in it would be more akin to the fucking thunderdome.

“I could sneak into your bedroom at night when nobody is watching” he said.

“But you don’t.”

“But I don’t. Not yet anyway.”

You stared at him, the argument fading into the background. What a strange way for him to admit that maybe he cared about you just a little, the fact that he only touched you when there was someone there to stop him from tearing you apart. It was probably as much an admission of fondness as you could ever expect from him, so you slipped your hand into his and squeezed, your cheeks a little sore from the dumb smile on your face as you put your attention back on the argument happening.

“Needy bitch” he said with a smug grin, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

Fuck, what a thing to find romantic.

It was strange to have the fog of the last few days lifted, almost like you had stumbled out and suddenly the sun was right there. You still felt a little all over the place, so you had been relieved when the brief seemed to suggest that wasn't a scene of sorts today. Just a hangout with the devils favourite psychopaths.

“Ay, stop hogging the little lamb Mace!” Valeria snapped, looking around for you to confirm that she was obviously correct about going for a warm colour palette.

She marched over, confident smile that made your knees week painted on, and grabbed your chin to tilt your face for her appraisal. She tutted, disappointed.

“All healed up. Shame, your skin was pretty all swollen. Maybe I am coming around to a dark colour palette, we could match that deep purple I put on your face.”

That got Nikto and Ghost’s attention, the former not even hiding how his cock was starting to swell up in his pants and the latter conspicuously rubbing at his ribcage right where you knew that healing brand was. No wonder Rudy had reacted the way he had to your body the other day, it was covered in the healing claims of nearly everyone in this room.

“I can see your nipples getting hard” Mace teased, bringing your hand that was still in his up to brush your chest.

Everybody was staring at you now and you were pretty sure this much attention from a group of government sanctioned serial killers might actually cause your heart to give out.

“There wasn’t anything in the brief” you said, cringing at how tentative and unsure you sounded.

Your eyes landed on Gaz and you gave him a look that you were pretty sure said ‘sos, gonna melt into the ground, was not warned I might be getting either murdered, maimed, gang banged or all three at the same time today’.

He came over, hands gesturing in a shoo motion. Valeria rolled her eyes and let you go to step aside. Velikan stayed where they were, but they weren’t getting in Gaz’s way. Mace, however, squeezed your tit.

“How’d it feel cuddling up knowing her poor cunt was all shredded up by my cock?”

Goddamnit. You shouldn’t have really been surprised when Mace laughed as Velikan swiftly grabbed you and moved you out of the way so Gaz could punch him. Only König (who did indeed look like he had gotten a fist to the face the other day) beat him to it, barreling past and tackling Mace to the ground where it descended into a wrestling match between the two.

Children. They were fucking children. And they were regularly given carte blanche with guns and bombs and who knows what else. Although as you thought about it, you were given the access and tools needed to absolutely destroy people’s lives from behind a computer and you weren’t much better these days.

You wound up picking out colours and textures from samples with Nikto’s teeth almost gently resting on your shoulder on one side and Ghost with his hand on your lower back on the other. When you had picked, rather than being allowed to actually help, you were more or less imprisoned in the kitchen and no matter how much you whined and raged Gaz and Velikan made you stay put and relax.

You didn’t ask. They must have noticed even if they said nothing about it. You didn’t ask why they were making you a ‘nest’, a little safe space that nobody was allowed in but you. You didn’t ask what the point of it was when tomorrow was your last day. You just… didn’t ask.

Instead you watched the two of them play cards, although it was more Gaz being absolutely massacred at cards, and drank copious amounts of tea. You spoke with him about football for a bit too, finding he was pretty passionate about it. You weren’t super into it, just mentioning you supported your home team which he had scoffed at. Apparently you were supposed to be rivals.

Velikan seemed pretty disinterested in the football chat but did perk up when you mentioned American football, not a sport you knew anything about but you had been chatting away about who called it soccer in the Kennel and how Price always lost his mind about it.

Just in time Mace popped his head in and was only to happy to opine of the superiority of American football as Gaz argued back. You were pretty happy falling into step with Velikan behind them as you were led to this alleged ‘nest’.

How it didn’t reek of paint was a mystery, because my God they had went all in. It was perfect. Moody without being morose, airy without feeling exposed, just a comfortable space you wanted to sit and read in for the next month. Birds must be onto something, because there was a huge round bed absolutely bundled with blankets and it looked amazing.

It wasn’t just a space to relax though, it was kitted out as a little apartment with a charming kitchenette and an en-suite with a claw foot bath you just knew in your gut was eye-wateringly expensive.

This hadn’t been done in a day.

“Want me to fuck you into those nice blankets princess?” Ghost asked and you turned to find him and the others in varying levels of smugness over your reaction.

“Hm. ‘They’ve agreed you need your own space’. That’s what it said right?” you asked, yeah maybe playing coy a little bit because you were fairly confident that if one of them decided they were going to do something the others would stop them.

Ghost smiled at you, looking almost… proud maybe? Like your stunning and frankly stupid lack of self preservation that was having you so comfortable in the company of monsters was a good thing.

“Rules are nobody is allowed in but you” Gaz said as the others left.

You narrowed your eyes because the looks you got as they did meant they definitely knew something you didn’t.

“You’re up to something” you said, not managing to be stern as you bounced onto the big nest of a bed and luxuriated in how you sunk into plush softness.

“Me?” he gasped, a hand clutched to his chest. “I’m wounded luv! I’ve never done a thing wrong in my life.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m deploying tomorrow.”

You felt like your heart had sunk right through your chest and into the blankets.

“I-oh.”

“You look sad.”

“I am.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a dick. I just didn’t realise this was the last time I’d see you. Is anyone else going with you?”

“Soap’s with me, think we might be taking Velikan as backup.”

You wanted to pull him into this nest and spend the night committing his body to memory, committing his face and his laugh and his sense of humour to memory. He put one knee on the bed and leaned over to give you a kiss that was so full of affection that it made you want to cry.

“I’ll be fine luv. Remember, nobody is allowed in your nest. Be good.”

You grabbed him and pulled him into a hug before he could leave, squeezing the life out of him which he returned. And then he was gone and you were sat not knowing how you felt in this beautiful room that had been put together just for you.

But you couldn’t fucking stay. The man that had just kissed you is the same one who had nearly torn your ass apart. The man going with him was the same one who had put a hand to your mouth and would have given you no option to protest as he had his way with you. Torture, murder, taboo, dehumanisation, violence - they were all things you had been fucked to the tune of this month. If you stayed, what did you become?

It didn’t stop you from letting Soap sneak into your off limits nest in the middle of the night, Ghost like a shadow slipping in behind him and seemingly melting into the wall. It didn’t stop you from letting him make love to you like he would a lover before leaving for the war.

You couldn’t stay.

[m0nsterqzzz]

★ Happy Endings in the Avengers Compound ★

paring: wanda maximoff x female reader

summary: Wanda is to afraid to make a move with you but what about when you get a date that isn't her?

warnings: literally nothing, it's just pure fluff, jealousy if that needs a warning? really shitty ending cuz i didn't know how to end it lol, a tiny bit ofcussing, terrible writing

a/n: I wrote this while I should've been taking notes in English cuz I was so boreddddd got this idea from a video my friend sent me that was all like, "girl whos obsessed with you does your makeup or something" cuz there's this girl in class who likes to do people's makeup and it was so fucking funny cuz she kept making comments I swear so yeah I just wanted to say that. enjoy :)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

With a big grin, you harshly push open Wanda's bedroom door and squeal. “I got a date with this really pretty girl at the coffee shop!” Wanda's head snaps up from the book she's ready, and no amount of enthusiasm takes over her face. “A girl? what's her name, last name, date of birth, addresses, place of work, and hometown?” you chuckle, sitting criss cross on her bed and taking her cold hands in your warm ones. “Her name is Vanessa but I call her V, her last name is Tanner, birthday is March 23rd…I don't know what year, I don't know her address, she works at the hospital a few streets away, and I don't know where her hometown is.”

She takes a moment to think before questioning, “So you're going out with a woman you barely know? That doesn't sound safe honey.” You chuckle and nod. “I do know her! We spent like two hours talking in the café!” She looked back to her book and muttered, “Yet you still don't know how old she is.”

You giggle, and a sudden thought appears that makes you smile even brighter. “You should do my makeup! She's taking me out to dinner at a really fancy restaurant at seven.” Wanda frowns. You hate fancy restaurants. The last time Tony tried to take the team out to one, you stared at the menu with a disgusted look on your face the entire time. Wanda ended up taking you to a diner later that night, and the burger you had was much better than the snail food Tony made you try. Why are you going out with this girl if she didn’t even care enough to learn that?

Wanda rolls her eyes a bit. “Why would I do that?” She asks, and you smile. “Because you love me.” you say. and she mumbles something incoherent before looking at your face and sighing in defeat. 

You cheer, launching yourself into her arms and letting your head rest against her chest. The corners of her lips tug up at your happiness, but they go back down when she remembers why. 

“Come on butterfly.” She helps you up off the bed, leading you to her vanity and forcing you to sit on the chair. She grabs a bronzer stick, gently applying it to the middle of your cheeks, kind of on your cheekbone. She grabs a beauty blender and blends that in before grabbing a blush palette. Bucky walks into the room, laying down on Wanda's bed and beginning to talk about some guy he met at the park today. “And he’s such an attention seeker!” He ends with, and it’s silent until Wanda speaks quietly- clearly to you, “Just like that girl you’re seeing.” You scoff, and Bucky bursts out laughing as he looks between the two of you. “What's that supposed to mean? You haven’t even met them yet!” You say, and Wanda shots back, “And I don’t want to.” Bucky holds his stomach in laughter, and both you and Wanda turn to glare at him. The frown on your face is clear as you look at Wanda, and she sighs as she tells you, “I’m sorry okay Butterfly? I just…..I don’t know.” You miss the way Bucky smirks at the witch as he leaves the room quietly. 

“I guess…..I just don’t like that she has you and I don’t.” This brings a small giggle out of you. “Of course you have me Wands! You’re my best friend!” You say, oblivious to the way she grimaces at the word “friend”. She sighs, and doesn’t say anything as you apply some eyeshadow and highlighter to your face. “There you go Butterfly.” You look at yourself in the mirror, grinning at the sight and then at her. You kiss her forehead in thanks. “Thank you Wands!” You say, beginning to run out of her bedroom to go search for an outfit to wear. 

“Anytime darling.” She mumbles, releasing a heavy sigh and holding her head in her hands. Someone gently knocks on the door, and she wipes her tears away and says without turning around, “What’s up Butterfly?” A slightly deep and raspy voice speaks teasingly from her doorway, “I thought that nickname was reserved for your girlfriend?” 

Wanda turns around, facing the redhead woman in the doorway and lets the tears fall. Natasha’s smile falls, and she instantly walks to Wanda and wraps her up in a hug. “She-she’s going out with someone else Nat! I’m too late!” Natasha knows about Wanda’s crush on you, as it was revealed after Wanda finally snapped at her after months of the ex-assassin teasing her about the way she looks at you. Natasha’s always been a very, go for it type person, so that’s the advice she had given Wanda the first time the younger girl asked for help asking you out. The witch practically laughed in her face.

“It’s okay kid……it’s okay.” Natasha tries her best to soothe her, but nothing seems to help as the tears continue to fall so she hesitantly pulls away and asks, “Do you love that girl Wanda?” The answer is obvious. “Yes….more than I love anything.” Wanda says. Natasha gently smiles. “Then you’re going to do what you should have done a long time ago. You’re going to buy her her favorite flowers,” Wanda nods along, sniffling a bit as she tries to build up her courage. “,you’ll put on some nice clothes instead of sweatpants and a hoodie,” she giggles and looks down at her comfortable clothes before nodding. “,and most importantly, you’re gonna do it today. Before she goes out on that date. I’m like 84.62 percent sure she likes you back so it’ll all be all right.” Wanda’s eyes go wide. She was expecting this to be more of a in a few weeks plan, but clearly Natasha had other thoughts. The redhead doesn’t give room for complaint though, as she simply gets up and walks out of the bedroom.

Wanda takes a deep breath, wiping her tears and glancing up at the clock on the wall. It’s currently 4pm, so that means there is 3 hours until your date with that bimbo.

Three hours for her to get a bouquet.

Three hours for her to figure out what she's even going to say.

Three hours for her to get her shit together.

Those three hours are spent with Bucky and Natasha, spending the first hour going to multiple stores in search of the perfect bouquet. It’s stupid really, the need to find the perfect bouquet but the older two just roll their eyes and stay silent. 

The next hour is spent trying to figure out what to say, and both Natasha and Bucky could not stay serious as Wanda rehearsed on a pillow. That pillow was thrown at Natasha's head.

The last hour was an hour of panic, especially when you came in to say your date was 10 minutes away. This was her time. She walks through the hallway, finding you sitting on a couch in the living room. You changed clothes, and you look absolutely stunning. She stops walking for a second to admire you, but a giggle from behind her causes her to abruptly turn around. She sees Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Steve, and Thor all standing there with smiles.

Tony's is more of a smirk, but everyone else's is supportive as they give her silent thumbs up. She rolls her eyes at them being nosy and continues to walk closer to you.

Your focus is on your phone, but you look up with a bright smile when you notice Wanda's platform docs. “Hey Wands! What's up?” She swallows thickly, sweaty hands gripping the bouquet a bit tighter behind her back. “Wands? Why do you look so nervous?” You giggle, and she can't help but smile at the sound. 

The group is still watching from the doorway, and Natasha rolls her eyes when Tony pulls out his phone and presses record.

Wanda reveals what she was hiding, and you immediately gasp at the sight of the beautiful flowers. “Well aren't you just a gentle woman my dear? These are beautiful Wands. Thank you.” She smiles as you bring them a bit closer to your nose and sniff them. “Not as beautiful as you.” She cringes, and you immediately burst out laughing. “That was sweet but it was definitely the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say.” She nods.

Tony agrees quietly and Bucky hits the back of his head.

“So um….Butterfly.” You nod to acknowledge her. “I was- I was thinking recently and um…” Your phone begins to buzz, and you simply place it in your purse as you give her your full attention. “Well…” She takes a glance at the group who's still in the doorway, and they all send her encouraging smiles. It's then that you notice them, sending them all confused smiles before looking at Wanda again.

She's taking one last deep breath when Jarvis suddenly alerts the house. “There is a woman named Vanessa Tanner at the front gate, saying she's here to pick up her date.” Natasha and Bucky instantly panic, looking at each other before going back to Wanda.

As if those are the magic words, Wanda's eyes widen and she begins to ramble, “I really, really, really like you Butterfly and I know you may not feel the same way but Natasha and Bucky said you did and I figured that if there was a little bit of hope, I should try it.” A shocked look takes over your face. “It's totally fine if you don't feel the same way but I just couldn't let you go out with that bimbo named Vanessa if there was even a small chance you liked me….half as much as I do you.” She doesn't take her gaze off the floor, and she takes your silence as an answer as tears fill her eyes.

“Wanda. Look at me.” You demand, but she shakes her head no and continues to study the carpeted floor. “Wanda. Look…at…me.” She slowly looks at you, and the happiness in your eyes is enough to make her let out a small sigh of relief- not complete relief though. 

“I wish you had told me this before I practically threw myself at a woman I barely know. Because I'd much rather you be the one picking me up for dinner than Vanessa.” You both giggle, and she hesitantly asks, “So...what does that mean for us?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes and Tony shouts, “Ask her out you dumbass!” It's clear he's talking to the witch in front of you and she blushes red as she glares at him before turning back to you. “He's right. So, would you like to go out with me Butterfly?” 

You take a moment to pretend you're thinking about it before asking playfully, “And what would we do on this date Miss Maximoff?” She hadn't really thought about it, so she takes a minute to do that before declaring, “I'd take you out to dinner, not a fancy restaurant with food you hate, but your favorite dinner a few streets away. And then I'd take you dancing to that place we went to for your birthday because you had a lot of fun there, and then I'd bring you back here and make you a homemade dessert. Your favorite.” You smile. “Then yes, I’d love to go out with you Wanda Maximoff.” You lean in a bit to kiss her cheek, and she blushes a bit.

Suddenly, cheering erupts and the sound of a confetti popper going off can be heard. “What the hell Tony?” Wanda asks, but both of you can’t help but chuckle. He grins. “This long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over!” Natasha smacks his arms and questions, but it’s more like telling him what to say, “Don’t you mean, “I popped that confetti popper because I’m so happy two of my teammates have finally found happiness”?” He’s silent for a minute before he laughs loudly as says, “No. Not at all. I meant to say, this long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over! Let’s party baby!” You giggle, but Wanda narrows her eyes, letting them glow red. Suddenly, the second unused confetti popper in Tony's hand flies up to be level with his face, and he mumbles, “Well shit” right before it goes off. 

While he’s spitting out small pieces of paper from his mouth and trying to blow them out of his nose, the doorbell rings. “It is Vanessa Tanner.” Jarvis notifies, and you start to walk to the door with Wanda hot on your heels. “Where are you going?” She questions with a hint of sadness in her voice as she’s sure you're going to go on that date with Vanessa even after everything just happened. 

“I’m going to go tell her it won’t work out.” You say casually, and the smile is right back on Wanda's face as she uses her powers to freeze you in place and run ahead of you. You simply laugh, calling out, “Wanda! Wanda!” She turns around for a second to look at you. “Be nice please?” She giggles. “It’s nice of you to think I can do that Butterfly.” She runs off to go probably harass Vanessa, and you're left frozen in the hallway with a small chuckle. 

What Wanda doesn’t know is that you’d been waiting for that day even longer than she had. She’d always been it for you, ever since the first day she came to the compound. But over time, you slowly lost hope she felt the same way, and decided to just move on. If Wanda hadn’t done that sudden declaration of love, the future you two eventually have together would have never happened, and that's something you now think about daily.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 76

Part 1 Part 75

Will only knows he fell asleep at all by the way the lights coming in through the open curtains. It feels like he blinked and dawn crept its way into the world.

His eyes are unfocused, filled with sand as he lets them drift from body to body, letting the rise and fall of his bundled friend’s breathing settle into him. It must be early still – none of the blanketed lumps are stirring. 

Will feels surrounded, swaddled by the love of his friends and the blanket someone must have draped over him in the night. He’s warm, even in the cold of the living room.

It doesn’t last.

His foot is pressed against something cold and yielding. He blinks the sand from his eyes, mind ticking away at the puzzle of the inhabited couch. He kicks it, gently with his socked toes and feels the give of flesh.

The cold settles into his bones. He knows, without even looking, that it’s not a what but a who on the couch beside him. 

He turns his head, slowly, afraid of what he’ll find. But, Steve just looks like Steve. He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, Will’s foot against his bare thigh, Eddie’s head lolled against his shoulder. It would be domestic if not for the way Steve’s hunched over, shoulders curled in on themselves as he rubs the back of his head like he’s trying to acu-pressure away its ache.

“Steve?” Will whispers, quiet enough that the bodies surrounding him don’t stir.

Steve turns his head slowly. Eddie’s head slips down a little further on his shoulder. He mumbles quietly before turning in his sleep and huddling into Steve’s neck like it’s where he belongs.

Will would agree, except when their eyes meet, he’s not sure that it’s Steve looking back.

There’s no recognition, just a blank nothing that makes the pit in his stomach bloom with something poisonous. He wants to call for his Mom, the same way he did in the shed as he watched the Demogorgon walk through the door like it wasn’t there at all. 

Worse, he wants to call for Steve. Steve, who’s back has always been broad and straight and sheltering. It’s curved now, caving in with the weight of all he isn’t anymore. 

Steve blinks, and something crawls back behind his eyes. Something blinking and human and alive with recognition. “Will?” He says it like Will’s a revelation.

Will nods. He stays still as Steve reaches out, cold fingers brushing against his cheek gently. Will doesn’t recoil, even as something in his sternum urges him back, as it tries to connect and barely grasps onto Steve at all. 

“Are you okay?” Will asks, knowing as the words tumble out that it’s a fruitless question.

Something reaches his eyes, but it’s not Steve's smile. “I will be.” He shakes his head, seemingly not noticing when the movement makes Eddie slip further down his shoulder, his hot breaths turning the skin of Steve’s collarbone a concerning pink. 

“Sorry, it’s hard to hear over him,” Steve says, rubbing that same spot at the back of his skull as Eddie sits up, blinking foggily.

“Over who?” Will asks, even though he knows. He can still see the shadow looming over Steve, over all of them, as it chokes the life out of their protector while neither Eddie or Will could do anything at all. It’s branded into his irises so completely, Will could paint it without any reference at all. He won’t, doesn’t want to ever see Steve like that again, thinks maybe black is his least favorite color on his palette now. 

Steve doesn’t answer. Will doesn’t need him to – he can see it looking back at him from behind Steve’s eyes.  

Eddie clears his throat, a smoker’s scratch sticking with his words when he asks, “does that mean we brought that thing back with you, a la hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy?”

“Galaxy?” Steve asks, looking confusedly over at Eddie before saying Eddie’s name with just as much awe as he’d said Will’s.

Eddie’s cheeks pinken and he shifts his gaze guiltily over Steve’s shoulder, making eye contact with Will like he’d been caught in the act. Will’s not sure what act, but he smiles as best he can. Eddie clears his throat, shifting his body back into the arm of the couch as he says, “never mind that, which realm is that shadow creature residing in Sir Steven, the Gallant?”

Steve blinks blurily over at Eddie, so Will cuts in, “is he here or the Upside-Down?” He doesn’t clarify who he is. They all know.

“Some of him is there, and some of him is here, too.” He pats the back of his head, leaving no wiggle room in what he means by ‘here.’ 

Eddie meets Will’s eyes as Steve hunches down again, rubbing at that same spot, like he’s either trying to push something out or push it further in. Either one makes Will feel queasy.

Eddie’s eyes are wide and distant the same way they had been when Steve had gone on his suicide mission last year in Will’s Upside-Down living room, nothing but a shotgun and a wish between him and the Demogorgon. 

Eddie’d disappeared into himself in the aftermath, losing chunks of time to staring at something Will couldn’t see. He’s doing the same thing now. 

Will wants to reach over Steve to slap him, to shake him until he snaps back into himself because Will can’t lose them both in one fell swoop. He’s not strong enough to feel both of their tethers snap, to feel the reverb of the strings tying them all together lashing back into him and stay standing. 

“How do we get him out?” Will asks.

Eddie’s eyes zero in and focus, but Steve doesn’t look up from the carpet between his shoes. He just keeps rubbing his head.

Will swallows the bird lodged in his throat, it’s a canary in a coal mine in no one’s listening. No one’s ever listening. 

The sound of a door opening breaks up the stagnant air. Will feels the bird sink into his stomach, stop its incessant squawking as his Mom walks out of her room. She’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and there are dark smudges beneath her eyes, but she’s smiling. 

“How’d you sleep, sweetie?” she asks, looking at Will.

The bodies on the floor stir at the sound of her voice, heads popping out of blankets hesitantly as noses meet cold air. 

“Fine,” he murmurs, and he thinks it’s even true. She purses her lips anyway, even as her gaze moves around the room, across Wayne dozing in the arm chair, the party on the floor, Eddie on the couch. She doesn’t look at Steve, but it’s not like she doesn’t notice him. It’s like her eyes are repelled from him. Like she can’t bear to let them settle on him. Like that’ll all make it too real. 

“Well, everyone get ready for school,” she says, raising her voice until Will’s stirring friends groan.

“I can’t go to school,” Will says, pushing his foot harder into Steve’s thigh. He wants to reach over and latch onto Steve’s forearm hard, keep them tethered together as long as he can, but he’s afraid the touch will burn.

His Mom reaches out, clasping his hand, smiling small and sad at him, just him. “I know, sweetie,” she says quietly. “But your friends have to go or their parents will get worried.”

As if waiting for his moment, Dustin butts in, “I want to stay with Steve!”  His voice comes out in a nasally whine, the way it always does when he just wakes up. It’s loud enough that Wayne’s snoring stops, and he sits up abruptly, the way old men on TV do when they’re startled awake. It’s like a snort, snort, gasp, with wide eyes. 

Lucas giggles, and it breaks the tension just enough the Mom sighs, turning her back on the couch, on Steve, to pat Dustin consolingly on his mussed hair. 

“You can see Steve later,” she says, as Wayne ratchets the recliner of the chair down and plants his still-booted feet onto the carpet to lever himself upright. “We wouldn’t want you to get grounded.”

“I can take ‘em,” Wayne says, rubbing his face roughly. It’s hard to tell what wrinkles are his usual wear and what’s from a bad night’s sleep. “Gotta head to work anyway.”

The room fills with grumbling, but Lucas and Mike pull a still-protesting Dustin into the bathroom to get ready. 

Wayne routes around Mom to crouch in front of the couch. He reaches out his hand to clutch Steve’s knee before drawing it back before making contact. “I’ve gotta go to work, son,” he says, quietly enough to pretend at privacy. “But, you call me if something happens, okay?”

He’s not looking at Eddie. He’s looking right into Steve’s eyes, waiting for a response. Steve swallows, nods, says, “Okay,” quietly, before continuing with that same reverence, “Wayne,” like he’s collecting their names for safe-keeping.

It should be sweet, but Will’s not sure what he’s keeping them safe from, and when he turns to look, his Mom’s still standing in the same place, fists balled, and a look on her face Will’s never seen before. “Mom–” he starts, but it’s too late. She’s already turned and strode into the kitchen.

“I’ll start a pot of coffee,” she says, breezily, as if nothing is wrong at all. “I’ve got a carafe you can take to work, Wayne.”

Wayne’s still-raised hand tightens into a fist, and he says, “call me again,” this time, looking at Eddie. When he nods as well, Wayne uncurls his fist and pats Will’s knee instead, turning on his heel to follow Mom into the kitchen. 

The house empties and quiets. Grows colder and lonelier with Steve between he and Eddie, taking up a space Will’s not sure this version fits in anymore. 

Mom flits around the house, like doing the dishes, or mopping the floor, or hanging the laundry will make everything normal again. Eddie’s never been this still in his life. 

It’s a standstill; a stick-up where the gun is a shadow, and the convenience store is in Steve’s head. It’s a standstill, until Steve curls so far into himself that his head disappears entirely, groaning loudly enough that it can be heard over the vacuum cleaner.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, reaching out to cup his neck, seemingly uncaring of the red marks that immediately bloom in his wake. “Are you okay?”

The vacuum shuts off, and Mom comes running, dropping to her knees and sliding against the carpet in a way that must hurt, even through her sweatpants. “What hurts?” she asks, like that noise was all it took to break whatever flimsy wall she’d put up to keep her from looking at Steve Harrington. 

Will knew it wouldn’t last. She’d been won over the first time she realized his parents weren’t coming back. The first time she saw him small and bandaged in the hospital. The first time she’d heard Will say, he saved me.

“What can we do?” she asks, gripping onto the couch by Steve’s knee hard. 

Steve uncurls, eyes unfocused as they settle onto her without seeming to see anything at all. They’re fogged. Will almost thinks he can see shadows dancing around in them. He yanks the thread tying them together, slumps his shoulders when he feels a tiny tug back.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve says distantly, as if that hasn’t been obvious for days. “Something’s wrong.”

Part 77

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[piratekane]

one month.

It’s Ava who insists on a dinner schedule, citing the need for sharing responsibilities evenly. Beatrice is fine cooking. She finds the rote motion of the knife relaxing, the way the blade rocks back and forth as it dices onions and chops carrots. It gives her a way to clear her mind after a particularly grueling day of classes.

After a month of Beatrice cooking and a few nights where Ava convinces her to try new restaurants, ones she wouldn’t usually explore, Ava comes home from class and declares that Beatrice needs to teach her how to cook.

She would be annoyed that she’s being interrupted in the middle of watching a supplementary video on Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, but the movie itself was problematic. That and Ava has on a top with a polar bear wearing a pair of star sunglasses that she’s cut the bottom off of, so she gets distracted just long enough for Ava to capitalize on her silence.

“Think about it. You teach me to cook, I make us delicious foods.” Ava beams. “Win-win situation, right?”

Beatrice swallows, then frowns. “You don’t know how to cook?”

Ava drops her backpack down near the door, half in front of it so that if they needed to exit in case of an emergency, Beatrice would trip over the bag. She thinks about telling her to fix it. But Ava is already moving on, dropping her shoes just far enough from the shoe rack that they’re a nuisance if she tries to vacuum. Beatrice can’t find it in herself to be annoyed by either of these things.

It’s unchecked chaos in the world of order she’s created for herself, but Beatrice finds that her care for it is relaxing slightly. She still empties the sink at the end of the night, still adjusts the blankets on the couch after Ava has wandered off sleepily to bed, still piles up the recycling to take down in the next morning. She just also finds herself letting a pillow stay out of place overnight, or letting her coat drape over the back of the couch for a few hours before she hangs it up.

Ava doesn’t round the couch all the way before she’s dropping onto the cushion, using the arm of it as a slide down. Beatrice watches the way her legs and arms twist into complicated shapes before she finds a position she likes. Her shirt rides up just slightly. Beatrice’s finger skips on the play button and the video comes back to life before she pauses it again.

“I mean, no,” Ava admits. “There weren't a lot of opportunities for me to try.”

Right, Beatrice thinks. Ava had to fend for herself in ways that were different from Beatrice. 

“I think I could be really good. I have a good palette.”

Beatrice falters for a second. Last week, Ava thought mixing sugared marshmallow ducks and soda was a good idea. The thought of it made Beatrice’s stomach turn.

Ava must see her hesitation. “Okay, I could be good at it with a good teacher. And I think you’d be a great one.”

Beatrice feels herself blush. “I doubt it.”

Ava is already shaking her head like she knows what Beatrice was going to say. “No, I think you would be. You’re patient - more patient with me than anyone I’ve ever met, and I know I’m frustrating.” There’s a slight self-deprecating smile on her face that Beatrice wants to wipe away. “If anyone is going to be able to tolerate the thousand questions I have, it’s you.”

There’s something about knowing what Ava thinks about her that makes Beatrice feel like she’s doing something right. That makes her feel warm in a way she’s never felt before. It’s curious how quickly this feeling has rushed over her and taken up every corner of space in her mind. She can’t put words to it, her vocabulary suddenly shrinking in the face of Ava’s smile.

“I suppose…” she starts slowly.

Ava’s smile is quicker. “Yes!” She sits forward, elbows digging into her jean-clad knees. “Where do we start? Beef Bourguignon? Coq au Vin? Lobster Thermidor? Ratatouille? I really liked that movie.”

Beatrice shakes her head, her smile soft. “No. I don’t think I could even make most of that. Why don’t we start with something simple?”

Ava looks slightly let down, but shrugs off whatever conversation she’s having in her head. “Fine. We’ll work up to the Julia Child recipes.”

“How kind of you.”

“How about we make your favorite food instead?” Ava stands up and makes the slow walk across the apartment to where Beatrice is sitting, her laptop and notebook taking up most of the counter. Ava sinks into the seat next to her, her knee nearly touching Beatrice’s outer thigh. She drops her chin into her hand, propped up in the empty space. “What is it?”

Beatrice blinks. “My favorite food?”

Ava picks up her pen and idly doodles on an envelope she unearths from the small pile of mail Beatrice has been stacking up. Bills to pay. Beatrice watches her sketch out a flower with a wide stalk. “Yeah, your favorite food. We can do that.”

Her favorite food. She pauses a moment. What is her favorite food? What is the one thing she would pick every time?

The first thing that comes to mind is Marie, one of her family’s personal chefs. Beatrice can picture her in their large, sterile kitchen, a chef’s coat with her name stitched on the breast. She hadn’t minded Beatrice being in the kitchen like Tilda had, hadn’t chased her out like Jaques. She had poured Beatrice a cup of tea and asked about her day. It was a reprieve from the long silences that filled every other space in the house.

Beatrice had learned the difference between onions and shallots sitting on that kitchen table. She had tested the weight of different knives, something she was sure no other ten-year-old had ever done. Marie talked to her about the balance of salt and heat and acid. She let Beatrice peel potatoes, scrub carrots, prune the first layer of leaves on brussel sprouts. She taught Beatrice how to make her first knife cut and the importance of even dicing.

Beatrice carried those skills with her long after Marie was dismissed by her family. At twelve, it had felt like the end of the world. Her replacement, a brusque Russian man named Turov, hadn’t cared much for her presence and Beatrice didn’t care much for his okroshka. She stayed out of the kitchen after that.

Ava waits for an answer patiently - always patient, even as Beatrice stretches out silences as she struggles to find words no one has ever asked her for before now.

Beatrice thinks of Marie, thinks of sizzling pans and layered sauces and opens her mouth.

“Stir-fry.”

“Stir-fry,” Ava echoes. “You haven’t made that before.”

No, she supposes she hasn’t. “My family’s chef-” She stops herself. Ava doesn’t want to know her complicated history with her family’s chefs. 

But Ava nods encouragingly.

Beatrice takes a breath. “My family’s chef when I was younger. Her name was Marie. She taught me how to make stir-fry. Of course, she didn’t serve it to my parents. It was a meal for us.” She smiles a little, thinking about the way Marie would plate the dish for her - just like it was a five-star restaurant. “But I loved it.”

Ava's hand flutters in the air like she might reach out and touch Beatrice’s. Her stomach tightens at the thought. But then Ava merely pulls it into her lap and smiles.

“Do we need to go grocery shopping?”

“We’re doing this now?”

Ava looks at the clock on the microwave. “I’m starving.”

Beatrice can’t help but laugh. “It’s mid-afternoon.”

“Can’t we have a snack? I had a long day.”

She laughs again. “Ava, you had one class today.”

Ava pushes out her bottom lip miserably. “But it was with Soro and he’s a tyrant.”

Beatrice is already starting to stack her things into neat piles. “He teaches world literature. He’s hardly a tyrant.”

“He’s, like, a low-key tyrant. Not as bad as Sumbal, last semester. But still up there.” Ava hands Beatrice a highlighter.

“I never had Sumbal.”

Ava groans. “You’re lucky. He once took points off because I cited something from this century as a reference.” She passes Beatrice a stack of sticky notes and Beatrice takes them, tucking them carefully into her pencil pouch for later. “The point is, Soro was boring, I’m hungry, and you need a break from studying.”

Beatrice can’t help but be amused. Ava exaggerates, but in a way that she doesn’t find annoying. Just in simple ways. And usually to get what she wants. Beatrice finds, no matter how short of a time they’ve known each other, she wants to give what Ava is asking for. But then she’s never had a best friend like Ava before, someone who always seems to know her limits and stops just short of them, who only ever asks what she’s willing to give. 

And besides, she’s right; it is an important life skill.

So Bea puts away her study materials, despite only being an hour into a self-imposed two hour session. She’s already mentally calculating what they have in their refrigerator.

“We have things here, I think. Stir-fry is versatile. You can make it out of most anything.” Beatrice stacks her things against the wall, over the mail. “We should have some staples.”

“Do we have baby corn?” Ava asks hopefully. “They’re funny-looking.”

Beatrice opens one of the cabinets where they keep canned items. She pulls down one of them. “Baby corn.” She has to shuffle a few more around, until she finds the sliced water chestnuts too.

Ava jumps off her seat, pulling open the refrigerator. “What do we need from here?”

She focuses on finding the things she needs for the sauce. “Check the vegetable drawer. Pick whatever you’d like.”

While she collects the soy sauce, Shaoxing wine, oyster sauce and sesame oil, she listens to Ava hum something she doesn’t recognize. She likes the way it fills the silence - not that it’s an awkward one, the way it was with Gina. Speaking with Gina had always felt like a chore, and Beatrice did it the way she did all her chores: efficiently and with relief when it was over. Silence with Ava feels nice. Comforting, even. Knowing she doesn’t always have to be on in order to be interesting is relieving and addicting.

The vegetable drawer must have had more in it than Beatrice thought. Ava has onions, carrots, a bell pepper, broccoli, and sugar peas stacked on the counter. She grins at Beatrice.

“This enough?”

“More than.” She starts taking down bowls and pulls a wok out from the bottom shelf. Ava already has a cutting board out by the time she stands up. “Protein?”

Ava opens the refrigerator again. “Does chicken work?”

She was saving the chicken for baked chicken tonight, but that’s fine. She busies herself with opening the knife drawer and looking at the two chef’s knives she has. She wants a sharp blade, any chef’s best tool.

Beatrice carefully places the knife on the edge of the cutting board, blade angled away from Ava. It’s not that she doesn’t want to teach Ava; it’s just that last night Ava dropped a slice of bread from her hand and she tried to catch it with her foot. It’s just that a butter knife fell off the counter three days ago and Ava caught the blade in her hand.

Ava is, in a word, clumsy. 

In two words, she’s charmingly clumsy.

Ava seems to read her mind. She stills her whole body - Beatrice hardly noticed the way she was vibrating with excitement, so used to Ava’s normal state - and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Have you handled a chef’s knife?”

“Nope.” Ava pops the p. “But I’m a quick learner.”

She is. She mastered rock climbing almost before anyone else. And she catalogs everything Beatrice tells her with lightning speed, repeating it back to her days later. But facts on religious artifacts can’t send you to the hospital. 

Rock climbing can, she reminds herself. And Ava did that okay.

“Fine.” Beatrice starts to roll up her sleeves. “First things first. Wash your-”

“Hands,” Ava finishes. She’s already turning on the water. “Happy birthday to you,” she sings quietly under her breath as she scrubs. When she finishes a second round of it, she smiles brightly as she turns to face Beatrice. “Next?”

Beatrice hands her a mixing bowl. “We’re going to make our sauce.”

She walks Ava through combining the different ingredients, hiding a wince when she adds a little too much soy sauce and correcting it by giving her a touch more sugar to mix in. Ava’s forearm muscles flex as she whisks the sauces together in sharp, quick, circular motions. Beatrice watches the way she moves. She is a quick learner, her hands adjusting to grip the bowl and wrapping around the whisk.

There’s something about Ava’s hands that Beatrice can never look away from. They move almost restlessly, always reaching out to touch something, to feel different things under the pads of her fingertips. She knows what Ava has told her. About the years where people touched her and she remained unable to do the same. She seems to be making up for lost time, Beatrice thinks. Ava’s always running her hands over the pillows on the couch, running her fingers around the handles of coffee mugs, twirling pens between her knuckles.

She’s always reaching and feeling and one day, Beatrice was struck with the strangest thought: what might happen if Ava reached out to touch her?

The thought had put a pause on the world. It was something she had never thought about before. Her friends touched her. Camila loved hugs hello and goodbye. Shannon always brushed a hand against her shoulder. Mary was known to give her an affectionate pat on the head every once in a while. Even Lilith, despite the look on her face whenever anyone seemed to get within five inches of her, was known to give a hug or two under dire circumstances. 

But Beatrice went so long without any kind of physical interaction that she had to learn what it felt like to have someone’s arms on her shoulders, someone’s arms around her body. She had to learn to be comfortable with the bottom of Camila’s feet pressed to her thigh during movie nights. She had to learn to be comfortable with Lilith falling asleep on her shoulder during all-nighters.

She had to spend all her time learning to accept physical affection that she never quite put a lot of thought into giving it. 

But watching Ava give it so freely - returning Camila’s hugs, knocking shoulders with Shannon and elbows with Mary, and the one time she pulled Lilith into a hug with the sole intention of, Ava’s words, unsettling her - Beatrice wondered what it might be like to give the same way.

And Ava. She wondered what it might be like to give it to Ava.

Ava didn’t touch her as easily as she seemed to touch everyone else. She reached out and always seemed to stop herself. Beatrice wondered what that meant. Did Ava not want to touch her? Was there something wrong with her? Did Ava see the same things in her that her parents saw? It’s a small voice, a whisper, but whispers always seem loud in empty corners of rooms.

The rooms aren’t as empty now, aren’t as quiet. Whispers aren’t as loud any more. Ava seems to fill the spaces more easily than Beatrice ever did. 

And so she tries to make herself be someone Ava might want to reach out to.

Ava puts down the bowl with a smile. “Sauce, mixed.”

Beatrice nods towards the cutting board. “Then the vegetables.”

Ava frowns. “Not the chicken?”

“Protein last, unless you plan on using multiple cutting boards. And since you used our second one for your chemistry class experiment-”

Ava winces. “Yeah. I’m going to replace that,” she says, just like she said last week and the week before that one. She smiles again. “So, protein last. Vegetables first.” She picks up the carrots and reaches for the knife.

Beatrice stops her, a hand hovering out in front of her. “There’s knife safety we need to talk about.”

She thinks for a moment that Ava will be annoyed with her. Knife safety doesn’t have an adventurous ring to it. It sounds boring, technical. But Marie taught her the importance of knowing a tool and the dangers it carries.

Ava pulls her hand back, clasping them gently in front of her. She smiles patiently. “Go ahead.”

Beatrice blinks back her surprise. “Oh. Okay.” She clears her throat. “The first rule of knives is that they can cause serious injury if not used properly. Knives should be kept sharp enough to cut through a piece of paper - they’ll cut through your skin just as easily.” She scales it back a little bit, dulling the tone in her voice but Ava’s smile hasn’t flickered. “We’re always going to cut away from ourselves, not towards.”

“Do I need to write this down?” Ava looks serious, like she’s taking in every word Beatrice says.

“No. No, I’ll remind you as we go.”

Relief uncoils Ava’s shoulders. “Good. I was worried there was going to be a test, or something.” She says it without malice, like a joke that Beatrice is in on.

Beatrice smiles a little before she remembers one of the most important parts of knife safety. “Never, never catch a falling knife. Not with your hand or with your foot. We can clean a knife off. We cannot put stitches in your hand or your foot.”

Ava’s cheeks flush. “One time.”

“Twice,” Beatrice reminds her. “So, if the knife slips, just let it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Ava bounces, some of that frenetic energy back. “What else?”

“Always make sure your cutting board is on a flat, even surface so that it - or your knife - doesn’t slide.” Beatrice gestures at the cutting board on the counter. “Make sure nothing is under it.”

Ava waits in the silence for a moment before she blinks expectantly. “Is that it?”

Beatrice thinks for a moment. “For now, yes.”

“Great. Let’s get started.” She rocks forward, hands a little slower as they reach for the knife. She looks at Beatrice, waiting for a nod before she picks up the chef’s knife. She taps the blade experimentally against the cutting board.

“You can start with the carrots,” Beatrice suggests. “You don’t need to dice them.” She leans against the counter and watches as Ava examines a carrot critically, before she puts it down on the cutting board and grips it, fingertips out, as she raises the knife.

Beatrice shoots forward, hand curling tightly around Ava’s fingers on the knife, careful to hold on so Ava doesn’t drop it in surprise. “Not like that,” she murmurs. Her body follows her arm, putting her close enough to Ava to breathe in the slight tang of the pineapple shampoo she bought by accident.

Ava turns, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“You’ll cut your fingers off,” Beatrice continues quietly. She carefully lowers Ava’s hand back down to the cutting board. “You need to-” She squeezes Ava’s hand once until it loosens under her palm. She feels the tension radiating through Ava’s arm slacken. “You need to curl your fingers in.”

Ava blinks at her. “I need to what?”

Beatrice lets go of Ava’s knife hand, placing it down gently. “Hold on. Can I-”

Ava shifts slightly, opening up her side. “Yes.”

Beatrice nods shortly and steps in, her hand settling around the one holding the carrot. Her fingertips press back against Ava’s fingernails until they curl back and it’s the flat of her knuckles showing. “Like this. Curl your fingers in or you’ll cut them off.”

She doesn’t realize she’s holding Ava’s hand in her own until Ava turns her head and they’re a whisper apart from each other. She nearly lets go, but Ava is staring at her and waiting for her next instruction. Beatrice swallows heavily. Ava’s hand flexes in hers, the carrot under it scratching against the cutting board.

This is what it feels like to touch Ava. To feel the warmth of her skin against the palm of her hand. Beatrice can feel the ridges of her knuckles, the sharp bone under her callouses. It’s warmer than she thought it might be. Drier. She can feel her own palm growing hot in return and she nearly pulls away, afraid of catching fire.

Ava only meets her eyes, tips her head to one side, and smiles. “Like this?”

She has to clear her throat twice and then gives in, just nodding.

Ava doesn’t pull away. She leaves Beatrice’s hand where it is as she readjusts her grip on the carrot, holding it as steadily as possible between her fingers while the flats of their knuckles face out. She looks at Beatrice and waits for another nod before she picks up the knife. She pauses, looking expectantly at Beatrice.

Beatrice doesn’t understand. She looks back, unsure of what to say. The circuitry between her brain and the rest of her body is flickering in and out. And Ava is waiting so patiently, asking a silent question that Beatrice can’t understand. She nearly scowls; she’s behind something she can’t define and she doesn’t like it.

“Help me?” Ava finally asks.

“Oh.” Beatrice’s free hand twitches and Ava nods encouragingly as she extends it, reaching across Ava until her hand is wrapping around Ava’s knife hand.

She stands here, both arms stretched across Ava’s body in a slightly odd angle and thinks: Oh.

Her heart starts to beat, loud enough that she’s sure Ava can hear it, and her cheeks flush. Oh, this is what it feels like to touch someone and want to set the world on fire. Oh, this is what it feels like to want more of something so desperately, she’d be willing to stay stuck here until it’s taken away from her. Oh, this is what it feels like to be so overwhelmed that her whole world dials down to the places where she stops and Ava begins.

Ava carefully brings the knife down over the carrot and they watch as it slides through it gracefully. She feels the flex of Ava’s hands under hers and thinks oh, oh, oh.

This is love.

Now that she knows what it feels like to touch Ava, the last fraying thread holding back her tidal wave of feelings - ones she’s held dormant - snaps like the core of a carrot as the knife slices into it again. It’s like this was the last line of defense. It comes crashing down the way a house of cards folds. All of the things she’s learned about Ava - the years in the orphanage, the way she dunks her french fries into ketchup and then mayo, the nights she pretends not to cry herself to sleep, the stretch of her smile that matches the way she stretches across the couch - burst forward from a tight knot in Beatrice’s chest and overwhelm her.

Once, she thought she was in love. Once, she had written Mrs. Penelope Marshall, the first girl who broke her heart, in the margins of her notebook while her Latin teacher droned on about derivatives, and Beatrice had thought that it was the best thing she could ever be.

But Ava looks sideways at her and smiles as their hands move together, and Beatrice thinks that if what she felt then was love, there’s no word in any language that can describe what this is now.

“You’re a good teacher,” Ava says, rocking the knife on the cutting board. “I knew it.”

Beatrice inhales, the scent of pineapple in her nose. “You’re a good student.”

Ava preens for a second. “I knew I would be.”

Their hands still. Beatrice doesn’t let go. Now that she knows what it’s like to touch, she never wants to let go. But her palms start to sweat, and she knows that Ava will be able to feel it. She takes a step back, putting an ocean between them again, and nods encouragingly as she tries to keep herself steady.

“You try.”

“Without you?” Ava pouts slightly, but recovers quickly. “Okay. Stand back, chef. Watch me.”

Beatrice watches. She’s always watching. She’s been watching since the moment Ava crashed into her table, spilling the entire contents of her to-go mug onto her notes. She’s been watching since Ava moved the last box into their apartment, declaring herself moved in. She’s been watching and watching and never touching because touch is reserved for the moments that really matter.

Because touch is the last puzzle piece holding her together, but now she doesn’t even have that.

Ava slices another round off the carrot and grins. “Totally easy.” She looks back over her shoulder and winks. “I knew I would- ow!”

Beatrice frowns, blinking at the sudden change in pitch and volume. It takes her a moment to realize that Ava has nicked her finger, and blood is starting to run down it as she holds it up into the air. Beatrice stares at the bright red bead as it slides across warm, dry skin she was just touching for a beat too long. By the time she moves, Ava is already turned away, turning on the tap.

“Shit,” Ava hisses as the water rushes over the cut. 

Beatrice snaps to attention, grabbing a dishcloth from the cabinet next to the refrigerator. She pulls Ava’s hand out of the water and examines the cut. It starts to bleed again. “It’s small. Hold still.”

Ava stops wriggling. “Don’t-”

Beatrice tightens her grip, pressing firmly on the cut. Ava hisses. “I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Ava’s face softens. “Of course not, Bea.” Her free hand rests on Beatrice’s wrist. “You didn’t tell me first aid was included in this lesson.”

“You won’t need stitches.”

“Bea.”

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

“Bea.” A hand drops to her waist and she shivers. The hand drops away. “Honestly, it’s fine. It just caught me by surprise.”

Beatrice still doesn’t look up from the cut. “Dull knives are worse. They require more force to get through food, so when it slips and cuts into your hand, the cut is usually deeper.”

“Good thing you keep these things sharp enough to cut steel,” Ava jokes.

Beatrice slowly unwraps the dishcloth from the cut and examines it. Blood still trickles down, but much slower. Good. She needs a first aid kit, so she can wash it and then dress it. It shouldn’t require much work. The cut looked simple enough.

She takes a step away but Ava grabs her wrist, pulling her to a stop.

Oh.

“We can still cook, right? You’ll still teach me?” Ava smiles hopefully.

There’s that check-in, again. Ava always asking what she’s willing to give. Even if now, that limit has expanded a thousand miles in the span of time it took to slice half a carrot. Beatrice knows - has known - she can’t say no, and now she is acutely aware of why. 

“Of course. We’ll just be more careful.” She takes a step away and Ava’s hand slowly drops from her wrist. She feels the loss of it like a limb that’s been cut off.

“You’re the best, Bea,” Ava calls as she slips into the bathroom in search of the kit.

Beatrice stands in front of the window above the sink, studying herself in its reflection. She doesn’t look different now that she knows that she’s fallen in love with Ava. Nothing on the outside has changed, but everything on the inside has toppled over and formed new shapes that feel strange. She wasn’t looking to be in love, wasn’t expecting it to happen to her any time soon, or all. But she’s learning that most things with Ava are big and unexpected and exactly what she’s looking for, no matter that she didn’t know that.

She holds her hands up in front of her face, turning them over. She expects to see Ava’s fingerprints burned into her skin, but they look just the same as they did minutes earlier when she was just Beatrice. They don’t burn; they don’t glow. They only ache. To go back out there and touch again, a need she thinks may never be sated.

Beatrice meets her eyes in the window and looks at this new person staring back at her. 

Touch is a love language, she knows. She just didn’t know it was one of hers.

~

two months.

There's poetry in swimming. A grace in the way arms cut through still water, propelling forward. It cuts away on either side of her and she glides through it like she’s exhaling. The world feels weightless in the water, like she could float away contentedly.

It’s the smell that begs the question of why Beatrice agreed to this.

The school pool smells over-chlorinated and it sticks to the inside of her nose. She resists the urge to sneeze and clear it, focusing instead on dipping her toe into the water, testing it.

Warm.

She frowns, turned off by the idea of bathwater. Whatever bacteria is being fed by the warm water, they’re trying to shock away with chlorine. Why is she paying so much in tuition for warm, bacteria-infested water?

“You’re on scholarship,” Ava reminds her.

She blinks, unaware she spoke out loud. Ava laughs and bumps a nearly-bare shoulder into her arm gently. Her frown ebbs away like the water lapping at the side of the pool. Ava’s skin is already damp from the humidity in the air and Beatrice marvels at the idea that this is what it must be like when Ava steps out of the shower and wraps a thick towel around her body, shoulders and neck still exposed. She flushes.

Ava bounces lightly, careful of the slick floor. “At least we have the place to ourselves.”

That might be another problem. Because they are alone, the pool empty in the middle of the day. There’s no one here to see the way Beatrice can’t quite look Ava in the eye or the way her hands shake a little as she grips her towel a little too tightly. At least at tomorrow’s Color Run, there will be crowds of people and chaos surrounding them, reminding Beatrice to curb that impulse to touch, to keep her hands to herself. 

Here, alone, Beatrice has no buffer, just her and Ava and her heart lay bare. 

This touch thing has been a bit of a nuisance. It consumes her. It’s been a couple weeks since the world shifted on its axis and now she wants to be touching Ava all the time. Sometimes it’s small - a brush of a hand as they pass a spatula back and forth at dinner or trade the television remote. Sometimes it’s bigger - pulling Ava into a hug after a long day of classes where her back has tightened up to the point of pain and willing it away. She limits herself, though. Sometimes per day, sometimes per instance. She never takes too much, always gives Ava her space. 

She doesn’t want to push. Everyone has taken so much from Ava. She’s not going to be a name added to that list.

Some nights, she still feels like she takes too much. She touches the back of Ava’s hand or she pokes delicately at her ankle bone as Ava stretches her feet into her lap or she leans into the way Ava seems to always be leaning in towards her. Those nights, she stays in bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks about what would happen if she went into Ava’s room and curled around her. Would she survive that? Would they?

“Thank goodness,” Ava admits. She’s a little breathless. “I was kind of worried about that.”

All of Beatrice’s reservations fade away at her words. Ava is what’s important here. She turns, meeting Ava head-on. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” she says quickly. Her eyes cut nervously to the deep end of the pool. It’s 8 feet down to the bottom. “I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Beatrice reaches down and curls her fingers over Ava’s wrist, feeling the thudding pulse under her fingertips. 

“Ava,” she says softly. Ava looks back at her, a tremulous smile on her face. “We can come back another day. Or just sit on the edge with our feet in the water.”

Something stretches Ava’s spine straight. “No. I’ve waited long enough. I’m going to swim.”

“You’re going to learn,” Beatrice stresses. “Actual swimming might not happen today.”

“Sure, sure,” Ava says dismissively. “Cannonballs by the hour’s end.” 

Her wrist slides out of Beatrice’s grip as she moves towards a long, sweating wooden bench lining the wall. Ava drops her towel - a large pink thing with a flamingo in an inner tube on it - and slides out of the flip flops she wore, tucking them under the bench. She turns, hands on her hips, and surveys the pool.

Beatrice inhales sharply, feeling that chlorine burning in her nose again as she takes in the sight of Ava.

She saw the bathing suit when Ava bought it, of course. Ava held it up in front of her, going on about how she picked red because every movie she saw with a lifeguard in it had a red swimsuit on. It’s funny, Bea, she explained at Beatrice’s blank look. The girl who can’t swim playing pretend as someone who rescues people in the water? She wasn’t deterred by Beatrice’s silence. She shrugged and ordered Thai.

But seeing Ava holding it up in front of her, separated from her skin by a pair of electric pink soft cotton shorts and a bright yellow tank top - a combination that seemed like some kind of criminal offense, even to her - was entirely different than seeing it on her.

Because on Ava, the swimsuit seemed impossibly smaller than it had before. It did things she had only read about in books: hugged curves, fit like a second skin. She’d never experienced the kind of feeling romance novel protagonists talked of, but the words suddenly made sense to her. She blushed whenever her eyes roamed anywhere past Ava’s shoulders.

She swallows now, as Ava stretches her arms above her head and sighs contently. Ava turns and Beatrice looks away quickly, eyeing the shallow end.

She hears Ava’s bare feet padding through the small puddles where the floor is uneven. Two hands fall to her waist from behind and squeeze slightly. Another sharp inhale; she tastes the chlorine in her throat.

“You’re not going to wear that in the water, are you?” Hot fingers pluck along her side at the perfectly respectable cover shirt she’s wearing. “Because that’s not fair.”

Beatrice forces herself to breathe out, grateful for Ava being at her back. Having Ava’s touch so close, she wants to just… lean into it. She finds she’s always seeking it out, that simple reminder that Ava is alive and next to her. Since the floodgates opened, since she experienced what it was like to touch and to be touched, she finds she’s reaching into every corner hoping to come up with some part of Ava between her fingers.

But she knows Ava’s casual touches don’t mean what she wants them to mean. She knows she shouldn’t read into them.

“Of course not,” she says almost to herself.

Cool air rushes across her neck where Ava exhales. “Oh, good. Because I’m wondering what kind of bathing suit might be under there.” She winks when Beatrice glances back.

Despite the balmy air, Beatrice shivers. 

Ava doesn’t seem to notice, stepping away and surveying the pool. “So, where do we start?”

“We won’t cover much today,” she says as she starts to take her shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it next to Ava’s towel. “We’ll practice floating, I think.”

When she turns, Ava is staring at her. “There is a body underneath that shirt.” 

Beatrice feels her cheeks redden. “Ava.”

“And it’s not made up of wires, either.” Ava shakes her head. “It’s a crime, hiding that under a polyester-cotton blend.”

She sighs. “Ava.”

Ava grins and holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, Beatrice. You’re denying the people.”

Am I denying you?

She blinks rapidly at the thought. It feels blasphemous to think such a thing. She’s grown more comfortable with those thoughts lately. But never in the same room as Ava. Never when she’s standing five feet away in a bathing suit as bright red as she’s sure her face is right now. 

So she shoves it down for now and thinks instead about the different things she’ll teach Ava. Thinks about the lessons she read online: the importance of starting with floating, and staying calm in the water, and maintaining contact with an instructor during a first lesson, and - oh no. I need to touch her.

“Wait. You’ve done this before, right?” Ava asks suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. 

Beatrice wets her bottom lip, tasting chlorine. “I looked up how to begin swimming.”

Ava’s eyes narrow. “On a swimming website for babies?”

“For children,” she admits. She rushes to add, “But not babies. Small children.” She pauses for a moment. “The same size as you, actually.”

“Beatrice,” Ava gasps. She presses a hand to her chest. Beatrice pointedly ignores it. “You’re just a few inches taller than I am, you know. And I can still ride amusement rides.”

She ignores Ava. “The first step is getting into the water. There are different ways to enter a pool. The ladder, of course. Or you can sit on the edge and swivel in.”

Ava bites down on her bottom lip, eyes back on the pool as she weighs her options. “How’re you getting in?”

“I was going to sit and swivel, if you’d like to.” Ava is silent. “I find that sometimes sliding in is the best option. The stairs give me too much time to change my mind.”

Ava considers this. She’s bouncing lightly, eyes darting back towards the deep end every few seconds. 

She’s nervous. Beatrice steps forward, hand finding its natural place on Ava’s wrist. She squeezes until Ava meets her eyes. They’re ringed with worry. It’s not that Beatrice didn’t know Ava was hesitant around large bodies of water; she just didn’t understand how much.

“I promise I will not let you drown. I will not let anything happen to you.” She says it firmly, hoping Ava knows she means it. 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” Ava takes a shuddering breath. “It’s the drain at the bottom of the pool. What if it sucks me in?”

“The… the drain?”

Ava nods, staring at it now. “Yeah. I saw a movie once, one that an older boy snuck in. This girl - she was annoying, but still - she went swimming and the pool drain just… sucked her in.”

She wants to laugh. It’s ridiculous, that Ava could even fit in the pool drain, or that it would do something like start to suck out water in the middle of the day. But the fear in Ava’s eyes is real, and her heart aches instead. She turns Ava gently, holding her gaze.

“We are not going in the deep end. We’ll be 50 meters away from the pool drain. You certainly wouldn’t fit in it if, for some reason, the pool did start draining.” Beatrice smiles softly and squeezes her hand. “And more importantly, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ava’s eyes search hers. “Okay,” she says after a minute and squeezes back. “I trust you.”

Beatrice swallows under the weight of the words. She smiles softly and releases Ava’s hand, taking a slight step back. Her toes splash in the pockets of the floor as she walks to the edge of the pool.

Ava follows her lead. “Okay, so sit and swivel?”

Beatrice takes a deep breath and smiles tightly. “Sit and swivel.” She slowly lowers herself into the shallow end of the pool. The water laps at the back of her thighs, soaking her bathing suit. She looks up when Ava hesitates. “I’ll go in first, then you can.”

Ava nods jerkily. “Sure. Totally cool.” 

Ava lowers herself to the tiles and scoots forward gently so her feet slide into the water. Beatrice watches carefully, making sure to angle herself so that if Ava slips, she can catch her. But Ava moves slowly until she’s mirroring Beatrice. Water splashes against her knees.

“Perfect.” Beatrice smiles and turns her body, sliding the rest of the way into the water. It comes up to her waist. “Now it’s your turn.”

Ava seems like she’s breathing a little easier. She slides into the pool, splashing a little. The water hits her hips, waving up around her as she stands an arm’s length away from Beatrice. “I did it.”

“You did it.” 

They’ll have to go a little deeper to teach Ava anything. And the distance might help Beatrice’s pounding heart a little too. Beatrice then takes a large step back, towards the deep end, until the water comes up just below her chest. 

“Now, we need to go out a little further to-”

“You said shallow end.”

“You can’t build confidence in the water if it’s at your belly button.” Ava eyes her warily and Beatrice ebbs back towards her, careful not to touch her. “I told you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” Ava says softly after a minute. She takes a short step forward. Beatrice slides back another. “Bea.”

“I’m right here.” 

Ava is looking at her now, eyeing the distance between them. They’re in the middle of the pool now, nothing to hold onto and that nervousness is back in Ava’s eyes. Beatrice changes tactics.

“How about we practice treading water?” she suggests. She cuts past Ava back to the side of the pool and grips the edge. “You can hold on and we can practice here.”

Ava seems relieved. “Sure. That works for me.” She takes a step closer to the deep end, the water rising to her shoulders now. She takes it with confidence, the kind she usually carries. “So I just…”

“Hold on. And let yourself drop a little bit. Treading water is about conserving energy while staying afloat.” Beatrice lowers herself into the water, letting it come up to her neck. She kicks her feet a little. “See how I’m staying up?”

“You’re holding on,” Ava points out.

Beatrice resists the urge to roll her eyes and lets go. She holds her arms out, perpendicular to body. She kicks her feet again and bobs in the water. “By nature, we float. So as long as there is air in your lungs, you’ll be fine. Your arms and feet just add to the buoyancy.” 

She straightens up, feet flat on the bottom of the pool.  When she stands, the temperature change between the air and the water makes her shiver. “See, it only comes up to my neck,” she reassures. “You try it.”

Ava grips the edge of the pool and lowers herself slightly. The water brushes up against her chin and Beatrice sees her eyes widen. But then she kicks her feet a little and she bobs back up, bouncing on the surface of the water.

Beatrice smiles. “See?”

Ava beams. “Treading water? Check.”

“Well, not quite,” Beatrice laughs. “You need to let go next.”

“Cool. Cool, cool.” Ava let's go with one hand and her body dips down. She quickly grabs it again. “Not cool.”

Beatrice laughs a little and drifts forward. “Come on,” she beckons. “I’ll be right here.”

She expects Ava to argue, to convince her they can go sit in the shallow end and talk instead of swimming. She expects Ava to say, “this isn’t for me. I really wanted to learn, but it’s just not in the cards right now.” Or even that she’s a bad teacher and she’s going to ask Shannon - who’s been a summer lifeguard since she was fifteen and has far more experience than Beatrice - for lessons.

What she doesn’t expect is for Ava to take a deep breath, blow out her cheeks, and leap forward into her arms.

Beatrice is nearly knocked back by the force of Ava’s jump. Her feet slide against the slick pool bottom and she swallows a mouthful of chlorine. She can’t focus on it. There are hands. There’s skin. Ava’s hands glide over her shoulders, fingernails trying to find purchase in the straps of her swimsuit as their bodies crash together. 

Her hands ghost along Ava’s ribs and oh. Ava’s swimsuit has an open back. She can feel the scarring along Ava’s spine, could count each of them if she ran her fingers up and down. Her fingernails scratch against skin she’s only ever imagined under her hands. She wants to map each inch she can touch, commit it to memory.

Ava’s hands finally find a place, locking around the back of her neck as she tries to hold on tighter.

Everything in her seizes. Her legs, tangled smoothly against Ava’s, freeze and lock into place. Her arms go slack against Ava’s back. She feels the water come up over her mouth again. A knee digs into her stomach and she gasps, swallowing the warm water again. Something sharp scratches against her shoulder as she starts to go under. She feels a heel dig into her thigh and then she’s being pulled sideways through the water.

She bumps against the side of the pool and then a hand winds itself into the strap of her swimsuit, pulling her up and out of the water. She gasps for air as her shoulders crest the surface.

“I thought you said people float!” Ava shouts, the words so loud in Beatrice’s ear.

Beatrice has to shake her head, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, god.” Ava’s hands flutter around her face, tipping her head back to study her face. “I’m sorry. I just thought- I thought you’d catch me.”

Beatrice sucks in a ragged breath. “I did.” The pool wall is cool against her back. She leans her head back against the edge, sucking humid air into her lungs.

The world comes back into sharp focus and she goes still again.

Ava is crowding her against the side of the pool, one hand tangled in her bun as it comes undone and the other brushing the rolling drops of water off her cheek. Their legs are tangled again, Ava’s toes skimming along her shin. Ava’s eyes are almost wild, darting back and forth as they search her face.

“Jesus, Bea,” she exhales. One of her legs hooks around Beatrice’s and it pulls her closer. “Are you okay?”

No. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. They flutter in the water, fingers clenching around nothing. She knows where she wants to put them: right where they were a minute ago, sliding across Ava’s sides to her back. She knows that she wants to dig her fingertips into Ava’s skin and leave them there so Ava can feel them even after she pulls away.

Pull it together. She swallows heavily.

“I’m fine.”

Ava’s body is still moving with the water, still ebbing in and out against her. The hand at her cheek goes to the pool’s edge and it drips water down on Beatrice’s shoulder, drops rolling off her skin. “I thought people float,” Ava breathes, her words hot against Beatrice’s face. “You said they did.” 

Beatrice finally touches down, thumbs stroking against Ava’s ribs involuntarily. Ava jumps a little. “They do. When they’re not being jumped on.”

Ava looks sheepish now. “I just… I thought that I would just go for it, you know? That maybe I was a natural swimmer and I’d just…”

“Stay afloat,” Beatrice finishes.

“Yes. And if I couldn’t, you’d rescue me. I just-” Her hand scratches lightly against the back of Beatrice’s neck. “I was a little enthusiastic, I think.”

She loves Ava’s enthusiasm - not when it’s trying to sink her, of course. But generally, she loves it. She finds it intoxicating, contagious. She wants to let her sweep her up almost all the time.

Her thumbs count Ava’s ribs. One, two, three…

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Worry winds around every word and Ava’s hand slides along her jaw to her chin, titling her face up. “You swallowed a lot of water.”

She can see small beads of water running down the long line of Ava’s neck, disappearing into the surface of the water. She watches the race down over smooth skin and she wants to track it with her fingertip. 

Pull it together.

“I’ll have a stomach ache later, maybe. And I need to brush my teeth.” She doesn’t even want to think about the chlorine anymore. “But maybe we should-”

“Try another day?” Ava nods. “Yeah, we should try another day. I owe you, like, tons of coffee. And take out, definitely. Your choice. No spending limit.”

She smiles softly. “I meant, maybe we should, um…” She looks down between their bodies.

Ava looks down and startles. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was-” She starts to pull away, her hand getting caught in Beatrice’s hair. “I’ll just-”

“It’s okay.” Beatrice doesn’t pull her hand back right away. “I’m fine.”

“No, this is your space and I’m just- dammit.” She finally works her hand out of Beatrice’s hair and her leg slides across Beatrice’s hip as she grips the edge with both hands and pulls herself around Beatrice’s body.

The water feels cold as it rushes into the spaces where Ava’s body had just been. She has to blink a few times, trying to pull her head together. That was more than just a brush of a hand or a fleeting kiss to the top of her head as Ava rushed to get to class. This was her hand against Ava’s side, long enough to feel Ava’s ribs under her fingers. This was her legs sliding against Ava’s. This was Ava’s hands in her hair and fingers at her jaw and and and. 

Ava pulls herself up and out of the pool, sitting on the edge of it, legs still in the water. They still brush against Beatrice’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Beatrice stares at the other side of the pool, going through breathing exercises until she can turn and smile and mean it. “Don’t be. I should have prepared you better for this.”

Ava smiles. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who flung myself into your arms.”

Do it again.

She blinks. “Next time, I’ll be ready to catch you.”

Ava’s smile stretches. “Next time, huh? Careful, Beatrice. You’ll make a girl swoon, telling her she can run into your arms at any time.”

Her cheeks flush. She knows it. Ava always gets this look in her eyes when she’s successfully made Beatrice blush. “Yes, well.” She clears her throat. “Maybe we could be done for the day?”

“Of course, Bea.” Ava pats her gently on the shoulder. “I was serious. Coffee and take out on me. We’ll even watch one of your documentaries, if you want. Anything you want. Nothing too small.”

It's not a date. It's just friends getting coffee and eating out. Friends do that all the time. It's not a date unless they say it's a date and that's not what they're saying. Beatrice can't remember the last time she went out on a date and Ava hasn't since they met. But if they did go out together on a date - a thought she's had before that always seems to make her heart stick a little - she'd want it to be more than coffee and take out. 

But, she's not going to think about that. She's going to just stay in a bubble where neither of them are going on dates and spending all their time together. 

That can be enough.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do. I nearly drowned you.”

She almost rolls her eyes. “I would have been fine. I just needed another moment to get my bearings.”

“Still,” Ava says brightly. “You had a near-death experience. Let me take care of you.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She leans down, brushes her lips against her chlorine-soaked hair, and stands up. Beatrice can hear her padding through puddles towards the towels.

She takes another minute to get out, letting herself bob in the water as she tries to let it wash away the feel of Ava’s body. 

She doesn’t think she’s going to ever forget.

~

three months.

Beatrice likes to think that she’s more than capable of reading Ava’s moods. She can separate out mad from frustrated, happy from content, sad from melancholy. Maybe it’s from living in such close quarters; from the fact that she spends an average of 18 hours a day with her and it’s hard not to know someone so well after all that time.

The point is: Ava comes home from class and she is not just mad. She’s angry.

The kind of angry Beatrice saw last week when Ava declared she was willing to face incarceration for Beatrice, if it meant that her parents would never hurt her again. The kind of angry that took Ava hours and a movie night with their friends to come down from.

She throws the door behind her, catching it at just the last moment so it doesn’t slam shut. Beatrice appreciates it. Her neighbors are nice. And one of them has a baby that’s just gotten onto a sleep schedule; she doesn’t want to be responsible for waking it up. Especially since a sleep schedule means it’s not up half the night crying.

But Ava comes crashing through it all the same. She throws her backpack down, cheeks red and forehead pinched. It slides a little across the floor into the coat rack, but doesn’t knock it over. She doesn’t even kick off her shoes, stomping around the couch and past the breakfast bar where Beatrice is set up between classes, right to the refrigerator that she pulls open and thrusts her hand into. She comes up with one of Mary’s beers, left behind after a movie night earlier in the week.

Beatrice is up around rounding the bar before she even thinks about it, plucking the bottle from Ava’s hand.

Ava turns and nearly growls before she seems to recognize Beatrice. Her face smooths out.

“I can make you some tea.”

She’s expecting a bit of a fight, but Ava just sighs and nods miserably, sagging back against the counter.

Beatrice busies herself with putting the beer back and turning on the kettle. She moves around Ava, careful not to touch her. It’s not that she’s scared of touching her. It’s just that everything has changed between them. Knowing she’s the most important person in Ava’s life, that she always will be, hasn’t just tinted every interaction they’ve had in the last week. It’s changed everything. It’s changed her. 

The entire situation has her on her back foot, a place she despises. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, or how to act. How does she move them forward from that without losing what makes them them? 

She can start with tea. She finds Ava’s mug, the one with Dog Dad written in blocky letters on it. She can take care of Ava the way Ava takes care of her. She can listen. She can show Ava how important she is in return.

It isn’t until she’s pulling down a tea bag that she feels slim fingers encircle her wrist and pull her to a stop.

“Sorry,” Ava grumbles.

Beatrice smiles patiently. “Tough day?”

“You know Francesca, in my history class?”

Beatrice tries to shuffle through the various characters Ava tells her about. She doesn’t remember a Francesca off the top of her head. Francis in her feminist lit class, yes. But Francesca…

Ava takes her silence as the no that it is. “She’s the one I told you about who had the crappy boyfriend?”

Vaguely, Beatrice pulls to mind a time when Ava came home complaining about some guy who interrupted their class to yell at girlfriend. Francesca, apparently. 

“Well, guess who showed up when we were headed to get some coffee after class?” Beatrice doesn’t have to. “Yeah, he just ambushed us on our walk. Totally embarrassed her in front of our whole study group. And you want to know the worst part?”

Beatrice pours hot water into Ava’s mug. “What?”

“He grabbed her. In broad daylight. Grabbed her by the wrist and tried to pull her away from us. I had to jump in and-”

“Are you okay?” Beatrice abandons the kettle and grabs Ava’s hand, gesticulating wildly between them. She turns it over like she was the one who was grabbed. “Is Francesca?”

Ava sighs but doesn’t pull away from her as Beatrice brushes her fingertips over a pulse point. “Yeah. I mean, I had to hit him with my backpack a few times before he took off.”

“You what?”

“And we sent Francesca home with Juan,” Ava says over her. “He promised he’d stay with her the rest of the day. But that douche knows where she lives and there’s no chance he doesn’t go back to try and bother her.”

“Ava.”

Ava looks at her, face red again. “You just can’t come up to someone and grab someone like that, you know? It’s assault, at least. She was totally spooked. And I don’t blame her!”

Beatrice abandons Ava’s hand and grabs her shoulders, holding her steady. “Ava.”

“If I see him again, I’m going to hit him with more than just my backpack. I’m going to take my fist and punch him right in the-”

“Ava,” Beatrice says sharply.

Ava blinks. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh.” Ava looks a little sheepish now. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. The bagel I was saving you is probably squished and I’m sure I have cream cheese all over my history textbook so I won’t get my money back, but I’m-” She reaches up, loops a few fingers around Beatrice’s wrist and tugs gently until her hand is curled up against Ava’s chest. “I’m fine.”

Beatrice exhales a thin stream of air. She turns her hand in Ava’s until their palms are pressed together. 

She feels like she’s attached to Ava here. Like a thread pulls her in, staring at Ava’s lifeline and tugging until her calloused palms are pressed to Ava’s smooth ones. She doesn’t fight it, she lets it consume her. And she keeps the feel of it long after she’s separated from Ava.

“Okay,” she says, more a reassurance to herself than anything. “And Francesca?”

“Like I said, embarrassed. And I think her wrist hurts, but she wouldn’t tell us that.” Ava looks sad now. “He was such an ass. Going on about how she can’t leave him. Honestly, he was embarrassing himself. I told her to file a report. He’s a big guy, he could go right through Juan.”

As long as it isn’t right through you.

“But it got me thinking about something,” Ava continues. “I couldn’t do anything to, like, help her. He just grabbed her and we all stood there. Sure, my backpack doubles as a small weapon-”

“Only because you refuse to take anything out of it.”

“But,” Ava stresses, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t enough. I needed him to go away on the first hit. It took, like, six tries before he finally let go. I need to do better. So, you need to help me.”

Beatrice frowns. “I need to help you, what? Hit someone with a backpack?”

Ava pauses. “Well, no. Though, I should start coming to the gym with you, I think. That backpack is really heavy. Maybe Mary could make up a workout plan and I can learn to push one of those heavy bags across the gym. That’s very sexy, I think.” She narrows her eyes. “Can you do that?”

Beatrice swallows, a little hot under her collar. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Damn.” Ava pouts. She looks off to the middle distance, eyes clouding over for a moment, then blinks and looks back at her. “Right.” She smiles crookedly. “I need your help fighting someone.”

“Fighting someone,” Beatrice repeats. “I’m not going to help you fight someone.”

Fighting someone isn't the answer. It's not even the question. 

Beatrice can appreciate what it means, the way that Ava is willing to step up for her friends and help them. One of the things she loves about Ava is the way she seems to want to do what she can for everyone. She's the first person Mary calls when she needs to go left off some steam. She's the first text when one of their friends needs a study buddy - even if Ava isn't too sure on the material. But it’s not just their circle of friends. Ava is someone everyone can count on. Someone who cares enough to help everyone around her. In the moments where Beatrice lets herself think she's a good person, she thinks Ava is someone a lot like her, just a little bit more impulsive.

But the last thing she wants to do is encourage Ava to put herself in harm’s way.

“Pleaseeeee.” Ava pushes out her bottom lip and blinks up at Beatrice through her lashes. “You’re already a great teacher. And you’re, like, a celebrated fighter. You’ve won trophies, Bea. That means more than one. You could show me how to kick someone’s ass and then the next time that douchebag shows up, I’ll-”

“Next time, you just walk away,” Beatrice interrupts. “You don’t fight a man as tall as a mountain.”

“Okay, he wasn’t as tall as a mountain. More like, as tall as Lilith.” Ava starts to walk her other hand across Bea’s arm, looping gently just below her elbow. “But it’s going to happen again. He’s like a parasite. A cockroach. And when he does come back, I want to be able to put him flat on his back. Bruce Lee style.”

Beatrice is shaking her head before Ava even finishes. “I’m not teaching you how to fight someone. And you shouldn’t be wanting to fight someone either. You’re very small.”

“I’m not-” Ava huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wouldn’t that make me a better fighter? Because I could duck and weave and kick someone directly in the kneecap?”

There’s some logic to Ava’s thought process. Being small has its advantages. A lower center of gravity. Typically more movement than a man built like a brick house. But Ava is not a fighter by nature and a man built like a large rhinoceros would break her in half like a rotted out piece of pine board. No. She can’t teach Ava to fight.

“No.”

“Bea,” Ava sighs, frustration licking at the corners of her name. “I don’t need to know, like, all the steps it takes to become a black belt. I just need to know how to scare him off.” She steps closer and Beatrice feels the air between their bodies leave the room. “Come on. Show me a couple of things. You know I’m a good learner.”

“Cooking, yes. But the last time I tried to teach you how to do something physical…”

“Yes, I tried to drown you. That was once and I was panicking. And the next time we went swimming, I did a lot better.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Fighting is a situation where you will panic. I still panic every time I get into a fight.”

“Okay, what if I make you a deal?”

Beatrice eyes her warily. “What kind of deal?” 

The last time they made a deal, Beatrice ended up in the observatory after hours, hiding from campus security while Ava tried to escape the locked tower. They finally had to call for Mary to come and pick the lock.

 “You teach me a few things about fighting and I’ll go with you to that conservatory luncheon conversation thing. The one about religious texts in modern media.” Ava thrusts her hand forward in a handshake. “Deal?”

Beatrice wasn’t planning on going to that. She could probably learn more from the supplementary texts her professor provided last class. But Ava is looking at her with soft eyes and her fingers are brushing against the inside of Beatrice’s elbow and Beatrice feels her resolve falling like her attempt at making a souffle, another one of Ava’s ambitious ideas. She can’t say no. She’s never been able to say no.

But also, a small part of her thinks, it’s an opportunity. There are times when Beatrice thinks that maybe Ava feels this too. Maybe she touches Beatrice because she wants to, just as much as Beatrice wants to touch her in return. And this is a chance to touch Ava, to explore what that feels like.

“Okay,” she sighs. She shakes Ava’s hand shortly. “But you have to promise you will not get into any fights until I say you’re ready for that.”

Ava cheers loudly, wiggling around. Beatrice winces and pulls her hand away before it gets tangled up in whatever complicated motion Ava is doing. “Thank you, thank you. Where do we start? Leg sweeps? Wrist breaks?”

Beatrice can’t help but smile at Ava’s enthusiasm. Lilith calls her soft when she thinks Beatrice can’t hear her. She doesn’t try to tell her off, because she knows it’s the truth. It’s not just that she can’t say no. It’s that she also can’t bring herself to be mad about it.

“Not wrist breaks.” Ava pouts again and Beatrice has the nearly irresistible urge to brush her thumb against Ava’s bottom lip and smooth it away. “But I can teach you how to throw a punch.”

“As long as it’s not the only thing you teach me,” Ava negotiates. “I want to know more than that.”

“We’ll start with a punch.” Beatrice is going to hold firm on this. “It’s the foundation for a lot of other things.”

Ava considers that for a moment. “Like treading water.”

“Just like treading water.”

“I’m very good at that now, you know.” Ava practically preens, lifting her chin into the air.

“You are,” Beatrice says dutifully. “Your breast stroke is also very good. Don’t laugh because I said ‘breast’,” she warns Ava, who is already smirking.

“Pretty soon, I’ll be making a run for the Olympic team.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t doubt me, Beatrice.”

Beatrice means it when she says, “I would never.”

Something on Ava’s face softens and she ducks her head. Beatrice might also say she looked shy, if she had to name the emotion on her face. But she doesn’t, because no one is asking, and because she doesn’t want to.

“I can settle for a punch, sure.” Ava finally breaks their connection, sliding out of her hold. Her fingers graze Beatrice’s arm as she steps back. “So, show me.”

“What? Right now?”

“Whatever you’re doing-”

“Biochemistry.”

“-can wait.” Ava makes a face. “Biochem? Yuck. Wouldn’t spending time with me be more fun than that?”

Of course it would be. She knows that. Ava knows that. It’s why she’s had to pull all-nighters more in the last three months than she ever has in her educational career. She’d rather spend all her time with Ava, completely addicted to the way she laughs and the way she smiles and the way she always seems to rest her hand on the closest part of Beatrice she can reach.

She especially wants to spend her time doing that.

“Fine. Fine.” Beatrice abandons her biochemistry homework without a second thought. She’ll need to make it up eventually and she knows Ava will sit at the table with her later and tell her funny jokes she reads online while Beatrice tries to focus on equations.

Ava beams. “We’ll be quick.”

“We will not be if we do it correctly.”

“Then we’ll be correct and not worry about the time it takes because form is important,” Ava amends. She waits for Beatrice to nod in agreement before she thrusts her hand into the air and clenches it into a fist.

Beatrice hums. Ava looks at her expectantly, a hopeful smile on her face. It starts to fade the longer Beatrice looks. After a minute, she meets Ava’s eyes.

“May I?” She gestures towards Ava’s fist. Ava nods. “First of all, you’re holding your first too tightly.”

Ava immediately loosens it and her fingers fall apart. 

Beatrice laughs. “No, not like that.” 

She doesn’t hesitate now. Before, she might have paused, might have stopped herself from reaching out and manipulating Ava’s hand into the shape she wants it to be. But that was Beatrice months ago. Beatrice now, so used to touch, to Ava’s touch and the way it fits so neatly into her life, just reaches out.

Ava’s hand is pliant under her fingers. She softens her wrist, lets her fingers relax. Beatrice works them back into a fist, keeping firm pressure across her fingers. She taps Ava’s wrist into place, smiling softly when she sees the look of concentration on Ava’s face.

“Your fist can be your biggest weapon, if you wield it properly.” Beatrice runs her fingernails over the ridges of Ava’s knuckles. “But it comes down to the proper mechanics. Because the person you hurt might be yourself.”

“I want to hurt Eduardo.”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose at the name. She knew an Eduardo once. He was a terrible child, one of her parent’s political friend’s children. He once pushed her down and stomped on her new dress. Her mother had been furious. Suddenly, she wants Ava to hurt Eduardo too.

“Then you need to make sure you’re using the proper form.” She stands in front of Ava, studying her fist. “First, your thumb.”

“Inside, right?”

“Outside,” Beatrice corrects. She gently places Ava’s thumb on the outside of her fist. “If you leave it inside, you run the risk of breaking it.”

“Would I get a cool cast?” Beatrice glances at her and Ava grins widely. “Would you sign it? Dear Ava, you’re an idiot. Affectionately, Beatrice.”

“That wouldn’t fit on a thumb splint.”

Ava’s smile doesn’t waver. “You could figure it out.”

Beatrice sighs, the sound laced with the kind of fondness she’s found she reserves for Ava. Her hand pulses over Ava’s, reminding her of what she’s doing. She curls her fingers around Ava’s wrist and holds her other hand up flat so that the flat of Ava’s knuckles press against her palm.

“Keep your fist straight. Like this.” She puts a little force behind her palm, feeling the resistance of Ava’s fist. “When you punch, the flatter your knuckles are, the more surface area you cover. The more even the distribution is.”

“So if I’m punching Eduardo in the mouth…”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, smiling still. “If you keep your fist flat, you could break several teeth instead of one.”

There’s a look in Ava’s eyes that tells her she shouldn’t have said that. She can see the wheels churning in Ava’s mind.  

“More teeth,” Ava agrees. “I can totally remember that.”

Beatrice thinks about correcting her, about telling her that she should not go out with the intention of punching a man built like a woolly mammoth. She should make sure that Ava understands this is for self-defense and not to go on the offensive. But Ava is studying the shape of her hand intently and she thinks Ava knows that, in the very back of her mind, that she shouldn’t go out swinging at a man built like a steam engine train.

“More importantly, you won’t break your first two fingers,” Beatrice says, drawing back Ava’s attention. "It’s easy to want to punch with your index finger like this.” She makes a fist out of her own hand, clenching her index finger tightly so that it bubbles out and the knuckle leads away from her fist. 

“Watch.” Beatrice tightens her grip on Ava’s wrist and pushes her hand into her palm with her index finger leading. “See how it impacts right against these fingers?” She’s close to Ava now, her voice quieter as she steps in. “But if you flatten your knuckles…” She smooths out Ava’s hand and presses against. “It distributes more evenly. Saves you from breaking your first two fingers.”

Ava nods, head bobbing up and down. “Uh, okay.” She smiles a little crookedly. “The hardships I’m willing to endure for friends, huh?” she jokes. “Next, we should teach Juan.”

“He doesn’t know how to throw a punch?”

Ava snorts. “He’s too busy being in love with Francesca to do anything but try not to trip over his own feet.”

In love, she thinks. Is Ava in love with Francesca, if she’s willing to fight off this Eduardo? The thought is traitorous but there.

“But that’s what we do, right?” Ava’s hand shifts a little in her hold but Beatrice hardly feels it. “When we- Like, your parents. I’d fight them in an instant, to protect you. Juan and I have that in common.”

Beatrice feels a ripple of affection rush through her before it’s swallowed up by the overwhelming thought that no one has ever so vehemently and blindly defended her before. It nearly pushes her back a step, but she’s still holding onto Ava and she doesn’t want to break their connection.

She doesn’t want to let her go. She wants to touch, to stay in this moment. She wants… more. She doesn’t know if she should take it.

But Ava hasn’t shied away from her yet. Hasn’t pulled away. She’s leaned into Beatrice. She’s let Beatrice stand close and shape her.

Would she allow Beatrice to be a little closer?

She pulls her attention back to the task at hand. Ava is still standing there, waiting for instruction. “Make sure your hands are up, to protect your face if your opponent decides to throw a punch back.”

Ava scoffs. “I’m a one-and-done kind of fighter. I get one in, they’re done.”

Beatrice slowly motions a punch towards Ava who blocks it just a second too late, throwing her hands up above her head. “Hands up.”

“Fine, fine. Hands up.” She takes the carelessness out of her words with the look on her face as she brings her hands back into a resting position, one situated at her chin.

“Your form isn’t terrible.” Beatrice ignores Ava’s small cheer. “You’re right-handed, so this is your power hand.” She taps Ava’s hand. “Throw a cross punch.”

Ava pushes her hand forward, twisting naturally in a way that Beatrice knows is hard to teach. She frowns, though, walking around Ava in a small circle as she studies her.

“You’re punching from the shoulders.” She carefully touches the top of Ava’s shoulder. “You need to watch your extension. Beginners always punch from their shoulders.” She finishes her circle around Ava and rests her hand on her shoulder blade. Ava looks back at her, face pinched in concentration. “Most people think that punching is all arms, especially when you twist.” She pushes a little, leading Ava into a small twist.

“But your real power comes from your hips.” She drops Ava’s shoulders to brush her hips. “You twist your hips with enough torque, you generate enough power to make an impactful punch because you are putting your entire body behind it.” 

She pushes Ava’s hips to twist to demonstrate. Ava moves easily with the motion.

“Blunt force trauma, baby,” Ava sings. She looks up abruptly and twists a little to meet Beatrice’s eyes. “I need a superhero name.”

Beatrice smiles despite herself. “You’re just learning how to punch.”

Ava doesn’t hear her. “The Halo.”

“The Halo.”

Ava grins. “Yeah, remember that Snapchat filter with the blue and purple background that makes me look like I’m bisexual Jesus?”

“Ava,” she scolds.

“That could be my official superhero artwork.”

“Do you want to know how to throw a punch or not?”

Ava snaps to attention. “Yes, ma’am.” She thrusts her fist back into place and turns back around to face forward. “You were saying something about hips,” she says over her shoulder.

Beatrice gulps. She was. She just got distracted by the way it felt so easy to have Ava moving under her hands. Still, she needs to focus. Ava is. She can too.

Her eyes trail down from Ava’s shoulders to those hips and down to her feet. “Can The Halo take off her shoes, please?”

Ava looks down, cheeks flushing. “Oh, sorry.” She hurriedly kicks them off, sending them across the living room. 

It almost makes her laugh. Their first week living together, Beatrice would have followed after Ava until she put them in their proper place by the door. Now she doesn’t miss a beat, just continuing on and knowing that Ava will take care of it when they’re done. 

“It’s just that I need to see your footwork and I can’t if you’re wearing sneakers. Footwork is important to your legwork.” Beatrice points at Ava’s hip. “When you turn, turn sharply. Your core strength builds from there.”

Ava hesitates for a second, long enough that Beatrice catches it and frowns. “Uh, do you think…” Ava bounces a little on her toes. She’s nervous. It takes her another minute to get it out and Beatrice waits as she always does when it comes to Ava: patient and willingly. 

“Do you think that my back affects my power?”

“Oh,” Beatrice says softly. She takes a step closer, her hand already reaching out to wrap around Ava’s arm. Just to give her a touchpoint. 

“Well, a lot of your power does come from being able to rotate your core, of which your back is a part of. But you can compensate by strengthening the oblique muscles in your abs. The majority of your power though comes from your stance. Drawing power from your legs and transitioning to your upper body. Lift with your legs, right? You’ll still feel it through your body, of course, because things like boxing and mixed martial arts are whole-body practices.” 

She smooths her fingers over the sleeve of Ava’s cropped cutoff - a Baba Yaga on roller skates - and hopes Ava feels the intention in her touch. 

“But for a part-time superhero who remembers to use their legs, a few punches will be okay. You just need to learn and keep your form.”

Ava’s face clears. “Okay. So…” She grins. “How’s my form?”

“We need to fix your stance. Start with your weight evenly distributed. You also want to square up your feet. Lead foot forward but toes still pointing forward.”

Ava pitches to one side.

“No, no, wait. You’re leaning back on one leg too much. You’re giving me 70, 30 distribution. You can stand like that when we are ready to teach kicks. But for now, for just punching, I need 50, 50. Make it equal.” 

Ava turns, confused. “Can you just show me?”

Beatrice immediately steps back, hands fall away. “You want me to demonstrate?”

“No, I mean- Can you just… move my feet where they need to go?” 

There’s a hint of frustration in Ava’s words, like she’s getting upset that it doesn’t make sense the first time. They both have that in common. Ava just tends to be a bit more vocal about it. 

“Show you…”

Ava nods. “Just move my feet. I know, feet are gross. I promise they’re clean.” She waits. “I washed them two days ago.”

Beatrice knows for a fact that Ava washed her feet yesterday, because she likes to sing to her toes when she gets out of the shower. That’s not what’s making her pause. Her hesitation comes from knowing exactly what it will mean to move Ava’s body this way. She’s going to have to get even closer, cross an invisible line that only she can see. 

But Ava wants to learn and Beatrice isn’t going to let her get her information from someone at the Student Center who doesn’t know the difference between a jab and a cross punch. So she takes a halting step towards Ava, rests her hand against the small of Ava’s back, and stretches her leg out between Ava’s.

“This foot here,” she instructs. Ava’s ankle bone rubs against hers. She feels like the male lead in a Victorian novel; feeling Ava’s ankle has her heart racing. “And that foot- Yes. There.”

She looks down to check on both sides and eyes her work. It could be better. Ava is still leaning one way a little heavier than the other, but she seems to be swaying back and forth and it could work to her advantage. Satisfied, she looks up and realizes exactly how close Ava’s face is to hers. Ava grins and Beatrice’s heart shudders into place.

She tries to focus and steps behind Ava. “Now I want you to bend your knees a little like you’re going to squat.” 

She doesn’t wait to be asked this time. Her hands flutter down to Ava’s waist, fingers curling into the dip of her hip bones. She feels Ava’s body go taut and she nearly lets go, but it relaxes just as quickly and Ava is loose under her hands. 

“You want to create a stable base, so that means keeping your center of gravity low. That way when you punch, you can draw all that power from your legs.” She keeps her voice clear despite the way she feels like she’s trembling.

“Power in the legs, got it.” Ava looks down at her feet.

“When you’re low, there’s somewhere to go. That momentum can add to that force when you twist and throw that cross,” Beatrice’s hand pinches at Ava’s hip gently. “It starts down here.”

“Okay, so stay low.”

Beatrice nods. “The muscle groups you need to pay attention to are your quadriceps and your glutes.” 

Ava is still staring at her feet. “The what?”

Spurred on by a need she can’t quite fully articulate - to protect Ava the way Ava protects her, maybe. To make sure that Ava can always defend herself, surely - she runs a hand down the outside and top of Ava’s thigh. She feels a surprising amount of muscle there, pulled tight.

“These are your quads,” she says quietly. “If you’re not engaging them properly then I can just… push.” 

Beatrice gently pushes Ava forward. Ava has to take a slight step to avoid falling. Beatrice pulls her back up right and back into the cradle of her hips. “Focus on it. Engage it. And this time…” She leaves her hand pressed to Ava’s thigh and pushes with her other hand. Ava barely sways.

Ava looks back over her shoulder, eyes cutting down to where Beatrice’s hand is. “So engage my thighs.”

“Yes, front and back. Quads and glutes,” Beatrice corrects. “Your glutes especially. They’re your strongest muscle group.” 

“So what you’re saying is,” Ava starts slowly, grinning. “My ass is my strongest muscle.”

Beatrice sighs, suffering already. “Take this seriously. If you’re not doing it correctly, you can get hurt.” 

“I am,” Ava says quickly. She’s still smiling a little. “Totally am.”

She slides her hand back up to Ava’s hips, swallowing heavily when Ava looks away. “Once you’re there, you want to focus on your hips. Turn them sharply.”

“Butter knife sharp or-”

“Chef’s knife sharp.” Beatrice slides one hand a little further around Ava’s front, enough to get a slightly better grip so she can turn Ava’s hip back. “The sharper, the harder your punch is.”

There’s nearly nothing between them now. A piece of paper would wrinkle. And Beatrice feels alive. She feels like the air is cleaner. The lights are brighter. She could be glowing warm yellow light and levitating off the ground and she wouldn’t know because Ava is thisclose and she’s forgotten to buy different shampoo so it still smells like pineapple and caramel from her coffee and every single one of Beatrice’s senses is electrified. 

She’s been in love with Ava for a while now and each time they touch, she sinks a little further into the feeling. She lets it envelope her. She drowns in it. She lets it consume her most of her waking moments and all of her sleeping ones too.

She’s very dramatic. But she also loves Ava Silva more than she’s loved anything in her entire life and sometimes, dramatics are necessary.

“So,” Ava breathes out. “Just… twist my hips.”

Beatrice pulls her back again to her starting position. She can feel the muscle of Ava’s hamstring against her thigh. She keeps her voice steady, a feat harder than anything she’s ever done before. 

“Twist. Like this.” She spins Ava’s hip again. “Transfer your weight onto the ball of your foot when you twist. That’s the only time that your heel should lift off the ground.” She touches the back of Ava’s knee, pressing in a little. “Bend here more to lift as you twist up.”

Ava swallows, jaw clicking loud between them. “And my arm goes out at the same time.”

“Yes.” Beatrice uses one hand to guide Ava’s arm forward. “Put it all together to get that power. Bend, twist, punch.”

Ava lets herself be spun out again, a bend of her knee and a sharp twist of her hips. 

“Good. Now reset.” She lets Ava set her feet. “Don’t forget to breathe this time. Exhale with your punch. It’ll loosen your muscles and create a more explosive force behind your punch. Now again.”

Beatrice hears Ava exhale with her punch. It echoes in her ears like a church bell - haunting and beautiful and ringing in her chest so loudly it sends small ripples through her body and into her hands. They shake on Ava’s waist as she tries to hold them still. She breathes in through her nose - pineapple and caramel and promise - and exhales against the back of Ava’s neck. 

Ava pulls back to a starting position almost immediately, already catching on to the rhythm.

“Again. Together.” she says, reduced to single words as Ava’s body moves under her hand back again. “Bend, twist, punch, hold.”

Beatrice turns with her this time– bends her knee, twists her hip, punches out beneath Ava’s arm. They stay poised like that, an arm outstretched and molded against Ava’s back. She thinks she’s trembling - it can’t be Ava. She can’t be feeling what Beatrice is feeling. This feeling is hers and hers alone.

But Ava isn’t breathing. Beatrice starts to pull away but Ava steps back into her. Beatrice feels her breath catch and she rushes to cover it with a cough. That gets stuck in her throat too, and she’s suspended weightless, her hands and arms and chest burning where they touch Ava.

Her hand slides down along the curve of Ava’s leg where it presses back into her. Touch, a voice in her mind whispers like silk. The hem of Ava’s too-short shorts catches on her fingernails. She can feel Ava’s back pocket against her palm and she knows the imprint it leaves might never go away even when it isn’t visible anymore. She nearly tucks the tips of her finger into it, a slight flicker of possession that almost overtakes her.

Ava steps away, the heat of her body gone as she puts space between them.

Beatrice feels her stomach tighten as Ava stands suspended in front of her, back facing Beatrice. She went too far. She took too much. But before she has too much time to think about it, Ava turns and clears her throat.

“What about when I fight your parents? Should I put power into that?”

The tension breaks. Beatrice breathes out a laugh.

A thrill still shoots up through her every time Ava makes some kind of casual threat regarding her parents. She doesn’t wish them harm. She doesn’t wish them anything at all. But there’s a certain niggling wonderment in the way Ava doesn’t hesitate to declare she’d go to war for Beatrice. It makes her feel wanted in the best way.

Beatrice exhales. “Yes, you should always put power into your punches.”

Ava seems to need a minute, something complicated crossing her face before it clears. “Maybe I’ll take up boxing.”

Beatrice leans into the subject change, needing to distance herself for a moment too. “Mary has a friend at the campus gym. Mateo. He’s a good teacher.”

“As good as you?” Ava shakes out her arms and legs. “Because I want the best.”

So you certainly wouldn’t want me, a voice not unlike her mother’s whispers. She smiles despite it. “Other people are far better teachers than I am.”

“But you’re my favorite.” Ava grins and rests her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders as she leans up and gently headbutts her. Beatrice frowns. “I saw a cat do that once. Means I like you.”

“Better than pulling my hair, I suppose. Or kicking me down on the playground,” Beatrice murmurs. Ava doesn’t hear her, already moving back to the counter where the hot water for their tea has gone tepid.

Ava busies herself with pulling down another mug and dumping out her own, turning the kettle back on. “I want to watch a kung fu movie.”

“I have homework,” Beatrice sighs.

Ava shrugs it off. “So we’ll do homework first and then watch a Bruce Lee movie. You can correct his form.”

Beatrice snorts. “He’s Bruce Lee. His form is impeccable. And we practice drastically different forms of martial arts.” She sighs at the look on Ava’s face. “But I’ll let you tell me what you think he should be doing, if you’d like.”

“It’s like you know me so well.” Ava leans back against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, you know that? I’d punch Eduardo in the face for you, if you wanted me to.”

Beatrice does know. And it’s what makes everything so confusing. But it doesn’t stop her from loving the way it makes her feel any less.

“I’m quite certain I could punch Eduardo myself,” Beatrice says softly. “But that’s nice that you’re offering to punch a man I’ve never met.”

Ava shrugs. “So long as you know I’d fight anyone for you.” She puffs out her chest, resting her hands in the spaces where Beatrice’s had just been. She pitches her voice low. “The Halo will rescue any damsel in distress.”

“The Halo needs to maybe empty her backpack before the cream cheese in it goes bad.”

Ava’s face flushes and she darts for her backpack. Beatrice watches her openly and thinks, one day, I’ll let you rescue me. And I’ll hold on tightly if you let me.

–

It takes another hour before she’s done with her homework. Ava finishes in half that time but doesn’t rush her, passing her a highlighter when it rolls away from her and refilling her tea for her when she finishes it. And Ava puts away her shoes without the reminder, tucking them neatly on the shoe rack next to Beatrice’s running sneakers. 

Ava never rushes her, always lets her make her way through things the way she wants to. For someone who rushes through so much, her patience is another testament to the ways Ava has changed for her.

“Alright, so it’s between Enter the Dragon or Fist of Fury Part Two.”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose. “What about Fist of Fury Part One?”

“Can’t find that one.” Ava immediately slides towards her when Beatrice sits down, the sharp point of her knees digging into Beatrice’s thigh. She barely feels them. “So maybe Enter the Dragon? He’s hunting down a drug king who killed his sister.”

“Sure.” Beatrice doesn’t care what the movie is about. Not with the way that Ava is arranging herself so that she’s pressed in closer to Beatrice.

Ava is too busy selecting the movie to see the way that Beatrice is controlling the way she breathes, using all her training to keep it even. So busy that when she reaches out and takes Beatrice’s hand, dropping it onto her thigh, she doesn’t notice the way Beatrice fails spectacularly at the only thing she’s focused on doing.

Ava’s thigh is still muscled, still warm and smooth. Beatrice’s fingers curl over the skin, molding to her leg. There’s nothing between them, no denim shorts. Just Beatrice’s palm, sure to sweat in a minute, and Ava’s skin. 

She inhales one controlled breath, letting it out in a hot, quiet exhale. Ava looks at her and Beatrice forces a smile, hoping it doesn’t shake like she feels every nerve ending in her is. She must be succeeding; Ava smiles back at her and wiggles down towards her a little more. 

Touch is her newest love language. She’s still growing into it, still trying to understand it as well as Ava does. So maybe she didn’t go too far. Maybe she didn’t push too much. If she had, Ava wouldn’t be seeking her out, would she? She would be sitting across the couch, a cushion like an ocean between them. She wouldn’t be here, pressed into Beatrice’s side with her hand on top of hers. Maybe - as Ava smiles and scratches her fingernails against the back of her hand gently - Ava is trying to tell her that they’re thinking the same thing; they’re on the same page.

But she still doesn’t know for sure. She doesn’t have any more answers than she did before.

She thinks about the words Shannon told her, right after Ava’s coffee date with JC. “Be honest. Be direct. Tell her how you feel. If you never say anything, you’ll never know and you might just miss your chance.”

Ava has many love languages. Beatrice wants to love Ava in every one. 

“Just use your words, Beatrice.”

Maybe she just needs to adopt a new one.

[cradle-of-darkness]

hey!! I have lots of stuff I made for cfco (this thing!) that I really want to share and also just keep in one spot, so here's kind of a cfco """artbook""". LOTS of rambling about my ocs up ahead!!! you have been warned!!!!

old code foretold co-op art under cut ↓

first up is this little thumbnail of a mock up poster/book cover! this was made while cfco lived only in my imagination, before I actually started to seriously consider making it into something tangible. little did I know that I would eventually repurpose this design into the title art 😈

I realized this design wouldn't work vertically if i was gonna make cfco in google slides so I switched some stuff around and boom!!!! more detailed sketch!!!!!

here's a placeholder background I slapped together and used while testing out how I wanted things to look (textbox design, font, color palette, sprites). if you look closely at the background of jay and raziel's infocards you can see I used this for those since I didn't have the actual backgrounds drawn at that point. there were actually some earlier textbox designs with a little icon that was supposed to show the face of whichever character was speaking to make it more clear, but ended up cutting that since i thought it'd be unnecessary extra work for me

here's a thumbnail for what was supposed to be the final slide! I kinda wished I finished this but honestly I kinda forgot about it 😭 plus there wouldn't be a lot of room for the text in this design. I also think it's a little misleading because it implies evelyn is still In The Walls when she is not. she is elsewhere now. hopefully in therapy

some of the first iterations of jay my stupid clown son who I love oh so dearly. oh god where do I even start with him. well for starters these sketches are from OCTOBER!!!!! of LAST YEAR!!!!!! WILD!!!!!!!! anyway as you can see he's pretty different here. I can't talk about his design without saying that from the very beginning he was designed to be a foil to sylvie and I tried to get that across in just about anywhere I could. at first I just thought the idea of an "anti-sylvie" would be cool, but then that idea quickly evolved into a completely separate character.

I picked his epithet, "sunshine", to contrast "drowsy". I didn't wanna go for the exact opposite word to drowsy like "awake" or "energetic", but it got me thinking about night/day parallels and I figured I could do something with that, which made me land on "sunshine"

jay is a clown who dropped out of school and doesn't want to be taken seriously because he's exhausted from the restrictions his family put on him! meanwhile sylvie is a psychologist who graduated early and wants to be taken seriously because he craves respect and validation (possibly out of a lack of respect from his family). parallels!!! I could honestly go on and on about everything in jay's personality that foils sylvie's but I'll just stick to his design because idk if anyone else wants to hear all that 😭

so yeah uh back to his design. his mask used to cover his eyes! I changed it to cover his mouth since sylvie's glasses cover only his eyes, I thought it'd be more fitting if jay's mask covered whatever sylvie's glasses don't cover

he also had a star motif! I felt like this didn't line up with him being sun themed so I scrapped it

lots of jays!!! they're all squished together on one image because tumblr image limit

because his color palette is based off of an inverted version of sylvie's, I already knew I wanted his main colors to be blue, red/pink, black, and brown/bronze. I messed around with this palette a lot before I got it to look ok. there's some earlier versions of his design where he's more pink than red

his design here differs a little from what I ended up sticking with!!!

- the cuffs of his sleeves and his gloves got their colors switched around

- the clown nose on his mask became an actual separate piece instead of just a flat red spot

- the ruffles on his undershirt. gone

- slightly simplified bangs

- no more blue streaks in hair!!! I actually kinda wish I kept these :(

he was actually supposed to be much more outwardly malicious. like one of these characters who does whatever sounds the most fun at the moment regardless of the consequences or their morals. I thought it'd be cool if instead of the usual little shine I give characters on the side of their eyes, jay had a triangle shape towards the top of his eye that looked like a shine, but then when he gets serious and narrows his eyes, it's no longer visible and it makes his eyes look like there's no light in them

I gave him a subtle X motif because I thought it was like the opposite of a swirl. a swirl curls in on itself while an X sticks out sharply in different directions

near the top of the image is an idea for jay's "phoenix design". his powers aren't shown a lot in cfco, but I like to think that after he's defeated in a fight, he can revive himself for a short period of time... like how a phoenix is reborn 😱😱😱😱 anyway this design was supposed to be what he might look like after reviving. it needs some work but I like his hat

the bottom of this image is sketches for his sprites!!!!

and speaking of his sprites...... here's some quick sketches I made for some of his poses!!!!! I wanted his sprites to mirror the poses of some of sylvie's portraits, but with a contrasting emotion. when sylvie's angry he stands up straight and holds his arm out in an accusatory pose. when jay is happy he jolts up and reaches out his arm in delight. when sylvie is proud of himself he leans forward and gestures towards himself. when jay is nervous he jerks to one side and brings his hand to his collar out of uncertainty. can you tell how much I wanted jay to parallel sylvie

by the way while I'm on the topic I think it's worth mentioning: jay and sylvie are...... kinda maybe sorta oc x canon......... (LOUD BOOING SFX) I wrote them as friends and that's how they'll stay but I really love them together and I like imagining, in a scenario where they're both in better places mentally, they're in a qpr. ok. so what. sue me.

moving on from jay, here's one of raziel's first designs all the way from december of last year!!!! this was around when I started to roughly construct the plot of cfco in my brain. i really like how he looks here but I had to leave behind some elements of this design to prevent it from feeling too cluttered and to make them easier to redraw multiple times for their sprites. the design of their sleeves was actually based on a jacket I saw around this time that I thought looked cool

and finally here's evelyn! the first image is one of my first drawings of her along with an idea for what she would've looked like in the past. then the second is a sketch of her portrait compared to the final one. there's actually a lot I want to say about her and by extension cfco as a whole

in my head, cfco was a lot different. it just existed as little collections of scenes I would imagine that I thought I could string together and form a cohesive story out of. these little scenes started to evolve and become more complex, which made me realize I would not be able to make them into anything in that state.

cfco was going to have a much deeper plot centered around evelyn discovering a secret about how epithets function. this secret would have been a lot for one person to handle and being burdened with this knowledge would have caused her a great deal of stress, so she made a nearly impossible game which would reveal this secret to whoever wins it so that someone else can share this burden. I realized while writing the draft of cfco that at my current writing ability, I wouldn't be able to pull a story like this off, and also that whatever I made this secret would probably end up being not possible in the world of ee as more lore gets revealed, so I switched some stuff around and now it's not about that anymore, but I think a consequence of that was now the plot feels a little rushed and unpolished 😭 oh well

the mark on her chest was also originally a scar from something related to this version of the story. I wanted to keep that part of her design even though it's not a scar in the current version of her character, so it's a birthmark now

I thought the themes of "forbidden knowledge" accompanied by vague religious imagery were cool for the original idea and I had integrated these themes into the characters and story so much by that point that it'd be a waste to turn it back around so I figured I should just keep them in even if it makes less sense

raziel is very angel themed! the straps on the back of their jacket are supposed to look like angel wings. the circles all over their outfit is supposed to give the feeling of halos, or the many eyes of a seraphim. evelyn has a pomegranate shaped necklace and her hair is supposed to be shaped like a pomegranate. her surname even used to be plague-odd, pun on "play god" (which I ended up changing to a similar sounding name). raziel and evelyn also have angel numbers associated with them. raziel's is 111 (intuition) and it's present in his birthday, while evelyn's is 444 (protection) and is present in her age and birthday

that's about it!!! if you read this far thank you so much 🙏 even though it's not very good, I'm glad I made cfco after spending so long being scared to write something and share it online. not to be that guy who wants people to ask him about his ocs but if u wanna know anything else about these guys 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 u can ask 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love talking about them (especially jay. if you couldn't already tell he's the favorite child)

by the way here's all of jay and raziel's sprites. the links should hopefully work????

jay

raziel

[lalunanymph]

Ooh what about guilty as sin with hanma?!

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍 [*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dawn.🕹️ ttpd]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ what happens when you throw everything away for a man you could never love?

The lights swinging overhead of this grimy diner in the middle of the night is the only witness to the tears carving down your leeched cheeks.

Clutching your wedding ring in hand, you play with the cool band, ruminating on what you had done just a few hours ago—how you had completely up and destroyed your own marriage.

Before you can formulate a coherent thought, the bell rings, drawing your attention to the 6’5 frame of your secret lover waltzing into the diner.

He siddles up to you, bleached blonde locks falling into his sharp eyes like a sly cat, smelling of nicotine and bad decisions. 

Hanma crowds you against this greasy booth’s wall, uncaring of the scandal he would cause when he places the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I heard what you had done. Are you sure?” 

He traces the river of mascara snaking down the valley of your sweet face, his low voice a resonating timber which makes a shiver run down your spine.

You lean into his touch, unable to fight back the rational voice yelling in the back of your mind; drowning her out in favour of feeling the hard calluses of his palm on your softer skin. 

Those tattoos stamped on the back of his hands feel like they could bleed into your thighs, marking you as his when Shuji drags you into his lap, clutching you tightly to his chest.

“They’re gonna kill you, doll.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I know.” Bravely, your voice doesn’t shake. This choice you had made—it might be the last you had ever taken in your short life.

“He’ll kill you.”

The wedding ring clasped in your palm feels like the last stone that would drag you under the river’s current; the water rushing up to your neck.

And yet, you don’t falter or break. 

“I know.”

You’re drenched in his piney, spicy fragrance; the muskiness of old tobacco.

“I won’t let him kill you.”

The clock on the wall ticks, filling the space with the sounds of an impending time bomb about to blow. A waitress clears her throat. Someone sets a cup down on the counter. You feel their eyes on you, your back an open target for anyone to sink their bullets into.

But, you know the man holding you would push you behind his body; shield you with his undying love.

“I know.”

The light refracts off his dark eyebags, his air of fatigue driving a sliver of guilt straight into your soul. 

You pry your face from his neck, staring into his gorgeous golden eyes with a fiery determination that took him aback. 

“Let’s run away. Tonight. Now. They can’t find me when I’m with you—his men can’t touch me.”

It was a throwaway plan; a desperate woman’s last prayer before the guillotine swung down. You held your breath. 

Shuji’s impassive face betrayed not a hint of his true feelings. You feel your confidence waning, the band around your chest constricting hard enough for you to choke out a soft sob.

Instantly, his hands cup your cheeks, tracing your cheekbones, your trembling lips.

“Are you sure?” His usual deep voice was fraught with tension and insecurity. “Is this what you want?”

You’re nodding before he’s done speaking. “They were always saying how I was unworthy and I will never amount to anything. But, with you, I’m something, Shuji. I’m more than his wife. I’m more than his scapegoat. I want to be yours.”

Baring your heart to such an equally dangerous man was a gamble you would take. All your longing smeared across your palette, your teeth, like indelible stains coming to light under an ultraviolet flash.

You’re almost losing hope. Almost submitting yourself to your horrible fate once your husband finally sinks his claws in you. You calculate the hours you have left before the gun of justice will trail upon the dome of your skull—even if you hadn’t given into the impulsive thoughts. Hadn’t fucked your lover while still with your husband.

Was there such a retribution for a cheater who had yet cheated?

How could you be guilty of a crime you had yet to commit? 

Shuji stops your train of thought, tightening his grip on your cheeks till your lips pucker and your eyes widen.

“Let’s do it,” he says solemnly, then grins like a maniac. “I’m with you doll—forever. Let’s dip tonight. You and I.”

Your heart explodes and your voice catches. You grip his hands holding your face, fighting back your frenzied smile.

“I’m with you, Shuji,” you pledge, and it’s a promise you would uphold as holier than your old wedding vows. 

“Forever.”

©️ lalunanymph

[measuredingold]

fallingforyou

authors note: finally finished this folio piece i've been working on for about two weeks!!! i enjoyed writing this a lot and wish i had wrote it a bit longer, but i'm trying to work on not writing as much for short one-shots (unless you guys like longer writing!) as always enjoy and feedback is appreciated :)

pairing: nick folio x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 4.8k

cw/tags: friends to lovers, p in v, unprotected sex (be safe!!!!! wrap it up folks!!!), fluff, nick being a sweetie, drinking/alcohol consumption, 18+ minors do not interact

The whiskey hit the back of his throat with a burn. Nick's face scrunches up in displeasure as he swallows it down, body tingling from the alcohol. He didn't expect himself to end up here, but his friends wanted his first few nights at home to be exciting. His friends told him he’d have enough time to sleep later. He had been touring almost for five months straight, and the thought of getting the next almost three months off was pure heaven to him. 

Someone next to him called for another round of shots, probably whiskey again, and Nick had to say a prayer to himself before bringing his beer bottle up to his lips. He cleansed his palette, which is hilarious when he realizes he's doing it with more alcohol, but it tastes better than the whiskey his buddies have been pounding down for the last hour. 

"So, Folio," One of them said, leaning towards him across the table. "Meet anyone special out on the road?"

He snorts, head shaking. "Nah, man. Barely had any time." 

"Seriously?" Another one says. "Thought you'd have hundreds of people throwing themselves at your feet."

"We're not like that, dude." Nick responds, a tipsy laugh tumbling from his lips. "I mean, don't get me wrong - we've hooked up with people before but," He shrugs. "We're kind of really boring."

"You? Boring?" His friend across from him snorted, throwing his head back in laughter. "Dude, you were fucking crazy in high school."

"Yeah. High school." Nick rolls his eyes. "I'm 26. I'm old, man, I can't keep up anymore."

The table breaks out in mumbled agreement. It's clear that they're all getting older, and things aren't how they used to be, and Nick kind of likes it that way. Yeah, he likes to party, he fucking loves to drink, and a hook-up here and there is nice every once in a while. It just doesn’t do much for him anymore.

He likes to take it slow; he likes exploring with his friends when they’re in a city they’ve never been to before, and he really likes to sleep. A lot. Jetlag is a bitch and the more you fight it, the more screwed you’re going to be. Trust him, he knows.

The conversation switches and Nick’s only half listening, eyes scanning the bar to see if there’s anyone he may know here. It’s a long shot, because most of the people he knows is already here with him, but he looks anyways.

His eyes find you before you ever find him. 

You look as beautiful as ever and the smile adorn on your lips has Nick's stomach turning in a way he hasn't felt in ages. Probably since the last time he saw you. You met in high school and became somewhat friends, you had been dating a buddy of his, he eventually dated a friend of yours at one point, and so on and so forth. You were always around, and he liked it.

He had seen you at a wedding last summer, no date just like him, and the two of you had spoken for hours that night as if no time had passed. It was nice, but he won't forget the ache in his heart when you called it a night. He walked you out to your car and you had left him with a kiss on his cheek and a playful threat of fighting him if he doesn't text you the next time he's in town.

He never did.

Your eyes finally catch his and something crosses your face, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is exactly. He's nervous, scared you'll be upset with him for not letting you know he's home - and for a while at that - but your lips are stretching into an even wider smile and his shoulders relax. 

"Look what the cat dragged in." You say, a teasing grin settling on your lips as you walk up to his table. He smiles up at you.

"Long time no see, stranger." 

"And who's fault is that?" You tease before sliding in the empty chair beside him. He's sure his buddy can find another place to sit.

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that."

"Be like what?" Your head tilts, feigning innocence. "I'm not the one who promised to tell me the next time they'll be in town."

He gives you a sheepish look, leaning away from you as he slumped back into his seat. "You got me there."

You smile at him now, a real one, and place a hand on his arm.

"Hey," You say softly, "I was just joking. I know you're busy flying around the world being a fucking badass. I'd probably forget, too."

"I won't forget next time. Swear." Nick holds his pinky up for emphasis and you immediately wrap your own around his. He smiles. "Plus, I'm home even longer now."

Your brows quirk up in interest. "Oh?"

"Mhm." Your pinkies are still wrapped around each other's, and his gaze drops down to them before looking back up. "Almost three months. You're gonna be sick of me."

"Holy shit." Your eyes widen. "Finally gonna take me out to lunch then, huh?"

His brows scrunch together in confusion before realization dawns on him. He laughs, unwrapping his pinky from around yours to bring his hand up to run through his hair.

"How the hell do you remember that?"

It was yet another promise he made at that wedding last summer, when the two of you had sat by each other at the reception. A few beers in, feeling a bit tipsy and a lot brave, Nick had brought up one of his favorite lunch spots at home. You'd never been there before, only heard of it in passing, and he had told you he'd take you there the next time he was in town. His treat, he had said.

"You promised!"

His pauses for a moment, eyes locked on yours and he can't help but smile to himself. You're seriously the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on, he decides right then and there. 

"Looks like I'll be taking you out then."

Before you could reply, Nick’s buddy is back with shots and handing them out to everyone at the table. He groans to himself when one finds its way into his hand, and he gives you a look. You’re already laughing.

“What? Can’t do shots anymore?”

“Dude, this is like my 4th one. I’m not sure how many more I can take.”

His friends held one out to you, brow raised as an offering. You take it.

“Here,” You turn your body towards Nick, holding the shot glass out. ”I’ll take one with you. Only one,” With your free hand you hold one finger up, lips curling into a smile. “Still gotta get my ass home.”

Nick groans again. “I wish I had that excuse. My buddy drove me here, so now I’m literally forced to drink.”

“Oh, you poor baby. Whatever shall you do?”

He rolls his eyes but knows his cheeks are heating up, the term of endearment getting to him. The table cheers in unison and he clinks his glass against yours before bringing it to his lips. You keep eye contact as you do the same, and the both of you swallow down the shot. You make a face first, visibly shaking, and then Nick follows, laughter soon escaping him.

“Holy shit, that was terrible.” You cough and Nick only laughs harder.

“Who can’t take shots now?”

You glare at him, though he knows there’s no malice behind it. “Watch it, Folio.”

He’s already feeling good, the alcohol slowly getting to him, and he leans into your space.

“Or what?”

You pause, gazing into his eyes. His heart thuds against his chest when he watched your eyes drop to his lips but in a split second they’re back on his, and you lean forward.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

This cat and mouse game between the two of you has been going on for years now, but Nick was too scared to make the first move. You were friends, who’ve been kind of flirting for years, and he’s seriously thought about kissing you ever since junior year. It’s crazy how he hasn’t… yet.  

“Actually, I think I would.” His arm settles around the back of your chair, but he doesn’t touch you.

You don’t budge, holding his steady gaze, but Nick can see the flush beginning to form on your cheeks. You don’t respond and he tilts his head, giving you a pointed look, and before he could say anything that could get him in trouble his friend is shouting across the table.

"Folio!" The both of you turn your focus to his friend, and Nick's brows furrow together. "You guys wanna play?"

He holds up a pool stick and Nick grins before looking back at you, raising a brow in question. 

"You wanna?"

"I don't know," You say with a shrug, your lips already curling at the end. "You any good?"

"Oh, sweetheart." He coos softly. "I'm the best damn pool player in Maryland."

"Is that so?" Nick nods proudly and your lips stretch into a grin in which he returns, and you push your chair back. "Well, isn't it my lucky day?”

"It sure is." He pushes his own chair back and stands up. "I hope you're ready to kick some ass."

It wasn't too hard to beat Nick's friends, them being a bit too intoxicated to really take the game seriously. It also helped that he was actually good at pool, not fibbing to make himself seem cooler in front of you. You were a pretty decent partner too, getting a few balls down yourself, and when the two of you came out triumphant for the third time in a row, Nick didn't stop himself from wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side.

"We make a pretty good team, huh?" 

You look up at him and smile prettily, and it has Nick's stomach turning, and lean into his touch. "I say we do, Folio."

A few more rounds, all won by your team, the group finally decided to call it a night. Nick walks you out to your car, telling his friend who drove him here that he'll be back in a second. He was a gentleman, so of course he'd make sure you made it back to your car safe. He also wasn't ready to say goodbye yet, chest already heavy at the thought.

"You free Friday?" Nick shoves his hands in his pocket, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. "We could get lunch then. If you'd like."

You look up at him through your lashes and he feels his heart thud sporadically against his chest, but he tries to play it cool. 

"I'd like that a lot." You say softly.

"Cool. I'll actually text you this time." He teases and you laugh, and it sounds like music to his ears. 

Nick watches as you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, trying to keep your smile from spreading. His body warms at that, and he finds it becoming hard to look away from your mouth and the curve of your lips, wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own. He finally gazes back up to find you staring at him intently, brows furrowed as if you're in deep thought.

"What's going on up in that head of yours?"

"Tell me if I'm crossing any lines here." You rub your hands nervously together, “I kind of don’t want tonight to end just yet… I really like talking to you.”

His cheeks flush. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile, all shy and cute and it has Nick wanting to reach out and kiss you right then and there. “Do you… want to come back to my place? To hang out. Me and you.”

His eyes widen. Oh. You’re asking him to go back to your place, alone, and even though you could very well just want to talk, it still has his body heating up.

“Oh.” He says dumbly, still in shock.

"Fuck. Did I read this wrong?" You begin to panic, your cheeks heating up with color. Nick notices immediately and is quick to shake his head, eyes widening.

"No! I mean," He clears his throat, giving you a bashful smile. "Um. No. I don't think you read this wrong at all."

He catches your eyes and sees you visibly relax, but the flush to your cheeks deepens. 

"Oh." You drop your head, hair falling in your face to hide your burning cheeks. Nick can't stop himself from smiling. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He laughs. "I like hanging out with you. I always have."

He hasn't had a sip of alcohol since the shot the two of you took together hours ago and he knows he can't blame this bravery on that, but he likes to think that maybe there's still some liquid courage coursing through his veins. You look up again, a shy smile on your lips.

"So, you’re saying it wouldn't be too crazy to ask you to come home with me?" You ask softly. 

Your words have Nick's body tingling, excitement running through him. He's not sure what you mean exactly, and maybe you seriously just want to hang out more and talk - in which he's completely okay with - but there was a look in your eyes, something he caught the last time he was with you, and his stomach turned again.

"Not crazy at all." His tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip one more time before looking off to the side to hide the growing smile on his lips. "Let me just... Let me go tell him you'll be taking me home, okay? I'll be right back."

You nod, still smiling prettily, and he watches you get into your car. He turns to find his friend leaned up against his car a few spots down already staring at him, brows raised in question.

"Uh, I think she's taking me home tonight."

It takes a moment for the words to settle, his friend’s eyes widening. "No fucking way."

"Not like that!" Nick's quick to get out, but he knows he's lying. It's definitely like that. "We're just catching up."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be catching up alright." His friend teases and Nick rolls his eyes.

"Dude. Shut up."

Nick waves him off as they both say their goodbyes and he made his way back to your car. He takes a deep breath before getting in, giving you a smile while he buckled himself in.

“Ready?” You question, already putting your car in reverse.

Nick settles back against the seat, getting himself comfortable, and nods.

...

The two of you sit across from each other on your couch, beers in hand as Nick goes on another story about his recent travels. You had been the one to ask him, curious about what life is like on the road, and with the alcohol still coursing through his veins it was pretty hard for Nick to stop talking.

"...Sorry," He lets out sheepishly, head dipping down to hide his blush. "I'm probably boring you."

"No!" You quickly get out; your cheeks now flushed a light crimson shade. "No, it's fine. I like hearing your stories."

"Yeah?" He lifts his head up and gives you a smile, which you return easily.

"Of course. It's so exciting to hear about all the places you've been," You pull your legs up onto the couch and rest them underneath you. "I also just like hearing you talk."

"So, what you’re telling me is that you like my voice?”

"Mhm." You nod. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” 

Nick looks at you, and your eyes meet, and he feels the world kind of... stop. He can't even blame this on the beer, because even with the alcohol flowing through him, he's always thought you were beautiful. Especially your eyes, a shade of green he wasn't familiar with, all round and pretty and welcoming. 

"I don't think I've ever told you this," His fingers grip around the glass bottle in his hands and he shifts on the couch, subsequently moving closer to you, "but I think you have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

This catches you off guard and you laugh, light and airy, and Nick loved the way your eyes crinkled. Your face flushes a deeper shade of pink, probably from the alcohol mixed with the unusual compliment, and he smiles. 

"No, you've never told me that." You say once your laughter has died down, eyes landing back on him. "Thank you, Nick."

"Of course."

A pleasant silence falls between the two of you and he's just noticed how close you were, your legs pressing against each other. He tries to ignore the way his heart hammers against his chest, and he sucks in a breath when your hand comes down to rest against his thigh. He drops his gaze to your fingers before flicking them back up to yours, and you’re already staring, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

Nobody moves for a solid minute, just the two of you staring at each other to see who makes the first move. Nick doesn’t miss the way your eyes dropped to his lips like they had in the parking lot, the way your chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and he leans over to grab the beer bottle still secure in your free hand but surely forgotten. You don’t say anything when he places both your forgotten bottles on the coffee table beside the couch before turning back to face you, shifting his body closer to yours.

He places a hand against yours that still rests against his thigh, and your fingers easily slide in between his own. He looks down at them, smiling softly at the way your hands fit together almost perfectly before he feels your hand underneath his chin, tilting his head up.

“Wait.” He says suddenly when he feels the two of you start to lean in, lips barely inches apart. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Nick,” You huff out, your hand now moving to cup the side of his face. He leans into the touch immediately. “I don’t think you understand how badly I want this.”

He laughs. “Oh, babe. I think I do.”

You lean in closer now, nose brushing against his and if he just tilted his head down just right your lips would be touching. His stomach swirls with butterflies and squeezes your hand that’s still in his.

“Then kiss me.”

Fuck it.

He tilts his head down, capturing your lips against his own. You let out a noise, something mixed of a sigh and a whine, and your hand squeezes his. Your lips moved together slowly, unsure, before Nick released his grip on your hand to reach up and cup your face. He was determined now, tongue darting out to swipe at your bottom lip, and you made another noise. It went straight through him, body buzzing in excitement at this newfound territory that he didn’t want to lose just yet.

You pull away, only to your shirt off of your body, and then you’re leaning back against the couch, pulling Nick with you. He follows, the two of your shifting around for him to easily slide in between your legs before his lips are back against yours and with a purpose.

You feel soft in his hold, and the way your body pressed against his was something he’s never experienced before. His hands shook as they gripped your hips, rolling his flush against yours, and the sound you let escape was heavenly. He groans, his cock hardening with each roll of your hips and he has to pull away to catch his breath.

He looks down at you, your eyes hooded, and lips parted, and he has to bite down on his lip to hold in the groan that’s threatening to escape. You look so fucking beautiful underneath him, the fucked-out expression you wore on your face is something he’s never going to forget, tucking it into the back of his mind for another time. He sits up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room and you’re already shimmying out of your jeans, kicking them off.

“Eager much?” He teases, though he’s a little breathless at the sight of you only in your underwear. He’s already messing with the zipper of his jeans before you even respond.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s why I’m trying to do here, darlin’.”

A whine pulls out from deep in your chest and it goes straight to Nick’s already achingly hard cock, and he’s quick to rid himself of his jeans. He’s on you again in seconds, lips finding yours again as he finds solitude in between your thighs. He rolls his hips down and moans against yours lips, the feeling of your clothed and already damp core against his cock has his mind going hazy for a second or two.

“Fuck,” He grunts out, pulling away again briefly. “Do you have a condom? I wasn’t exactly prepared for this.”

Your arms move to wrap around his neck, pulling him back down to you. “I’m on the pill, and I don’t think I’m patient enough to dig around for one. I need you now.”

His cock twitches at your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Nick.” You groan this time, annoyed, and you nip at his bottom lip before pulling back, head pressing back against the arm of the couch. He sucks in a breath when your eyes meet. “I trust you. And if I’m being honest, if you’re not inside me in the next ten fucking seconds I will lose my goddamn mind.”

Nick lets out a surprised laugh and your cheeks flush. He sits up to pull his boxers down and watches you shimmy your underwear down, sitting up briefly to remove your bra before falling back on the couch. He settles back in between your legs, lifting them up to wrap around his waist.

“Demanding little thing, huh?” His voice is low as he wraps a hand around his aching cock, the tip glaringly red as he gives himself a few strokes. “I like it.”

You keen at his words, eyes fluttering shut and he has to collect himself and not pound into you immediately. He takes his time, though, slowly sliding the tip up and down your already soaked folds. The moan that rips from you the second he pushes in has something beneath his chest twisting, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering around wildly.

He’s not even all the way in but you already feel incredible, your cunt clenching around him as you take him inch by inch. He’s sure by the scrunch of your face and the way your nails dig into his forearms that the stretch isn’t the most pleasant, and he leans over, fluttering kisses around your face.

“Okay?” He questions, voice already strained. You give a little nod but don’t bother opening your eyes. “Taking me so well already, baby. So fucking good.”

Your whole body flushes at his words and you clench around his length again, and Nick’s vision blurs briefly. He’s not sure how he’s going to last longer than thirty seconds at this point. He sucks in a deep breath when he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flushed against yours, and you whine.

He stills, worry rushing through him. “Feel alright?”

You finally open your eyes, lids heavy and gaze hazy, and give another nod of your head.

“Mhm. Just feel…” You whimper out, hips wiggling down before you gasp. “So full.”

“You feel fucking incredible.” He groans out, forehead pressing against yours. Your arms reach up to wrap around his neck and he kisses you, soft and gentle. “Tell me when I can move.”

“Move.” You whine, hips wiggling again. “Please move, baby.”

The first roll of his hips has you moaning out, but Nick swallows it with another kiss. His hands roam over your body as you move together and he feels you shudder in his hold as he gives a rather deep roll of his hips, gasping out his name softly. He can’t help but whine into your mouth, wanting to make you say his name over and over and over again. It sounded like you were meant to say it, all pretty and fucked out, nails now digging into his shoulders as he picks up speed.

He reaches down between the two of you, pressing calloused fingers against your throbbing clit and rubs circles in time with his thrusts. You throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut as a low, deep moan falls from your now swollen lips, and Nick leans forward and presses open mouthed kisses along your exposed neck, his thrusts or fingers not letting up.

“Nick…” You whimper out, nails digging even further into his shoulders that he’s sure there will be a mark tomorrow. He’ll be surprised if you don’t break. “Fuck.”

“I love when you say my name.” He groans against your neck and gives another deep roll of his hips, causing your back to arch off the couch. “You close, baby? Tell me what to do, wanna make you feel good.”

You moan. “Keep doing what you’re doing, please. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t, continuing to rub your swollen clit in time with his thrusts, your cunt clenching around him so tightly he almost forgets how to fucking breathe. You feel other worldly, like something he’s never experienced before, and he swears he sees fucking stars the second he feels your cunt clench around him one last time. You come with a shout of his name, body shaking under him as your orgasm spread throughout your body.

He moans, pressing his face against your neck as he chases his own high, and he somehow remembers to pull out, fisting his cock and giving it a few sharp tugs before he spills all over your stomach. His chest rises and falls heavy with each breath he took, hair falling in his face as he tries to come back to earth. He looks down at you and his heart skips a beat, as cliché as it sounds, at the fucked out grin on your lips.

Nick can’t help himself and he leans down, lips catching your own in the most tender kiss he can muster up at the moment.

“Where’s your bathroom?” He questions once he pulls away, moving some hair out of your, and tsks softly when you try to push him back and sit up. “No, no, no. Stay here. I got it.”

You pause, peering up at him before you slowly lay back down. “Down the hall, first door to the left.”

Nick pulls himself up from the couch with a groan, eyes scanning the room to find his boxers before he reaches down for them and puts them on. It doesn’t take him more than a minute to get to the bathroom and find something to wipe you off with, and he comes back into the living room to find you right where he left you. He wipes up the mess he made on your stomach and is gentle in between your legs, lips curling in a slight smirk at the way you squirmed when he did so.

You’re quiet when you finally stand from the couch, searching for you shirt. He can’t help but watch, the curves of your body forever embedded in his mind, and his eyes linger when he notices the bottom of your shirt barely covers your ass. You turn to look at him, cheeks still flushed, but you wore an expression as if you were in deep thought. He thought it was the cutest thing ever, his lips tugging into a smile.

“What?” He questions, leaning back against the couch. You shrug, a smile slowly creeping onto your own lips.

“…Would it be crazy to ask you to stay the night?”

His smile only widens at your words, heart thudding against his chest.

“As long as you let me buy you breakfast in the morning.”

“Breakfast and lunch?” You reach out for him, and he lets you tug him up from the couch, lacing your fingers together as you drag him towards your bedroom. “Sounds almost as if you like me or something, Folio.”

“Maybe I do.”

You pause in the doorway, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes and he doesn’t stop himself from leaning down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You giggle when he pulls away and tug him into your room.

“It’s a date.”

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Concerned König, protective König, concerned Price, protective Price, TW: Predatory behavior, TW: Manipulation, TW: Kidnapping, TW: Hostage situations

I'm gonna split this chapter into two parts because of how long it is lol. So this is Chapter 7 Part 1.

(Part 1)

König POV:

The next day came far too soon for König's taste. He'd woken up sore and disoriented, still dressed in the club outfit from the previous evening. From what he could currently remember, he’d had a pretty good time. At first, being around so many people he didn’t know really made him nervous. But once he had begun to settle in with a few drinks, that fear had quickly faded. In truth, he had probably gotten a bit too comfortable for his own good. Because the last thought he had that wasn’t muddled and hazy was joining Soap’s drinking game.

Soap was a true heavyweight when it came to alcohol. And König knew he shouldn’t have pushed himself to compete with a guy like that. But in the moment, it was so hard to resist whenever Soap would shove another drink in his hand and egg him on. He didn’t know just how many such drinks he’d gulped down that night. But from the piercing headache that was hammering away behind his eyes, it had been far too many.

With great effort, König hoisted himself out of his bed and began a groggy march towards the bathroom. Fortunately, Price had given him an exception from that morning’s run. He knew excessive drinking was not a common occurrence for him and had chosen to give him a bit of grace since he was enjoying his time with his girlfriend. Konig was beyond grateful for the merciful gesture too. Because the only thing his body was craving was hydration, a hot shower, and maybe some excedrin.

A little while later, König was feeling much more like his usual self. Clear-headed and relaxed. His headache had vanished, too, thanks to the medicine. He was looking like himself again, too, having returned to his usual tactical outfit. The only reason he was able to be so relaxed at the moment was the captain’s quick thinking. Thankfully, Price had left him a text last night that let him know you were okay and that he had arranged a ride to get you home. In addition to his persistent hangover, Konig had initially awoken in panic when he couldn't remember how he had gotten home last night and much less how you had. But as he approached the door to your room, he was much more at ease. He wanted to be there when you woke up so he could help you out of bed and get you feeling better, too.

He knocked at the door twice, but there was no reply. Assuming you were still in the clutches of a heavy slumber, König opened the door and wandered inside. But he was startled to find the room dark and empty. There were no signs that you had even been there since all of you had left for the club last night. Your bed sat clearly untouched, makeup palettes and hair supplies still littering its surface. Just as they had been before you had left. So where were you?

Just then, Price stepped out from his own room and into the hall. He was armed with a towel and a bottle of shampoo as he headed for the bathroom, sweat from his exercise still evident on his clothes. But König hurriedly waved him over to your room, full of concern.

“Captain?” he asked, gesturing to your empty room. “Have you seen Y/n this morning?”

Price poked his head around the doorframe, scanning the room as he shook his head. “No, I thought she was still passed out. Figured she could use a chance to sleep in after last night.”

König scratched his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How did she get home last night? I was too out of it to remember much.”

“When I took everyone else back to base, Ghost said he’d get her home alright. But, come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around either.”

König turned, urgently knocking on Ghost’s door across the hall. But again, he was met with silence. He cast Price a questioning look, hesitant to enter the lieutenant’s quarters uninvited. But Price nodded, now looking a bit concerned himself. So with the captain’s permission, König turned the knob and the two of them ventured inside. The room sat just as dark and empty as Y/n’s had. And there was no sign it had been disturbed since last night either.

He stood in the middle of the room, head in his hands as his anxiety hit in full force. Something must have happened. Had there been an accident on their way home? Maybe a drunk driver had lost control and had hit them! They could both be hurt. Or worse. It was only when Price spoke that his mind stopped racing for a few seconds. The captain had instead chosen to explore the empty room, looking for any clues that would set their minds at ease and explain things. He was crouched in front of Ghost’s closet, looking at something.

“König,” he said, his voice measured and tense as if he was trying his best not to scare him. He had picked a small object up off the floor and was studying it intently. “That equipment from RTI yesterday? Remind me what we did with that gear once we finished that training.”

König paused to think for a moment, his hazy memory gradually lifting to reveal the events of the previous day that had led up to their night out. That’s right, they had mandatory training that day. Resistance to Interrogation, or RTI for short. It was important for their entire team to be well prepared to successfully complete their missions, but doubly important for them to be trained for what could happen if they ever failed. Typically, the training involved each of them practicing maintaining dead silence through various simulations of torture, humiliation, and interrogation. Nothing was taken too far and no real harm was done. But if you let the illusion get to you and you uttered anything other than your name, rank, and serial number? You failed and would have to repeat the course until you passed.

“It was all returned to secure storage,” König nodded, the memory beginning to come back. “I saw to it personally, just like you requested.”

Price looked tense. “I don’t think that it was. Not all of it.”

He tossed König the object that he had been looking at and grabbed an open duffel bag Ghost had shoved to the back of his closet. And as he dumped its contents out onto the floor, both of their expressions immediately went grim.

Vials of a clear solution tumbled out, many of them empty. With them came a handful of syringes, pairs of handcuffs, a vast array of hunting knives, and a bundle of rope followed after them. Face going pale, König studied the vial Price had tossed him. It contained a semi-clear liquid, and the vial was marked with a frenzy of warning labels and cautionary messages. And turning the bottle, König read its identifying label: CL-369. In other words, ketamine. Everyone knew it was both potent and incredibly dangerous. It was popular as a “date rape” drug for a reason. Just a small dose would have a person out in ten seconds or less.

The mood in the room abruptly shifted. König was no longer a concerned boyfriend. And Price was no longer his equally concerned friend. Instead, as the gravity of what they’d just discovered began to sink in, their minds immediately switched from off-duty to active as their training kicked in. They were soldiers now, faced with a horrifying mission they never once imagined they'd ever face.

"Suit up,” Price ordered, jumping to his feet and heading towards the hall. “Ghost’s gone rogue, and I think he's taken Y/n with him. We leave in five. Move!"

König didn’t need to be told twice as the two of them scrambled off to their respective rooms.

In much less than five minutes, they regrouped in the hall. König had crammed every weapon and tool he could grab into the front of his vest. He clicked his helmet into place and gripped his rifle in his hands, clutching it so tightly that his knuckles went white. The image of a friendly and caring teammate had quickly vanished. In its place was that of a ruthless killing machine practically quaking with a rampant hunger for blood. Price had changed into his combat gear, quickly reloading his handgun before shoving it into his leg holster as they rushed out the door towards his car.

"Do we have eyes on him? Any intel?” König asked, a newfound coldness in his voice.

"No,” Price quipped, starting the car and tearing out of the parking lot. ”But I know exactly where he would go."

König unclicked the safety on his rifle, his eyes narrowed and murderous.

"Take me to him. Now."

Reader POV:

Your morning began with pain. But you would gladly trade what you were feeling for a hangover any day. The confusion and disorientation you felt as your consciousness slowly resurfaced was becoming all too familiar at this point. The skin of your back felt raw. Your wrists stung, and every place the knife had touched felt like fire had been stitched into your flesh.

Every fiber of your body complained as you rolled over in bed. Wait, when had you been put in a bed? The repetitive question of where you were now emerged in your mind, but you batted it away. You were too tired to ask that question again. Even if you did get the answer, it's not as if it would help things. If you weren't back at home, at the barracks, or in König's arms, then you didn't feel safe. And upon realizing you weren’t alone in the room, you felt even more unsafe.

Ghost was lazily reclined in a chair across the room, facing the bed. His legs were spread as he relaxed against the backrest, absentmindedly twirling a hunting in his fingers as he no doubt waited for you to fully wake up. He'd changed, too. In place of his usual dark outfit, he was wearing a fitted dark shirt underneath his tactical vest. The short sleeves bulged to make room for his arms. His tactical pants had been replaced with jeans. But the leg holster strapped to his upper thigh quickly broke any illusion of casual clothing. You could see a glint of metal as the silver grip of his pistol peeked out from the holster, contrasting with the black straps of the harness.

His eyes flitted to you as you moved. "Morning."

You didn't answer, instead taking the opportunity to scan your surroundings. You were lying on a small, wooden bed. The blankets were soft as they fluttered over your otherwise bare skin. Your dress had vanished, but it's not like it would have been much use to you now after Ghost had sliced it to pieces. So you clung to the bedsheets, pulling them up to your chin.

The flooring was made of dark wooden panels. In fact, everything around you was. It seemed you were in some type of cabin. And peeking out the window beside you, you could see nothing but trees stretching out into the distance. With the sunlight streaming through them like that, it was almost like a picturesque vacation spot. But this wasn't a vacation. This wasn't picturesque in the slightest.

"Sleep well?" he asked, giving the knife another flip.

You were tempted to ignore him again, but you gave in and nodded dismissively. It was clear what he was attempting. He was grasping at straws and trying to connect with you. He was bad at it, but it was still painfully obvious. Somehow, after everything he'd done, he still managed to cling to hope that you'd eventually feel something for him. Part of you envied his hopefulness too, since yours continued to fade away. Regardless of how insane the notion was, you got the feeling he had no plans of stopping his pursuit until he achieved that result. Until you somehow confessed feelings for him or something.

"Ghost?" You asked, timidly. "Where are we?"

He didn't answer you, instead beckoning you over with the blade of the knife. You hesitated, but thought better of it when his eyes narrowed. So, you pushed yourself up with a soft groan as your entire body protested. But you ignored it as you carefully wrapped the bedsheet around you in a makeshift robe and climbed to your feet.

Ghost shook his head before nodding back towards the bed. "The sheet stays."

Though he'd already seen every bit of you so far, it still felt humiliating as you left the sheet behind and nervously came to stand in front of him.

After looking you over as he gave the knife one last twirl, he stowed it away in his vest and reached for you. You immediately jumped when his hands grabbed your hips, but he didn't do anything terrible. Instead, he turned you around so that your back faced him before pulling you down into his lap.

You didn't like facing away from him like this. You didn't like not having any clue what he was doing or thinking. But you carefully lowered yourself onto his thighs at his request.

A dull soreness pulsed from your groin, the area feeling slightly swollen and definitely sensitive to the touch. The fabric of his jeans was rough against the tender skin, making you grit your teeth and shift your position. You didn’t want to look down there to confirm it, but you were fairly certain you'd find dried blood or bruising if you did.

Your whole body was littered with darkened blotches that stood as silent witnesses to his previous roughness. And as he began inspecting each one, you felt yourself grow tense. His fingers lightly prodded at each cut and scratch. The touch was firm. Not soft enough to be classified as gentle, but not necessarily malicious either.

You hissed as his hands moved to your upper back. The skin was still raw and irritated.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

"Of course it hurts," you grumbled internally. What kind of question was that? But you didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now. And you really didn’t want to piss him off when your body was still recovering from his last approach. So, again, you chose to simply nod your head.

Ghost didn't say anything else, but turned you around in his lap so that you straddled his hips. Panic returned as he did. You fully expected that a repeat of the night before was well on its way. But to your surprise, he just picked you up and carried you into another room. After unceremoniously depositing you into a large bathtub and tossing you a clean cloth, he sat on top of the closed lid of the toilet nearby.

"Clean yourself up," he snapped. "Make it quick."

Obediently, you closed the drain and cranked the knob. A torrent of warm water streamed out, quickly lining the bottom of the tub. It stung a bit when it first touched your skin, but the feeling quickly became soothing as the stubborn pain began melting away. You let the tub fill up as high as it could go before shutting off its supply. Then, with a sigh, you let your shoulders rest against the back of the tub. The water enveloped you like a warm embrace as the water surrounded your body. And if you tried hard enough, you could imagine you were back home unwinding after a long day of work.

You sat for a while, conjuring up alternate versions of the past few days that fit seamlessly into your everyday life. Maybe Elliott had brought those amazing doughnuts to the office again. Maybe Daphne had her hands full with bug fixes and needed you to help out. Maybe the client submitted updates to their deliverables and the whole team was working late to meet their demands. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, Ghost’s hovering presence in the room broke any illusion you tried to construct. So, eventually, you opened your eyes and accepted the grim reality. Looking his way revealed he was just sitting there with his forearms resting against his thighs, staring right back at you. You sat up a bit, folding the washcloth in your hands before setting it down on the edge of the tub. Then you sat there, staring right back in a silent request for a bit of privacy.

"You bathe with me here or you don't bathe at all," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I wasn't born yesterday."

Though it was not the response you wanted, his instincts weren’t wrong. The minute he had left the room, you had fully intended to scan the area for anything that could serve as a weapon. Anything sharp that you could hide in your hand or behind your back. But with that plan now foiled, you turned your body as far towards the opposing wall as you could before beginning to scrub your body clean. You could feel his eyes drilling into your back as you did, too. Always watching. Always wanting. So you chose conversation to at least ease the tension.

"Why are you being so nice to me now?" You asked timidly.

Ghost returned to playing with his knife as he spoke. "After what you admitted last night, I thought you deserved some positive reinforcement. I'm not shy to mete out punishment when necessary. By now, that should be clear. But you should know that being my good girl brings rewards, too."

What you admitted last night? Did he mean the whole “who do you belong to” line he’d thrown and pressured you to answer? Apparently, he was under the impression that coerced compliance was consent! That what he'd forced you to say last night was how you truly felt! Dumbfounded and frustrated with his denial, you were tempted to correct him. You didn't want to give him even the slightest idea that you were a willing participant in any of this. But, at the same time, you really wanted this bath. You needed it. You needed something other than pain just for a few minutes. So you stayed silent, continuing to gently wash the dirt from your skin.

As you did so, your stomach rumbled loudly. Embarrassed, you shot Ghost a pleading look over your shoulder. If he was in a rewarding mood, might as well get as much out of it as you could before it passed.

After digging around in his pocket, he produced a crumpled-looking granola bar. From the looks of it, it'd been in there for ages. You wouldn't have been surprised if nothing but a plume of granola dust came out when you opened the wrapper. But thankfully, it was still mostly intact. You munched at your rations hungrily, your stomach happy to have anything at all to digest. It felt like you hadn't eaten in days! The situation was still odd. But at least you were no longer covered in dirt and starving.

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

[jennagrinsoverml]

Last night I sat down with my 15 year old niece (also a ML fan) and finally watched the movie.

Friends, it's not good.

The Good:

The animation is really pretty

The background djwifi is cute

The akumatized villains are really cool

"Watermelon!" 😂

The Bad:

I hated Adrien. We don't see any of his series kindness and he's kind of a jerk actually??? And I really didn't appreciate his pity party after Ladybug's rejection or his making everything about that when PARIS IS LITERALLY ON FIRE. Also he was pretty callous in the way he rejected Marinette.

I could see the ladynoir angle at least but it wasn't clear at all why Marinette even liked Adrien. I didn't ship the square in this at all though.

The singing. I don't understand why they made it a musical, but it wasn't a good choice. And using different VAs for singing can work but for Marinette it was jarring. We go from soft English speaking voice to deep French-accented singing voice and just no.

The whole plot line just felt really underdeveloped??? Like what even happened with Gabriel after his reveal at the end??

The ???:

So we're just making the butterfly the evil miraculous, eh?

Fu was just...weird

I think I need to go rewatch Origins as a palette cleanser.

Have you watched the movie? What did you think?