#i wanted the fingers to seem more obviously stained from the fruit but. i was having trouble figuring out how to...

[bb-editing]

ROXANA (Chapter 21)

*TW: Self-harm

­­­–––

“Are you going to visit the toy now, Miss Roxana?

“No, I’m going to stop by the poison butterfly hatchery first.”

Three days had passed since that day, and my daily routine had become quite predictable. I visited Cassis three times a day to deliver is meals- which also allowed him to gauge the passing of time- and I made sure to engage a physician anytime I was too busy to take care of his wounds.

I had many other tasks to complete besides visiting Cassis, one of which was caring for the poison butterflies. The hatchery was humid and warm, with the air inside flowing softly but heavily.

The space was originally a greenhouse to cultivate poisonous plants, but after obtaining a poison butterfly egg, it was converted into a hatchery. Still, it was covered in poisonous plants, and no ordinary person would be able to withstand being in this room for more than ten seconds without fainting. However, because of my poison tolerance, the poisonous air had little to no effect on me.

I walked deeper into the greenhouse, and after a while, a black egg wrapped in a thorn vine appeared in my sight. The poison butterfly’s egg was now almost the size of two fists.

I stood in front of it, pulling out a dagger from my clothes. I rolled up my sleeves and cut my skin with the blade. Blood dripped over the egg, which soon turned dark red.

“Eat well. And if you aren’t already, grow faster.”

At first, I had three eggs, but because the hatching success rate of poison butterflies is only around thirty percent, I only had the one egg left.

The poison butterflies were monstrous creatures, and were extremely difficult to find, not to mention tame. So in order for me to be imprinted as their master, they had to consume my blood regularly like this before hatching.

Another nutrient the butterflies consume is poison, as the name suggests, which makes this poison-filled room a good place for breeding them. The same was true for my blood, which has been infused with poison since childhood.

Originally, the butterfly egg should have been discovered by one of the male leads- the “White Beast.” He had the ability to deal with monsters, and he succeeded in locating and breeding the poisonous butterflies. Thankfully, I had remembered this scene in the novel, and told Emily the precise location so that she could bring the eggs to me.

Breeding and taming monsters was a rare ability to have. Obviously, I wasn’t the best at it, but it was good enough that I was being imprinted as the butterflies’ master. If I succeeded in hatching them, I had more means of protection; if I failed, I had nothing to lose.

After consuming my blood, the egg now seemed to be covered in a thin film. I reached my hand out to stroke the surface, and as if it were alive, a warmth immediately penetrated the tip of my fingers making contact with it.

Somehow, I had the feeling that the day of their hatching wasn’t far away.

* * *

After leaving the hatchery, I went to visit Cassis.

“Here’s your lunch.” Today, he was given chicken stew, wholegrain bread, and fruit. I still avoided providing him food that required the use of forks and knives, so the menu was slightly limited.

“It must be troublesome for you to have to come here all the time.” Cassis was still aloof, but seemed less uncomfortable with me than he was previously- he was more gentle and cooperative than I thought he’d be.

I’m sure I’ll be able to bring him food with forks and knives soon.

As per usual, he proceeded without saying anything.

After placing the tray on the bed and stepping back, I felt something rise in my throat. Oh. I felt nauseous and wanted to vomit.

Suddenly, dark red blood stained the palm of my hand clasped over my mouth. I suppose I’m reacting badly to the poison Emily brought me yesterday. I calmly wiped my lips with my sleeves.

Then I heard a sound in front of me. Looking up, I saw Cassis staring at me. His face was hardened and surprised- his widened eyes were a little unfamiliar to me. He lifted the tray from the bed and placed it beside him.

“You…” He spoke and faltered, as if unsure what to say. “… That blood…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized. It must have been strange for Cassis. “I brought you food, and now I’m ruining your appetite with the sight of blood.” I hope he doesn’t think it’s dirty.

Cassis’ facial expression changed with my reaction. He looked at me, half suspicious, half confused. “No… Didn’t you just vomit blood?”

“Yes, but… you don’t need to worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” I said, covering my lips with the back of my sleeves. There was no mirror here, so I couldn’t wipe the blood from my mouth and chin completely.

But my sleeves were already stained with blood, and Cassis’ eyes seemed nailed to the patches of red on my clothes.

“Vomiting blood isn’t considered a big deal?” Cassis’ face seemed harder than before. “Something like that…”

I thought a little about how to answer, before finally saying, “It’s fine; it’s happened a lot in the past.” Why would I need to explain why I’d vomited blood? On the contrary, it was the way of the Agriche to develop a tolerance to poison by consuming it from an early age.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to show such a scene here, but it wasn’t really a big deal in the eyes of the Agriche.

“So it turns out that last time…” Cassis drifted off.

Huh? Last time? When have I ever vomited blood in front of Cassis? I didn’t have any recollection of that happening, but Cassis didn’t elaborate.

But stranger than that… “Are you worried about me?” I looked at Cassis, and he flinched as if I’d just insulted him.

“Why would I be worried?” A chilly look was cast on his face. “Isn’t it natural to be surprised that someone’s vomiting blood in front of you?”

He may have denied it, but he also gave me an opportunity to dig deeper into this weakness of his. “Oh, I see… It’s a familiar sight to me, so I never thought that anyone else would be surprised.”

Looking at him, I realized that he was the type of person to maintain a strong appearance in front of the strong, and an air of vulnerability in front of the weak. If so, it would be alright- no, better- for me to show more vulnerability in front of him.

“But I thought you would hate me… It’s caring of you to worry about me like this. Thank you.” I smiled faintly, deliberately using a cool but bitter tone.

Cassis was rendered speechless, and I thought that it would be best to leave it at that.

“I’ll take my leave, then.” It would be better for him to eat in peace. “I’m sorry that I surprised you,” I told Cassis again, turning around.

Cassis stiffly shut his mouth, and I could still feel his gaze digging into me as I walked towards and out the door.

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day Five- Photograph

“That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.” ― Hope Collier,

Aubrey was almost out the door when her mother dropped the bombshell on her. Usually her mom wasn’t even awake when she was leaving for school, she was still sleeping off whatever bender she had gone on the night before. She was up today, in a stained robe with unkempt hair, but she was up.

“We’re going to visit Flora for dinner tonight. Go home on Basil’s bus, I don’t want you trying to skip out on this,” Past Aubrey would have been elated. Not only was her mom up, but they were going to see her best friend for dinner. Now she growled in irritation and rolled her eyes.

“Mom-”

“Aubrey, don’t even think about starting up,” Her mother cut her off with a warning look. Aubrey shut her mouth but hot anger lit up in her veins. She bit her tongue to stop from screaming as her mother continued her lecturing, “That woman is old and her time is coming soon. Respect thy elders, it’s the godly thing to do,”

The hypocrisy of it filled Aubrey’s mouth with poison, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her mom loved to spout religious crap like this all the time, acting like saying scripture somehow equated to being a good person. Aubrey would have loved to ask her what part of her oh so precious book told her that getting drunk every night was godly, but if she started that fight again she would never make it to school on time.

“Whatever,” Aubrey muttered in lieu of her actual thoughts, pushing past her mother and out the front door. Her mother’s little lecture had taken long enough that the bus stop was completely empty, and that only made Aubrey’s mood even worse. She seized her scooter and whipped it around, putting all of her mental frustration into the physical act of riding to school and away from her house as fast as possible.

The ride did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s anger and a dark storm cloud hung around her through every period. Students gave her a wide berth and teachers looked at her with distrustful eyes. They were all expecting something to happen, and she hated them for it. They always expected the worst of her. Kel had tried approaching her during their shared study hall, and she ignored him till he left. He wasn’t a true friend, he didn’t really care about her. Aubrey had to remember that, or she would fall for his tricks again.

By the end of the day, Aubrey was exhausted. To the rest of the world, she seemed just as bitter and angry as she was when she got to school, but it was just an easy front that she put out to keep them all away. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, climb the stairs to her room, and curl up with her bunny (). She wanted to block out the world and all of the fake people in it, forget about false friends and the never ending loneliness that threatened to crush her at any point.

She couldn’t. She had to go to Basil’s.

She found Basil waiting outside, off in a corner. He was standing slightly hunched over, like he was trying to disappear right where he stood. Absolutely pathetic, but that was Basil. A weakling who had used Aubrey. Kel was with him, clearly talking at Basil and not to him. Basil wasn’t even paying attention, just staring off at the trees and playing with his fingers the way Aubrey hated. She walked over in long purposeful strides, putting herself in the middle between the two boys.

“Get lost,” Aubrey snapped, hoping that Kel would argue right back with her. It would be a good outlet, something that would get rid of the storm cloud. Basil was no fun to fight with, he just cried and apologized. At least Kel would do it properly.

But luck was not on her side. Kel didn’t fire back with a harsh retort or even give her a glare. He just sighed and rolled his eyes, something that instantly set alarm bells of resentment ringing in her head. She hated when he acted higher and mightier, rising above her like he was too good to fight with her. It was the same as her mother’s religious rambling, just another hypocrite who thought they were better than they were and judged Aubrey for not playing their game.

“I’ll see you later, Basil ,” Kel said, deliberately putting emphasis on ignoring that Aubrey even existed. The urge to kick out his legs and pound him into the dirt was overwhelming, but the sound of the buses starting to rumble cut off that train before it left the station. She growled and yanked Basil along with her by the wrist, walking over to his bus and climbing the high steps. Aubrey practically threw him into an open three seater and launched her bag in after, sitting as close to the aisle as she could and as far away from him as possible.

She didn’t want them, but as she sat on the bus with her former oldest friend, memories of all the times they had done this before came to her one by one. They had always chosen a two seater before, they hadn’t needed the room of three. They would cram close together and read the same book, or chat about all the things they could do when they got to his house. They had almost missed their stop multiple times because they were so lost in their conversation, and oftentimes they had to shout for the bus driver to hold on so they could get off. It was funny, sweet to the point of saccharine.

The thoughts made Aubrey sick now. She tried to pretend it was just the righteous fury she obviously should have felt at their betrayal, but there was something else in there. A thing with dark claws that dug into her chest and made itself known with pain. The word for it sat heavy in her mind, there but unspoken, pushed to some long forgotten corner that she never looked at and never wanted to. Aubrey had enough trouble grieving the dead, she had no need for grieving the living too. The bus reached their stop and she hopped off without looking back. Basil would follow or he wouldn’t, she didn’t care either way.

“Aubrey!” Flora tottered towards them down the sidewalk, her cane clutched firmly in her right hand. Her white hair was pulled up in her signature bun, and her dress was a pretty floral blue that matched her eyes.

She pulled Aubrey into a hug once the young girl was close enough, holding her in a tight squeeze. Aubrey put her hands around Flora, but she didn’t hug her back. Flora was fragile, her bones easily felt through paper dry skin. Aubrey hoped she never got old enough to feel this breakable, but the hug was still warm and comforting. Flora smelled like old lady soap and dried flowers and clean laundry, a smell that Aubrey loved for how safe it made her feel, and hated for how fleetingly often she got to experience it.

When Flora pulled back she kept her hands on Aubrey’s upper arms, looking the girl up and down. Aubrey resisted the urge to squirm, holding her breath as the old woman appraised her. She hadn’t seen Basil’s grandmother since the funeral almost two years ago, and she knew Flora hadn’t seen her shocking pink hair yet, or the new styles she liked to wear. Aubrey began to steel herself for a long winded speech about respecting her body like a temple, the kind her mom liked to preach after her second bottle of wine.

“You got taller,” Flora commented, turning around and leading the way back to the house, “Come inside, I made some snacks for you two,”

Aubrey slowly let out the breath she had been keeping, letting Basil walk in front of her and towards his house. Flora had never been a mean spirited woman or purposefully judgemental, but Aubrey’s threshold for trust was a lot lower than it used to be. Her anger began to bleed out and shame took its place. Aubrey usually thought the worst of people, and that didn’t bother her because she was usually proven right in the end, but there were exceptions. Flora had never done anything to earn her ire, even if her grandson had.

Aubrey followed them into their home, taking her shoes off at the entrance and looking around. Nothing had changed really, flowers and plants still hung in pots all around and the bookshelf was still packed to the brim. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and vegetables half cut on a board next to it. Flora gestured towards the table and slowly made her way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and two oranges. She made quick work of the fruits and was soon putting a platter of cut up pieces of fruit between the two children.

“You two can finish your homework here while I finish up the grub. Dinner is going to be in an hour and a half. I know five o’clock is a little early for you youngins, but I like to be in bed by six!” The old woman laughed at her own nonexistent joke, the sound creaky and roughened with age. She had to stop to cough halfway through, but she waved away Basil’s worried gaze and reaching arms, “Please dear I’m fine. Aubrey you have to teach my grandbaby here how to relax more and just enjoy life,”

Aubrey didn’t respond, using digging through her backpack as an excuse to not have to acknowledge what Basil’s grandmother had said. It was less of a hassle to pretend that she hadn’t heard then to lie and act like she cared if Basil was uptight or not. Basil also didn’t say anything, he just started his work in silence. Flora’s genial mood faltered ever so slightly, but she took their dampened mood in stride.

“Okay then, while you two mope, I’ll keep working on dinner,”

Flora went over to the kitchen proper and turned on the radio, listening to some talk show that Aubrey’s mom also liked. The girl settled into her seat and began to flip through her work, picking and choosing which assignments she would do and which ones she would blow off. There was no point to doing some of them, the teacher was going to fail her anyway, so why should she try? At least if she put all her efforts into one or two classes with cool teachers, she might pass. It was almost dinner time when her peace was broken without her permission

“Did you understand the earth science homework?”

Aubrey looked up, shooting Basil a derisive look for even bothering to speak. He flinched away from her, but held firm, waiting for an answer. She didn’t even want to bother, but she knew Flora was nearby and probably listening, and she would have questions if Aubrey ignored her grandson, or worse, told him to shut up.

“It was easy,” Aubrey tersely replied, putting her anger into her pen. Her words started to come out jagged and uneven, but she didn’t care. It felt good, “It’s just identifying minerals,”

“I don’t get it,” Basil murmured, more to himself than to her. He scratched something out on his worksheet and fisted a hand in his hair, “She explained this over and over, I don’t understand why I don’t get it,”

Aubrey watched the display of his anxiety for a few moments before letting out an exaggerated sigh, letting her head flop back against the chair. It wasn’t even fun to watch him get upset, it just made her feel bad, which only made her angrier. She pushed her chair away from the table, enjoying the loud screech it gave and how uncomfortable it made Basil. Then she stood and walked around the table, leaning over him and getting in his space.

“Which one are you confused on?” She demanded, and he pointed to the question with a shaking finger. She looked at the problem and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even one of the difficult ones. Their teacher had given them a table of potential minerals and then a series of questions with specific properties. They had to correctly pick which mineral went to which list of properties.

“Okay so you already got half of them, so you just have diamond, muscovite, talc, and gypsum left,” Aubrey stated, going over the options, “The mineral cleaves into thin sheets, has a white streak, and a pearly luster. Which out of those ones has those traits?”

Basil didn’t respond, still shaking from their proximity. He stammered out some unintelligible words, his hands clasping together around his middle. Before he could devolve into an entire anxiety attack, and more importantly before Flora noticed what was going on, Aubrey would have to deal with this

“Would you quit that? I’m not gonna bite,” She barked, and he flinched further away. Great. Aubrey forced herself to take a breath and count to ten, the thing that the annoying school counselor had showed her that almost never worked. Aubrey tried again.

“Okay instead of thinking about it that way. Let’s go with which ones don’t have those features. Does diamond have a streak?”

“No it’s harder than the streak plate,” Basil responded, which was what their teacher had said word for word. Aubrey had started off with a question she knew he would know the answer to, because Mrs. Tommen had made Basil repeat her when she thought he wasn’t paying attention earlier that day.

“So then obviously it can’t be diamond.” Aubrey said, unable to take all of the snottiness in her tone. It had to be good enough, besides he should know it was stupid that he needed help with this.

“The rest have a white streak though,” Basil said after a quick check of his notes, “It could be any of them,”

Aubrey briefly considered banging her head against the wall. Anything to get her away from rocks and this idiot. She walked around to her side of the table and went back to her own work, putting her head close to the paper.

“Look at the rest of the traits. They don’t all have the same traits. Just do it that way, and quit bugging me,” She hissed. Basil wilted, but he focused back on his work.

“Thanks for the help,” It came out quiet and timid, but it was there. Aubrey jerked her head in a nod, and the two of them lapsed back into silent solo work until Aubrey’s mother knocked on the door. She was dressed in a purple dress that had seen better days and came bearing store bought cookies that still had a sale sticker on them. Her hair was done, but flyaways surrounded her head like a dust cloud, and her smile was entirely fake.

Flora came over and greeted Aubrey’s mom with enthusiasm, thanking her for  her generosity and guiding her to the table. They made small talk as Basil and Aubrey gathered their things and Basil set the table. How her mom’s job was going, how was Flora’s health, all the usual things Aubrey couldn’t care less about.

The conversation only got more boring when dinner started. When they had done this in the past, Basil and Aubrey easily entertained one another with jokes and teasing jabs and barely noticed the time passing. Now each minute was an hour and Aubrey had achieved levels of boredom previously never reached. Aubrey caught Basil’s eye and nodded towards the doorway to the bedrooms, hoping he caught her hint.

“Um G-Granny?” Basil stuttered, grabbing her attention, “May Aubrey and I be excused?”

Flora looked at both of their plates and nodded, patting Basil on the arm. They gathered up their plates and put them in the sink. As she was about to finally escape, Aubrey’s mother crooked a finger in her direction. She walked to her mom and was pulled down roughly by the arm. It was nothing like the gentle pats that Flora gave Basil, but a clear warning.

“Behave,” Her mother said in a harsh whisper, and Aubrey gritted her teeth.

She hated that word. She hated her mother. She hated this whole stupid dinner. Aubrey didn’t bother to answer as she pulled away from her mom. Her mom didn’t want an answer, she wanted a doll for a daughter. A pretty perfect doll that made small talk and smiled at jokes that weren’t funny and did whatever she asked. Aubrey stole away from the kitchen table, walking into Basil’s room and shutting the door. She didn’t like spending time with him anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, but anything was better than being reminded just how much her own mother didn’t like her.

Basil’s room was also in a stasis, unchanged and unevolved from when she last saw it. The only difference was a blooming white orchid, the petals spread around the stem like angel wings. An orchid that was cared for meticulously, surrounded in the dying light of the day with a golden halo. An orchid that stopped Aubrey in her tracks when her eyes landed on it.

Aubrey had only seen orchids like this in one place. She had assumed that the Pastor did it, or some of the church ladies. She knew that the auxiliary had a circulating list of volunteers that went to tend to the graveyard. Aubrey had even considered that the strange man who always seemed to be in the cemetery might put them there next to her.

She knew Hero didn’t visit. He never went anywhere near the church, hadn’t in years. She didn’t know or care what Kel did, and Sunny didn’t even leave the house anymore. Aubrey had thought she was the only one that visited, the last person that even cared. For some reason her brain had completely blocked out the logical idea that Basil, who loved flowers more than anything, would be the one to carefully tend to a difficult to grow bloom.

“You put these by her?” Aubrey asked quietly, tracing a finger over the delicate petals. Neither of them needed Aubrey to say who “her” was, there was only one person left that connected them. Basil nodded, keeping his eyes down and away from his former friend. Aubrey continued to stare down at the flower, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.

“It’s a white egret,” Basil said, sitting on his bed near her and looking at the flower, “It means my thoughts will follow you into your dreams. I thought it was...I thought she might like it,”

She would have. Mari would have thought it was incredibly sweet, and she would have been able to tell Basil so. She wasn’t like Aubrey who spewed hate without a care in the world but who could never manage to say something kind without stuttering. She would have been able to bring them all together so effortlessly, there would have been no issue. None of this would have ever happened in the first place.

Aubrey was adrift, alone in a sea of confusion that sent wave after wave to try and drown her. She wanted to sit on the bed next to Basil, wanted to finally crack open and let everything out. She could trust him to listen, trust him to care. He was the only one besides her who still cared enough to visit. She should do that. That would be good. But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“Aubrey?” Basil said, hesitant but still reaching out. She pulled away from the orchid, stumbling back and looking around. A thick leather bound book in the middle of his bookshelf caught her eye, and she wandered over to it. She knew this book.

“Aubrey, don’t.” Basil ordered, his words meaning nothing to her. She could hear him say it, she could even be mildly shocked that he even dared to talk to her like that, when he had been so timid before, but none of it really reached her. Aubrey pulled his photo album out from the shelf, holding it in her hands and opening it.

Instead of the soft faded colors of their childhood, there was black. There was black over Sunny’s birthday, black over her pink raincoat. She could barely make out Hero and Kel arm wrestling, and she only knew which pictures were from the beach based on the small bits of yellow that peaked through the marker staining the memory.

He had scribbled over Mari’s picture.

Aubrey had never had an out of body experience like this. She was always solid, always grounded. Even when she had heard what Mari did, there was no part of her that was able to check out of the situation. Now she was high in the sky, somewhere distant and far where she could only watch as her heart was broken all over again.

A rough tug jerked her back into her body. Basil had snatched the album back from her, his eyes wild and blown wide open. She couldn’t even respond, she had no idea what to do first- steal the album back, or kill him.

“Get out!” Basil shrieked, holding the book against his chest and falling to his knees. She didn’t want to. She wanted to hit him, to feel his bones breaking under her fists and hear him crying out in pain. She could hurt him worse than he hurt her, make it so she wasn’t the only one suffering. He did this. He was the one who did this, and she wouldn’t be to blame for that. She wanted to wring his neck, to break down and start sobbing.

She wanted to run.

Aubrey shouted in rage, beyond words and beyond any outward expression of the emotions roiling within. She bodily threw the door open, running past the table and out the door. She heard her mother and Flora calling for her, but she ignored them, slamming the door and continuing to sprint away. She got back to her house in record time, not bothering to close the front door as she climbed up the ladder to her room as quickly as possible.

Aubrey locked the trap door to her room, finally letting out the scream that had been building up within her. No one was there to hear it but her bunny, and she was currently hiding in her hut from Aubrey’s meltdown. Aubrey flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillows, screaming again. She could hear her mother coming into the house now, screeching in rage at Aubrey’s dramatic exit, catapulting insults left and right about Aubrey. The girl wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. She would get that album back from Basil, whatever it took to do so, and she would never, never, trust him again.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (2) || atz

“All the dried fruit has been accounted for.”

You fight down the yelp that had almost left your mouth, trying to quieten your breathing as much as possible. Two men, from the sound of their voices, are inspecting the food stocks. You’re going to be found.

“How much salted fish?” The deeper, lower voice you heard giving commands earlier asks his partner, and you pick up the sound of a pen scratching across paper.

“Enough to last us two weeks, if Jongho doesn’t eat them all by the first.” The second voice, softer and gentler, quips and they both share a laugh.

“That kind smile hides a darker mind beneath, Seonghwa-hyung.” The speaker with the deeper voice comments with a rolling chuckle. You’re still frozen in fear as they continue to take inventory, but them finding you is inevitable.

“How much alcohol did we get?” The person she assumes to be Seonghwa asks and you hear the sound of barrels shifting. “San needs some of it to treat the wounded.”

“Enough rum to last us till Tortuga and some wine and beer on the side.” His partner replied, writing some more things down. “I’m sure we can spare a barrel or two, not many of them got injured.”

“That’s a relief.” You can hear the worry leave Seonghwa’s voice, but your panic levels are jumping as you hear them move ever closer to you. “I heard Yunho didn’t have a scratch on him.”

“Neither did Jongho.” The other man snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already down here, chomping his way through the apples. Look, the sacking fell. I’ll get it.”

And suddenly the sackcloth is pulled away from your head.

You don’t have time to think. Lunging forward, you headbutt the man who removed the sackcloth from you in the face and you hear him let out a howl of pain, letting go of the sacking to clutch his bleeding nose. Your eyes dart around desperately for an escape route, but before you can move, someone slams you against the wall, the tip of a razor sharp knife pressed to your throat.

“Don’t move.” It’s the softer man, Seonghwa, although his grey eyes are hard as stone now. You can’t look away, transfixed, and he continues to speak, eyes never leaving yours. “Mingi, you alright?”

The man he addresses has a long, face with strong, defined features and narrowed eyes, tiny braids done in his cerulean blue hair. He’s tall, taller than you by about a head. He gives you a resentful scowl. “I think he broke my nose.” The words come out thickly as the man you now know to be Mingi cups both hands over his face, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Then it hits you.

He?

It’s true you’re not especially curvy and your chest has been bound by strips of cloth, but you didn’t expect to fool people so easily.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to choke out. Seonghwa and Mingi exchange surreptitious glances.

“You should get San to look at that, Mingi.” Seonghwa advises, worry written all over his face. Mingi nods wearily, blood falling through the cracks in his fingers and staining the ground.

“Let’s get this kid to Hongjoong-hyung first.” The taller man sighs, grabbing you by the shoulder with a bloody hand and pushing you towards the stairs you had tumbled down from. Pain lances up your ankle, but you steel yourself and step on it anyway.

It’s excruciating, but you don’t dare to show any weakness. They might toss you overboard. Or feed you to the sharks. You don’t know and you really don’t want to find out.

You bite on the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, but you manage to make it onto the main deck. Many faces turn and look upon you with surprise, then they see Mingi bleeding from the nose and their expressions turn threatening. One even draws his sword.

You flinch back into Seonghwa, who steadies you by the shoulders, while Mingi addresses the crew.

“I’m fine!” He shouts through his bloody nose, which obviously isn’t fine. “Everyone back to work, please.”

There’s a disconcerting silence as if they’re still planning on how to kill you in every way possible, but they eventually turn back to their work cleaning the cannons and securing the sheets. Mingi turns back to you.

“This way.” He says gruffly, pulling you up another flight of stairs, Seonghwa at the rear. You bite back another whimper of pain, but Seonghwa hears it.

On the quarter deck, you catch sight of a man at the wheel. He’s young, almost your age, dressed all in red with patchwork black pants. His ash blonde hair falls into his eyes and the back is done in a neat mullet. But the most eye catching thing about him is the black eye patch he has over his right eye, the confidence he stands with despite his age and how he’s steering the ship as if the oceans bow at his feet.

Something in him calls out to you.

“Hongjoong-ah, we found a stowaway in the cargo hold.” Seonghwa calls over you shoulder as Mingi forces you to your knees. The man at the wheel doesn’t take his eye off the sea for a moment, pulling a length of rope from around his waist and lashing the wheel in position. Only then does he turn around.

“Mingi, take the helm- What happened to you, Mingi?” The helmsman’s voice is almost an entire octave higher than Mingi’s, almost too cute to be a pirate’s. His eyes rake over the bloody nose on Mingi’s face, before his expression settles into a frown.

“Got headbutted by our stowaway here.” Mingi jerks a thumb at your face and Hongjoong’s one eye follows it down, coming to rest on you. His fingers dance on the hilt of one of the two cutlasses hanging at his hip.

You gulp. “I said I was sorry.” You mutter under your breath.

Hongjoong’s eye drills into you, a calm, unbothered smile on his face that terrifies you more than if he were furious. “Well, I guess I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” The side of his lips pull up in a smirk. “This ship is the Treasure and we’re the pirate band ATEEZ. I’m Kim Hongjoong, the helmsman and captain of this ship.”

At that, your mouth falls open. This man can’t be any more than twenty two, but he’s the captain? Hongjoong nods at the dumbstruck expression on your face, the chilling smile never leaving his face. “What about you, Royal Navy scum?”

Seonghwa and Mingi’s expressions change to shock in seconds and Seonghwa even begins to draw that wicked long kitchen knife from his belt.

You pause at that. “Royal Navy?” Your lips pull downwards in a frown. What is the Royal Navy?

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Hongjoong’s not smiling now and you feel the air drop several degrees. Your teeth want to start chattering but you force a terrified smile on your face. Hongjoong’s eyebrows lower into a frown.

“The coat you are wearing is of Royal Navy make. An officer’s, I might add. It may be beaten and torn up, but I’d recognize that rose insignia anywhere.” He jerks his chin at the red patches on the shoulders. Sure enough, you can see the rose stitched into the fabric. “So what is your purpose here? If you answer truthfully I might simply shoot you instead of having you flogged to death.”

He doesn't sound like he's joking.

Goosebumps race along your skin and you know that your face has drained of colour. You don’t even remember your own name, how are you supposed to remember where you got this stupid coat? So you start rambling.

“Okay actually I just woke up this morning in the prison of the town you guys just looted like a while ago and I kind of don’t remember how I got there so like they were talking about bringing me to the gallows for some kind of public hanging and I don’t really know why they wanted to hang me so when you attacked I just tried to escape and ended up in the harbor so I ran up the first ship I saw which was your ship and tried to get away from the fighting so I went into the cargo hold and fell asleep there so yeah.”

There's a pause.

“What?” Mingi blinks. You open your mouth to repeat it when Hongjoong holds up a hand. You close your mouth with a clop.

“Seonghwa, go help San take care of the wounded.” He orders and Mingi stiffens as if they’ve breached some kind of taboo conversation topic. The other man visibly relaxes and exhales shakily, nodding. “Yes, captain.” Then he turns around and makes his way down to the main deck.

Hongjoong turns back to you with a calm gaze. “So, according to you, you can’t remember why they would throw a Royal navy officer such as yourself into prison?”

“I’m not a Royal Navy officer.” You retort with a scowl, meeting his gaze angrily. When he raises an eyebrow, you catch yourself, swallow and lower your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Well this is certainly the most interesting story we’ve heard from a captured Royal Navy officer, haven’t we, Mingi?” Hongjoong muses to himself, running his tongue across his lips. Mingi nods apathetically.

“He’s also the youngest.” The quartermaster adds on to the back unhelpfully.

“Tell me, what exactly did you intend to do after escaping onto my ship?” He leans back with a smile, as if expecting some silly answer. You don’t have any smart ones, so you answer honestly.

“I really wasn’t thinking that far.”

Sighing dramatically at your lackluster answer, Hongjoong nods again. His one eye is a vivid green, like a poisonous snake’s that could sink its fangs into you at any moment. He seems to be contemplating something. Then he lifts your chin with a finger so that you meet his eyes even as you try to squirm away.

“Well then, Mister I’m-Not- A-Royal-Navy-Officer.” The young captain wears that same chilling smile again, and it doesn’t make you feel any better. “How about this? We’ll tie you to the mainmast so everyone can keep watch over you and we’ll feed you enough to survive, but the moment we stop at Tortuga, I’m tossing you onto shore. If I find out that you’re one of the Royal Navy swine at any moment...”

There’s a click and suddenly there’s a musket pointed at your temple. Your body seizes up in rapid panic, blood freezing over in your veins. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“I’ll gut you like a stuck pig.” His voice is warm and smooth, right next to your ear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until he steps back, holstering the musket in his belt with an amused smile on his face. “I’d shoot you for breaking Mingi’s nose like that, but I suppose that it won’t matter if I’m going to kill you in the end anyway. Mingi, secure the boy to the mainmast and make sure not a single man on board touches him, then get San to look at your nose.”

“I got it.” Mingi sounds almost annoyed at being babied with the repeated advice, but Hongjoong just laughs.

“I’m interested to see how long you can keep this facade up, pretty boy. Don’t worry about anything.” Hongjoong’s grin is terrifying, wild like the raging sea as he strides back to the wheel, boots clicking on the deck.

“When it finally breaks, I’ll be the one to end it all for you.”

That’s the last thing you hear before Mingi marches you down to the main deck.

You’re still freezing from the chilling encounter with the young pirate captain as Mingi pushes you towards the main mast. Even the pain in your ankle doesn’t seem to compare with the numbing terror of Hongjoong’s threat. You slump in shock against the main mast as Mingi looks upwards into the rigging.

“Yunho-ah, toss me some rope!”

Seconds later, a coil of rope slithers down the mast and Mingi wraps it around your upper torso securing your arms and torso to the mast. It’s loose enough not to cut off the circulation in your arms, but tight enough to ensure you won’t be going anywhere. And honestly, where can you go? As far as the eye can see, it’s all ocean.

You thought that escaping the gallows had been a smart move. Now it seems like you threw yourself from the frying pan into the flames.

Go home, the voice in your head whispers. You tell it to shut up savagely.

Mingi finally announces to everyone that they are not to make eye contact with you, speak to you, or have any form of interaction with you as he finishes off with several skillful knots at the back.

“That includes physical contact like beating or throwing things at him.” Mingi adds on and there’s a collective sigh of disappointment from the crew.

“You sure, quartermaster?” One of the men at the cannons pulls out his musket. “An eye for an eye, he did make you bleed!”

The rest of the crew shouts agreement, but Mingi shakes his head firmly.

“We’re pirates, not barbarians.” He chides, wiping his nose once more. The blood flow seems to have slowed to a steady trickle at least. “It’s my fault for being unprepared. Besides, these are Hongjoong’s orders. Any of you want to answer to captain?”

“Absolutely not!” The crewman declares and the deck breaks out in carefree laughter. Mingi gives a tiny smile as he straightens up from tying your bonds.

Something in your chest tugs painfully.

“Well then, don’t get me into trouble with captain.” He waves them back to their work and they do so cheerfully, all the tension in the air gone. Then Mingi turns back to you with a stern scowl.

“From what you can see, the crew isn’t exactly happy with you.” He gestures at the deck with one of his long arms. “I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to make it to Tortuga alive.”

And then he turns and leaves you alone with your thoughts, a lonely stranger on a foreign ship.

[yunhowhoitiss]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 '𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞!𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k+ words

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: misc, fluff, a lil suggestive

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’ve only just moved into your new house with the help of your fiancé’s friends, and it’s already utter chaos.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, ateez are dorks wbk, yeosang gets handsy, reader is embarrassed but takes revenge asap (let me know if I've missed anything ^^)

𝐚/𝐧: hey everyone! it’s been a while, I know, but I really wanted to post something for valentine’s day so here I am :) I hope you all have a gorgeous day, you’ve earned it <3

masterlist

"Boys, the lemonade's almost ready!"

The tingle of lemons tickled at your nose as you inhaled the odour of the sour fruit. You squeezed the last of the lemons into the glass jug on the counter in front of you.

Your fiancé's friends we're at your house to help you paint the walls of your newly-bought house, and you'd all been busy since the early morning.

Pouring a generous amount of sugar into the jug, you stir the soon-to-be lemonade with a long spoon. (Last summer when you made lemonade for the boys, San whined that it wasn't sweet enough, so you remembered to put in just a little more this time.)

Although you had called for the others already, there was no sign of them coming upstairs.

"Hey, dipshits, come get your lemonade!" You yelled at the top of your lungs. Again, no answer. At this point, you knew they were teasing you, as they always did. You sighed heavily, knowing you'd regret what you were about to do.

"Oh," you feigned wistfulness, "I wonder where those handsome, striking men are. I guess they don't want any lemonade. My heart longs for them to quench their thirst!" Your impression of a damsel in distress was audibly half-assed.

As if on cue, Mingi and Wooyoung ran up the stairs, followed by the other six men coming up the steps as well. San, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Jongho situated themselves on the ground in the living room area, still devoid of furniture. You had yet to buy any for the house.

"Is that seriously what it takes for me to get your guys' attention? Calling you handsome?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wooyoung grinned mischievously, obviously proud of himself. He hopped up on the counter while Mingi stood next to you, looking innocently over your shoulder. Yunho joined in on the conversation, searching the kitchen cabinets for any cups.

"Well we are handsome, aren't we?" He chuckled cockily, reaching for a pack of paper cups on a shelf.

"Right?" Mingi chimed in, looking at you to see if you'd agree.

You look at them with your mouth agape; you couldn't believe the audacity they had. Before you could say anything, Yeosang finally came up the stairs, having overheard your conversation from afar.

"Hey, stop trying to squeeze compliments out of my wife, your egos are big enough as they are," he chastised playfully.

"She's technically not your wife, though," Wooyoung contested. Having known him for years, Yeosang knew Wooyoung didn't mean anything by it, but he threw him a cold glare nevertheless.

"Yet. Not my wife yet."

"So she can only compliment you, is that it?"

"Exactly."

The other men snickered at the both of them, clearly used to seeing them bicker all the time. Yunho filled nine paper cups with lemonade, giving everyone their drinks. Ignoring the immature conversation at hand, Seonghwa craned his neck to see you from where he sat.

"Y/n, could we get lunch soon? I think I speak for everyone when I say that I would kill for a burger right now." Upon hearing the word 'burger' most of the boys hummed and groaned in longing, almost drooling at the thought of it.

"Of course! I'll help Yeo out in the office to finish up what painting there is left to do, and you guys can get cleaned up and ready to go in the meantime. Sound good?" They all nodded yes at your proposal, some already making their way to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Gulping down the rest of your lemonade, you threw the cup away and headed towards the office. Yeosang held a paint roller in both hands, finishing the last wall that needed to be painted. The thick paint dripped down his wrist, creating a long grey streak along his forearm.

"Messy as always, Yeoyeo," you sighed, taking one of his paint rollers. You dipped your finger in the paint on his wrist and booped his nose, painting the tip of his nose grey.

"Hey! That stuff's hard to clean off!" Yeosang tried to see the paint on his face, obliviously crossing his eyes. You giggled fondly at his cuteness; you could never understand how someone so witty could be so dorky. Yeosang's face fell upon hearing you laugh at him, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. Your attention turned to the wall in front of you; you worked hard to paint as much of the surface as possible, unaware of Yeosang's actions. He painted both his hands grey, making sure the wet layer covered his whole hand.

"Y/n..." He whispered calmly. He made his way to stand behind you, tucking his face in your neck. He kept his painted hands behind him, hoping that you wouldn't notice.

"Yeosang, what are you doing? Help me paint."

He ignored you in favour of pressing gentle kisses into the crook of your neck, tracing his lips up to your ear. Your focus was drifting from the wall, all too distracted by Yeosangs lips so close to your ear. Before you could question him, his teeth nipped at your ear suggestively, catching you off guard. You turned to face him, only to be met with your fiancé's goofy smile.

"C'mon, we need to keep painting, love," you sighed exasperatedly.

"But baby..." Yeosang was proud of himself for the facade he was putting up, briefly wondering if he should've just become an actor. His lips met your forehead with an affectionate kiss as he brought his hands out from behind his back. His arms snaked around your waist, hands casually resting on your ass. This was something he did often, so you didn't think to question it. Following a playful squeeze, Yeosang took a step back, careful not to let his suspicious behaviour show. He stuck his painted hands in the pockets of the paint-stained overalls he wore, careful not to let you see.

"Why are you smiling like that? It's weird." You squint cheekily.

"I'm not smiling."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Y'know what, we can paint later. I'm hungry."

On that note, you peeked out from the doorway, checking to see if the boys were ready. Yeosang was trying his very best not to laugh, but you were too preoccupied to notice.

You exited the office room, Yeosang following your lead, and walked past the kitchen to reach the bathroom. "Just a minute, guys, I'm gonna go get cleaned up and then we'll be out of here," you assured the boys. They were crowded around the kitchen counter, finishing every last drop of lemonade. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seonghwa's hand fly to his mouth. Hongjoong and Jongho were red with what seemed to be embarrassment; the others pursed their lips in futile attempts to stifle their boyish giggles. Yunho probably made another dick joke, you told yourself, rolling your eyes.

Just as you passed a mirror that Yoesang had unboxed the day before, two shapes on your shorts caught your eye.

Grey patches? No. Grey... handprints.

"Kang Yeosang!"

The boys finally broke down in peals of laughter. Having known them for years, you weren’t all too embarrassed, you were even tempted to laugh along with them. Instead, you opted to throw a threatening glare at your fiancé , who raised his hands before saying "It wasn't me!"

"What do you mean it wasn't you— your hands are literally grey!" You stomped toward him, reaching for his sides. "Woo, hold his arms back!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Your fingers tickled at Yeosang's sides as Wooyoung held his arms behind his back; San pulled out his phone to record him. Upon deciding that you'd done enough, you went to change into another pair of bottoms, leaving Yeosang panting on the ground and his friends teasing him. When you came back, Yeosang crouched on the floor, tieing his laces. The other boys had already gotten their shoes on and headed out the door.

"You're paying for the food, hyung!" Jongho chirped as he stepped out the door. As Yeosang stood up, you cheekily jumped on his back, letting him give you a piggyback ride to the car. You kissed his cheek from over his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his front.

"I'll get you back for that, Yeo. Watch your back," you feigned menace.

"Mhmm, of course baby."

"And you owe me a new pair of shorts."

The silver ring on your left hand sparkled in the corner of his eye, and although you couldn't see, an enamoured smile spread across his face. He pressed a loving kiss to your hands crossed over his chest.

"Anything for you, love."

[giftofwonder]

The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader) - Part Two

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of the love and support! If you’d like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

WARNINGS: Slightly NSFW, Contains mentions of nudity, abuse, and brief foreplay.

TAGLIST: @mikasackrmann @missalicebaskerville @liitlesushi @bonemarroww @jamaisvusbitch @winchescumberholland @mira-mirach

You both left and walked through the city toward the large bath house. You stopped by small stands to grab fruit and fish for breakfast, and then continued on your way. The stares you had gotten yesterday were gone, but they still lingered on Dabi.

You took in the shift in structures. Where Dabi lived, the houses were smaller and plain. Many of them suffered from a bit of damage, the mud bricks crumbling over time. Now you had entered a much different part of the city. The buildings were large, the bricks of the houses were in much better condition and stained white. The homes had wooden doors instead of just hanging reed mats. You knew if you went inside, you would find beautiful pictures painted along the walls and ceiling in a wide array of colors.

Finally, you reached the bathhouse and entered, and it was absolutely beautiful. High ceilings painted in vibrant colors that put you in mind of a stained glass window, tall limestone pillars, and everything was lined with golden trim. When you imagined paradise, this was what came to mind. It came as no surprise that many people were inside to enjoy the bath.

You knew a lot from this era, the history, but it was still a bit of a culture shock to experience it for yourself first hand. Especially, in this specific case. Men and women were considered equals here, which you loved. Nudity was common and sex was not really a taboo. Really, the only prominent known things were they believed in consent and valued loyalty above all else. Beyond that, there wasn’t much information. Many researchers had offered that because the ancients views were so open, they just never thought it important enough to document. The restrictive world you came from was so different. Sure, some people and places had more open views, but overall there were usually unspoken rules of how to conduct yourself. What is deemed “inappropriate” is a long list.

It really was exciting to be in this time, to see the past and be able to live within it, but your mind was a constant reminder that you were not from here. That this was not your home.

You both undressed, and you tried to hide the shaking of your hands as you did, but Dabi noticed your trembling. He took your hand gently and led you toward the bath. He didn’t look at you, and that made you feel a bit more at ease.

The water felt nice, and you relaxed into it immediately. You smiled, wetting your hair.

Dabi handed you soaps to use, which you graciously accepted. You had regretted not being able to bathe last night, wishing you could have rinsed the sand and dirt from your skin before going to bed. You knew bathing was especially important during this time, the ancients believed the cleaner you were, the closer you were to the Gods.

You kept your body low in the water as you washed your hair and skin, humming in joy at the feeling of being clean once more. You felt warm hands on you and looked over your shoulder. Dabi stood behind you, his eyes trailing across the plains of your back. His hands massaging as they rubbed the lathered soap onto you, his fingers working out knots and kinks from around your shoulders. You figured his actions were meant to give you peace of mind in a situation you were obviously uncomfortable in, but for a brief moment, his touch had you more worried about the downfalls of falling in love with a spirit.

This was something that you could definitely get used to. You were sure that you could sit there forever and not be bothered in the slightest. Your eyes fell shut as you relaxed in his hold, all of your previous tension and discomfort now gone. His hands moved from your shoulders to your neck and down your spine. He kneeled as his hands caressed along your ribs and slid under the water to your stomach. Then they slid further, grabbing along your thighs, and pulling back just enough to grip your hips. He tugged you backwards against him, your back flush to his chest.

Your eyes opened at the feeling. The bathhouse had emptied quite a bit since Dabi had entered, no doubt his presence and their evident discomfort from him being the reason, but there were still people bathing here and there.

“Stop, someone could see!” You hissed out while trying to pull forward to put some distance between you, but his hands kept you in place.

He leaned forward, dipping his mouth to your ear.

“Who cares, let them look.” And then his lips latched just below your ear, and his hand moved between your thighs. The breathy moan you let out at the sudden contact only spurred him on.

Your head leaned to the side and your hand braced on his wrist, ready to pull him away at any moment, but you didn’t.

You had dedicated your life to your work, and in doing so, you had missed out on a lot of the romantic opportunities that many of your friends had gotten to experience. You had boyfriends back in school, sure, but relationships were a sore spot for you as you had made your career your top priority.

You traveled often, you were gone for long stretches of time. Anything more than a quick fling was pretty much off of the table. Being held, being touched like this, it was new. It was nice. You couldn’t find it in yourself to turn him away, because truly you were craving the intimacy that he was offering.

Your breathing was ragged and more moans fell from your lips. Dabi’s teeth and lips brushed across your neck, leaving a trail of heat on your flushed skin behind them.

“Touch me.” He whispered against your skin, and slowly your hand reached behind you to grasp him. He let out a low groan against you as your hand moved on its own accord. Your mind was too lost to pleasure to stop yourself.

Dabi pulled your hand away and removed his fingers from you. He lifted you slightly to guide you over him, but you quickly twisted around and put your hand on his chest to stop him, the action of him shifting you had snapped you back into reality.

“Dabi, wait. Please. I can’t.” You begged softly. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Stopping him was incredibly hard for you as you wanted nothing more than to collapse into his hold. You were lonely and touch starved, and it felt so nice to be wanted, but you knew that if you were to give in to him now, your heart would get involved and it was a risk you weren’t sure you should take.

His hand quit pulling and he gave a slight frown, but reluctantly let go of you. You gave him a small smile and cupped his cheek with your hand, trying to convey your thoughts and feelings in a simple gesture. You weren’t trying to reject him, you knew this was much more common in his time, but for you it was too fast, too unfamiliar. You felt yourself let go so easily with him, and that scared you.

His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, before he suddenly turned his head to run his tongue along your palm. You squeaked and pulled your hand away quickly, smacking the water and splashing you both. You turned your back to him and sank back down into the water, trying to hide your blush as you called him a pervert under your breath. He snorted, obviously satisfied by your reaction. You were thankful for the change in atmosphere.

Dabi seemed like someone who took what he wanted regardless of what stood in his way. His tomb had definitely painted that picture. You were glad he didn’t push you or hold a grudge toward you, and that he had reverted back to playful and teasing. You couldn’t stop the small smile that stretched across your face as you thought of him. He was a mystery that you couldn’t wait to solve.

Not much later, you both finished bathing and left the baths together.

———————————————————————

As you walked through the city, he kept his hand on your lower back to guide you beside him. You carried your worn dress in your arms and wore one of the others that Dabi had brought for you.

You saw children running and playing up ahead and smiled. You leaned into Dabi, head resting against his shoulder. He glanced at you as his hand slid further to rest on your waist and keep you beside him.

“What was your childhood like?” You asked without thinking, eyes still focused on the kids playing. Dabi’s brown furrowed and you felt him tense beside you. You opened your mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to talk about it, but he had already started speaking.

“I was born from an arranged marriage. My father was a powerful man, he worked in the palace and was regarded the same as royalty. He was strong, and feared, but well respected. My mother was kind and quiet. She was chosen to balance him, to keep him grounded, and to help give him a strong heir.

I was the first born, the oldest son. I was expected to follow in his footsteps. To take his position in the palace and be just as strong, if not more.” He shifted uncomfortably before continuing.

“He started training me from a young age, but I was never good enough. Always falling short. His obsession with power and greed pushed him harder. My next two younger siblings were born and they were ignored by him, forgotten. All of the pressure was on me. And when I failed I was punished. But I always failed, my body wasn’t able to handle it as well as he felt it should.”

Your hand reached behind him to brush your fingers against his back, trying to provide what little comfort you could offer.

“Finally my youngest brother, Shouto, was born. At a young age, he took to the training well, though he hated it, and I was cast aside.

Over time, mother resented Shouto, he looked too much like father, and so she threw boiling water on him, burning his face. She was taken, kept somewhere in secret.

Father took Shouto to the palace with him to recover and continue training. He was locked away from the rest of us, and we were left to fend for ourselves in a small and empty home.” Dabi’s eyes narrowed at the memory, and he refused to meet your gaze.

“One day, when father visited, we fought. I was taken by palace guards, who had escorted him, and dragged to the dungeon of the palace to be taught my place. There I was locked up, tortured and burned. Eventually, I escaped, but the damage was done, and I looked...like this.” He finished, his tone dark as he stared down at his scarred arms.

Your heart was heavy, and you felt so much pain for him. Life had been so unfair, and you recalled in the tomb, how it spoke of great sadness and anger. Of him being alone. Hurt.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. You didn’t deserve any of it.” You whispered, reaching up to turn his head to face you as his eyes locked with yours.

“It was just what the gods chose for me. My fate. At first I thought they betrayed me, that I was set to fail from the start.” He said nonchalant, his eyes breaking away from yours to stare ahead once more.

“What did you do when you escaped?” You questioned, looking forward again as he lead you further down the road.

“I ran, for a while, I lived in the desert, and would come back to the city and commit petty crimes for food and money. It was like that for a couple of years, just getting scraps. But then I met a group of people, we shared similar views. Similar goals. We wanted the society to crumble and rebuild it.” He said, a glint in his eye that you couldn’t quite place.

“In the time I had spent in the desert, I had prayed for a while. Then I had revolted and rejected the Gods. Blamed and hated them. But one appeared in a dream, and offered me power. They gave me a new fate, and it started with the League.”

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 7: Niente ti farà del male piccola

23 Gennaio, 1970

The first indication of Luca’s growth spurt began with his school blazer suddenly feeling too tight as he raised his hands in class. The second indication came from bursting seams on his pants and his pants becoming more like capris as he wore them each day. The third time his inseam split, Signora Mia finally resigned herself to the reality of new clothes. Now, standing in front of his mirror, Luca could see the changes he had been too busy to notice before. His body was lengthening and becoming more svelte, with his legs becoming toned from cycling around the city. His face had slimmed down, losing most of the baby fat and child-like roundness he had grown accustomed to for most of his life.

The only features that hadn’t changed with time were his eyes; richly brown with flecks of gold and red. Luca wondered what Alberto would think of when he saw him. His friend’s voice had begun to deepen when they spoke two months prior, and Luca had all but melted into the warm depths of that voice. Would Alberto have a similar reaction to seeing Luca as he grew into himself? His thoughts were mildly put on hold as a gentle hand knocked on his bedroom door seeking permission to enter. Giulia entered, her hair damps from her bath and her skin glowing from the warmth of the water.

Dante and Luisa had left about an hour ago, having visited for after-school studying. He was not overly excited for their upcoming midterms, and with the added stress of assisting the teachers, he felt nervous about how his grades would fair. She plopped none too gently on his bed while the sounds of Signora Mia’s poor singing and the radio blasting in the kitchen echoed into his room.

“They’re playing the Beatles again?” He inquired, picking up the familiar tunes under Mia’s caterwauling. He pretended to brush imaginary dust from the light blue shirt he was wearing while strains of ‘Let it Be’ floated through the air. Giulia grinned and nodded, wincing when her mother’s voice reached for a particularly high note.

“I think Beatlemania has finally bitten her.” She rolled onto her stomach and faced him. “Were you going to try on the clothes we bought?” She inquired. He flushed under her scrutiny, not wishing to appear vain, and instead opted for sitting nonchalantly in his chair by the window.

“No, I was just thinking about changes.”

“Like what kind of changes?”

“The physical kind; I didn’t realize we were growing up.” Giulia hummed in thought. Just like her mother, both women had a gift to perceive and understand those around them with hardly any words or context.

“You don’t seem overly happy about it?” She cautiously pried.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, it’s something new.”

“Well, if it helps, you look good in your new wardrobe. I can hear the swooning girls now.” Giulia grinned wolfishly. The thought of girls noticing him more made Luca nervous and uncomfortable.

“I sure hope not,” he looked out the window to the hues of sunlight bathing the coral and cream houses orange. The lighting reminded him of Porto Rosso, and in turn, reminded him of Alberto.

“Don’t you want to start dating? Dante hardly shuts up about girls and most everyone in your grade is going out. Unless you’re only allowed to date sea monsters.” He continued to avoid her gaze, instead focusing on a flock of pigeons strutting along the rooftop to the left.

“No one interests me here.” He hedged after a moment.

“Not even Luisa?”

Now that got his attention.

“Ew, what? No!” He wagged his arms in horror, nearly losing his balance on the chair.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Giulia soothed, baffled at his reaction.

“No offense to her or anything, I just… no. Definitely not.”

“Bene, she’s not interested, if that helps.”

“Why did you ask her?”

“I never said I did,” Giulia blustered, pink spreading across her face. Luca just stared at her with an unimpressed expression. She laughed nervously, glancing to the side.

“I was just curious,” she mumbled. She began to wrap strands of hair around her fingers, obviously avoiding his gaze now. A light suddenly clicked in Luca’s brain.

“Do you like her?” Giulia’s head snapped up and she glared at him.

“Do you like Alberto?” She shot back.

Looking back at this moment, Luca would realize he should have felt fear, or nervous, perhaps even anger, but Giulia’s question felt like a shock to his system. A switch flicked on and flooded his body with realization and for the first time in years, Luca understood everything.

A shock of laughter escaped him, “Yeah, actually. I do.” He laughed again, this time harder, unsure as to why tears were starting to leak down his cheeks, staining them green. Luca pressed his face into his hands as his laughter turned into hysterical gasps for air.

“Actually, I-I think I’m in love with him.” Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. “O mio Dio, I’m in love with my best friend, Gules.” He didn’t hear Giulia move until her arms were suddenly wrapping around him and she was awkwardly rubbing circles into his back.

“Is this okay?” She asked. He could no longer form words, so Luca nodded his consent instead.

When he eventually calmed down and the only evidence of his initial panic were the scale tracks on his face and neck, Giulia quietly went to grab him a glass of water and held it out for him to take.

“Sorry, that was dramatic.” He whispered croakily. Giulia laughed kindly and patted his shoulder.

“I think dramatic is a requirement in our family. Besides, you already know how I can be too much.”

They sat in silence for a time with their arms around each other, the light outside fading to the familiar dark and loud nightlife of Genoa.

“Per favore, don’t tell my mama.” Luca cast her a look of confusion. “About Luisa.” She amended. “As kind and accepting as she is, I think this is something that would be too much of a sorpresa.”

The red-headed teen scuffed her big toe against the floor, eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Luca nudged her softly, prompting her to look up at him. “She might be the one to surprise you. I’ve never met two people like your parents, Giulia, who truly only lived to make their child happy.”

“Ad ogni modo, I’m still not ready for that conversation. Besides, it’s not like I have a chance. Luisa’s, like, super pretty and smart, and Santa mozzarella! When she sings, it’s incredibile!”

Luca smiled as his friend rambled on about the Sicilian sea monstress, wondering if this was how he looked every time he gushed about Alberto. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and an endless amount of knowledge about the one person you consider to be your whole world. It was a wonder no one else knew of his feelings.

21 Marzo 1970

“Santa ziti! You’ve been in love with him this whole time?!”

“Zitto, Ciccio! I’d rather not have the whole town know, thank you.” Alberto flung flour at the blonde’s face, nervously checking to make sure no one had heard them. They were currently working in the kitchen behind the Pasticcini’s front area, with Alberto kneading the dough and Ciccio creating scores in the bread or decorating the more delicate sweets.

Ciccio winced apologetically and lowered his voice, leaning in for good measure.

“Does he know, or have you not told him yet?”

“Of course, he doesn’t know, stupido! I’m trying to not ruin our friendship.

“Don’t call me stupido, and how do you know it would?”

Alberto threw the ball of dough down on the wood surface with more force than necessary, the surrounding flour splattering like snowballs after the season’s first snowfall.

“I just know, é tutto.”

They worked in silence for a while, taking turns with switching pans from the clay oven and glazing sweet rolls with fruit jellies and powdered sugar. When the sun was beginning to set everything on fire, its orange gaze turning the sweet rolls into apricot imitations, Ciccio’s mother brought warm cider and a platter of buttered bread. Alberto liked Ciccio’s mother, she was as warm as the bread she baked and her personality as strong and opinionated as the spices she used. Bella shared the same round features as her son, with a strong nose and bowed lips that were quick to smile. Ciccio once explained to Alberto that he and his mother got their strong noses and blonde hair from Bella’s German heritage, but it wasn’t something they spoke openly about.

Today, Signora Bella’s smile was strained, but it had lost none of its warmth. Alberto knew that meant either some customers had been more difficult than others or some pastries hadn’t turned outright. He recoiled at the thought of her being disappointed in anything he’d done.

“Come va tutto, ragazzi?” She lovingly patted Ciccio’s halo of curls and squeezed Alberto’s shoulder with a large hand. “It’s smelling really good in here. Ah, che bello!” She motioned to the cooling racks on Ciccio’s right. The sweet rolls and scored bread glistened perfectly in the afternoon light and the Signora’s words made Alberto glow as well.

“If you keep this up, Alberto, I may have to bribe Massimo to let me keep you all year long,” she teased. Alberto could only shrug nonchalantly, hoping his pride didn’t show.

“How did the sales go, mama?” Ciccio asked cheerfully, taking a large bite from his buttered bread. Alberto watched nervously, eating his own snack at a slower pace, his stomach suddenly feeling as if hermit crabs were marching and pinching at his insides.

Bella waved the questions away, her mouth pulling sourly at the edges. “Bah, Signor Tafani nearly scared away my customers this morning with his complaining. That man is never satisfied.” She sniffed dismissively. Alberto’s fingers began to pick at the bread, the smaller crumbs slipping from his lap.

“Was there something wrong with the baked goods?” He managed to ask, focusing on Bella’s crocifissione that hung around her neck. The older woman’s hand rested over Alberto’s, pausing the destruction of his bread.

“As I said, piccolo, he is never satisfied. No matter how perfect the bake is,” Her smile was small but firm and it made the hermit crabs release their pinching in his stomach. “God help that poor man’s wife.” Bella sighed heavily as she heaved herself to her feet.

“Ora,” she stood and clapped her hands together and both Alberto and Ciccio swallowed their bread quickly, the butter coating Alberto’s mouth with salt and cream. “Alberto, will you be staying for dinner?”

Alberto’s mouth watered at the thought; the signora’s food was always amazing, rich in seasonings and filled with love. Not to mention Ciccio’s father would usually play his guitar and serenade his family with music and singing. If he drank enough wine, Massimo would usually join in and the resulting cacophony would leave the rest of the family in tears and howls of laughter. Outwardly, the curly-haired teen hesitated, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“I don’t know Signora, I don’t want to leave Massimo hanging…”

“Bah, but of course he is invited as well, what do you think telefoni are for?”

“To make long distances seem short.” Ciccio supplied cheekily, earning an inconspicuous kick from Alberto. Signora Bella gave her son a bemused look.

“Si, mio figlio, for that too…” deciding that it was safer to not question the odd antics of teenaged boys, Bella left to call Massimo and prepare dinner.

When she was out of sight, Alberto gruffly shoved Ciccio in the side, earning him a loud laugh.

“I think I preferred it when you were trying to hunt me,” he groaned miserably. Ciccio merely grinned.

“It’d be hard to catch a fish that’s already been caught.” Alberto kicked him harder in answer.

28 Aprile 1970

“You want me to start applying already?”

The headmaster grinned expectantly at Luca.

“Ma certo, Luca! You’ve shown so much potential these past two years, which is even more impressive considering your, ahem, background.” The balding man stage whispered behind his hand. Luca could only stare in confusion.

“Why are you whispering, we’re the only ones here?” Signore Bonetti flushed red for a moment, his thin lips disappeared under his obnoxiously large mustache as he frowned.

“It doesn’t matter,” he waved his hand away, his smile returning instantly. “What matters, mio caro ragazzo is that you could have the opportunity for great things.”

“Bene, I don’t know, Signore Bonetti.”

“You don’t know.” The signore’s mustache quivered as he peered at the curly-haired youth before him. Luca shrugged awkwardly under his gaze, feeling a nervous trickle of sweat make its way down the back of his neck.

“I still have two years here and I have to consider prices as well. Moreover, I would like to discuss future possibilities with my family first.” He offered what he hoped to be a placating smile at the headmaster.

“All the more reason to start now,” Signore Bonetti pressed, his hands inching university pamphlets across the oak desk. “Signora Castello has already agreed to help write your application letters along with several recommendations from our staff. And, I should add that we’ve had a growing handful of universities reach out with interest once I sent a copy of your grades.”

Luca sighed internally, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be escaping this conversation without some sort of agreement.

“How many universities would accept a full-grown sea monster into their halls, Signore Bonetti?” Luca asked bluntly. Thin lips open and closed in an “o” shape. The mustache covering the top half of his mouth reminded Luca of an octopus who couldn’t quite catch its food. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

“Actually, quite a few would be ecstatic, if you were willing to supply their science departments with some information.”

Luca clasped his hands to keep them from shaking. “I will not be some science project that is locked away and never seen again.” He said firmly.

The headmaster quickly backpedaled, “No, no of course not! We would never allow-”

“I’ve seen what humans do to those they consider different. Fear is a powerful, if uneducated, weapon. If I am to go to any university, I do not want them to know about my…background, as you say.” Luca smiled condescendingly.

The bald man paled, his eyes round with shock.

“No, mio ragazzo, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Bene, if that is everything, I need to head back to class.” Luca stood, he considered the colorful papers on the desk before grabbing the lot and turning towards the door. Signore Bonetti stuttered a farewell to his retreating figure. He didn’t look back.

“What’s got you looking so glum, chum?” Dante’s question sprayed crumbs everywhere, much to the rest of the group’s disgust. Luca glared up at his large friend, dusting the rejected food off of his copy of ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’.

“Is it really that hard to swallow first then speak, Castello?” Luisa asked, her cupid bow lips curled in distaste.

Dante rubbed a large hand across his face, dispelling a few straggling crumbs from his mouth. Without saying anything, he stared challengingly into Luisa’s eyes and took a larger bite of a dinner roll, the crumbs falling to their doom. Luisa scoffed and turned back to braiding Giulia’s red locks in intricate patterns. Giulia hadn’t said much during their lunch hour, and if Luca had to guess, he would wager having Luisa sit so close with her hands combing through her hair had something to do with it.

They were currently sat outside on the campus grounds, good weather permitting it. Around them, other students sat on benches or laid out on the grass, soaking up the weak rays of spring sunshine. Today, Luisa brought an intricate blanket that they all rested on, with Luca lying on his stomach and Dante munching beside him sitting cross-legged. A very flushed Giulia sat leaning back so that Luisa could access her hair easily.

Dante made to speak again, but Luca interrupted him. “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep your mouth shut and your food inside it.” The larger teen rolled his sky-blue eyes in annoyance but didn’t say anything, much to everyone’s relief.

“The headmaster wants me to start applying to universities.” Luca started, immediately his friends turned to him, their expressions matching.

“Cosa?!” Their table received several odd looks from the surrounding students who were simply trying to enjoy their meals.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently, there are universities already showing interest in me.”

“You don’t think they know about, ya know.” Giulia mimicked swimming, wincing when Luisa yanked her head back into place so she could continue braiding.

“I honestly don’t know, I told Signore Bonetti I don’t want universities to know about it, I didn’t think to ask if he’d already brought it up.” Luca allowed his head to rest heavily against the pages of his book. Up close, the letters were indiscernibly blurry.

“I’ve never heard of a sophomore applying for university before, my mom has never allowed it. Have you been getting tens this whole time?” Dante looked at him incredulously. A red flush crept its way up Luca’s neck.

“That and a few extra-curricular.” He mumbled. Who knew joining the swim team and being the chess club captain would be so impressive?

“Aspettare, why aren’t you happy? Isn’t this a good thing?” Luisa intervened, her honey eyes never leaving her work.

“I dunno, I’m worried about more people finding out, and then there’s Alb- my family, I don’t want to make any decisions without them.”

Giulia shot him a look through her curtain of hair, he responded by nudging her foot with his book. They hadn’t spoken much since that incident happened, something that Luca wasn’t eager to change.

“Ya know, I’ve heard my mom talk about these exchanges that universities will offer to promising students for a few weeks.” Dante tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’d have to wait until the summer after next to do it, but that would allow you the chance to experience college life without the full commitment.”

“Veramente?” Luca felt a flicker of hope and excitement flicker in his stomach.

“Yeah, take a few classes, sleep in one of the dorms, meet your professors, etc. That kind of stuff.” Dante waved his hand nonchalantly, “You know my mom would be happy to help, it’s her job, but, like, she reaaally likes you. So, instant win.” He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

The bell sounded, causing the group of teens to quickly finish what they were doing. With a hum of contentment, Luisa tied Giulia’s hair and helped the other girl to her feet. Dante and Luca helped wrap the blanket up neatly, being sure to shake out any remains of Dante’s lunch. The group split into two and headed to their respective classrooms with the promise to meet after school per usual. Luca’s last two classes of the day were physics and music, and he hurried towards his physics class which rested resentfully on the other side of the school.

As he passed a darkened alcove, his ears picked up the sounds of muffled giggles and whispers. He slowed down against his better judgment and peered around the corner of faded, blue lockers that lined the walls. Two boys, at least a year older than him, were leaning against each other in the darkened hallway. The tall, lanky blonde Luca recognized from the group of teens that Luisa had soaked near the beginning of the school year. The shorter brunette was unrecognizable, especially with him facing away from Luca and most of his body being overshadowed by Lanky.

He knew he was interrupting a private moment, but Luca couldn’t find it within himself to look away. Lanky leaned down and began to gently press kisses to Brunette’s neck who laughed breathlessly in response. Luca felt his stomach flip at the sight, and if he gripped his books harder than necessary, well, that was nobody else’s business. He wondered if Alberto would kiss him like that, or if he would prefer to have his own neck pressed with gentle ministrations. The thought made him sigh forlornly and rest his head non too gently on the lockers before remembering he wasn’t alone. The two boys jerked apart as if burned but Luca was already turning the corner at the end of the hallway before either could see him.

03 Maggio 1970

“Finalmente!” Luisa exclaimed, slumping against her towel in the sand. Luca could only continue to itch at his skin, flakes peeling off and leaving red scores wherever his nails scraped. Next to him, Dante was already removing his clothing, the pale moonlight making his skin glow like marble. The tall Italian hid a yawn behind his hand, his eyelids still struggling to carry their own weight. Due to both Luca and Luisa being sea monsters, it was agreed that they couldn’t attend the beach during the day where people might see them. Thus, it had become a monthly ritual for midnight swims since Luca’s first year in Genoa. With the weather being too cold during the winter, Luca had to settle for long soaks in Signora Mia’s bath.

However, this time around his skin had felt particularly itchy, and transforming during his morning showers had revealed new scales pushing underneath his older ones. He had panicked and ran from the bathroom with nothing but a towel and a shriek. After a rushed phone call with his mother, Luca learned about the extra joys of growth spurts and puberty.

“You’re going to have to swim daily to help your body push out the old scales,” his mother explained in her matter-of-fact way. “Your tail fins especially will need the help and they’re also going to be the sorest.” Daniela’s voice turned sympathetic. “Just a few weeks more and then you’ll be home, we can help manage it from there.”

So, for the past week, Luca with his trio of friends would all pile into Mia’s small, bright yellow Fiat and drive the half-hour to the ocean at three in the morning. Without a second thought, he was in the water, pushing through briny waves allowing the ocean to peel scales away with gentle brushes. His mother had been right, his tail was instantly sore once it unfurled in the waves. The spines along his fins were growing longer and sharper, their bases pink with tender new skin. Luca did his best to stretch his body gently in the dark waters, taking brief breaks to check his location in comparison to everyone else on the beach. The signora could be seen snoring loudly on her quilt and Dante was doing his best impression of a starfish, his face mashed into the corner of the quilt. The only two who weren’t passed out were Giulia and Luisa, who appeared to be in serious conversation near the water’s edge.

Luca dove back into the cool depths, the water burned his eyes in a barely noticeable way, and he wondered if it was because more tourists visited Genoa in comparison to Porto Rosso. There were also fewer fish here, although a stray school of fish could be found here or there. He felt a familiar tug in his chest at the thought of Porto Rosso’s waters. The year was finally coming to an end, with finals taking place for the next few weeks, and then Giulia and he would be heading home. Luca grinned freely as he thought about Alberto again, the tug growing stronger in his chest the more he thought about him. He wanted so badly to talk to his friend about his newfound feelings, but there was also the risk of losing Alberto over said feelings. And then there was the decision of attending university in two years, who knew what could happen during that time? The fifteen-year-old groaned in frustration, sending a burst of bubbles to the surface. A smoothhound shark swam past him, appearing to roll its eyes at his dramatics. Luca stuck his tongue out in defense, not willing to argue with a shark at the moment.

When he rolled onto the beach with a swell, the sun was beginning to crest over the ocean’s face. Giulia and Luisa both nodded to him, neither having moved from their spot on the sand.

“Did you want to swim a bit before we head back?” Luca asked Luisa, already knowing the answer. The Sicilian girl smiled gently at his offer before shaking her head in a negative.

“Is it a self-conscious thing because I totally get that. But just to be very clear, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Luca balked at Giulia’s sudden boldness. The redhead in question looked at him as if to ask why he’d let her say that her face turning the same shade as her locks. “Sorry,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “that was too much.”

Luisa had the most genuine smile on her face that Luca had seen in their entire time together. She wrapped arms the color of caffè around Giulia, pressing her grin into her shoulder.

“You’re too cute, Giulietta.”

Giulia looked dazed out of her mind, her face the definition of a satellite that had gone to space and made no motion of returning to earth.

Pulling away, Luisa’s expression turned carefully neutral, and she appeared to be at war with something in her thoughts. As the sun began to pour its warm rays along the sandy shores of Genoa, the young sea monster seemed to come to terms with something. Sighing, she gracelessly flopped forward and began to push her fingers deep beneath the sand’s surface.

“When I was really small, I was taken from my parents by fishermen.” Luisa began slowly, “I was sold to a Circo da baraccone in Napoli, and I was their star of the show. The circus was filled with other people who had anomalies, like me. For the most part, they were really nice.”

“For the most part?” Luca asked quietly. He suddenly felt oddly cold, even with the rays drying his skin.

“Our… master,” Luisa bared her teeth at the word, “was not kind. He wanted perfection instantly and he was very greedy, he barely met our basic needs for food and water. Instead, he would spend money on alcohol and parties with powerful people.” Luisa traced vicious lines through the sand, contrasting light and dark with her fingers.

“When he was particularly ubriaco, he would wake us up at all hours of the night and run through shows with us. Every time we would make a mistake, he would use his whip.” Her fingers stopped. “I was just seven years old.” She whispered.

Beside her, Giulia had become rigid, her face pale and her cheeks were glistening with tears.

“One night, he was more violent than usual, and he knocked over a lantern. The whole circus went up in flames. In all the chaos, my tank broke and I was afraid I would die without water, I’d never made the change before. When I realized I could breathe, it didn’t matter because the fire was too big by that point. The smoke and heat were everywhere, and I couldn’t run.

“But then, Marta came back for me.” Luisa gave a small smile and finally met their stricken gazes.

“She carried me to safety, and we escaped together, never once looking back.”

“Is that what brought you here to Genoa?” Giulia’s voice shook, though she tried to hide it. Luisa turned to her and laced their fingers together and they both held on tightly.

“No, I was only nine. Marta tried to help me find my parents, but I couldn’t remember where I had been taken from and I couldn’t find other sea monsters near Napoli. Actually,” she finally looked at Luca, “you’re the first one I’ve encountered in all these years.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca murmured. Luisa raised her eyebrows in question.

“Don’t be,” She answered easily, though her voice caught, “for the first time, in a long time, I have hope.”

“Anyways,” she continued, “we moved to Sicily to avoid recognition and Marta did what she could to teach me how to be a human, including teaching me my letters and numbers. Eventually, she was able to enroll me into a school.” Here, she frowned.

“I didn’t mean to reveal myself, but there was an accident with water, and I changed. I escaped school, which wasn’t hard to do when everyone is afraid of you. Marta and I fled here and changed our names, she’s sacrificed for me so much and I feel terrible about it.” Tears began to leave pink scale marks over her skin.

“No,” Luca corrected gently. He shared a look with Giulia, and wordlessly they embraced the weeping teen. “You did what you had to to survive. And there is no guilt or shame in that.” Luisa sobbed harder, years of heartache bleeding out and dampening the crystals of sand. They stayed that way until there was no guilt left.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Your demo in a relationship headcanons were simply aaaaaaahhhh!*chef kiss* could we maybe have some for everyone's favorite aussie stringbean?

I absolutely love Sniper...he’s one of those characters I can just fall back on. I also just like Australian accents, especially when he speaks in a low, intimidating voice. Gets me every time. Makes me either blush or happy stim whenever I hear it.

First Date:

You find Sniper on a dating app after a particularly bad break-up.

His profile picture is of him shirtless, holding a huge gun next to him. However, instead of looking sexily into the camera, he’s looking off camera with a bewildered look on his face.

His bio says, “My friends put me up to this. Don’t expect too much. If you go on one date with me maybe they’ll shut up. Who bloody knows?”

You get curious, and you decide to start a chat with him.

“Your friends put you up to this huh? 😏”

“yeah. what of it?”

“What, are you some lonely wolf type or what?”

“you could say that.”

He was texting back almost immediately. Even if he wasn’t a lovey-dovey person, he was certainly interested.

“How would you like to get those friends off your back?”

“i’m free wednesday.”

You make plans, which, despite only seeing this as a one-night stand, you gradually get more and more excited for.

You meet Sniper at a nicer restaurant, wearing a new black dress that you hadn’t worn yet.

When you finally see him at the lobby, you realize that the picture didn’t do him justice, even thought he now had a beige suit on.

His lankiness showed a bit more, but his arms were very strong despite his frame. He was wearing sunglasses, which added an air of cool refinement.

At first you thought he was British because of his texts, but when he spoke, you knew right away he was Australian. You are far from disappointed.

You are still waiting for your table when all of a sudden, Sniper takes out a huge knife. Before you can react, he quickly slices something out of your vision and then brings it before your eyes. You had forgotten to take the tag off your dress.

“I’m flattered. I didn’t think you’d get all shinied up for me.”

You breathe out shakily and rub your neck. Sniper’s eyes furrow.

“I didn’ nick ya, did I?”

“N-no...just s-scared me...”

You thought maybe you had met up with a psycho, and all your suspicions were not put to rest yet, but the close encounter seemed to awaken something in you.

The date continues as normal. Both of you are pretty awkward at first, especially since the knife incident. But before the main meal is brought to your table, you’ve started up a conversation.

Sniper told you he was in the military, but his base is very lax with dress code and schedule.

You start telling him about your job as a graphic designer when all of a sudden a scream interrupts you mid-sentence.

There’s a guy holding a gun about eight tables from you, pointing it at the many patrons. He doesn’t seem drunk, but just enraged.

“WHAT’S A GUY GOTTA DO TO GET SOME DAMN FRIES?!”

The manager tries to talk to him, but ends up getting shot, most likely dead.

The yelling continues for about fifteen minutes. You are very uncomfortable, not to mention terrified, but Sniper seems oddly nonchalant.

Suddenly, Sniper yells, “OI! THEY’RE BRINGIN’ OUT YOUR FRIES! RIGHT THERE, MATE!”

The guy follows Sniper’s finger, and all of a sudden there’s a gunshot. But it wasn’t from the madman’s gun...it was from Sniper’s.

The guy falls over on top of the bleeding manager, writhing in agony.

Before you can even process what’s happening, Sniper grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the restaurant.

“Dishes it out but can’t take it, eh luv? C’mon, we’ll go to my place. It’s real nice.”

You get into his van, which smells like a mixture of old leather, beef jerky, and...something else. However, your terror quickly trumps your logic.

“First Time”:

Despite your fiasco of a first date, you still decide to stay at Sniper’s until it’s all blown over.

His apartment is covered wall to wall with guns, memorabilia, and sticky notes, usually with names and dates written on them.

On the far wall was a cork board filled to the brim with pictures, yarn, and Xs made in thick red Sharpie.

“If I woulda known it would go this far, I woulda tidied up the place. Sorry about that, luv.”

You brush it off, and you both sit on an old leather couch with bits of stuffing sticking out of it.

You take this as a cue to get around to what this whole date had been about: some sweet, sweet rebound. It seems awkward now that you had gone through so much - besides, you hadn’t expected to connect with Sniper the way you have...

But you still manage to spit it out.

“Er...yeah. That’s what people usually do, right? Yeah? I dunno. I’ve been off the playin’ field awhile.”

Sniper puts his hands around your neck and let’s you begin to kiss him. But it was clear after a while he wasn’t into it, so you pull away and ask if he wanted to wait another time.

“Aw, no, shiela. Look at me, lyin’ ‘ere like a dead fish...I just...I’ll try ‘arder, luv, I promise.”

You pull away completely. This had trauma written all over it, and you weren’t about to force someone into it...you were better than your ex.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

You asked him what was wrong, and why he was being so passive about what was happening to him. Why didn’t he say anything? Do anything?

Sniper sighed, pulling his hat way down in front of his face.

“I like girls, don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that. But I never felt...that way about ‘em. Or anybody else, honestly. I tried it once in college...I just ended up feelin’ sick. Tried it with another girl, then another, then another. I even tried with my guy roommate. But I always ended up feelin’ like I was gonna puke. Sometimes I did. It just never felt right. It wasn’t magical, it was bloody disgusting.”

“But every girl I’ve ever been with expected it, and to keep ‘em, I ‘ad to do what they wanted. Sometimes I’d just lie there, tryin’ not to vomit, trying to at least move a little, act like I was into it. They said they’d change my mind, that this time would be different. At the end of the day, it never was, and I lost ‘em. And now I’m gonna lose you too, ‘n I’m gonna halfta tell the guys...they’ll never let this go...”

Back At The Base... :

Spy called the entire team into the security room to watch the entire date go down. He had placed a bug on Sniper’s suit while helping him adjust it, and now everyone was here to watch the show.

Everybody cheered when the guy was shot, though Spy made a mental note to call Miss Pauling in the morning.

The whole team, Scout especially, was excited to see some action when Sniper brought you to his apartment. Well, everyone except Medic. He stood their with his eyebrows creased. He knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Aw, c’mon Snipes, what’s the hold up?! She is so inta you!”

There wasn’t any sound, so no one exactly knew why Sniper paused for so long.

Finally, you two came back together again, but after about thirty minutes of just kissing, the other mercs got bored really fast.

Scout was especially disappointed.

“Man, this was whole thing was a bust!”

Spy shrugged. “Not quite a waste of time. Look at her. She’s smitten. I never thought I would say this, but gentlemen - we have found Sniper a suitable suitor!”

Medic, eyes wide, kept his Sniper’s medical history too himself - not for HIPAA, but for the drama of it all. He wanted to see how this would play out.

Love At First Shot:

On a casual date at his place, Sniper catches you admiring one of his weapons.

“That’s one’s a beaut, ain’ it? That’s one ‘a my oldest guns. She’s outta service, the old girl, but she don’t look a shot over thirty.”

He picks it up and cocks it, nodding approvingly.

“Got this offa real bloody fruit seller. The muzzle ‘ad stains all over it, rust in some places...the bloke obviously had no idea how to take care of it.”

You suddenly feel a pang in your chest.

“Oi, luv, not a fan ‘a guns?”

“No...I...it just made me remember something.”

Sniper puts down his weapon, sits on the sofa, and pats his leg.

“‘Ere. Tell me about it.”

You hesitate for a moment before shyly sitting on his knee. You’re on the smaller side, but you were still afraid you might hurt him.

“Aw, it’s alright. Put your full weight on. These babies can ‘old an Aussie an’ an AK-47.”

You giggle, letting yourself get a little more comfortable.

“Now, luv...what’s on your mind? What’s that pretty lil’ head a’ yours thinkin’?”

You sigh.

“My boyfriend...or, my ex-boyfriend...we broke up for a reason. Or, well, I dumped him. We had been dating for almost three years, and I didn’t see it coming.”

“Crazy train crashed inta the station, huh?”

“He almost did. He...he had hit me before. I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to get in trouble. But one night...it got really, really bad. He wasn’t even drunk. He was still in his work uniform. I stayed with a friend, and I told him it was over with a text - I was just so scared he’d find me. He knew my friends. He knew my address. And so I just wanted to find someone to protect me. It was more than just rebound...I just didn’t want to be alone. I wanted one person in my life he didn’t know so they could protect me.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you bit them back. You didn’t feel like sobbing in front of your new boyfriend. Sniper, though, started laying down, taking you with him.

Your head was now under his chin, and you were laying all along his body. The sudden show of affection caught you off guard. You started to cry, burying your face in his chest.

Sniper wrapped his arms around you, supporting your entire weight easily.

Neither of you spoke for a good fifteen minutes, except for Sniper saying an occasional, “Aw, sweetheart...”

Finally, you calmed down, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s embrace.

“Y’know, luv...”

Sniper hesitated.

“I...could teach ya how to shoot. If it’ll make ya feel safe.”

You sniffle and look up.

“I know ya probably want some big, strong man to protect ya, an’ I will. God, if anybody even touches a bloody ‘air on your ‘ead, I’ll kill ‘em. But I wan’ you to go to the movies, or the store, or just ‘ave a nice walk an’ not be lookin’ over your shoulder. I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

“I...I can’t shoot a gun...”

“Why not?”

“I can’t...aim or shoot...I don’t think I’ve even held a gun before...”

“Well, we can fix that! ‘Ere...”

Sniper leans over and picks up his old gun again, laying it in your hands. It’s a bit heavier than you expected.

You run your hands over the muzzle and barrel, not even daring to touch the trigger.

Sniper puts his hands over yours and guides them over the gun, giving you more confidence about handling the weapon.

“A gun is like...like a dog. You train it right, an’ you train yourself, you’ll be fine. You’re no kid, so you know ‘ow dangerous these can be. But fear doesn’t shoot the bullet. Fear doesn’ aim for ya.”

Every time you went to his apartment, he would do this. Sometimes you two would be talking, and he would nonchalantly hand you the gun, which, after a while, you took without thought.

Now it was time to take you to the range.

He gave you that old gun to use as practice, but promised a newer, more compact gun when you had gotten the hang of shooting.

Hands on your shoulders, hands over yours, he taught you how to target a person’s more sensitive areas.

Over the next few months, you grew better and better at hitting your mark. You weren’t perfect, but you could definitely defend yourself.

One night, Sniper went to go get you both Chinese food, and you were hanging out at your apartment.

You heard a knock on your window. You ignore it, thinking a bird had flown into it by accident. However, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent, you lift your head, startled.

It was your ex-boyfriend.

He was in a suit, but his face wasn’t nearly as neat. His eyes were red and wide, and his hair was messy.

He had walked up the fire escape to your balcony, and was leaning against the rail, relaxed.

You stayed inside, but you knew that the door was unlocked - he could come in any time he wanted. And he knew this.

He spoke, and you could hear him through the glass.

“Still single. Just like I thought.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I came back because I was worried. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...I thought maybe something had happened. You were so depressed when you left. I couldn’t help but think that maybe...well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here, and I am more than willing to be with you again. I think we both have cooled off, right? We’ve had some time apart, and now we’ve realized we’re madly in love with each other and can’t be apart for another minute...”

“I have a new boyfriend!”

You blurted it out so suddenly you even surprised yourself. But your ex was unmoved.

“Oh, right. Sure. How much are you paying him, this boyfriend of yours? Do you have to pay extra for sex, or do you have a pity discount?”

“He...he’ll come back...and...”

You looked beside you. Your gun was laying on the floor beside you. Sniper had just taken you to the range, and you hadn’t had enough time to put it away.

You remembered what he said...

“I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

You put your hand around the gun, grasping it tightly.

You swallow.

“Come back and what?” your ex jeered. “What’s your new boyfriend going to do? Beat me up?”

You are still trying to make your decision when you hear the glass door open.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, angel. I want to see your beautiful face.”

You whip around, the gun in your hand. Your ex immediately recoils, his hands flinging up.

“Woah woah woah...!”

“Please. Leave.”

Your voice is hoarse, but you try to sound as firm as possible.

“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would never get back with you. Ever. You...you made me feel so helpless, scared, alone...I can’t feel that way forever. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I want you to leave and never come back. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Your ex smirks, albeit shakily. “You can’t shoot that. You’ve never touched a gun in your life.”

“My boyfriend wanted me to be safe. He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to be able to deal with creeps like you.”

You get up, gun still in hand, and your ex backs away.

“He did more than you ever did.”

“What, so you’re just going to shoot me? End up on the six o’clock news?”

“No. I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you to leave. For good.”

“I bet that thing isn’t even loaded.”

You show him a half-full magazine and point to the fire escape.

“Like you know how to -!”

You quickly turn to a picture of a seaside landscape, shakily aim, and manage to shoot it, shattering the frame to pieces.

“Get. Out.”

Your ex practically runs out, yelling that he was calling the police.

Sniper comes back a few minutes later, and when he asks you what the hell happened, you start telling him between trembling breaths what had occurred.

Sniper turned bright red and tipped his hat down.

“That bloody wanker...fruit sellin’...”

He starts to walk towards the fire escape, but you stop him.

“I scared him off, please don’t...he said he was going to call the police...”

Sniper took a few deep breaths, calming down.

“We’ve got th’ best lawyers in the country. I’d like to see ‘im try.”

The police was never called - you think it was probably a pride thing, since you had overpowered him so easily - but you weren’t sure you had seen the last of him.

But with your own experience and Sniper’s, you had some piece of mind.

However, you were soon going to find out that Sniper had more power on his side than you thought...

*****************

Long time, no headcanon! Well, good headcanons, anyway. I rushed my last post, so I tried to go all out with this one. I might write a second part when headcanons are open again, but I think I prefer leaving some things up to the imagination, hm?

Anyway, more headcanons on the way! Same bat time, same bat channel! The next one is about siblings, though I may post shorter headcanons before that, since it’s such a fun idea to write.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 14

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 14

---------

“Tt. I will cut that stupid harlot into pieces.” Damian scowled. He, Allegra, Claude, Jon, Felix, Marinette, and Chloé sat at one of the prime tables in the cafeteria. His wife just finished telling them what happened after the initiation meeting.

“Maybe we don’t immediately jump to murder?” Claude suggested.

“I agree. We don’t have a place to hide a body yet.” Chloé supplied. 

“That’s not what… nevermind.” Allegra sighed. 

“Dami! I appreciate the thought, but maybe keep it as plan Z?”

“Plan Z is where I need more than one body bag.” He grumbled but nodded. “But we can postpone it.”

“Okay. Let’s act rationally and focus on prevention. Teachers will be useless.” Felix chose to act as the voice of reason.

“I really hoped it would be different than Paris…” Marinette moaned.

“It is. If they actually catch her, she will be expelled. But you’re not exactly the headmaster’s favorite person while Erica seems to be held high by him. We would need a solid proof and she is cunning.” Claude explained. 

“Remember Lucy Hunt?” Allegra asked. “She did something to attract Erica’s wrath and she had to move to Metropolis after she had a mental breakdown. Nothing was ever proven and to the naked eye it would look like a series of coincidences.”

“So she is smarter than Lila?” The shorter Parisian asked, worried about what was to come.

“Nah. She just knows how to talk with the right people.” Claude dismissed. 

“First order of business would be to ensure she has nothing real to hurt you with.” Felix started. 

Damian and Marinette shared a worried gaze before the boy spoke. “The site is foolproof. Drake made sure to use some of the best technology we have to protect it. Not even a super AI can hack it.” He subtly nodded his head to where Max and Markov ate. Kim and Alix were with them. The skater girl looked really upset. “Same with social media. Short of an alien invasion or if someone physically broke into where we hid the servers, you’re safe on that front.” 

It clearly took a lot of weight from her shoulders. 

“Okay, now onto blackmail?”

“Tt. That’s not something to discuss where we can be overheard.” Damian quickly shut that topic down. 

“Right. Sorry.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry, Kent. I’m covering that front.” Chloé smirked. 

“That’s great…” Claude started, but then pointed toward another table, with quite a lot of people. “Is that Erica… and you said that Sausage Hair was Layla Bossi?”

“Lila Rossi,” Chloé corrected him. “But I like Lie-la Bossi better now.”

“They seem… friendly..” Jon commented when the two girls hugged.

“I would actually expect them to be rivals, given that both want Damian,” Allegra noted. 

“Are they… crying?” Marinette asked.

“Crocodile tears.” Felix glared at them. “They are up to something. I don’t…” He never got to finish, because a purple butterfly descended from the ceiling and landed on Erica’s ring. The corrupted energy surrounded her momentarily and when it died out, her whole appearance was changed.

She now wore a black one-piece cheerleader uniform, similar to what GA cheerleaders wore, except it was black with red lines and not lilac with a white finish. On her chest, there was, in a jagged script, written ‘Gargoyle’. Her face was now in a light shade of red, with tear stains permanently etched on her cheeks. Her eyes were entirely white. Her blonde hair was turned into a messy mane and two horns stood proudly on her forehead. Her lower legs turned into that of a goat, complete with hooves. She was now holding a whip in one hand and a burning pompon in the other. Small wings were folded on her back.

“A succubus! +10 to charisma and +5 to strength!” A small Asian girl shouted from the nearby table.

“I am Weeping Gargoyle!” The Akuma spoke. “I’ve been used by the one I held dear and now I’m going to get what I was denied. But first,” the creature turned to Marinette and her friends. “You! I’m going to deal with you!” 

“Frick frack I lost me…” Claude started some rhymed joke, but a fireball sailing toward them shut him up. 

Thinking quickly, Marinette flipped over the table to use it as an impromptu cover. Damian kicked the ground and a sword popped from next to his chair. Nobody had time to question how he hid it there because everyone scattered. There was nowhere to transform in all the havoc.

“What’s going on here?” Headmaster Hammer walked through the front doors to the cafeteria to see a demonic cheerleader tossing flaming pompons that exploded. “Teenagers.” He growled. From under his cloak, he drew a saber and took a battle stance. “Fiend!” He rushed at her. The whip slashed at him, but the headmaster deflected it with an incredible show of swordsmanship. This created an opening for Damian to charge from the other side. He managed to dodge the flaming ball and slice at her hand. At the last moment, the wing shielded the Akuma and his blade bounced off without leaving the slightest cut. The headmaster was met with the same fate. 

“Stupid men!” The Akuma shouted. A ring of fire exploded from her, pushing and burning both of the attackers. 

“Run.” Headmaster snapped at Damian. “I’ll hold her off.” 

“Tt. You’re old. Get to safety.” The boy snapped back.

“You’re so getting detention for this!” Hammer scowled as the two dodged their separate ways.

“Hey! The tryouts are in the gym!” A voice spoke from a hole in the roof. A spotted heroine leaped from the hole while throwing a yo-yo at the Akuma. The cheerleader shielded with her wings before flapping them and lifting from the ground. 

“You’re not who I want! I’ll get your miraculous later!” She flew through the same hole the heroine entered through. The whole cafeteria was now on fire. Ladybug met Damian’s gaze for a moment before grabbing the headmaster and jumping outside. He was in bad condition from all the smoke. 

She laid him on the ground to make sure he was okay. He coughed several times before the professor was able to speak correctly. “What about the brat!”

“I’m going in now.”

“No need.” Black Cat appeared next to them. “I got him out. We’re lucky the main doors were still working because the rooftop fell apart after I entered.” 

“Cat! The Akuma will be on her ring. It was what created all the fire.”

“Tt. Let’s go.” The two jumped away from the headmaster, who hid a small smile.

-----------

Three girls and two boys snuck around the campus. Most of the students were already evacuated, but they managed to stay undetected and remain in the action area.

“I still think we shouldn’t go after a supervillain.” Kyle tried, but Maps made a gesture that told him to stop speaking.

“Sh! I’m telling you, it was Erica. A butterfly landed on her and she suddenly transformed into that monster.”

“I read about it. It was a demon. The Lord of Butterflies sent it to take her over. If we aren’t careful, it will turn all of us into that monster.”

“Olivia? You’ve got the crossbow?”

“Please. Demon? Lord of Butterflies?” Colton criticized. “Are you sure it wasn’t just some manga?”

“Shut up! How else would you explain what happened to Erica?” Pomeline asked. “It’s obviously dark magic.”

“Okay. Assuming it is dark magic, how are we supposed to protect ourselves? I’m pretty sure I don’t have tinfoil hats on me.”

“Fool. The only thing that can protect you from the Lord of Butterflies are positive emotions.” She spoke like it was an obvious fact, yet still making it sound ominous. 

Abruptly, the wall they were hiding behind exploded, and a girl dressed in a skintight red and black outfit flew past them. A boy in assassin garb followed. He landed on his feet and started to spin a staff fast enough to create a shield. Several fireballs flew at him, but they all smashed into the shield harmlessly. 

He noticed them cowering behind the wall.

“Tt. What are you doing here!? Get away! Now!”

Ladybug jumped up and leaped from behind him, throwing her yoyo. It wrapped over the leg of the villain and pulled the flying Akuma down. Cat charged past his partner and smashed her with his baton like it was a baseball bat, sending her into the wall. 

“Lucky Charm!” The heroine tossed the yo-yo above her head and a red-and-black watermelon fell into her arms. With only a moment’s hesitation, she tossed it to Cat, who already knew what to do. Once more playing baseball, he redirected the watermelon over to the akuma. She just managed to get it together when the fruit landed on her horns and got stuck. The change of weight made her fall, which Ladybug used to dash toward her and tie her with her own whip. She then pulled the ring from her finger and crushed it in her hand. 

A purple butterfly escaped her grasp, which she caught into her yo-yo. 

“Bye Bye little butterfly.” She then grabbed the watermelon and tossed it high in the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!” 

The item exploded into a swarm of glowing bugs that fixed everything there was to fix. It looked like the supervillain never attacked. 

“What… I…” Erica was back to normal and very confused. “There was… I remember…”

“Don’t worry. The paramedics will be with you shortly.” Ladybug calmed her. There was a bit of cold in her voice, but it was probably because she just finished fighting her a moment ago.

“I told you it’s magic.” Pomeline grinned victoriously while she whispered at Colton.

“Ehm.” Suddenly, the group was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them. “Mind explaining to me why are you here and not evacuated with everyone else?”

“Oh! Um… You see…” Maps started, but Pomeline was too focused on something else. “Where did you learn magic! Can you teach me?! I mean we go to school here and I want to help if Lord of Butterflies and his Demons attack again!”

“Lord of Butterflies?” Ladybug walked to them and asked, again startling the whole group.

“Yes. There was an old book in the library. I managed to decipher part of it and it spoke of the Lord of Butterflies and Demons he sent to possess people. But there is only so far a translator on my phone could take me. I’m not exactly fluent in Mandarin.”

“Can you lead us to it?” The superheroine was showing almost too much interest.

“Will you teach me magic?” Pomeline tried to bargain. 

“Tt. You will take us there or we return with the police and you will take us there.” Black Cat was not in the mood. Blackmail was the last thing he wanted right now. 

“Fine.” The girl scoffed and led them toward the library.

“How did you summon a watermelon?” The smallest girl asked zooming over to Ladybug. “Are you a summoner? I never played a summoner. They have some nice spells I suppose…”

Ladybug, against herself, giggled at the girl’s antics. She also noted in the corner of her eyes that Damian was also smiling under the hood. 

Nobody noticed when Erica slipped away.

-------

The library was large and dusty. It didn’t look like many people came here.

“It’s the old building. When Bruce Wayne funded a new library with new books, they decided to just keep the old one as an archive. Now only people that come here are us and Mr. Scarlet.”

“The new library totally had nothing to do with Damian Wayne getting expelled for the fourth time.” Colton joked and Ladybug giggled when Black Cat muttered a curse under his breath. 

“The book was in the back. I didn’t want to move it…” 

When they turned the corner, they saw a woman in a blue and purple dress standing over a book with a tablet. She was taking pictures of the pages. Her skin was blue and her hair purple. 

The group immediately pressed against the wall, and Pom pulled a handheld mirror to take a look around the corner without risk of being spotted. Meanwhile, Ladybug and Black Cat looked at one another and their faces took a serious expression. There was a kind of silent dialogue going on between them and they both nodded at the same time. In complete silence, Cat used his staff to up and meld with the shadows. Only his green eyes were visible until they too disappeared. 

Ladybug opened her Yo-Yo like a phone and took a photo of the feathered villain. She was turned to them, but even something as simple as that could be a major help. Kwami bless magical phones for making perfect pictures without a flash. 

With the proof needed, she aimed her yo-yo, spun it twice around before throwing it forward. The projectile sailed true and wrapped around her arm holding the tablet. The villainess was surprised and let go of the tool as Ladybug yanked on the line and made her opponent lose balance. That was the cue for Black Cat, who swooped from the ceiling, snatched the tablet, and leaped back into the shadows. 

“Ugh! Stupid peasants!” The Peacock cursed. Instead of freeing her hand, she allowed the fan to slip into her hand and unfolded it. She tried to pull on the yo-yo’s line and make her opponent fly to her. It worked, but Ladybug twisted mid-air and came at the villainess feet first in a kick. The blue woman had to block it, but she still held the line. The heroine used it for her advantage and flipped the line over Peacock’s neck and started to choke her. It also held her in place. Black Cat, who already deposited the tablet in a safe place, swept down and tried to grab the brooch, but he got kicked back by an angry woman, fighting for a breath. 

Peacock folded her fan and swiped at the line, cutting it and making Ladybug fall on her back. The Villainess took a deep breath and looked around to analyze her situation. She was outnumbered and the element of surprise was still on her opponents’ side. Even without the yo-yo, Ladybug was a formidable foe and she wasn’t sure who the new Black Cat was. She had a silent suspicion, but nothing solid. 

“Until we meet again, fools.” She leaped up and onto the shelves. Cat went in pursuit, but she saw the kids hidden behind one of the shelves and purposefully made it fall when she jumped onto it. The kids didn’t have enough time to scatter. Predictably, Black Cat went to save the kids. 

He pushed Maps from under the falling shelf but got stuck there himself. His suit and enhanced body could withstand it, but not his bruised ego. 

“Don’t be a grumpy cat. We’ve got her tablet.” Ladybug stood over him and grinned before helping him stand up. 

“Tt. We might have our first lead.” He grinned. 

“Let’s go check the book itself. The fact she was after it makes me think it has more value than I first suspected.”

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

Masterlist // Next

[baldwin-montclair]

The Unlikely Advocate

Roman Holiday Concluded

After bringing her to his home island of Ischia - off the coast of Naples - Baldwin introduces her to the customs of the island, as well as continuing their game of control.

Surprising confessions ensue.

FIRST PART

Tags: @adowbaldwin @butternuggets-blog @sylverdeclermont @lady-lazarus-declermont @ordinarymom1 @thereadersmuse @marirable @pleasereadmeok

“Bella!” The elderly matron appraised the work of her ‘priestesses’.

Clad in a white, very light and gauzy fabric chiton pinched in by ribbons, with her hair up in flowers, Eileen barely recognised herself. It seemed like a waste to get so dressed up to stain with the grape juice.

“Liber Pater will be pleased.”

“Baldwin?”

The three young women overseeing her transformation giggled.

“Our patron,” the Priestess explained “the Free Father. He has guarded us for centuries yet has never changed. We tend the fruits he grants us.”

“You think he’s a god?”

“No Senora,” the woman chuckled, “the gods do not answer prayers but he does. When we need him, he has always protected us.”

“I’ve found that,” Eileen smiled, remembering each time he’d come to her aid, “thank you for inviting me to be part of the celebrations?”

“He did not tell you?”

The women exchanged amused glances.

“It is the festival of Proserpina, consort to Liber, we’ve never had one before.”

“A Festival?”

“A Proserpina.”

“Wait, I’m not Baldwin’s consort, I’m just...” she stopped, unsure how to even continue, “this is technically our first date, if it’s even that!”

She wondered for the first time what was actually happening between them.

Friends didn’t seem sufficient, roommates might be closer since she’d been staying in his home for a few days. Roommates with benefits would require them actually being intimate, which is what she’d thought he was suggesting before spiriting her away to his Italian villa.

“I manage an international consortium of wine suppliers and buyers,” the Priestess nodded to the girls, “those are my granddaughters, they are going to Padua University in the fall, we live in the modern world like you. These are traditions we keep because they bring us together, and they are fun. We know what dating is, and the fact that you are our first and only Proserpina should tell you this is not that.”

“So,” Eileen started after a moment of stunned silence, “what is my part in the ceremony?”

“You and your maidens tread the first grapes of the harvest. In your absence they would perform this ritual as your proxies.”

“I’m guessing it’s quite messy?”

“Oh yes it is,” she smiled, “at the end, you will be quite covered. But we have cleaning facilities nearby.”

“High priestess,” Baldwin called from outside the tent, “if I may speak with the lady?”

“Of course pater,” she ushered the excited girls out the other side of the tent “she is ready”.

Eileen felt his gaze wash over her, cool and careful as she continued to look in the mirror.

“See something you like?” She asked.

“What I see is a vision of Venus herself!”

“Not Venus, Proserpina, consort of Liber who is, apparently, you.”

“It’s ceremonial, these are sensible people, they know I’m not really a God.”

“But your consort?” She challenged, catching his eye in the mirror reflection.

The grin held a glint of wolffish amusement as he approached her.

“I thought I would have more time to explain,”

his touch was light over the fabric on her shoulder but the coolness still imprinted on her climate warmed skin, “but our dear matron is much more strict with timing than any that have come before.”

“Explain what?” She asked with a dreamy sigh as he moved his hands to her waist.

“I was born here, the first time, I mean. We were wealthy, maintained the vineyard. I come here on this day every year, it just so happened to coincide with you, being here, with me. Is that fate or coincidence?” He pondered.

“It’s verging on a fairytale is what it is,” she shook her head, “a beautiful meal, two costume changes, a villa on an Italian island AND the opportunity to take part in a centuries old festival. What’s next? Are you planning on stealing the Crown Jewels for me?”

“Those trinkets,” he rolled his eyes, “I could show you stones of such size and rarity that they would destroy the global economy if they were to leave my vault.”

“Is that what you have planned for our next date?”

“Date,” he frowned, “you believe this is a mere date?”

“Honestly, I have no idea, it definitely does not fit the usual definition of ‘let’s go for a meal and awkwardly get to know each other’, but my frame of reference is kinda narrow.”

“Alright, let’s simplify it,” he framed her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, causing her to sigh in contentment, “as per our agreement, you put control in my hands until sunrise, call that our date if you wish.”

“And then?”

“And then, tomorrow, we’ll discuss my plans going forward.”

“Your plans?”

“Yes,” he answered with a bemused look, “that apartment is not safe. You’ll both move into the most secure floor in my building.”

“I can’t,” she choked, “I work from my home office, it’s where I meet my clients.”

“It’s a simple enough matter to redirect correspondence to your new address, and there is office space in the building, away from the living quarters. You can see your clients there.”

“Baldwin, I-“

“It will be your own apartment and I would only cross the threshold if invited to do so.”

“What, like a vampire?” She grinned.

“No, like someone with manners and a healthy grasp of social boundaries.” He retorted.

“Senora,” the woman called, “you are needed.”

“We can discuss the details later, you have a ceremonial duty to perform as my consort.” He teased, leaving the tent and her to her thoughts.

Move into his building? It was too much, too soon under normal circumstances but this was not normal circumstances. She had to consider what was best for Isobel, and the apartment was not safe.

The considerations could be decided later, for that night she was going to have fun, drink wine and not let the spectre of her family ruin her good time.

As it turned out, getting messy and sticky whilst stamping many grapes directly to hell was a much more cathartic and euphoric experience than several rounds with a punching bag.

Luckily there were showers set up to remove the grape entrails, otherwise the rest of the night would be more uncomfortable than it was already likely to be.

Wine.

A simple solution to a complex problem, a nice warm buzz was the goal and she interspersed the wine with water.

Dancing.

The energy of the towns inhabitants was infectious and just as intoxicating as the alcohol. She learned several dances, all the while aware of his Baldwin’s watching over her intermittently as he spent much of the evening on his cellphone.

An attractive, blonde South African male spent some time talking to her, and, being polite, she indulged him in conversation. This abruptly stopped when he placed a hand on her arm in a manner apparently too familiar for the sensibilities of the vampire watching over her, judging by the ice cold focus of his gaze on the site of contact.

The man’s eyes flickered off to the side and he retrieved his hand quickly, excusing himself.

Upon turning, Eileen found Baldwin standing a few feet away, glass in hand.

The festivities showed no sign of abating and after several more dances, Eileen scanned the celebrations for Baldwin but with no immediate success she determined that he would find her, and, enchanted by the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the sand, she followed the shoreline to where it was quieter.

With not another person in sight, she leant against the large, heavy stones making up the beginning of a cave system and removed her shoes.

She wiggled her toes into the warm sand and sighed, then smiled a little at a whimsical desire. Deciding to follow through, she waded ankle deep into the tide and closed her eyes, completely lost in the sensation of peace.

That’s when she felt the focused chill of a vampire’s gaze quicken her pulse.

“Who was he?” Baldwin asked with a silken tone, a few feet behind her.

“No idea,” she turned to look at Baldwin.

There was something different about him and it took her a few seconds to realise he wasn’t wearing his tie, surprising as he didn’t seem like the type who relaxed. But, there he was, leaning against the large heavy rock she had just been using to remove her shoes.

“I was just being friendly.” She shrugged and received no answer.

“You’re not angry because I spoke with him?” She stepped towards him.

He didn’t answer but the look he was giving warned her not to push further.

“Oh you are!” She purred, placing her hands on his broad chest and tiptoed her fingers up to his shoulders playfully.

It was a childish impulse but she felt a tinge of satisfaction from his show of possessiveness.

“Don’t-“

“Don’t what?” She prodded, letting her fingers lace together on the nape of his neck.

“Don’t test me!” He stood completely still, but the evenness of his tone suggested his stature was closer to that of a coiled snake than a prey animal caught in headlights.

“Alright, I won’t,” she turned away from him to look out at the water, “I suppose I could catch up with him, Charlie. He’s handsome, right? Athletic, strong. Probably has quite high stamina.”

“That’s enough!” He warned in a low growl, simultaneously setting off every self-preserving alarm and, perversely, every ‘make-him-snap’ impulse.

“Well obviously it’s not my first choice but since I think you’ve tired of me already, a girl has needs!”

“Be very careful about your next words little witch!”

“You don’t agree with my choice,” she teased, “you can’t just picture him helping me out of this dress, taking me to his bed,” she glanced back for emphasis but found his expression impassive, unreadable, “or maybe he’d want me on my knees first.”

He approached slowly, quietly, and gently placed his hands on her arms before lightly trailing his fingers down.

Surprised by his gentle treatment, given her challenge, she hesitated, ready to apologise for her behaviour.

The tightening grip when he reached her elbows made the words catch in her throat

Suddenly, she was pulled tightly against him, the broad wall of his chest proving an impenetrable barrier against her back as her wrists were captured in one of his hands. The other clasped her throat, instantly making her freeze.

“You are a Percy,” he lightly brushed his lips over her jaw, “that means you have been well warned on the danger of stoking vampire jealousy. Would that be accurate?”

She took a breath to answer but he tsk-ed her with a shake of his head, tightening his grip

“Not a word, just nod if my assessment is accurate.”

She complied.

“Good girl,” he cooed, “I think that pretty little mouth of yours has gotten you into quite enough trouble.”

Her wrists were under his control but her fingers still had agency enough to seek out the front of his pants, lightly running her fingertips across his growing erection, making him groan quietly.

“Not yet.” She again picked up the challenge.

He was just as aroused by providing the rough treat as she was receiving it.

“You play a dangerous game little witch,” he rasped menacingly, releasing her throat momentarily to bind her wrists together with what felt to her like silk.

His tie.

Unable to move enough to touch him and with both of his hands free to do what he willed, she was in the game now.

“I assumed there would be consequences for my disrespect-“

She was cut off by a low chuckle.

“You do not decide what happens this evening, I do,” he warned, “did you think you could provoke me to anger so easily?”

“It’s like you said,” she stammered, not as sure as before, “vampire jealousy.”

“You noticed that I removed my tie before your little piece of theatre, there’s nothing you could have done to cause or prevent this.”

His hands moved to her shoulders and he gently slid the thin straps of her dress down her arm.

“Baldwin,” she protested sharply upon feeling the cool night air brush against her bare breasts, “someone might see!”

He snaked his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to him as he gently nipped at the side of her neck.

The sensation of being trapped was doing interesting things to her body and she willingly leant against him for support, softening into his control.

“There’s no-one even remotely near us,” he reached up with the hand not holding her to him to her chest, letting his index finger circle around the hardening bud of her nipple, “vampire senses come in very handy.”

“There’s no way you can hear,” she gasped at the delicious contact, “the music, the waves.”

“I can hear well enough,” he gave a gentle squeeze at her breast before placing the palm of his hand over her heart, the family signet ring on his pinkie finger somehow colder than him, “but if you’re worried about me being distracted, those are not the main contenders.”

“My heartbeat?”

“Obviously, I’m sure even you can feel it, but even that is a secondary rival for my attention.”

She didn’t reply, not verbally anyway. His words had an effect on her and like she feared he knew, they caused her to press her thighs together, an imperceptible amount to anyone else, but enough to cause him to huff slightly in satisfaction.

“Am I to guess?” She snapped, receiving a sharper nip at the side of her neck.

There was something deeply wrong with her danger senses, she feared, given the fact that she was not only putting her veins on display for a vampire, but that she was deriving pleasure from the activity.

Her trust was rewarded when he put his hand in hers, still tied behind her back.

“It is clear to me that your needs run more extreme than I thought,” his tone was gentle, calm and warm, “just know that if we continue and you push me, I will retaliate but no harder than the nip I just gave you. If you understand and accept then squeeze my hand once, if it goes too far then squeeze twice and we end the game here.”

She squeezed once and he removed his hand from her grasp to wrap it lightly around her throat. From there, he tipped her face up to look over her shoulder at him and captured her lips in a crushing kiss.

She melted against him, the kiss lighting her on fire whilst soothing something wild and afraid within.

She hadn’t even realised that he had undone the fasteners on the back of her dress until the meagre weight of the garment settled on her hips.

From the waist up, she was bare to him, the skirts of the dress still provided some modesty.

With the hand not curved around her throat, he trailed his fingers down her sternum and navel to slip suggestively into the gap between her dress and underwear.

“Good behaviour is rewarded,” he told her between kisses, “do you want to be good for me?”

She nodded, straining for him to kiss her more.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me!”

He smiled a little, hand tightening around her throat as if in response.

“I already am,” he teased, brushing his lips so close to hers but still just out of her reach, “so I must assume...”

Baldwin’s fingers travelled back up towards her navel and she fidgeted in his grasp.

“Be still!” He warned and she somehow managed to contain her movements.

“Aren’t you well behaved!” He taunted before slipping his hand inside her panties, causing her to gasp at the sensation of his cool skin against her warmth.

“I think if I don’t take you soon you may combust!” He murmured, stroking a finger between her folds, slick with desire.

He touched, teased and tested her readiness until she was a writhing, flushed and pliable putty.

In what seemed like a flash, he removed the tie, freeing her arms and turning her to face him.

He kissed her deeply and lifted her with her legs around his waist to the rocks where he effortlessly pinned her between himself and the sun warmed stone.

Pulling her underwear aside, he freed himself from just enough of his own clothes as necessary, then, with a nod of consent, he pushed into her warm, welcoming depth.

“You feel exquisite,” he groaned, pulling back slightly to push back in.

She clutched her fingers in the material of his shirt with the delicious sensation of being filled to the point of almost discomfort.

It had been a long time.

Baldwin gripped her thighs as he took her, hard, seeming to know exactly what she needed and he had her there much faster than anyone before.

“Baldwin” she cried, desperately trying to stop herself tipping over the edge, it was too quick, “I can’t, can’t stop.”

“You needed this, take it,” he kissed her as she shuddered in his arms, “and worry not little witch, this evening is far from over!”

Eileen woke as the sun started it’s ascent higher, 11am, according to the watch on the bedside, the watch still there as it’s vampire wearer himself was still asleep.

His skin was cooling her body under the hot Mediterranean climate, as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. The light cover tested loosely around their waist.

His heart beneath her hand barely beat as his chest rose and fell with shallow breathing.

He smelled tremendous, the Roman style bath he treated her to after their various exertions still bore the scents of the oil he gently cleansed her with, taking care to massage it into shoulders, wrists, anywhere he had earlier bound.

He then masterfully scraped off the oil with the strigil. A very intimate action given they were both naked at the time. A situation that normally might have been a cause of self-consciousness, at that time, after having been so thoroughly worked by his god-like stamina, she could only enjoy his attention.

The last thing she wanted to do was get up, disturb their peace so she huddled closer, her leg rubbing gently against his own, then she felt it brush her thigh.

Hard and cool as the marble in his frigidarium was his proud erection, now free from the confines of the fabric due to her movement.

She knew he was large, intimately so, but the sheer light of day exposed his skill in helping her to take so much of it.

Arousal twisted in her stomach at the sight of his powerful body and, mesmerised, she moved down the bed.

The first few quiet moans from him were gained from taking just the head into her mouth.

He didn’t actually awaken until she was halfway down the shaft.

“I see you’re still getting into trouble with that pretty little mouth of yours!” He grinned sleepily, lightly brushing his fingers across her cheek.

She released him with a definitive pop.

“It’s past sunrise,” she gazed up at him wantonly, her hand grasping tighter on his shaft, eliciting a hiss of arousal, “You’re no longer in charge.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, licking the tip of his cock for emphasis, “you just have to lie there and let me take care of you.”

There was a clear war in his mind from the frown on his brows to the half closed lids of his eyes.

“That’s not happening,” he brushed the hair from her face, “this trip is about you!”

“Now it’s about me showing my appreciation.”

Before he could respond, she took him into her mouth again, one hand on the base of his shaft as the other trailed up his body to rest over his heart.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his heart beating more insistent than before and she felt his muscles start to flex in an attempt to sit upright.

The wide eyed look of surprise on his face when he found himself pinned beneath her was satisfying as she again let him pop from her mouth.

“How-“ he inhaled sharply.

“You’ve never been with an earth witch, have you?”

“I’ve never been with a witch,” he confessed, “how are you preventing me from moving?”

“I can stop, if you want,” she offered with sincerity, “you’re probably not used to not being in control?”

“It’s disconcerting,” he admitted, “but you trusted me, perhaps it’s only right that I submit myself into your capable hands.”

“Are you telling me, after all the experience you’ve had, and how much you give, no-one has wanted to do this?”

“They have,” he admitted, “but, as you say, I like being in control.”

“Then, do I have your consent to continue?”

She felt the tension that settled into his muscles relax as he relaxed back onto his pillow.

He tilted his head to the side in an exaggerated attempt to study her proposal and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.

“It appears I am in your hands Madame,” he grinned, “but please, I ask only that you are gentle with me.” He teased with infuriatingly attractive confidence.

She responded by placing a timid kiss on the tip whilst staring up at him with the most doe-eyed expression she could manage.

“As beautiful as you were last night,” he combed his fingers through her hair, “I must tell you, right now, you’re easily the most radiant creature I have ever seen.”

“You’re only saying that because I have your cock in my hands!”

“I’m saying that because it’s the truth, and another thing,” he tipped her chin up with his finger to force her attention on his gaze, “I’m in love with you.”

Whatever grasp on her earth witch powers allowed her to anchor on top of him was evaporated by his revelation.

Taking the opportunity of the upper hand, he pulled her to him and under him.

“Baldwin, I-“

“Don’t say anything,” he smiled gently, “it was my time to say it, if you feel the same way and find the right time for you, I’ll be there to hear it.”

Eileen bit her bottom lip as a mixture of pleasure and emotion combined into a heady mixture in her veins whilst Baldwin tested her readiness to take him once again.

With a push he was sheathed inside but stayed his movement for a moment to slip his arms beneath hers and brace his forearms at either side of her head.

The close quarters allowed him the capability to kiss her cheeks gently, then her forehead, the tip of her nose and finally, her lips. His hand gently cradled the back of her head as he started to move.

Overwhelmed by his admission and the tenderness of his actions, she buried her face in the crook between his neck and shoulder and her obligingly held her there until he felt her tighten around him.

“Baldwin, I-“

“I know, you’re almost there,” he soothed when she grasped at his back, “I’ve got you.”

He felt her flutter around him and took his own pleasure when he heard her speak.

“I love you too.”

After lunch, with the table in front of them covered in various documents and arrangements, they planned their immediate future.

“I’m not looking forward to packing,” Eileen rolled her eyes, “but it’s a small price to pay.”

“About that?”

“What?”

“I already had your things moved to the apartment I told you about. I’ll feel better with you close by, even on a different floor.”

“And we need a family friendly story.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well,” she laughed, “when your sister asks to hear the grand tale of our confessing our feelings for each other I can hardly tell her that her brother said it whilst her friend had his cock in her hand-“

“And your friend said it when the aforementioned brother brought her to yet another satisfying conclusion.”

“We’ll say beach!” Both suggested in tandem.

[1kook]

could you possibly do an artist! tar drabble for your 3k milestone 👉🏼👈🏼

word count: 1.1k

“Woah,” he sighs dreamily for the tenth time in the last five minutes, and you were flattered the first few times but now you’re just embarrassed and cold.

“Tae,” you whine, tug the flimsy sheet closer around your naked body. He’s got you sprawled across the kitchen floor, some stained sheets draped behind you with the help of nearly every kitchen pot holding them down, and another similarity stained sheet clutched to your breast, carefully wound around your waist. “My back hurts.”

It startled him out of his trance, and he quickly diverts his attention back to the canvas before you. “Sorry, sorry, almost done,” he assures you, lips pulling into a pout as he pours himself into his work again.

When you had offered your help last week, this certainly wasn’t what you’d envisioned. Taehyung was a nice guy, a good classmate who let you copy off his history quizzes because he knows you hate this elective with every bone in your body. Always smiley, always kind as he took up the spot next to you twice a week. Had his ups and downs just like everyone else, but for the most part, remained a consistent source of happiness around you.

However, at the end of the day, he’s just like every other college student straggling through the school year, and such was evident when he came in not one day, not two days, but three whole days in a row with the biggest frown on his face. He moped about some assignment for his painting class, a piece of work that required a living model and a backdrop, neither of which Taehyung had. You had thoughtlessly offered yourself up, mostly under the belief he’d find someone better and cancel on you.

Well, he didn’t, and now you’re going on hour three of sitting butt ass naked on his kitchen floor.

You can’t scold him every time he glances your way; he obviously needs to see what exactly he’s supposed to be copying onto the canvas. You can, however, complain endlessly.

Taehyung’s tongue pokes out between his lips, shapely brows furrowed cutely as he glances somewhere around your waist, paintbrush hopping around the multitude of skin-colored tones he’d mixed for you.

You sigh, try not to move too much as he works away.

“__,” he suddenly says, that solemn voice you only just discovered today making a reappearance. You quirk up at the sound, find his dark brown eyes staring deeply into yours, and your throat dries.

“Yes?” You squeak.

Taehyung sets his brush down, gestures towards his chest, before sucking in a tight breath, spine going straight. “Like this,” he motions, and you slowly follow. The pose probably looks wildly different from his, mainly due to the… differences in chest size, and you ignore the warm burn beneath your skin when his eyes focus there next.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, and you want the ground to swallow you up. As it is, you settle on clenching your jaw, fingers gripping tightly at the sheet until your knuckles are trembling. If Taehyung notices, he doesn’t say a word, gentle strokes of the brush filling the silence.

You last another fifteen minutes, minutes you spend secretly basking at the compliments that seem to mindlessly filter out from his thoughts, until your stomach is begging for you to stop.

“Tae?” You inquire, quietly because it feels like any louder will disrupt the peaceful environment he’s built for the two of you. “I’m really hungry.”

A few more strokes, and Taehyung stills, serious eyes leaving the canvas to level you with a blank stare. “Really?” He asks, and you swear you hear the beginnings of a whine curl around the question, but he pushes on before you can ponder on it too long. “Okay, I left some fruit on the table over there, if you wanna...” he trails off.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, eyes tracing over your vulnerable state and the pastel bowl off the side, too far to reach. “Oh,” you lamely reply, shift your knees closer to your body. “Do you mind?”

Taehyung jumps to his feet, and a few brushes clatter to the floor when he accidentally bumps against his little table set up in his haste to get the bowl to you. “Sorry,” he chuckles, and the apples of his cheeks are a wonderfully rosy color when he sets them beside you, lingering for a moment before sitting down as well, plucking a grape off its stem and into his mouth.

You munch happily through an assortment of fruits, only remembering after your third cherry to make small talk. “So,” you cough, place the cherry stem and pit into the bin Taehyung’s pulled your way. “Do you regularly paint naked women?”

He laughs, loud and deep. “No,” he says, “this is my first time painting a nude figure, and a beautiful one at that.”

You bite down on an apple slice and hope that it covers the beating of your heart in your chest. “Shut up,” you mumble, and Taehyung smiles.

“Seriously,” he admits, eyes wide and sparkly as he details his experiences. “All my other figures have been my roommates or volunteer models at figure studies. You can only look at the same faces for so long before they get boring,” he sighs, glances at you with a look too soft that makes your insides painfully warm. “I was happy to paint someone new, and it definitely doesn’t hurt that they’re really pretty.”

“Now you’re just kissing up,” you tease, securing the sheet against your chest to distract yourself from the thundering in your chest. It does, distract you that is, but it also distracts someone else as well.

When you glance back up, Taehyung’s dark eyes are tracing along your clavicle and over the breasts you're terribly covering. He catches you catching him, and, much to your surprised, sweet and polite Taehyung doesn’t show an ounce of embarrassment at being caught. 

He shifts closer, one hand leaning against the floor, until all his lovely beauty marks fill your vision. “Tae?” You murmur, blood rushing to your ears.

“Yeah?” he breathes, nose bumping against yours. There’s a thousand words on the tip of your tongue, a thousand different ways to tell him how amazing you think he is, and how you never dared lust after him because you always thought he was out of your league. There’s a million different emotions swimming through your chest, the giddy feeling of kissing someone for the first time, and the lustful sensation of being one flimsy sheet away from feeling him on you. Thousands and millions of things you wanna say or do, and Taehyung swallows them all up with a soft brush of his lips against yours. 

ok now imagine it w this taehyung

[ugosidatsukola]

A gay ass doodle of my nightguard n Springy to go w/ some writing because I’m too lazy to do a whole mini comic rn  vvvv

“Here, siddown and I’ll put something on TV.” Grimm mumbled, setting aside a tray that sported an assortment of tools it’d brought from the garage. 

The tall rabbit it was speaking to had no reason to object, instead settling down with a grunt on the brown leather sofa and immediately reclining. 

The ex-Fazbear’s Fright employee had since taken him into its home- well, their new home, actually. The decision had been hasty- after the fire, it didn’t seem safe to keep around the location, risking getting caught with the now-free animatronic. Grimm hadn’t caused the fire, it was more of a lucky break- but avoiding a lawsuit or blame falling on it was uh, the best outcome here. It posted a lease takeover ad and slipped away once the conditions aligned. 

They’d roadtripped home, back to where it’d grown up, a cozy mountain town where the houses were tucked along blue-tinted ridges, where you could choose to rent in-town, or slip away into the privacy of the peaks and forests to a more nature-immersed setting. Rent was nice, if you could manage to lease a place before the college students snapped them up. Of course, they’d settled on a little cabin-esque house that offered more privacy. 

Springtrap had to adjust to the kind of peace the Smokies had brought. There wasn’t the bustle of constant customers, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, as opposed to the decades alone in a backroom. He was on edge, unfamiliar with this kind of life and expecting things to take a turn for the worse once more, and Grimm saw that- but the tension subsided as the days passed, and the wildlife visited the house. 

Bird watching. He liked bird watching, and the little bird-identification book Grimm had given him, so he could spend days on the deck of the house watching the animals frequent the feeders he’d help hang and fill. He’d toss apple chunks to passing deer, and leave out dishes of leftover eggs, fruit, and fat trimmings from meals for the fox, raccoons and opossum. 

“Here, this belonged to my grandmother. We don’t talk anymore, but if she could meet you, I’m sure she’d want you to have it. She really gets people, stubborn as she is.” It had said, as he turned the bird watching book over and thumbed through it with interest, squinting at the letters with weakened eyes. “I’ll get you reading glasses, don’t worry.”

...

When he’d finally snapped out of his thoughts, there was the chatter of some video game streamer, cackling in the background. He also liked that, watching funny people play dumb games, listening to Grimm’s occasional laughs or snarky commentary over it. 

It was prepping some kind of rust-cleaning solution. This was the second tune-up session they’d had, the first having covered basics- cleaning him up, removing that... parasite. That parasite resided in a glass case on the coffee table now, which he took some humor in. This time, it was functionality, though. Making sure his joints could move comfortably, removing rust that threatened the inner workings, repairing wiring. 

“Mouth open, rusty.” It joked, reaching up to brush those sharp nails against his chin. He liked that feeling. 

“Okay, scruffy.” He quipped back with a chuckle, obliging the request with a creak as his jaw slid open. 

He tried to focus on the TV as it worked quietly, setting in rust remover on every exposed part of metal it could get to. It didn’t complain about the job, even though he could tell he posed some difficulty. It, however, just playfully swatted him and told him not to be weird when he had snorted idly as it worked at the more awkward parts of his frame, and poked its hands through the ragged holes in his body. 

It was while they let the rust remover sit that it was inspecting the rest of him, assessing what could be done. 

“I dunnnnnnnno, see... I guess we could probably douse you in fabric cleaner. I don’ know  how I feel about stripping off your suit n’ soaking it. You’re not like a Furby or somethin’... Would that hurt?” It was prodding at his broken ear, inspecting shredded and loose wiring. A finger touched a stray wire and he twitched, like a muscle spasm. Grimm winced. “-Shit, sorry bun.” 

“Uhh... not sure, if that... would hurt. Never tried.” He shrugged plainly. 

“Well, you’re not sun-bleached, obviously, but I don’t know if we’d be able to restore you to your original color even so... Not without me making new parts n’ patches. I can clean out the dust and dirt but you’re stained. What I can do for now is brush out these pills in your fleece and get those bloodstains out. You’ll be a fuzzy cuddly rabbit again.” 

Springtrap stiffened a little, an uncertain look on his face, the best he could manage. 

“Mmm, you didn’t like something I just said, what’s up?” It clued in immediately to his body language. 

“Th’ thing... about parts.” He mumbled, reaching up to touch the broken ear. He stopped short, trying not to get rust remover from his exposed fingers on the fabric, but the gesture was there. “I... dunno. If I want alla’ that.” 

“...I just... I think. That I like tha’ wear... Tha’ damage. It’s me. What he did t’ me, but it’s still th’ original... me.” The rabbit continued, voice rasping but still carried with emotion. Sentimental value. 

Grimm gave a humored huff and reached up to take his chin gently again. 

“I’m only doin’ all of this cuz’ you asked me to clean you up some more, not because I wanna change you or make you some sparkly new model you’re not. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. You call the shots here, Bonnie.” 

He didn’t have a heart to get racing, but he had those phantom memories of what it was like to be flustered, hot-faced, heart jittery. Those little traces of what it had been like to be alive weren’t his, but he took them gladly, as some kind of simulation of the real feeling. Those attributes, phantom feelings from memories of touch, taste, texture from William had merged with him- It was the little benefits from the bad. 

“I love you whatever way you choose to look, it doesn’t change anything for me. Mainly I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable and happy with yourself.” 

The rabbit tilted his head, grin seemingly wider than before as eyelids fluttered shut for a minute with a click. He gave a little, wheezy sigh and leaned forward to press his nose to its forehead. 

“Oh, you big gay lug.” It laughed, moving in turn to push a kiss to his own torn forehead. 

“...I’m... alright with th’ cleanin’, though. Like the sound’a bein’ a fuzzy cuddly rabbit again.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, good, because I love using this brush.” It was already in hand, ready to start teasing out the fabric pills. “Let’s get you lookin fuzzy again before I gotta scrub off that cleaner, bun.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Some Kind Of Disaster by All Time Low.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to drugs and violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​ @writerxinthedark​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @loveandbeloved29​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Easy Questions, Evasive Answers

“So it was nothing,” Archer said, glancing up from where he was tinkering around beneath the hood of my 1999 Honda Accord, checking hoses and belts and dipsticks. “This is pathetic, by the way. That you can’t change your own windshield wiper fluid. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow.”

“I never had my own car in Phoenix!” I objected around a mouthful of a Starbucks pumpkin muffin, my first of the season. And that was true: Renee and I couldn’t afford one. “I didn’t have to learn about car things!”

“No, it’s great, I love it, I have a customer for life.”

“It was totally nothing,” I told him. Meaning the photograph in the newspaper article from 1979. Meaning my paranoia surrounding beautiful, brooding, certifiably lethal Benjamin Lee.

Not Lee, I reminded myself. Benjamin August Hardy, born November 3rd 1893.

“Was it really?” Archer asked, skeptical.

“Uhhh, you were the one who was making fun of me for thinking he might be a time traveler. Or a bigfoot.” Or a vampire.

“Yeah, okay, true...” He let the hood of the Honda fall shut with a bang, then wiped the muddy streaks of motor oil from his hands with a stained rag. “But you were freaked out. Like super freaked out.”

“I was, yeah. But it wasn’t him in the photo. I took another look, there were freckles and, uh, like, uh, some other things that didn’t match up.”

“Huh.” Archer watched me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Ben laughed about it. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. A stalker and an idiot.”

Archer smirked slyly. “He must not have held it against you too much. I’ve never seen that guy laugh in my life.”

I took a moody bite of my muffin, rolled my eyes, feigned shallow schoolgirl angst. “Trust me, he’s not my biggest fan.”

“Ohhhh, and this bothers you?” Archer sauntered over and stole a crumbling hunk out of the pumpkin muffin. “Does someone have a little crush on the gorgeous, grouchiest Lee?”

“Definitely not.” I sipped my chai latte, contemplative, debating telling him more.

“Uh oh. There’s something else, I can see it. Spill the tea, you walking college-chick-who’s-obsessed-with-fall stereotype.”

“I’m so excited! I’m going to get to see changing leaves this year!” Cacti are majestic, ancient, intrepid, and they remind me of home; but they never change. They’re like desert earth that way, like the ocean. Like vampires, actually.

“We’ll have to do all the Instagram-worthy stuff. Pumpkin patches. Hay mazes. Apple picking...you can even bring that Ben guy if you want to. If he promises not to murder me with his mysterious time-travelling demon powers.”

Oh, kid, you have no idea. “So...I am kind of into a Lee guy. But it’s not Ben.”

Archer gasped, inhaled pumpkin muffin morsels, bent over as he hacked them out of his lungs. “Who?!” he rasped, scandalized, and then coughed again.

I couldn’t help but smile as his name spilled out: “Joe.”

“Which one is that? The Middle Eastern Men’s Vogue model one?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, not Rami. He has a girlfriend, by the way.” And has for the past half a century.

Archer wiggled his eyebrows. “Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

“Oh my god, please never say that phrase again.”

“Joe is the...” He closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the metal workbench, trying to remember.

“The Italian one,” I finished for him.

“Ahhh. The annoying one.”

“He is not annoying! Why do people keep saying he’s annoying?! He’s hilarious, and sweet, and lowkey wicked smart, and, and, and...”

Archer whistled, grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, girl. You do like him. You really like him.”

I sighed in defeat. “Okay. I really, really like him.”

“Like him as in would swipe right on Tinder, or like him as in you want to get married and honeymoon in Hawaii and have twelve pasty, angular babies?”

“Oh wow.” And for the first time, I was confronted with the singular enigma that was a future with Joe. Vampires had relationships with other vampires, obviously, even marriages; but that didn’t mean the same rules applied to humans. Did he like me? Could he like me? What would that even look like? How would it end? And it would have to end, of course, eventually. Unless somehow I stopped aging too. “More than just a right swipe. We’ll see about the twelve kids.”

“Just make sure he wraps it before he taps it. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, gulping down my latte, averting my gaze across Archer’s small garage filled with customers’ vehicles, pretending not to be intrigued and yearning and petrified. I couldn’t imagine hooking up with someone as faultless and—presumably—experienced as Joe and being anything but a disappointment. I’ve never hooked up with anyone. At all. Ever.

“What?” he asked, concerned, thieving another piece of my pumpkin muffin. Powdered sugar dusted his fingers like the snow I’ve only seen two or three times in my life.

“Nothing. I just really wish you went to Calawah too.”

“And give up all this easy money from clueless suburbs people like you?” Archer beamed, wily and proud and affectionate. “Not a fucking chance.”

No More Sad Spaghetti

Joe gawked in horror, chomping noisily on his Big League Chew bubblegum, as I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed for lunch. It was mostly cloudy in the early September sky overhead, but he was still wearing sunglasses. He had traded in his ubiquitous U Chicago apparel for a Cubs t-shirt. Squirrels scurried through the bigleaf maple trees that dotted the campus, snatching up acorns with tiny clawed paws, wriggling whiskered noses in our direction.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, taking a bite. “It’s not sad spaghetti.”

He blew a small pink bubble, then popped it with his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s...like...mangled.”

“It got trapped between my textbooks!” I protested. Admittedly, the accordion-shaped peanut butter sandwich—my vegetarian alternative to fishstick Thursday—kind of sucked.

“You can’t eat that. Oh my god. It’s making me so sad. Give it to the squirrels.” Joe pulled out his iPhone. “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“I can’t tell you,” I replied, tossing my sandwich towards the nearest tree. A hoard of squirrels immediately descended upon it and proceeded to battle for dominance, emitting shrill, peanut-butter-crazed shrieks.

His brow furrowed. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because you might not like me anymore.”

“Why would I not like you because of pizza...?” And then he knew. “Oh no, oh god, please don’t say pineapple.”

“I’m a pineapple pizza person.”

“Baby Swan,” Joe said, deadly serious, pressing his palms together. “That is straight up sacrilegious. You can’t put tropical fruit on a pizza. You realize I’m Italian, like an actual Italian. I’m so Italian I’ve killed other Italians for being the wrong kind of Italian. That’s how Italian I am.”

“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t socialize with literal mobsters. It’s unsavory.”

“Settle down, I’m ordering the half-pineapple pizza, you freaking barbarian.”

I watched Joe as he tapped his thumbs against the screen, humming to himself, amused, perpetually buoyant. And I couldn’t picture him as a monster, as a killer: pulling triggers, slitting throats, digging blades into soft vulnerable love handles, feeling for the mortal puncture of a lung or kidney. I asked him, my voice quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the autumn wind: “Did you actually hurt people?”

“Nah. I didn’t have the stomach for it, even back then. I was on the deal-making side of things. The business side. I was a people person, a smooth talker, astronomically charming.”

I smiled, mischievous. “That’s difficult to imagine.”

“Okay, so no cheesy breadsticks for you.”

“I’m sorry, mob guy. Please order the breadsticks. You’re so charming I can’t stand it. My jeans are unzipping all by themselves.”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So you’ll sacrifice your dignity for breadsticks. Good to know.” He finished typing and laid his iPhone on the grass. “Alright, next question.”

“Does your hair grow?” Joe’s hair—I couldn’t help but notice—seemed longer than it was the day I met him a week and a half ago, disorderly and auburn-tinted, ruffling in the breeze.

“It does, yeah. Hair and nails still grow. So you have to shave, but you can’t get razor burn. And any nicks close right up.”

“Very cool. How often do you need to eat? You know...actually eat.”

“It varies, but generally twice a week.”

“And what kind of animal has the tastiest blood? Besides...well...” I gestured towards myself. “The upright two-legged kind with opposable thumbs and a partiality for pineapple pizza.”

He blew another bubble, then leaned in towards me. And I realized, for the first time, that he had his own inherent, exclusive, totally Bath-And-Body-Works-worthy scent as well; Dr. Gwilym Lee was sandalwood and campfires and log cabins, Mercy was roses and vanilla...and Joe was pine trees, peppermint, cold night air, like all of that eternally youthful magic of Christmas Eve sieved into a bottle. I popped the sheer pink bubble with the cap of my blue pen. Joe asked: “Do humans like chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Coffee or tea? Baseball or something hella lame?”

“Depends on the human.”

“Exactly. Same deal for vampires. I prefer bears, especially grizzlies. Lucy and Mercy like deer, elk, moose, animals like that. Ones with hooves. Weirdly, Rami’s favorite is crocodile, I think because it was the first thing he ever tried in Egypt. He doesn’t get it very often, but has been known to buy them on the black market on occasion. Scarlett likes mountain lions. Also domestic cats, but you didn’t hear that from me. Gwil is a wolf guy, but he won’t kill the endangered kinds. Such a gentleman.”

“How about Ben?”

“Ben’s still coming around to the whole eating animals thing. I don’t think he has a favorite yet.”

Joe isn’t a killer, and he never was; I could believe that. But Ben... “Why is he so different than the rest of you?”

“That’s...kind of a long story,” Joe replied carefully.

“It wouldn’t be such a long story if people stopped talking about how it’s a long story and actually told it to me.”

He flashed a grin, revealing white canine teeth filed into points; they were subtle, yes, but they were there. Fangs. I envisioned pressing a fingerprint against them and feeling the flesh split in two, the blood dripping down onto his tongue like Washington rain. And unlike Joe’s skin, mine wouldn’t knit back together on its own. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of tormenting you with the prospect of incredibly juicy yet confidential information!”

I rolled my eyes, sipped my can of Diet Coke, returned my attention to our lunch plans. “So garlic doesn’t repel you. That part of the lore is completely made up.”

“Yup. Thank god. Eternal life would be worthless without pizza.”

“Can you do drugs? Get drunk?”

“We can’t overdose, but we can get the effects of anything we consume. It’s not a good habit to get into though. If you’re nodding on heroin for like four days at a time, it’s pretty easy for some other vampire to find and murder you.”

“So a vampire can be killed by another vampire.”

“Absolutely. Next question.”

I consulted my mental list. “Do you sleep?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. We nap for a few hours a day.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“We get bitchy. Really bitchy. We essentially turn into Ben.”

I laughed, chewing absentmindedly on the end of my pen. “So that’s his problem. He hasn’t napped in a century. Now it all makes sense.”

“Something like that,” Joe said. “You gonna come over tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to present The Walruses And Me tomorrow and I still haven’t started the book.”

“What do you know, I can tell you all about The Walruses And Me!”

“Seriously? You’ve read it?”

“No, but I can enthusiastically narrate the Wikipedia article to you while you pet Mercy’s alpacas.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Terrible for your grade in Marine Mammals. Good for your development as an interesting and happy human.”

“Nice try, but I’m already both of those things.”

Joe reached out suddenly, jarringly, and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. My favorite Lee, I thought, thoroughly transfixed but trying to hide it. Oh no. “Interesting, definitely. But I have this gnawing, distressing suspicion that you’re still working on the happy part.”

“I miss the desert,” I confessed. That wasn’t quite all of the problem, but it was accurate: I missed the heat, the sun, the parched prehistoric air I had always called home. Although I was beginning to find reasons to like Forks, Charlie and Archer and the promise of a Pacific Northwestern autumn; and then one big reason in particular. A very old, pale, chatty, Italian reason.

“A bit of a quandary for a future marine biologist,” he replied gently, perhaps apprehensively.

“I always figured I’d live somewhere like San Diego or Los Angeles or Galveston. Someplace on the ocean, but also sunny and hot and with palm trees. The best of both worlds. But you couldn’t go there with me, could you?”

Oh no.

Oh NO.

Oh fuck, this is definitely a crushing-on-Lee-boys zone.

Joe stared at me through his sunglasses, chomping on his Big League Chew, the corners of his mouth turned up and etching lines like parentheses into his face, pleased and nodding slowly and triumphant somehow. Then he struck out his hand again, this time with his pinky raised like a flagpole. “No more pathetic depressing lunches.”

“You got it. No more sad spaghetti. No more sad peanut butter sandwiches. You have my solemn, human vow.”

He smiled as his pinky entwined with mine. “No more sad anything.”

“So this vampire thing sounds like a pretty sweet gig. No dying, no consequences for a hellacious diet or wild condomless orgies, literal superpowers, perfect hair...why doesn’t everyone get to live that way?”

He shrugged; and there was an unfamiliar, meditative tension in his face. Almost sorrow. “It’s not all pizza and orgies and heroin. We have weaknesses too.”

“Like what?”

“Hey, look!” Joe piped cheerfully, twisting around towards the parking lot. “I think our GrubHub guy is here.”

Bad Blood

I was definitely regretting that fourth slice of pineapple pizza as I waddled into Chemistry, navigating sluggishly around the hulking frat boys and giggling sorority girls and mousy bookish types who lugged around colossal backpacks that were always threatening to knock an unsuspecting passerby off their feet at each unthinking turn. But while I was arriving in the classroom—physically, anyway; emotionally I was standing in an empty field somewhere screaming I cannot be falling in love with a hundred-year-old mobster vampire!! into the void—Ben was a countercurrent darting through the crowds and towards the hallway door.

“Where are you rushing off to, old guy?” I asked him. “Bingo? To renew your AARP membership? To walk vigorously around the inside of a mall?”

Ben responded in that deep, low, humorless voice. “They’re doing some kind of blood typing experiment today. I probably shouldn’t be around for that.”

“Oh.” I glanced over at Professor Belvin, who was indeed hunched over the table at the front of the classroom and laying out rows of Q-tips and rectangular paper cards and alcohol swabs and bottles of clear liquid, whistling what sounded like Time Of The Season.

Ben sighed irritably, rubbing his crinkled forehead. “I already used up all my absences. I’m gonna have to make up a compelling last-minute tragedy. Tell Professor Belvin my grandma died or something.”

“I mean, technically, she did at some point.”

“Ugh,” Ben replied, not consoled at all.

“Wait, I got this.”

I gripped my belly, sank into the nearest chair, and groaned dramatically. It really didn’t require all that much acting. Ben watched with huge green eyes, confounded.

“Miss Swan!” Professor Belvin cried, rushing over. He was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt, and suspenders and a matching bowtie patterned with bubbling multicolored test tubes. Belvin had been Charlie’s classmate from kindergarten through high school, and still palled around with him over Bud Lights and low-quality nachos on bowling league nights. Bowling was, evidently, the sport of choice for middle-aged Forks dads. Also for Welsh vampire pseudo-dads born in the 1400s.

I whimpered in reply.

“Are you alright, Miss Swan?” Professor Belvin asked worriedly. A few students had begun to congregate around the scene. I felt a pang of genuine nausea as perspiration beaded at my temples. You better appreciate this, Mr. Hardy.

“I’m okay,” I said, in my most pained and martyrish voice. “I don’t want to miss...today’s lesson...it looks so fascinating...but I didn’t wash my kale thoroughly last night and then I had a salad for dinner and now I might have food poisoning.”

“You poor thing!” Belvin exclaimed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about class. You can just answer some textbook questions or something, no problem. Please go get checked out to make sure you’re alright.”

“Could someone...maybe...help me get to the campus clinic...?” My eyes listed towards Ben. “Maybe...my lab partner?”

“That’s a good idea.” Professor Belvin turned to Ben. “Mr. Lee, would you be willing to escort Miss Swan to the clinic? You can do an alternative assignment as well. If you don’t mind missing the blood typing lab.”

“I’d be delighted to help,” Ben responded, still puzzled. I offered him my hand, and Ben took it, grimacing as he led me out into the hallway. As soon as we were alone, he dropped my hand and opened up several feet of space between us.

“Thanks so much, Miss Swan, you are a lifesaver,” I said, imitating his morose, rumbling British accent. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Ben. You can repay me in basic courteous conversation and Starbucks gift cards and by maybe not killing me.”

“So you’re totally fine?” Ben asked flatly.                

“Of course. Nobody with taste eats raw kale.”

Frowning, frustrated, he started puffing on his vape pen. “You need to stop doing nice things for me. It’s extremely disorienting.”

“This may be difficult for you to come to terms with, but you, Ben Hardy, are worth being the recipient of nice things.”                          

“No, you still don’t get it,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him in the empty hallway. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Kill people like you.”

The Fire

“Who is the cutest little alpaca I’ve ever seen?!” I cooed in a squeaky falsetto, scratching her wooly brown chin. “Who’s going to come home and live with me and Charlie forever?!”

“That’s illegal, ma’am.” Joe was watching me, arms crossed over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, smiling wistfully.

“It is not!”

“It actually is,” Rami added. He was lying on the grass and gazing up into the roiling, grey, late-afternoon clouds with his fingers laced behind his black hair. None of the Lees were wearing sunglasses now. “A house has to be zoned as farmland to have alpacas, which ours is. Yours, tragically, is not.”

“What are you, a lawyer?” I shot back.

Rami grinned. “I was once. And I will be again, in approximately...let me count...five years.”

“That’s what you want to do with your boundless time and energy? Be a corporate shill?”

Joe cackled. “He tried that already. It lasted about five minutes.”

“Manhattan in the 1980s,” Rami reminisced dreamily. “Hundred-hour workweeks. Cocaine everywhere. What a time to be alive. And I hardly ever left the office, so the sunlight thing wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, so you’re not in it for the Maseratis or the drugs...”

“I’m going to be an immigration attorney,” Rami told me. “Help refugees apply for asylum to come to the United States. Arabic-speaking refugees, in particular.”

“Wow. I stand corrected. That’s wonderful, Rami. I now feel like a total tool for only aspiring to save sea turtles.” But it made sense, of course. What would any good person spend eternity doing? Making the world just a tiny bit better. I glanced at Joe, teasing him. “And you just study how to get rich, huh?”

“I’m a venture capitalist,” he said brightly. “I invest in small businesses, counsel them, encourage them, connect them with other people in the industry, help them grow. And I don’t need the money, so I take a practically microscopic equity stake. I’m basically a professional charitable donor.”

“And you get to put all of those charming mob-guy skills to use.”

Joe winked. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t it get old?” I asked both of them. “Being college students?”

Rami shrugged. “No really. The world changes, schools of thought evolve, our own interests fluctuate. Every few decades we circle back and go for another round, fresh degrees, maybe new professions entirely. You learn something new every time.”  

“And I’ve been waiting for all my old professors to die so I could go back to U Chicago for fifty years!” Joe shouted. “I’m fucking pumped!”

“But...don’t you already know everything...?”

Joe chuckled. “We’re vampires, Baby Swan, we’re not prodigies. We’re sharper than the average person, sure. But it still takes effort to learn. And we all have things we suck at.”

“Like not being obnoxious,” Rami said, nodding to Joe.

“Like not minding our own fucking business,” Joe hurled back.

“I cannot control the fact that I’m a literal mind reader—”

“You boys behave yourselves,” Mercy called in her relaxed, drawling Southern accent, swinging a basket of carrots and zucchinis and cabbages that she’d dug out of her garden, wearing a long flowing yellow dress and her hair tied up in a scarf. She plodded over in her bare feet, handed me a few carrots, then pointed to the chocolate-colored alpaca I was petting. “That lady there is Athens. And the black and white one by Joe is Augusta. Then there’s Norcross, and Alpharetta, and Savannah...and that real chubby grey one heading into the barn is Marietta.”

“I adore them,” I replied, beaming. Mercy had sheep and pigs and a couple of cows too, all ambling contently around the emerald green field as the first threads of fiery, rust-hued sunset were lighting up the horizon.

“We used to have ducks, too,” Mercy mused. “But they disappeared recently...”

Rami passed Joe a knowing smirk. Joe mouthed back menacingly: Do not.

“Hey mom,” Rami piped.

Joe jabbed an index finger at him. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”

“Joe ate the ducks.”

“You bitch!” Joe cried.

“Oh, Joseph,” Mercy sighed mournfully, lifting a brush out of her basket and dragging it down Athens’ fuzzy back.

“I’m sorry! It was one time! I was weak!”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” Mercy said. “I’m just disappointed.”

“Mom, that’s worse!”

Rami climbed to his feet and swatted grass and leaves off his cardigan sweater. “Alright folks. My work here is done. Peace out.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do a hit and run like that, hey, Rami, hey, hey, come back here!”

Joe trotted after him, shouting a litany of insults, as Rami laughed hysterically and careened into the house. Lucy and Gwil were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies; Scarlett was in the garage changing the brakes on Ben’s Vantage; Ben was noticeably absent from the Lee household and presumably out hunting. It was remarkably easy to picture his fingers closing around bloodied flesh, a wolf’s or a bear’s or an elk’s, lowering his fangs to a pulsing jugular.

“So you’re really into this whole farming thing,” I said to Mercy, looking out over the field rimmed by towering western hemlock trees. I didn’t know exactly how many acres of land the Lees owned, but it was a lot. Mercy adopted rescue animals, donated vegetables from the garden to local food pantries, and occasionally rented out the barn as a wedding venue.

“I’ve always loved it. I had a farm, you know. Before I met Gwil.”

Before she died.

“I didn’t know that,” I murmured, wanting to learn more, afraid to ask, never meaning to pry or offend. “I remember you mentioned the Civil War, and a barn...being...well...being trapped in it. When it burned down.”

Mercy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the polite version of the story, isn’t it?” She set down her basket in the tall grass, tugged distractedly at a dark strand of hair that had escaped her scarf, stared glassily out into the sunset muted with cloud cover as Athens moseyed away. “Do you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you if you do. But I don’t want to upset you, dear.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “I’d like to know.”

“We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere,” Mercy explained. “My husband Arthur and I.”

And it felt so outlandish to hear her say those words. Husband. She had a husband before Gwil. She had a whole life before this one.

“He had a bullet in one leg and a limp from a hunting accident when he was a boy, so he was never called up to enlist. It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor men they sent to die in it. That’s how it always goes, I expect. And how it always will. We had two daughters, twelve and fifteen. I won’t tell you their names. Don’t take that personally, dear. I haven’t spoken their names in a hundred and fifty years.”

She turned her murky eyes—like homemade bread crust or coffee or the wood walls of a log cabin—to me.

“When the Union Army came through, they were beasts. Men like that...men who have been killing and looting and burning their way across hundreds of miles...all they want to do is get blood on their hands. That’s all they remember how to do. So that’s exactly what they did. They slaughtered our cattle for meat. They burned the house down. And then they took me and my girls, and they...they...well, you know what they did. What men do when they’re monsters. And when Arthur tried to stop them, they shot him in the chest and spit mouthfuls of chewing tobacco on him as he bled out in the dirt. Called him a coward and a deserter. Told him everything they were planning to do to me and my girls. And when they were done doing all of those things, they locked the three of us in the barn and set it ablaze. I was the only one still alive when Gwilym got there. And believe me, I didn’t want to be.”

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my throat burning for Mercy, for her family, for this divinely kind and benign and tender woman.

She patted my cheek fondly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I got a second chance. Gwilym gave me a second chance. That’s what he does, you know. He finds broken people, fixes them, loves them fiercely. He gave me forever. Two more daughters. And three sons.”

Three sons, I thought. Rami and Joe and Ben. She counted Ben.

“Does someone have to be dying?” I asked her softly. “You know. To become like you.”

“No, honey. That’s just how Gwil does things.”

“But...why? What’s the possible downside? Why not change anyone who wants it?” Why not change someone like me?

And Mercy peered over at me, contemplative, curious, like tiptoeing gingerly over rotted floorboards, like weaving through a minefield. Like she was trying to figure out what I’d already been told.

“Hey Baby Swan,” Joe said, startling me. I whirled to see him waiting with a patient smile and his hands buried in his pockets. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He led me upstairs to Gwil’s 1960s-style office, where Dr. Lee had cleaned and stitched the tiny gash in my forehead after my misadventure with Ben in the woods outside Calawah University, where the wall above the sturdy oak desk was adorned with a massive painting filled with gorgeous, unfamiliar, inhuman faces. Joe took a deep breath, and then he began.

“This,” he announced, introducing the painting, “is the vampire version of the mob. They can trace their existence back to before the Roman Empire. They find people who they think have potential, have talents. They turn them. And then they offer them a hundred-year contract. You sign it, or they murder you. When your term is up, you get to decide whether to renew or leave. But almost no one ever leaves. After a century of taking orders and guarding and killing, what else do you know how to do?” He pointed to the terrifying woman with long white hair and red eyes. “That’s Liesl. She’s literally Satan, only blonder. The chick with the tattoos is Akari. She can meet a human and tell what powers they’ll have once they’re changed. Very useful, obviously. The dude who looks like Idris Elba is Cato, and he’s actually an okay guy, he’s the one currently assigned to keep tabs on Gwil’s coven...”

I soaked the names in like rain into dark, lush Washington earth as Joe relayed them to me, strange and beautiful names: Aruna, Phelan, Morana, Adair, Zora, Araminta, Honora, Victorien, Rigel, Sahel.

“Who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the young man standing at the center of the painting, the one with black hair and eyes so light and luminous a brown they were almost gold and a sinister, unmistakable magnetism.

“Very good question,” Joe complimented. “That’s their Al Capone. That’s Larkin.”

“And what’s his vampire superpower?” He has to have one. I know he does.

“How do I even put that into words? It’s more than charisma. It’s slightly less than mind reading. He can see through people, what they want most, what they fear. And he can make them do things.”

I gazed into those omniscient glowing eyes, feeling myself getting caught there, feeling some primal dread swelling in the capillary beds of my heart and lungs and bone marrow. “Joe, I’m thoroughly enjoying this captivating backstory, really, but...why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because you asked why Ben is so different than the rest of us. This is why.” Joe waved broadly at the painting, at the closest thing his world had to a mafia, to unrepentant killers, to actual demons. “This is where he came from.”

[starkeristheendgame]

Just a little drabble for @darkerstarker who is feeling a lil down today so please send all the love ❤ Inspired by this Instagram post.

A very soft meet cute AU 💕

Contrary to popular belief; Tony did enjoy 'living normally' once in a while. Stepping out amongst the general public and blending in as good as he was capable of. The signature facial hair was hard to hide, but so many had attempted to copy his likeness these days that as long as he kept all other identifiers hidden, people would eye him with hopeful suspicion long enough that he could usually get his coffee and get out before they plucked up the courage to come over and ask.

And that was why he was here, the coffee. The best mid-grade coffee in New York, if he were to admit it. The store was small, housed only eight tables, and was typically generous with being a place that recognised him only two out of ten times. All the girls behind the counter knew him, but were kind enough to keep their excitement to a minimum. It helped that he left large tips, he supposed.

It had taken him half an hour to shake the paparazzi lurking outside the Tower, still hungry for morsels of information after last weeks missions. They'd linger for several more days still, but they weren't the smartest Tony had faced, and several alleyways and a change of clothes had done the trick. The sweater he wore was thick and powder blue and the long trench coat with its collar upturned to his calves helped hide the glow and shape of the reactor in his chest. The dark shades hid enough of his face that most dismissed him as a wanna-be.

The coffee is worth it, he told himself. The normalcy is worth it.

The queue wasn't long, four people obviously needing their caffeine fix before heading to their 9-5's or their morning classes, if the boy in front of him was anything to go by. The kid couldn't be more than a hundred and thirty pounds wet, with a thick flop of curls that erred wildly towards his right temple and stuck up at the back where he might well have just rolled out of bed and walked out of the door.

A backpack hung heavy on one shoulder, stuffed full of books with the zipper straining in one corner, and he wore a baggy shirt that reminded Tony of his own 'lab comfies', too loose around the neck and hanging off the kid's frame like a blanket. Something dark had stained the kid's slender fingers where he flipped his phone over and over, and it made Tony's own hands twitch against his thighs, reminded of the motor oil and grease that had become practically a second skin.

When the kid stopped flipping the phone and thumbed the screen on, he ought to have looked away. It was only polite, after-all, but he really couldn't, because the lock-screen that flared to life was his own face. It was from a magazine shoot he distantly remembered, lounging in a throne-like chair in an expensive Giovanni suit, laughing at something the photographer had said. The kid seemed to stare at it for a moment before keying in his passcode, and tapping straight onto Google.

Tony should have looked away. Social convention said it was only the proper thing to do. But then...He was a billionaire with a hole in his chest and a flying gold alloy suit. Social convention didn't really apply to him anymore. So he kept staring as the kid typed in a single letter, just a T, and breathed out in bemusement at the drop-down list.

Tony Stark. Tony Stark photoshoot. Tony Stark news. Tony Stark Iron Man. Tony Stark smiling. Tony Stark 2020.

He raised a brow as the kid thumbed the 'Tony Stark smiling' option and adjusted his phone, secretive to those around him but heedless of whoever was standing behind.

"Ah, yes. The good stuff" the kid murmured to himself, and Tony couldn't have stopped the grin if he tried. Watched as the kid spent the rest of the line scrolling through hundreds of images of Tony, pausing here and there to save one that particularly caught his eye. The line shuffled onwards without the kid so much as glancing away from the screen, but when it came to his turn he locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket, looking up.

"Hey, Lolly. Can I get my usual, please?" The boy asked, in quite possibly the sweetest voice Tony had ever heard. A little high, a little quick, like he was in a permanent state of excited. Behind the counter, Lolly's gaze had already latched onto Tony, and she flashed him a flushed, secretive smile as she tapped in the kid's order. Tony tipped his head, then raised his hand a little to catch her attention.

"And mine onto that, please" he instructed her smoothly, reaching past the kid to slide his card down onto the table. Part of enjoying normalcy meant he carried a debit card around with him, forsaking contactless methods and hacking. He'd even gone and paid extra to have a customised image on it, and a beaming dog dressed as Iron Man lolled its tongue happily at every cashier.

The kid turned abruptly, clearly ready to start an argument, and his brain visibly stalled, jarring to a halt much the same as Tony's did. Because the kid was gorgeous. A babyish face belayed by a strong jaw, round cheeks and dark eyes framed by long lashes. Pretty was the word Tony wanted to bring forth. Pretty, like a painting. Like a sculpture.

Tony reached up and slowly slid off his shades, fixing the kid with the most dazzling, I'm your hero smile he owned. "The least I can do, to say thank you for being a fan" he purred, laying the charm on thick as Lolly handed him back his card. The kid's brain seemingly hadn't come online again yet, gaping at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

The kid's order turned out to be a fruit smoothie, which was done by the time the kid managed to stutter out "Holy shit, you're Tony Stark" and the billionaire reached into his pocket, uncapping the Sharpie he carried around before reaching past the kid to take his cup. Careful not to spill any, he scrawled his number across the plastic, signed it, and pressed it into the kid's lax grip.

"You should call me when you're done with classes for the day. You're going to be late" he noted softly, eyes sparkling, and the kid glanced down at the pink plastic watch around his wrist, spitting a curse.

"I'm- You're- But you just- Fuck, I'm gonna be late" the kid rushed out, tugging his bag strap tighter and taking a step, before looking across at Tony, down at his cup, back at Tony. His mouth opened and closed and then he spun on his heel, practically fleeing for the door. When Tony turned back to the counter for his own, Lolly was grinning at him.

"His name is Peter" she informed him cheerfully, holding out his dark roast. "And he has a shirt that says Mrs. Tony Stark".

Tony raised a brow. Does he now? He flashed Lolly a charming smile.

"I might ask him to see it sometime".

[amayawolfe]

Ch. 5 - Whispers of the Cards

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 6214 Summary: Hisoka learns what became of him in the alley after he was rendered unconscious. Magikana receives a little more insight into the past of her apprentice through the means of fortune telling.

Warnings(TW): mentions of homophobia, angst, mentions of self harm/suicide, mentions of past abuse/rape, blood mentioned, vaguely mentions of underage masturbation, cartomancy

Hisoka

  A warm, bright light slowly penetrated Hisoka's closed eyelids, steadily rousing his conscious mind. He could tell he was laying on something soft and was covered with some sort of blanket. His thoughts faltered. Something about this felt… familiar.

  Hisoka took an abrupt intake of breath as memories of his nightmare came crashing forward. His eyes snapped open and looked wildly about the room, half expecting to see the rotting corpse of his mother, ready and waiting to pounce him once again. He was more than a little relieved to find no such monstrosity. 

  Hisoka took a deep breath through his nose, wincing a little due to the tenderness of his ribs. Staring at the ceiling, his mind wandered while he tried to recall what happened last night. It was strange that the memories of his nightmare, an event that didn’t really happen, were much more clear than the memories of what really did happen.

  His eyes began to roam when his attention was captured by the sound of someone snoring softly. He turned his head to see a covered figure of someone laying beside him atop his blankets with their back facing him. 

  Who? ♣ Hisoka then spotted familiar auburn hair sticking out from atop the blanket. Oh, it’s Abaki. ♡ She must have fallen asleep after I did and Kana covered her up when she checked in on us. ♡

  Even though Abaki was asleep, he was grateful for the company. He turned his gaze back towards the slightly cracked ceiling above. His stomach growled loudly and he wondered when his trainer would be by again to check on them.

  As if on cue, Magikana pushed open the door to the room and came in with little noise. Looking in her direction, Hisoka saw she was carrying a tray with food on it. The teen’s stomach growled even louder when the delicious aromas wafted from the tray and reached his nose. The sound of his stomach was loud enough to catch the magician’s attention. She turned and smiled down at her apprentice.

  “Ah, you are avake, good,” she set the tray down on the nightstand beside the bed.

  Hisoka pushed himself into an upright sitting position and glanced over at the tray. His mouth watered when he saw there were two helpings of oatmeal with butter and cinnamon sugar, fried eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and mugs of warm honey tea. For the first time in quite a while, Hisoka had a voracious appetite. He felt like he had not eaten in days.

  Movement beside him signaled that Abaki was waking up as well. She stretched with a groan and rolled over. When she opened her violet eyes to see Hisoka and Magikana both looking down at her, she blinked.

  “Oh,” the trainee mumbled sleepily, “morning.”

  “Actually,” Kana chuckled warmly as she handed Hisoka his bowl of oatmeal, “it is vell past noon. Cook vas nice enough to make breakfast foods for you two.”

  “What?!” Abaki yelped, suddenly wide awake and sitting up. “But, what about the others? Are they still here?” The magician's face fell and she shook her head slowly. 

  “The others have gone ahead, they could no longer stay.” Magikana looked at their horrified faces before her and burst out laughing.

  “Do not be so vorried, little vuns,” she stated in an amused and whimsical manner. “Once Hisoka is fit for travel, ve vill be on our own way to join zem.”

  With those words, the two teens released their collective breaths and relaxed. However, nearly as soon as Hisoka felt relieved he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. 

  They were left behind because of me… ♠ Frowning, Hisoka hadn’t even realized he had set his bowl down until Magikana spoke to him.

  “It is okay, little vun,” she said softly, “Is not your fault. And ones at fault are gone.”

  Hisoka looked at Magikana and opened his mouth to question only to have his teacher quickly raise her hand, cutting him off.

  “Eat first,” she instructed sternly. “Vill explain all once food is gone.”

  It was relatively quiet as the two teens hungrily ravaged their food. Magikana quietly sat beside the bed as she sipped her own mug of warm tea while scrolling through her phone. Once the dishes were empty and stacked nicely on the tray, the magician put her phone away and sighed.

  “Where to begin..” The magician frowned, tapping her finger on her leg in thought. 

  “Hisoka,” she started hesitantly, “you have been unconscious not so better part of four days.”

  Hisoka had a feeling this was the case, so he wasn’t really surprised at the news. He continued to stare at his trainer, waiting for her to keep going. But, for the first time in the few months he’d known her, Magikana seemed unsure what to say next. She even appeared to be unsettled by what she was trying to tell him.

  “What happened to me? ♣” he croaked. It was painfully obvious that Hisoka’s vocal cords were still injured. He did sound a great deal better than last night, however. The magician opened her mouth to speak, yet the words appeared stuck in her throat. Hisoka could see pain and anger begin to show in her eyes. The emotions confused him, causing him to tilt his head a little.

  Abaki tentatively raised her hand, “I could help tell what happened.” Her voice sounded small, almost timid. At this, Magikana swallowed hard and gave her head a single, solemn nod. The acrobat trainee nodded in response. She took a deep, shaky breath and looked down at her hands as she wrung them together.

  “When you didn’t meet me to go to the beach, I thought maybe you were still helping Kana. Or that maybe you didn’t hear me over the crowd,” she started slowly. “So I went to find you both, but she was alone. When I asked her about you, she said that you had gone to meet me, and I became worried. I went to look for you. Kana said she would help if I couldn’t find you by the time she was done cleaning up. I was walking along the buildings when I heard...”

  She faltered, Abaki wet her lips and glanced at Hisoka and Magikana before she continued, “I heard Drake and Jasper. They were talking loudly while coming out of an alley. Something told me to hide, so I ducked behind some barrels where I could watch them. Drake was laughing, teasing Jasper about how he was a horrible fighter. And how that skinny little fag-” Abaki paused, unable to bring herself to say the full word, “How that person wouldn’t be around to get in the way anymore thanks to himself.”

  “I just knew they were talking about you, and as soon as they were out of sight I ran into the alley to look for you. I found traces of blood on the ground, but that’s all I could find. I knew they did something to you s-so I ran back t-to find K-kana a-and…” 

  Body trembling, her words stuttered to a stop. Abaki’s eyes brimmed with tears, a single drop falling to her white knuckled fists. Hesitantly, Hisoka reached over and began to rub his friend’s back in attempts to aid in some form of comfort. He was concerned for her, he had seen her upset before, but not like this.

  “We found you in dumpster,” the magician continued in Abaki’s place. Her voice had become cold and unforgiving as the scenes of that night replayed behind her eyes. Hisoka looked back at her to see the expression on her face matched the tone of voice.

  “From condition, zey obviously had continued zeir assault vile you vere unable to fight back. I carried you back to inn, ven doctor made sure you vere stable and vould live, I confronted Drake and Jasper with Moritonio. Zey denied it at first, but Abaki told vaht she heard. Camilla came forvard as vell.”

  Hisoka blinked, “Camilla? ♣”

  “My brother had been saying how much he hated you, and wanted to… hurt you, for sometime now,” a voice cut in. All three of them turned to the source of the newcomer to find Camilla peaking through the door Magikana had left cracked open. Her eyes were red, and somewhat swollen; a dour expression rested upon her tear stained face. She glanced at the small group looking her direction before pushing the door further open to step into the room.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she stated softly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”   “It is alright, my dear,” Magikan replied gently and gestured to a chair near the bed on Abaki’s side. Camilla hesitated then set the bag of supplies down on the floor close to the wall, closed the door softly, and shuffled across the room to sit in the chair.

  Hisoka watched Camilla as she settled into her seat with a defeated posture. She glanced up at him and held his gaze. Her soft brown eyes were burdened with grief and sorrow. Tears began to dot the corners of her eyes the longer she looked at Hisoka.

  “I am so sorry, Hisoka,” she sobbed, “I honestly didn’t think my brother would do this to you. I’ve always known h-him to be s-so gentle.” Camilla broke the eye contact she was holding with Hisoka and her expression darkened with anger and hatred.

  “I still blame that homophobic bastard, Drake,” she seethed, “he poisoned Jasper and turned him into what he is now.” She shook her head and furiously scrubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. Tears of a multitude of emotion were now streaming down her face. Hisoka stared at Camilla with a neutral expression while Abaki tried to comfort her; speaking gentle words and holding her hand. 

  Something tells me Drake didn’t have to taint Jasper very much for his inner demons to come out, ♣ Hisoka thought to himself. He turned his gaze to his trainer who was also watching Abaki and Camilla with a doleful look. However, Hisoka could still see anger smoldering in her eyes.

  “Where are they now? Jasper and Drake? ♣” he inquired.

  She took a slow, deep breath in and out through her nose before responding, “Exiled from zee troupe. Once Moritonio was positive zey had committed such crimes, zey vere both told to leave and zat zey had no chance of ever rejoining his troupe. Zere hatred to zose vizen zee troupe vill not be tolerated.”

  Hisoka blinked and furrowed his brow as he processed what his trainer had just told him. He felt elated that his assailants were gone and could no longer trouble him; yet dissatisfied that banishment was the only punishment they received for nearly taking his life. The corners of his mouth dipped down and his hands curled into fits, this did not bode well with him.

  “Is that really all the punishment they received? ♠” 

  Camilla, Abaki, and Magikana all looked at Hisoka with expressions of apprehension. Hisoka could feel his anger coil and writhe inside him like agitated snakes. Their venom ran hot through his veins and his eye twitched. 

  “They nearly took my life, shouldn’t there be a greater repercussion for their actions? ♠”

  “Hisoka, I know you’re mad, but, what more do you think should be done?” Abaki asked. She was leaning forward in an attempt to see Hisoka’s face and get a better read on his thoughts.

  “The troupe meant everything to Drake, and I’m the only family Jasper has left,” Camilla added, “They lost all that was dear to them because of what they did to you. They lost their livelihood. Isn't that enough?” 

  Hisoka opened his mouth to answer vehemently but caught himself. He took note of the looks on Abaki and Camilla’s face. Magikana watched him carefully with narrowing eyes. 

  “Vaht, exactly, do you zink would have been enough, little vun?” 

  It dawned on Hisoka there would most likely be trouble if he continued further on his current train of thought. They simply did not see the world as he did. He would need to change things up and play a different hand.

  “It’s just, shouldn’t the authorities have been called as well? How do you know they won’t commit hate crimes on someone else? ♣” he whispered, feigning concern. He honestly didn’t care what Drake or Jasper did to anyone else besides Abaki and Magikana; maybe Camilla as well since her demise would greatly affect Abaki. 

  “Hmm,” the magician hummed, looking over her apprentice as though she didn’t fully believe his words. However, she answered none the less. “Tonio did not want zem involved in zee troup’s business. He figured banishment vould be good enough.”

  Hisoka pressed his lips together tightly. Despite his own frustrations, he knew there was no point in arguing further. Nodding his head in response he allowed his posture to droop and a look of exhaustion washed of him. He forged a yawn to seal the look. With a full belly of good food combined with a bruised and battered body, Hisoka was indeed tired; just not as tired as he portrayed. 

  Seemingly, the ruse was enough to fool his trainer; as she smiled softly and gently ruffled his hair.

  “Rest, little vun, the sooner you recover zee better,” she stood and collected the tray of dirty breakfast dishes. “Abaki, Camilla, come vith me.”

  Abaki gave Hisoka a very gentle shoulder bump along with a small smile.

  “I’ll see you after you get some more rest, okay, Hiso?”

  Hisoka only responded with a tired smile. Abaki slid off the bed and Camilla retrieved a bottle of water from the bag she had brought in with her. Not looking at Hisoka, she placed it on the nightstand then turned to head out of the room. She and Abaki followed Magikana out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

  The falsetto smile fell away from Hisoka’s lips the moment he heard the door knob latch into place. A snarl curled his lips in place of the smile, his eyes narrowed and white hot anger prickled the back of his neck.

  Those two got off too easily,♠ his mind seethed, fists tightening around his covers in a merciless deathgrip. He wanted to find them, do horrible things to them, but he knew now was not the time. He was wounded and needed to heal, regain his strengths. But once he did, there would be other matters.

  Jasper wouldn’t be a problem; Drake, on the other hand, has much more experience than I do...♠ Hisoka shifted his pillows around and settled back while in thought. I need to train more, become stronger. ♣

  He twitched when sudden memories seared his mind. Flashes of being held down, beaten, abused, and raped. 

  No… Not just stronger, I need to become the strongest.♢

  He was usually the weaker one in past situations, never able to defend and fight back effectively. Hisoka did know how to fight, somewhat, as he was a very quick learner. He had watched others fight and ended up in more than his fair share around the area he had once lived with his mother. For someone with so little experience, Hisoka would be considered a pretty decent fighter by most. However,  “decent” was not good enough for the red haired teen. 

  Not only did Hisoka want to become stronger, he wanted to become the best fighter there ever was and ever would be. He felt a wicked, sadistic grin spread wide across his face as he imagined himself older and more experienced while fighting Drake. 

  Hisoka would toy with him, making Drake suffer as his spirit broke and slowly crumbled before the mighty red haired fighter. He would be sure to take his time, savoring every ounce of pain and misery his opponent would experience; all while a crushed and dying Jasper lay at his feet like a crumpled worthless doll. 

  Hisoka let out a small, quiet moan as he imagined a broken and defeated Drake begging an older Hisoka to spare his life. These thoughts of absolutely dominating and destroying his opponents were beginning to arouse him. Something that often happened when the teen would become lost in these morbid daydreams.

  Not long before he left home, Hisoka had found himself daydreaming about harming and destroying those that had harmed him. He had been a little surprised to find that not only did he really enjoy these thoughts, but had been aroused by them as well. He knew that any “normal” person would be horrified by this, but now Hisoka found it to be more curious than anything. 

  In truth, he had indeed been disturbed by his reactions at first. But after a little experimenting with himself, Hisoka found the experience to be quite pleasurable in a matter he actually enjoyed. Interestingly enough, he noticed that he even seemed to enjoy certain types of pain that would highlight the pleasures.  And once he was done and spent, he felt calmer and more clear minded once having been relieved by the mental images of his enemies broken and beaten.

  A state that Hisoka now found himself in once he had calmed down from his high and cleaned himself up. He settled back against his pillows, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. His mind carefully went over his current situation and what options he had before him.

  It’s not like I can do a lot of physical training just yet, ♠ he mused, But I do suppose I could practice my Ten. ♣

  Hisoka adjusted his position a bit then turned his focus inward, concentrating on his aura.

Magikana

  A little over a week had passed since Hisoka had violently awoken from his coma. The day after the horrific event, an easy routine fell into place. Hisoka would rest and take things easy while Abaki and Camilla would explore the town and beach. On occasion Magikana would join them, collecting starfish and buying fresh fruits from the local market.

  After Hisoka had a few days to rest, Abaki started to join him for Nen practice. During these times, Camilla would hang around Magikana who had taken notice of the girl's reluctance to be alone for too long. 

  “How are you holding up, my dear?” Kana asked one day while the two sipped tea and read books in the warm sunshine near the peers. Having been lost in her book, the girl jumped when she realized she was being spoken to. 

  “Oh, uh, fine I guess,” she stammered softly. She continued staring at the same word for a few more minutes then sighed, closed the book, and set it in her lap. The fire dancer trainee met the magician's gentle gaze before she spoke.

  “Kana, I know Hisoka is your apprentice, but,” she hesitated, not sure it was wise to continue. Magikana held her smile in place as she closed her own book, giving the young teen her full attention.

  “It is alright child, I know Hisoka can be… difficult.”

  “Tch, that’s an understatement,” Camilla muttered under her breath. Magikana felt an eyebrow twitch and was thankful Camilla didn’t see it. 

  “I know you and Abaki trust him, but do you really think he’s safe?”

  “Vaht do you mean?” the elder one inquired. Camilla sighed once more and rubbed her arm.

  “I dunno, I just get this feeling that Hisoka is… unstable? I feel like he could do a lot of harm if he got angry enough. I mean, you saw how he started to react when he felt Jasper and Drake didn’t receive enough for what they did. I seriously thought he was going to lash out or something.”

  Magikana mulled over the trainee’s words for a bit. She had indeed seen the anger in her student’s eyes and sensed the malice churning in his aura. This negative energy was often called “bloodlust” among nen users. And even though the magician could not see nen nor create nen of her own, her natural senses could feel it; much like a sixth sense.

   “Like many in zee troupe, Hisoka has suffered more zan his fair share of hardships, even at so young,” Magikana started slowly, “I believe he suffered great ordeals before ve found him. Maybe even forced to do terrible things. Zere is anger and hurt inside him, causes him to lash out before he has time to zink.”

  Magikana paused in her words, choosing what to say next very carefully.

  “You ask if Hisoka is safe to be around, I honestly believe he is. But like anyone else, he has limits. Drake and Jasper not only harassed zose he cares about, but hurt him and left him for dead. He has every right to feel zee way he does.”

  Camilla worried her lip as she thought about what the magician said. It looked as if she wanted to argue against what Magikana was saying, yet she remained silent. She shifted her gaze out to the ocean leaving the choice of action open to either silence or continued conversation. Camilla was not a confrontational person and rarely spoke her mind unless she was severely emotional or absolutely sure about what she had to say.

  “You do not have to like Hisoka, my dear,” Magikana gave the young teen a gentle smile, “just try to be understanding.”

  The trainee glanced at Magikana and nodded, returning the smile with a small one of her own. 

  Magikana gave a single nod of her head then stood and stretched. The sun was slowly beginning to set, alighting the sky in a beautiful array of warm colors.

  “I am heading back to zee inn, vould you care to join me?”

  “Mmm, no, thank you,” Camilla replied while staring out to sea, “I think I am going to remain here for a little longer.” Her voice drifted off in thought.

  “Suit yourself.” 

  On the way back to Hisoka’s room the magician ran into the acrobat trainee. 

  “Oh! Hi Kana,” the teen glanced behind the magician, “Cammy not with you?”

  “Cammy?” Magikana questioned, raising an eyebrow as a knowing smile crept only her lips.

  “Ah! I mean Camilla!” Abaki flustered as her cheeks started to darken with blush.

  The magician chuckled and she thumbed over her shoulder. 

  “Thanks!” Abaki then ran down the rest of the steps and out the inn’s front entryway.

  “Ah, young love,” Magikana chuckled to herself and sighed as she briefly reminisced about her own romance days past. She continued up the stairs and headed to Hisoka’s room to find his door wide open.

  There, she found a tired looking Hisoka sitting alone at a table and starting a game of solitaire with himself. He had been secluding himself away since the incident; often deep in thought and spoke in as few words as possible. The only company he accepted was when he and Abaki would practice nen or he would practice magic tricks with Magikana, and even then he didn’t respond like he normally would. This bothered the magician.

  For the few months she had known Hisoka, he never seemed to be much of a people person; one may even consider him to be a bit shy. But he was usually more than willing to be friendly and talkative when it came to the company of Abaki or Magikana. Even the company of Moritonio was liked by the lad. 

  But this withdrawn, quite Hisoka was not the same boy she had quickly grown to care about. She knew he was hurting; maybe even suffering. The doctor had given him the all clear just yesterday, so physically he was fine. It was after Abaki had fully told him about the events of the night he had come so close to death by his own hands that Hisoka seemed to retreat within himself. While Magikana had tried to get him to talk to her about what was going on in his head, she didn’t want to push the matter too hard out of concern it would cause a negative impact.

  Magikana quietly approached Hisoka and sat in the empty chair across from him. He glanced up at her and gave her a small, tired small then returned back to his game with a pensive expression. The two sat in silence for a while, both of them focusing on the cards being played. As the magician watched Hisoka slowly sort the cards it reminded her something, giving her an idea.

  “Did you know,” Magikana started quietly, “zat zere is a vay to predict zee future by using zese very cards?”

  Hisoka paused in his action and looked up at his trainer with a single thin eyebrow quirked up. Magikana took this as an answer.

  “Ah, so you did not know. Vell,” she picked up and examined the Jack of Hearts, “it is practice called ‘cartomancy.’ Each card has meaning, and ven played in a spread, zey can answer questions or tell your fortune.”

  “Sounds like superstitious nonsense to me, ♣” the boy chuckled with faint amusement, “especially coming from someone who can’t see or use nen. ♠”

  “Zhere is more to zee world zan zose who are nenless and zose who can use it, little vun,” Magikana replied candidly, “it is not all black and vite, zere is so much grey. I vould say I fall into zat grey area, no?”

  Hisoka pondered for a moment then gave a small shrug with a head tilt and nodded. Magikana had proven on more than one occasion she had some abnormally keen sense for one who was nenless.

  “Yes, but simple playing cards telling one's fortune? That still seems to be a little far fetched. ♣”

  Magikana chuckled, “Vell, if you are so sure, how about we give it a try?”

  Hisoka smirked, leaned back in his chair, and made a hand gesture over the cards on the table for his trainer to take them. Pleased to be getting more of a reaction out of her apprentice, Magikana returned the smirk and quickly swept up the cards with expert hands. 

  “Ve vill do simple spread,” she explained while shuffling the cards in a blur of motion, “I vill have you draw zree cards zree times, setting zem down from left to right, top to bottom.”

  She set the deck down and sat back in her chair as Hisoka followed her instruction. Once Hisoka had made a three-by-three square out of the cards, his trainer continued.

  “Zee top row represents the past,” Magikana noticed Hisoka stiffen ever so slightly. She carried on, “zee middle row is for zee present, and of course, zee last row is to show zee possible future. Now, please turn zee top row face up.”

  Hisoka hesitated to follow orders this time. He even looked as though he had paled somewhat.

“Vaht is wrong, little vun? It is only silly superstition, yes?”

  Hisoka forced a chuckle and waved his hand dismissively at the rows of cards.

  “Of course, nothing to fear. ♣” Yet the apprentice still hesitated.

  “Hisoka, my dear, I promise you zat vaht ever zee cards show will be kept between you and me. It is no business of any vun else. Okay?” Magikana’s voice was warm and gentle, her expression kind and caring. The apprentice looked his master in the face, carefully studying it.

  Is he really so scared I vill judge him for his past? I vonder…

  Slowly, Hisoka reached for the cards and flipped them one at a time, revealing the seven of hearts, queen of spades, and two of spades. Magikana made sure to keep her face in a neutral expression as she studied the cards and mentally sorted their meanings.

  A dark haired vomen vith broken promises and deceit. Zere vas tough choices and change, too… Could zis have been a family member? 

  She took in a breath through her nose before she spoke, “Your recent past… Zere vas a voman who hurt you, lied to you and broke promises, yes?”

  Hisoka’s eyes widened a fraction and the color drained from his face a little more. He swallowed hard and delivered a tiny single nod. Magikana’s heart ached, her gut told her there was so much more to this.

  “She vas family?” Hisoka nodded again. He had only mentioned one family member the entire time she had known him. She decided to try her luck.

  “It vas your muzza, vasn’t it.” The words fell as a statement, not a question. Hisoke hesitated, then nodded very slowly.

  I see, Magikana thought to herself, a child should be able to rely on zere muzza and be protected by zem, not be hurt by zem… 

  The magician noticed Hisoka looked very uncomfortable and stressed. It was obvious to her that the conversation was making him uneasy. 

  Zee poor boy has been zrough enough, maybe anozer time we can talk more ven he is ready… 

  “Let's continue, shall vee? Go ahead and flip zee next row.”

  Hisoka blinked, it appeared he had expected his trainer to press the topic further. He stared for a moment longer then tried to hide a sigh of relief. His shoulders relaxed a little and he smirked as though he had been amused at his own unease. 

  Next to be revealed was the nine of spades, two of clubs, and the four of hearts. Magikana’s heart sank.

  Challenges and depression followed by travel. Not much better, but I suppose it vas to be expected. Vaht vit his past cards are saying and vaht he just vent zrough, I vould be more vorried if he vas unphased. But still… 

  “Vell, zee cards see zat vee are traveling soon,” she said with a light laugh, “zee four of hearts say ‘travel is on the horizon’. Is right, vee leave first zing in zee morning.”

  “Oh, and what do the other cards say? ♣” Hisoka was curious, yet sported a cocky smirk.

  Magikana felt the corners of her mouth drop a little and her expression towards her apprentice softened.

  “Zat you are going zrough some hard times here,” she gave the side of her head a few light taps then moved her finger to rest over her heart, “and here.”

  Hisoka’s face twitched yet his expression remained.

  “Oh?~ ♣”

  Magikana pressed her lips together forming them into a slim line. She wanted to proceed, yet she could tell her apprentice had recovered from his initial surprise and thrown up a thick wall. Hisoka was frustratingly good at avoiding straight answers. Not to mention he had a nearly perfect poker face.

  “As I said, little vun, ven you are ready to talk, I am more zan villing to listen,” the magician said with a small sigh, “but I vill not force you if you feel as zough you are not ready to speak yet.”

  An emotion shifted in Hisoka’s eyes, to fleeting for Magikana to decipher. 

  “I appreciate that, sensei. ♡” He spoke in a conciliatory tone, faint smirk on his lips, “But I’m afraid my thoughts, both past and present, would be too troubling to reveal. ♠” 

  The magician regretted her decision to not press further when her apprentice was caught off guard. Concern began to rise that she had just missed her only chance to get the redheaded teen to open up.

  “Troubling for who?” she inquired calmy.

  “Why, the both of us,~ ♠” Hisoka humdrummed, appearingly now bored with the topic. Magikana frowned slightly.

  “Perhaps,” she continued with caution, “even so, I stand by my vords, ‘if you need to speak, I vill alvays have time to listen’. Even if vaht you have to say are not good zings, I vill listen. Everyone needs a friendly ear at some point in zere life.”

  Hisoka paused, a crack appeared in the mask he was holding. He licked his lips and a wild glint shown in his molten gold eyes.

  “Even if those troubles make you see me as a monster?~ ♢” he spoke barely above a whisper.

  “I vould not say you are monster, my dear, but someone who has been found in a place vith little to no choice.”

  “You could say that… ♣” Hisoka’s voice trailed off. He looked down at the cards, narrowing his eyes in thought. Magikana said nothing, allowing her apprentice to make his own decisions. The seconds felt like hours as she waited.

  He blinked a few times as more of his mask began to crumble. He took a slow, deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Hiso! Kana! You’ve gotta come see this!” Abaki shouted excitedly as she came bursting into the room, causing both trainer and trainee to jump and turn towards her. “The beach is all covered in this bright blue glowy stuff! It’s soooo pretty!”

  Magikana felt her temper flair, “Child, do you not know how to knock? Is rude to burst into a room like zat.”

  “Oh,” Abaki faltered, looking back and forth between Hisoka and Magikana, “I’m sorry did I interrupt something?”

  “Ye-”

  “No, Abaki, you didn’t. ♣”  Hisoka interrupted his trainer cooly, “Just some rather dull chit chat is all. ♠”

  “But, it looks like you were playing a game.” the acrobat noticed.

  “Something like that. More like superstitious nonsense, to be honest, ♣” Hisoka sighed as he stood from his chair, “So, you said the beach is glowing? ♢”

  Abaki started as she remembered why she had come in the first place. “Yeah! Cammy said it’s a special type of plankton that glows, I think you two will like it! Come check it out.” 

  “Alright,~ ♡” Hisoka scooped up a pair of slip-on shoes as he started to follow his friend who bolted back down the hall. He paused at the open door and turned back to his trainer who was now looking down at the cards with an evasive expression.

  “Thank you, Kana,” the red head spoke sincerely; using his teacher's shortened name as means of endearment, “while you did not get to hear what you wanted, it is good to know that someone is so willing to listen. ♡ Perhaps another time.~ ♣”

  Magikana looked up at her pupil and felt a small amount of relief touch her mind as she recognized the Hisoka she had grown to care about. She then simply nodded her head and began to pick up the cards one by one off the table. Hisoka hesitated, he could see his teacher working her jaw in frustration. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something else. But instead, he simply smirked then turned and followed after his friend.

  Once she was sure her apprentice was out of earshot, Magikana began to mutter a slew of curses and swears under her breath in sheer annoyance.  

  “Damn zat child,” she huffed, “both of zem! Superstitious nonsense, ha!”   She went to pick up the last three cards of the spread and paused. Traditionally, the cards were to be revealed by the ones who drew them. Not to mention it was considered to be ill practice and rude to look into someone's business without their permission. Magikana could just add the cards back to the deck without looking, however… 

  She pursed her lips and wiggled her fingers above the first card before she finally shrugged in a “fuck it” manner. She turned the first card representing Hisoka’s near future over.

  Ah! Zee ace of hearts. So a new relationship is in Hisoka’s near future. Perhaps he vill meet a new friend on our travels, yes?

  Magikana couldn’t help but smile a little. Her apprentice most definitely needed more friends. She turned over the next card with a little more enthusiasm.

  Five of clubs, it seems zis new friend vill be supportive of zee little vun. Zis is turning out to be promising.

  The magician eagerly turned over the last card and froze, fingers still touching the card. She felt her heart drop one again as she stared at the seven of spades.

  Bad advice, grief, and loss… Oh, little vun, vaht do zee fates have in store for you? . . .

~ ~ ~

📜 A/N: Thank you all so much for you patience. Life has been stressful as of late with trying to get myself situated in buying a house before the one I am living in currently sells out from underneath me.

  Hopefully I can come out with content on a more regular basis once things settle down. However, there really isn't much tell as to when that will be at this point in time.On a side note, I think I will be putting this story on the back burner for a little while. Chapter 4 really took it outta me. That's another reason this chapter took so long in coming out. I plan to write some fluffy/smutty stuff to recharge my batteries and then I will come back to this OC story. At this point in time, I am planning to start rewriting the older chapters from here on out when I do come back.

  Anywho, thanks again for reading! Please don't forget to "heart" the chapter if you enjoyed it, and I'll catch ya'll in the next one! Laters! ^_^

~ ~ ~

Previous Chapter: Ch. 4 - On Death’s Doorstep

Next Chapter: Bubblegum Blood: Ch. 6 - The One and Only, Sadashi Ito

[emmaannaelisabeth]

Treacherous Waffles

this is purely 6k words of kanej fluff, for you my friends to enjoy. based on taylor swifts song treacherous. it took me about 30 hours so treat it with care, lots of love! no tw in particular, but i aged them up a bit cause i could, and its a modern au.

“Don’t whip the cream too hard now”, Inej says and looks over her shoulder. Kaz looks up from the bowl in his hands, turns the hand mixer off, blinks slowly and looks at her, eyes just a little wider than usual, his eyebrows very close to his hairline.

“What?”

A smile flashes past her lips and she shakes her head lightly. “I said, don’t whip it too hard.”

Kaz frowns. “Darling, I whip it the way I want it.”

“But-” Inej sighs, lifts her hand into the air and lets it fall to her hip. “-you almost make butter out of it”, she sighs.

“I absolutely do not.” Kaz raises one eyebrow at her, almost offended. “But perhaps I shouldn’t whip it at all”, he says, first looking down at the cream and then up at her; a fraction of a smile teases the corner of his mouth.

“You barely want it whipped”, he says. “You want it to float all over your plate.” He shakes his head, shivers theatrically and smiles crookedly.

Inej huffs and turns around, flips out a fresh waffle from the waffle iron. “That is not true.” She tries to sound annoyed, but Kaz can hear the smile in her voice, he can hear how it threatens to stain her serious face. Because it is true. Inej wants the cream to float off the spoon, Kaz wants it to stick to it when he turns it upside down.

She doesn’t argue more with him though, she just blinks slowly at him and shakes her head as if to say Why do I even keep you around? “You want butter, then butter it is.”

“It’s not butter”, he mutters, defending his case, and lowers his gaze to the bowl again. Inej turns her back towards him; he can feel her smile making the air vibrate around her. Kaz steals a glimpse of her; he watches her open and close the waffle iron, looks at her hand as she grips the fork and sticks it into the golden waffle. Her small fingers close around the steel, her bronze skin contrasting beautifully to the silver of the fork.

As silly as it might sound, he wishes he could be that fork. He wishes he could muster the courage to be held (not like a fork, obviously, but almost). Kaz wishes he could feel those bronze hands in his, he wishes he could let his fingers entangle with hers, let his long slender ones braid into her so much smaller ones.

Just holding her hand would be enough, just knowing that it is her hand in his would make him swim in stars. Kaz blinks slowly. He doesn’t know where all these thoughts are coming from, and he can’t decide if they frighten him or not, if they make him brave or faint-hearted. Does this soft precious heat, this immense warmth, inside his ribcage bring him joy or pain, tears or laughs, or both? Is this aching in his heart, this need of her and nothing else, this sudden longing and desperate wish for more, hurting him or healing him? Kaz can’t tell.

Blue eyes fall on her again and he swallows hard, his gaze trips at the sight, stumbles as always. How he wishes he could just walk up to her, correct a strand of dark hair, put it behind her ear and gently tilt her chin up, turn her head towards him. How he wishes he could cup his hand around her cheek, lean in slowly, look into her eyes, ask for permission - get permission - and then feel her soft lips against his.

Kaz bites his lip and forces himself to look away. What is this crazy feeling? This reckless foolishness, this dream that he knows he will never be able to have? This bright piece of heaven he desperately wishes he could hold in his hand?

What if he were to ask her? Inej, put your lips close to mine. His world swirls by the mere thought of her that close, his heart throbs and he feels it as if he was on fire, as if someone had lightened a match on his clothes and let the fire spread. The fire, the heat, the hunger and the greed plays with his mind, teases his consciousness. He can’t decide if it’s giving him life or holding a blade to his throat.

Because Inej could technically do that. Yes, she could very well hold a blade to his throat, again, but she could also put her lips close to his, as long as they don’t touch. Well, - he presses his lips tightly together to hide the grin that trespasses his face - she could do both and he wouldn’t mind. Not really.

Before he can stop himself, he lets his tongue taste the soft surface of his upper lip. And, even worse, before he can barricade the door of dreams in his mind, he has already asked himself if hers would feel like that, if her lips would be as soft as his.

The world around him seems to go out of focus and all Kaz can think of is Inej’s lips. Something hot pulses through him, something he doesn’t know what it is, something he fears might ruin him as well as heal him.

“How many do you want?” Inej then asks and pours more waffle batter onto the hot iron.

“Sorry, what?” Kaz stirs, as if someone had woken him up from a dream. (Isn’t it weird, when the dream itself wakes you up?)

“Waffles, Kaz”, she smiles and turns her head to meet his gaze. Kaz forces his eyes to stay on hers, and not wander off anywhere else.

“Four”, he says quickly, without much thought, swallows and bites his lip, his eyes riveted on her.

“Four?” She raises one eyebrow. “Have you eaten anything else today? You usually only eat two.”

Kaz shrugs. “I’m hungry”, he says, huffs. He fears that waffles won’t ease this hunger though. He fears that he’s hungry for something else, something more.

Inej smiles softly and turns around. Kaz feels his inner self falling to his knees. He wants to scold that part of him, yell at the foolish boy behind his ribs to stop, get himself together. His mind is a mess, a mess of dreams and hopes and wishes and nice things and bad things and pain and sorrow and fear and joy and despair and peace and war - all at the same time.

He damns himself for imagining her close, imagining her face right in front of his, imagining them eye to eye. Her beautiful eyes. Her dark brown glimpses of life and joy, his Earth, his grounding, his safe place. Everytime they catch his gaze, he feels it as if she had tied a ribbon around his heart, and pulled him in. He would want nothing more than to follow her, give her all of him, strip bare of every piece of armour he has, hand her his heart on a silver plate and say It is yours if you want it, whenever you want it, always.

But his feet are stuck in deep water and he cannot walk with her. Sometimes he manages a couple of steps, but sometimes the tide is too strong. Sometimes, the waves hold him back, keep him from reaching land, from reaching the safety of the cliffs, from reaching her. Sometimes, he fights the tide until he almost gives in, almost lets himself get swept away, almost lets himself sink under the waves, never to see the light of day again.

But no matter what happens, he won’t stop. No matter how easy it would be to close his eyes and let the river have its way with him, he won’t ever stop swimming, he won’t ever stop fighting the echoes of death on his skin, he won’t ever stop fighting the horrors of the world around him. Not until gravity itself is too much; never until it sweeps him off his feet in a fight and denies him the right to get up, slays him with the help of hard dark cobblestones and hard hits from men he doesn’t even know.

Kaz will never stop fighting for her, not until gravity pulls him down into the cold dirt in a casket. Perhaps not even in death will he stop. His heart won’t. His soul won’t. He won’t.

Inej’s smile shines before his inner gaze. Her lips curve and split her face in two, pouring sunlight on his soul. Her white teeth peer out from behind her lips, and oops, there’s that reckless boy sitting on his shoulder again, asking him questions he doesn’t need right now.

What would her teeth feel like against your tongue?

Kaz’s eyes widen and he stops breathing, feeling his stomach flutter. Stop it.

How would her lips taste? How would they meet yours?

Kaz grits his teeth and looks down at the bowl in his hand. He starts the hand mixer again, happy to have the sound of it drown his own thoughts. For a moment.

Would they be eager, hungry like yours?

Kaz swallows and turns around, feeling his cheeks burn with fire. He throws an angry glare at his shoulder, but there’s nothing, no little grinning boy, there. Even so, the silly boy keeps asking questions.

What would it feel like to touch her? Is her skin smoother than his? Of course it is, Kaz thinks.

Is she soft? What kind of question is that?

His cheeks flush; that’s not the way he wants to think of her. He never wants to think of her as only what meets the eye, as only what he can touch, as only what can give him pleasure. Never, never will he be like one of her ghosts, never another horror. That’s not how he wants to treat the person who has given him her heart.

But even so, he can’t stop his mind. He can’t stop his curiosity from slaying his sanity. Kaz isn’t one of them, he just doesn’t know... anything.

He might be twenty one, he might think of himself as a man sometimes, but really, there’s only a clueless boy beneath his skin. The boy inside him has never known the joys of the flesh, he doesn’t know what it feels like to hold hands in the rain, or how it feels to have your loved one’s lips trace every part of your skin, sealing every wound and sorrow with their love.

Kaz has never gotten a taste of the sweet fruits of closeness or heard the soft lullabies of pleasure, at least not with someone else. After all, he had grown up a boy, and learned what every teenage boy learned. He had gotten glimpses of what it could feel like, but never had he ever been able to taste the true sugar of lust, the true dessert of life.

Love was a foreign spice, and happiness a completely new flavour that he hadn’t gotten the chance to taste. Now, he doesn’t know how to function without them.

Sometimes it had bothered him, sometimes not, that he wasn’t strong enough to even hold someone’s hand. Sometimes, his heart had sunk in his chest, dragged down by the possibility that he might never be unbroken enough to have a girl embrace him. He knew many looked at him, he knew they wanted him. Perhaps he would have wanted them too, if he hadn’t been so messed up.

Inej didn’t. She didn’t want him. Kaz smiles to himself. No, at first she practically despised him. And that was perhaps why he started loving her, partly because that shit is frickin hot, but mostly because she didn’t expect him to give her anything. She took him for what he was, but she encouraged him to be more.

Be more, not to give more.

But that only made him want to give her everything he had.

He gave her his secrets; she learned about his demons and he feared she’d leave. Instead, she told him about hers.

She had told him about their hands, their breaths, their greedy grasps and rough embraces. There had been tears in her eyes, and Kaz had sworn he’d never become such a man.

He’d sworn he’d never allow himself to become stained by the greed of the careless man, the greed that demands more than a poor woman’s love and heart, demands more than she can give, more than she has. If he ever encountered that greed in his heart, he would make it fall to his knees before him, kneecaps cracking.

But if he couldn’t win...

Send your blade through my heart if I ever hurt you, he’d said to her.

He’d rather have one woman, one woman with a heart a thousand times brighter and more beautiful than his, and wait for her to heal, heal together with her, than leave a trail of broken girls behind him.

Kaz would rather die than hurt her. And he knows she stands by the same words, as the ones written in his heart. It’s a seal, a holy sacrament between them. Words before touch. Gazes before words.

If she doesn’t want him close one day, he’ll stay away. If she can’t stand lying beside him and listen to him as he breathes, he’ll hold his breath. If she can’t manage to be close to him the way other women are near their men, he will settle with just a few seconds of eye contact.

Kaz thought he had settled this with his mind, that he’d told the reckless boy on his shoulder that it’s enough, but apparently.. no.

Is she warm? Yes, you podge. Shut up.

Kaz sighs and turns the mixer off, looks down at his own hands, gazes upon the scars on his knuckles. He huffs softly and smiles.

No gloves.

On good days, he can go without gloves now. It’s a basic thing - Inej and Jesper and Nina and Wylan and Matthias and everyone else do it all the time - but to Kaz, it feels big. Kaz feels big. He feels like a boy again, proud and smug, just like when his Da let him ride their horse Blanca for the first time without being held.

How he wishes he could run his ungloved thumb over her knuckles, feel every line in her palm, caress every part of her hand. Her beautiful hands. He wishes he could hold them, enclose them with his, hide them from the world, keep them safe, keep them soft and unharmed. Keep them from ever needing to touch whenever they don’t want to.

Her hands. The way they move, so gracefully and gently. They are like the wind, mysterious, quiet, there always, but unable to grasp. At least to Kaz. If he did… His heart sinks. He's gotten far, thay have gotten far, but he still has a lot of work to do on himself.

They’ve managed accidental touches - he never flinches anymore when she accidentally brushes his shoulder or arm when walking past him. No, they do that now. To them, a brush on the shoulder was a kiss on the cheek. To them, a gaze could be equal to the soft touch of a hand. To them, standing half a metre apart makes them feel high. High on something sacred, only meant for their hearts.

Does she know? Can she tell? Can you see it on my face, that I’ll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands?

Of course she does. She is Inej.

She pulls out the cord to the waffle iron and turns around. “You done with the butter, love?”

Her voice makes him look up, his gaze falls on her braid, hanging gracefully over her shoulder, beside her arm. Kaz wonders what it’s like having such long hair. Is it heavy? Is it warm in summer? Is it rough and glistening like his? He smiles to himself. No, it’s thick and soft, so soft.

He’s touched it a couple of times, no, many times actually, and everytime it had made him burn, made him put an effort into breathing slowly. No water splashed at his feet, no waves roared in his ears, only fire burned in his heart. It burned him so bad, hurt him so good, made him feel alive.

Her hair was so soft he feared he might cut himself on it. Clumsily, he’d tried to braid it once. Inej laughed when she saw the result. Frankly, he did too, and if he ever died, he wanted that sound, her laugh, to carry him to the life after this.

Kaz huffs and rolls his eyes. “Butter is ready, Wraith”, he smirks as he moves to the fridge to pick out the strawberry jam, and then two plates and flatware. Inej shakes her head and looks at him, You’re hopeless, you and your butter, and moves to take the bowl to the table. She walks up to the kitchen counter and feels a big smile take over her face as she glances down into the bowl.

Tipping it just a little to the side, she sees how easily the cream moves, how loose it is. She clicks out one of the whisks from the mixer and rolls the shaft between her fingers, examining the cream.

“Bravo, mister”, she murmurs, catches Kaz’s gaze as he turns his head. His lips curve into a smile and he shrugs.

“Everything for you, ma’am.” He clicks out the remaining whisk and lifts it to his mouth, licks off one of the wire loops as he leans towards the kitchen counter.

Inej’s eyes widen, she blinks and raises her eyebrows. Her cheeks feel hot. Her stomach flutters in a way she doesn’t need right now.

He frowns at her. “What?”

Inej bites her lip and points the whisk at him. “That”, she says, huffs, blinks and presses her lips into a thin line.

“That what?”

“Looks like you’re doing something else.”

Kaz’s eyes widen for a short moment, and his back straightens - Inej wants to laugh, because he obviously didn’t mean for it to look like that - but then the corner of his mouth flies up, and a smug half smile forms on his lips. Inej knows that smile, and she stops breathing as his gaze changes, as his pupils dilate.

“Does it bother you?” he asks and opens his mouth, tilts his head to the side and lets his tongue entangle with the loops, stealing the cream from them as the thief he is.

Yes. It makes me want to do something reckless. She breathes in slowly. And I’d be smart to walk away.

A smile teases Kaz’s lips as his mouth opens once more and his tongue caresses the silvery metal. Inej can’t help but look at his lips; scarlet red in the pale landscape of his face, a rose in the desert, a beacon of fire on the sea. She wonders if they’re soft, if they’re soft like hers. If they’re anything like any of the lips that have met hers.

No, she smiles. They must be softer and warmer than any lips in the world.

“No”, she answers him, steadily meeting his gaze even though she’s lying. His face, his mouth, his tongue makes her heart race, makes her whole soul quiver with weakness, makes her deepest core throb with something she has never felt before, no, all of her throbs, and her heart beats her ribs, hard.

His eyes are calm, as always, checking if this is okay, if she wants him to stop. Inej thinks her heart is just about to melt, from the heat and fire within, the fire he started, or the love and gratitude she feels towards him, she doesn’t know.

She would probably do best in walking away, but Kaz is quicksand. And Inej decides to step right into it.

“Does this bother you?” Inej bends her head back slightly and lets her mouth fall half open. Slowly, she lifts the whisk, moves it down her tongue, licks off the cream.

“No”, Kaz murmurs, his voice suddenly much lower than usual, his usual raspiness now sweet and buttery, timeless and nonexistent at the same time.

“Good.” She looks at him through half open eyes. She curls her tongue around the metal, licks her lips. A smug smile spreads on her face as she sees Kaz’s ribcage expand, as she sees how the T-shirt stretches over his chest.

She’s walking on thin ice, running downhill. And this slope is treacherous. This path she's taken is reckless.

But that’s not even the worst part.

I like it.

Brown eyes sweep over Kaz’s chest, over his arms, over the dark tattoos on his skin. Not just the Dregs’ crow and the cup, not just the R, but the feathers on his upper arms, the wings she knows own the skin on his back, beneath the white fabric. She’s seen him shirtless, she’s seen the muscles play beneath his skin on his shoulder blades, she’s seen the dark nightblack ink move, as if the wings were real.

What would it feel like to feel his feathers beneath her fingers? Would they be soft? Oh, dear Saints… Inej breathes in deeply. His skin. She feels weak. How she wishes she could feel his skin against her fingertips, how she wishes she could kiss every feather with her lips, how she wishes she could feel every scar beneath her tongue.

She feels herself vibrate, tense and relax, blossom and die, burn and fade, at the same time. He’s standing right here, so close, and yet, so far away.

Inej is standing right there, so close, so far away from him. Kaz feels faint, and yet, he feels more awake than he’s ever been in his whole life. He feels as if on fire, every part of him burning hot. It terrifies him, and it makes him want to laugh; it makes him want to run away and it makes him want to… do things.

“Kaz”, she whispers, and Kaz closes his eyes, bows his head. Why, he doesn’t know, he just does. He can’t decide if it’s a choice, or if it simply was the fact that Inej just said his name, just let her angelic lips form a profane word such as his name.

“Talk to me”, she says again, and Kaz doesn’t know what to say, all he can do is look up and meet her gaze. He knows his cheeks are blossoming with red, but for some reason he’s not ashamed of it. It feels right, somehow.

“I”, he begins. “I’m feeling…”

“You’re okay with this?”

“Are you?” A frown forms on his brow and he looks into her eyes. She smiles softly - Kaz feels like he’s swept away by the wind, by that smile alone.

“I am more than okay with this.”

More than okay. Kaz swallows hard, bites his lower lip. His stomach flutters. She said that, she really said that, she said that. His heart beats for two.

“Tell me what you’re thinking”, she whispers, taking a step closer. Kaz feels his heart flip behind his ribs.

“I want to… I don’t…” He looks at her, mesmerised by the sight of her, of her big eyes, long lashes, blushing cheeks. He can hear the sound of his own voice in his head, asking, no begging her to stay. Other than that, he has no idea what he’s thinking.

“I don’t know what I want to do”, he whispers, uncertain. But I want to do something. Saints, I want to... His heart pounds, wildly, madly, greedily. All of him aches, aches in a way that makes his every cell vibrate with electricity, but also makes his heart stagger in horror.

What is this feeling?

“Can’t you try to tell me?” she tilts her head to the side, a small furrow of worry between her eyebrows.

Kaz stumbles on the words. “I- I don’t know.”

“Can you show me?”

All colour disappears from his face, his chest stops moving, and his arms drop to his sides. Inej swallows hard, wondering if she took it too far, if she broke the magic between them. Shit. She grits her teeth.

All we are is skin and bone, trained to get along. She wants to look away, she wants to lock herself up in the bathroom, she wants to stare at herself in the mirror for too long, she wants to tell herself to stop pushing him. Maybe we can’t get along…

The silent clattering of the whisk being put down on the kitchen counter meets her ears, and she wants to sigh. I screwed up.

Brown eyes lock on his hand, as it lets go of the whisk. Something breaks inside of her, what if she can never hold his hand, what if she can never kiss it? What if she can never feel her fingers braid into his? What if she’ll never be able to love him the way she wishes she could? Give him all of her, not just her life and heart, but her body too.

Then, she feels her heart skip a beat. His hand moves to the hem of his shirt, to the small amount of fabric that is tucked in behind his dark trousers. What is he…

He grips the fabric with his hand, and slowly, he pulls it up so it hangs freely on his upper body, not tucked in at all. Inej can’t breathe. Kaz looks like he’s breathing for two. Brown eyes lock with blue the same way the sea meets the land, the same way the sky meets the earth.

Without a word, he moves his hand up and grabs the shirt behind his neck and pulls it over his head. Then he stands there, arms hanging at his sides, T-shirt in his hand. His eyes are dark; glittering blue has turned into a dark night sky of stars. He looks at her, swallows, tries to breathe slowly, as if he had his soul under control.

He thinks he should feel naked in front of her, but somehow, he feels free, liberated in some strange way. He feels like he could float away, go with the flow of life, of everything, forever.

But there is one tiny problem. Inej is friction.

Especially when she puts her whisk away and crosses her arms, closing her fingers around the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head. He tries to look at her face, he really tries, but this slope is treacherous, this path is reckless. And he slips; his gaze lowers.

He lets his eyes follow the strap of her black bra, and he feels his mouth fall open. Blood thunders in his ears and he’s for some crazy reason feeling tears prick in his eyes. She’s so beautiful, she’s the most…

Forcing his gaze to move, he looks into her eyes. He wants to tell her, he needs to tell her… what?

I’ve seen an angel, Inej. I’ve seen a Saint.

In this moment, he’s a believer. There is magic in this world.

Inej smiles. First it’s small, a bit shy, and then grows big, with teeth and stars in her eyes. She looks at him, lets her gaze sweep over his chest, over his skin, over his graceful build. He must have been sculpted by the Saints themselves.

Her ribcage heaves, her breaths get bigger, slower.

This slope is treacherous. She drops her sweater on the floor, takes a small step forward.

I like it.

She reaches out her hand, closes her fingers around the end of the T-shirt. Looking deeply into his eyes, she lifts her hand to her chest, rests her fist on her collarbone, and feels the blood pulse beneath her skin. Kaz follows her hand, keeps holding onto the T-shirt. She can feel his hand tremble through the fabric, but she can see that his tremors aren’t caused by water around his feet. Not this time.

Slowly, she moves her hand down, lets her fingers trace her sternum, and Kaz follows, almost as if it was he who moved his hand over her skin. She reaches the middle of the bra and follows the lace up to the beginning of the strap.

Brown eyes meet blue. The earth crumbles and the ocean is storming. Desperate waves crash into hungry cliffs.

Kaz can’t believe his eyes. She’s showing him, she’s letting him, she’s…

She cups her hand gently around her breast through the bra and the white fabric of his shirt. And Kaz feels like he could drop dead. It almost feels like it’s his hand, and not hers, as if he touched her. And she let him do that. Saints.

His eyes snap up to hers. A second passes, it feels like an hour. It feels like a sleepless night, and they are the only two headlights shining, lightening up the darkness around them. His light chases hers, hers chases his. It will get him, and it will get him alone.

Inej. Her name, her name echoes through his mind. He feels like he should tell her, thinks she should now.

I would follow you, follow you home.

Inej blinks slowly, tries to control her breathing. She doesn’t move her hand, she keeps it where it is, waits for Kaz to do something, anything. Talk, drop the T-shirt, laugh, smile, look away, reach out... Whatever he does, she is sure of one thing. When all is uncertain and crazy, one thing is clear; one fact is written on the side of her heart, there to remain.

I'll follow you, follow you home.

Kaz breathes in, slowly, and moves his hand, pulls her towards him; the fabric of the shirt stretches between them. He moves his hand to his chest, right in the middle, where his last pair of ribs meet.

Blue eyes look into brown, and Inej can see them sparkle behind the dark strand of hair that has fallen into his face. She lowers his gaze to his hand as he lets his fingers spread, as his palm lies pressed against his ribs. He moves his hand slowly, almost up all the way to his throat; his fingers graze his collarbone. But then he lets it travel down to his heart, and he closes his eyes, bows his head towards his hand.

Inej’s lips scream for his, begs for his mouth on hers.

Kaz curls his hand around the shirt, and lifts it to his mouth, presses a kiss on the soft white fabric. Inej’s heart almost stops, she can almost feel his lips on her hand, yes, as if the shirt was her hand. He looks up, as his lips still linger on the shirt, and meets her gaze. And Inej feels her cheeks grow hot, that look is meant for her. And her only.

Hope spreads its wings inside of her. But hope is treacherous, this daydream they’re living right now, is dangerous. She should walk away. Otherwise she doesn’t know what might happen.

But for once, she lets go, of her fears and her ghosts, and she decides she likes the danger. And she wires the shirt one lap around her hand, taking a step closer. Kaz smiles softly, mirrors her, shortening the distance between them.

And then, they’re close. So close he could bow his head and his forehead would touch hers. Inej desperately wishes he would.

She tilts her head back and looks into his eyes. If she could drown in his oceans of blue, she would.

Her free hand trembles slightly as she lifts it, as she holds it right above his shoulder, above the dark feathers on his skin. She can feel his gaze search hers.

“Can I-”

“Please”, Kaz whispers, voice soft as fresh linen sheets, warm like sand on the beach. Try.

She lets her fingertips graze one of the dark feathers on his shoulder, and she can feel him tense. And she immediately takes her hand away.

Kaz looks up. He pulls her other hand closer with the shirt, crosses his arm over his chest, places both their hands on his shoulder. He spreads his fingers over his skin, looks at her, I want to feel it.

She frowns. Really?

The smallest fraction of a smile passes his lips. Yes.

Inej takes a step closer, standing right next to him. Then, she leans forward and lets her lips graze over one of the feathers on his shoulder. She feels his skin against her lips for the shortest of moments, and then she pulls back, looks into his eyes. A bright smile rests on her lips at first, You did it, Kaz!, but then it fades in an instant.

Kaz’s eyes are glittering with tears, and he stares at her, his mouth hanging open, a small frown on his face.

“Kaz”, she says, taking a step back - they always do that, whenever it gets too much to handle. “Kaz, did I do something wrong?”

Kaz doesn’t answer, instead he blinks, and the tears spill out of his eyes.

“Hey, talk to me”, she says, tilting her head to the side. Worry forms in her stomach. No, no, no, what did I do?

“I love you”, he whispers. Inej’s eyes widen. What?

Kaz huffs and suddenly, his whole face is split in half by a beaming smile. “I love you”, he says, half sobs, as he pulls his free hand through his hair. He chuckles.

Inej is speechless. They have said it before, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone speak truth like this before. She has never heard a heart borrow a mouth, she has never seen Kaz rip his ribcage apart to show her what he truly hides inside.

He looks at her, eyes burning like stars, his face lit up as if he was a small boy who managed to climb down from the tree himself. His eyes tell her one thing: Did you see that? Inej, did you see me? I did it, I managed it.

And then the tears come to her eyes as well. She doesn’t have a chance of stopping them. “I love you too”, she whispers, and tries her best to smile. “I love you so much, Kaz.”

Kaz smiles at her, looks at her as if she’s the sun. “You’re my best friend”, he says, as his face screws up with a sob of gratitude.

Inej smiles proudly, feels her cheeks hurt from how happy she is. “You continue to surprise me.”

“I aspire to do nothing else.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, until Kaz speaks again. “Can”, he begins, dries his cheek with his free hand. “Can I try?”

“Try what?”

His lips curl, the corner of his mouth flies up. Smug Kaz is back, she thinks.

“A kiss for a kiss?”

Inej smiles brightly and huffs. “Of course.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever find words that can describe the pride in her heart, when she thinks about how far he’s gotten, how far they’ve gotten.

And Kaz pulls her back to him with the shirt. He bites his lip and huffs as he looks into her eyes. His free hand moves up to her face, carefully puts a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, without touching her skin. He squints his eyes, shakes his head slowly, as if he can’t believe she’s real.

“What?” Inej asks.

“I’ll follow you wherever you go”, he murmurs, smiles. He bows his head, lowers it right next to hers, and whispers into her ear. “I’ll follow you, follow you home.”

Inej can feel his hot breath on her neck, and it takes everything in her not to lean her face against his, not to let her lips catch his.

“And where is that?” she asks, voice barely audible. She can feel his nightblack hair against her cheek, she can see the black wings spread over her back as he leans in.

“Right here”, he says and lets his lips land on her neck. His featherlight kiss takes them both on its wings, carries them away, flies with them to a place neither of them know.

On the feathered back of love they fly, with the crows of hope, towards the land of dreams, only to find that it is, in fact, right here.

Right here.