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

[hoppips]

temptation

[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?"

[trekscribbles]

Cherry Juice

Fandom: Leverage Word Count: 1558 Pairings: Just Eliot and Parker friendship Cross-posted: AO3 and FF

Eliot had blood on his hands, and the fact that it surprised him... surprised him. The sight of it hit him like a punch to the face, the kind he hadn't been expecting—the kind that made him stumble when he needed to keep his feet. He sucked in a breath, feeling his muscles bunch in preparation, tucking his elbows against his body. Parker called it his Danger Mode, and he—

Parker.

Eliot took another breath, staring down at his hands. It wasn't blood, it was cherry juice. He was standing in his kitchen, making cherry chutney for a pork loin he was going to grill later. Parker sat across from him, perched on a stool with her elbows on his island, watching him like a cat studying a bird.

She was saying his name, her eyes all bright and curious. He gave her a wordless grunt and turned away, all but running to the sink, pushing up on the faucet handle with his wrist and scrubbing the red off his skin. It stained the creases where his fingers bent, running down underneath the nails and making his knuckles look bruised.

"Eliot?" Parker was next to him now, peering over his arms as if he was doing something interesting instead of trying to scour the skin off his hands.

He cleared his throat. "It's—the—the juice was sticking to the knife."

Parker's eyes followed the flow of pink draining from his hands. "It looks a little bit like..." Her eyes snapped up to his, and he looked away before he could tell himself not to. I hadn't noticed, he wanted to say, all gruff and confident and dismissive. It was just sticky. You don't want to use a sticky knife.

But he couldn't force the words out. He continued to wash until his skin burned under the steaming water, feeling the heat of Parker's gaze like a he was an ant under her magnifying glass. When his flesh was pink and raw and as clean as he could possibly get it, he turned off the water and reached for the towel hanging from the oven handle.

Parker beat him to it. "Is that what bothered you?" she asked, holding it out to him.

He took it roughly, ready to tell her to mind her own business, but he couldn't make himself say that when he couldn't even meet her eyes. So he nodded, and she nodded in response.

"It wasn't. It was just cherry juice."

"I know that, Parker."

"You wanted to fight something though."

He wanted to argue that too, but his still-tense muscles told him that denial was pointless. "It's a reflex," he murmured instead.

"Would you have fought the cherries?"

The question made him blink at her, and her face looked so sincere, like she'd just asked an actual question and was waiting for an actual reply. "No, Parker," he said, managing a little of his usual gruffness.

"Good. Then I'd have to tell Nate, and he'd have to tell Sophie, and you'd have to take a wellness quiz and—"

"A wellness quiz?"

"Yeah." She leaned away from him, plucking a pitted cherry from the bowl on the counter and popping it into her mouth. "You know, like How are you feeling today? and Why do you think there are monsters in your closet? and How did you find out the monsters had the key to the ice cream freezer?"

Eliot stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. "Did someone ask you those questions?"

She nodded. "You know, the questions they ask you when you're a kid. Wellness quizzes." Eliot shook his head, and Parker seemed to deflate a little. "Oh. Was that just me?"

"No one ever asked me anything like that," Eliot said. His hands were dry now, but he didn't want to put down the towel. "Did you get asked those questions a lot?"

"A few times," Parker said, and he got the impression that she was hedging.

Eliot sighed. The Question flashed through his mind again: How did he end up with these people, these damaged children with damaged pasts that wouldn't let them go? He used to be someone who wouldn't care about this kind of thing—about her wellness questions, about her childhood, about her. He used to be the kind of monster that would have hidden in her closet.

But he'd just tried to scrub the skin off his hands because of some cherry juice.

"Go ahead," he grunted, replacing the towel on the rack and picking up his knife again.

"What?"

"Go ahead and give me the quiz." He forced his fingers around a pitted cherry, focusing on relaxing his grip on the knife so it would glide through the fruit instead of chopping.

Parker tilted her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry."

"And how did you sleep last night?"

"Fine."

"No nightmares?"

"No."

"No getting up in the middle of the night to check for monsters under your bed?"

Eliot looked up from the cherries. "Do you do that?"

"Not anymore. Hardison said you chased all the monsters away for me."

A mix of emotions drove his eyes down again—he was irritated that Hardison was making promises for him, and touched at the thought that his name was enough to banish Parker's fear. "Next question."

"Have you been spending more time alone lately than is normal for you?"

"Parker, you're in my kitchen right now. I told you I was busy and you came over anyway."

"I thought it was code."

"It was code for I'm busy, don't come over."

"Okay. Are you having problems with your teachers or parents?"

He expected the mention of his parents to bring the usual spike of guilt, but instead he only quirked up his eyebrows and scraped the halved cherries into their waiting bowl. "Teachers?"

She nodded seriously. "Or parents. Any arguments with Nate lately?"

"Nate's not my dad."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously. You don't look anything alike."

"No, Parker, I haven't had any arguments with Nate or Sophie, and I got Hardison to write my term paper for me."

Though he said it as sarcastically as possible, Parker nodded in approval. "Are you taking unnecessary risks or getting hurt frequently?"

"All of my risks are calculated and necessary."

"You did get shot during our last job."

"It was a graze," Eliot argued, rolling his shoulder to prove that it had healed. "Next question."

He waited, but she was quiet for so long that he was able to cut three cherries in peace before looking up. When he did, her eyes were focused on the counter between his cutting board and the bowl. "Will you tell me the next time you go into Danger Mode when there's no danger?"

Eliot frowned, setting down his knife and wiping his fingers on the towel. He wanted to say no, because admitting something like tensing for a fight while he was cooking at home felt like an admission of weakness, but her face was closing off in anticipation of his denial and he hated being responsible for that reaction. So he picked up a cherry half and held it out to her, waiting to speak until her eyes crept up to his. "I will," he said slowly. "If you promise to never tell Hardison."

In a heartbeat, her expression lit up and she plucked the cherry out of his palm. "Deal."

"You shouldn't be this excited about keeping secrets from your boyfriend."

"I don't want to get out of practice," she said, shrugging. "Besides, I keep tons of secrets from you."

"Like what?"

"Like that time Hardison put a clip in your hair while you were sleeping and you didn't notice it and then he got scared that you'd find it so he made me sneak behind you and take it out."

"Parker!"

She winced. "Which he told me not to tell you. So now you have to keep my secret too."

Eliot threw another handful of cherries onto his cutting board, scowling, and his gaze caught on his stained fingers. His body didn't react to the sight this time—his heartbeat stayed even, his shoulders relaxed. He glanced up at Parker, busy stealing another piece of fruit from the bowl, and failed to contain the burst of warmth that spread through him. Maybe she'd been right after all. Maybe "don't come over" was a code, one he hadn't even realized he'd been giving her. One she'd read as effortlessly as she'd read his reaction to the cherry juice on his skin. Had she always been that good at reading him? Were Sophie's lessons finally starting to take hold, or was Parker just getting better at recognizing emotion in others now that she had accepted it in herself?

Or did it have more to do with him than her? Was he starting to let down his guard more than he'd realized?

"Ask me another question," Eliot said quietly.

Parker beamed at him. "Another wellness question?"

"No. Anything."

"What else goes into the chutney?"

Eliot smiled, thinking back to the dish he'd tasted on his last trip to India. "I don't have a recipe, but I think I tasted onion, curry, lemon juice..."

"You always taste lemon juice."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "It's a very distinctive taste."

[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.

[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.”

[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

[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.”

[writethehousedown]

Slow hands (Crystal x Gigi) - a-tresia

“I’ve thought of a way to help you study,” Gigi says.

A/N: First time to join a challenge of course I’m a day late. But hey, I made it to makeup week! Here’s med student Crystal for you to enjoy. Also, there’s a lot of anatomical terms in here so if you find that it’s wrong… well, I’m happy that you studied (because I surely can’t remember anymore!) 💖

Gigi enters Crystal’s apartment as quietly as she could. She knows Crystal is busy studying and she doesn’t want to disturb her and make her regret giving her a key to her apartment.

It’s early on a Friday evening and she just wanted to quickly check in on her girlfriend before heading out with her friends. Gigi passes the threshold into the living room to see Crystal on the floor, back against the couch, legs outstretched under the coffee table, chunky black turtleneck over her chin, curly hair up in a very messy attempt on a bun on the top of her head, flashcards scattered all over, pencil behind her right ear, pink highlighter smear on her left cheek, eyebrows creased, fussing and almost crying over her annoying tangled earphones.

On a different day, this sight would have made Gigi laugh but she knows that it’s a stressful time for Crystal so she tries to be supportive. Crystal’s obviously in the middle of a mental breakdown in the middle of exam season.

Crystal doesn’t seem to notice she has company until Gigi sits on the floor beside her and takes the tangled wire off her hands without a word, just a comforting smile.

“Thank you,” Crystal whispers, rubbing at her very tired eyes as she rests her head on Gigi’s shoulder and tucks herself into her side, relaxing for the first time that day.

Untangling the earphones and setting it on the table, Gigi leans in to plant a kiss on the top of Crystal’s head. “Don’t stress the small stuff.”

“Honestly, I’m just over it,” she sighs. “Obviously, I don’t know shit. My whole brain right now is just soup.”

Gigi looks over the illustrations laid out on the table; she doesn’t understand it one bit. “I think you need a break,” she suggests.

Crystal groans. “I know I do, but I don’t deserve one.” Gigi raises a brow at her, doubting the fact that Crystal actually believes she doesn’t deserve a break from studying. “Gee, I seriously can’t. Nothing is sticking and I need all of this,” she wildly gestures to her flashcards, “memorized and inside my brain like yesterday.”

“Do you want me to stay and keep you company?” Gigi offers instead. “I can fix you dinner or run you a bath?”

It’s a tempting offer and Crystal wants to say yes. But she doesn’t want to be the boring one who makes her girlfriend stay in on a Friday night when she could be out having fun with her friends. “Thank you, it’s sweet of you to offer but I’m a grown-ass woman who doesn’t need mothering,” she says with a pout.

“Doesn’t need mothering?” Gigi asks incredulously as she looks under the coffee table. “Baby, I can see five Fruit by the Foot paper under here. And a half-eaten cinnamon sugar Pop-Tart.”

“There’s probably more junk scattered around the apartment.” Crystal laughs, slightly embarrassed at her trash eating habits, and secretly hoping Gigi doesn’t find the two packs of Most Stuf Oreos she demolished today. And she’s supposed to be the almost-doctor here.

Gigi just playfully rolls her eyes at Crystal. “Okay, tell me how I can help you study.”

“There’s no way. This is all me,” Crystal sighs. She thinks there’s really nothing Gigi can do at this point to help her remember all these things when her brain feels like an overflowing pot of boiling water. “You look great. Where’s Gigi going?” she asks trying to get Gigi off her back about taking a break, waving her hand over Gigi’s very put-together appearance – ginger hair down in loose waves, makeup as immaculate as ever, a loose white faux fur jacket over a black bike short bodysuit, teeny tiny waist accentuated by a wide white belt, all tied together by chunky gold jewelry (which confuses Crystal a little bit because Gigi rarely ever accessorizes like this).

“Thank you,” she smiles. “Gigi’s checking out that new place near Jaida’s apartment with the girls if she manages to get her girlfriend to take it easy.”

Crystal laughs. “I don’t like talking about Gigi like she’s not here.”

She tells Crystal of the mundane things that happened to her at school today. About the way she felt so excited when she found the little doodle of a cat Crystal left inside one of her planners. About how Nicky managed to convince her and Jaida to go out tonight even though no one was in the mood to dress up and get drunk. About her phone call with her mom about possibly inviting Crystal home for Thanksgiving break. She lets Crystal know it���s no pressure at all. But knowing Crystal, it’s already causing her some anxiety.

She tells her about how she wishes Crystal would come out with her but she totally understands she has to study. She wants to tell her to spend more time with her but doesn’t know how that won’t make her appear like the most selfish person in the whole entire world when Crystal is actually working towards her dream of becoming a doctor. Gigi holds back on the whining and the invitation to go out seeing it’s hard to convince Crystal to take a break, much so to convince her to come and party.

Crystal promises her all of Sunday to make it up to her. She promises brunch and dinner. And three snacks. Maybe four. She promises a walk in the park and a movie (at home, on the couch, because she also promises to make out).

Gigi eventually convinces Crystal to take a break and a shower while she’s at it. She manages to order dinner and tidy the mess Crystal leaves behind — wrappers and crumbs on the floor, a multitude of colorful open markers and pens that surprisingly haven’t stained her immaculate carpet, used socks (four pairs, what the hell?) under the couch. Gigi knows that the post-it notes with illegible scribbles and notepad paper with diagrams that make no sense to her are off-limits, so she leaves them where she finds them.

She’s rid herself of her jacket and is cozy on the couch when Crystal emerges from the bathroom in a fluffy robe. Gigi’s face breaks into a wide smile at how comfortable Crystal looks as she reaches out and makes grabby hands at Crystal who quickly settles herself straddling Gigi’s lap.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Gigi chuckles and leans in to plant a small kiss on Crystal’s cheek.

Crystal plays with the strap of Gigi’s tank top. “Where’d your jacket go?”

“I wanted cuddles.”

“I do, too,” she says wrapping her arms around Gigi, quickly enveloping her in the scent of green tea that always seems to linger on Crystal’s skin even hours after a shower.

“Don’t you need to study?” Gigi playfully reminds her.

Crystal groans and holds onto Gigi tighter. “Cuddles first.”

She feels Gigi hold the back of her head, scraping her fingers through her scalp and still damp hair and she feels herself relax further.

“Can I kiss you?” Crystal whispers.

“You never have to ask,” Gigi says, leaning back to look at Crystal.

Crystal smiles sheepishly. “I don’t want to ruin your makeup, it’s so perfect.”

“It’s just makeup, Crys,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Now, how about that kiss?”

Crystal leans in, slips her hand up to cradle Gigi’s face, and fits their lips together. They move their mouths against each other, soft and warm, feeling like they’re both yielding exactly to the shape that would make them a perfect fit.

She opens her mouth to let Gigi lick into her mouth. Crystal moans quietly when their tongues meet, tasting the remnants of the ginger beer Gigi had before coming over. She knows Gigi’s lipstick is smearing across their faces but if Gigi doesn’t care, she doesn’t care either. Not when this kiss is too good to cut short.

But Gigi has other ideas.

“I’ve thought of a way to help you study,” Gigi says, pulling back from the heated kiss.

Crystal rests her forehead against Gigi’s, slightly out of breath. “I’m on a break.”

“No, no. You’ll want this, I promise.”

“No offense, Gee, but I don’t see how you can help. It’s not like you’ve studied this.” Yes, Gigi’s still in school. But she’s not pre-med. She’s not even close to the sciences. So Crystal cannot, for the life of her, figure out how Gigi is so confident she could help. Crystal leans in to catch Gigi’s lips in another kiss instead but she moves away.

“Crystal.”

“What?”

“You’re studying the hand,” she says stating the obvious. The colorful flashcards are staring at them.

“I know, and?” She tries to kiss Gigi again. But she’s denied. Again.

“I have hands.”

Crystal furrows her brows in confusion. On any other day, she’d quickly catch on to what Gigi is trying to say but with all the things she had to put in her brain today, her processing has definitely slowed down to a Pentium.

“I know, and?”

Gigi raises a brow. “I know what to do with my hands.”

Understanding dawns on Crystal slowly and the confusion on her face is replaced by a look Gigi is all too familiar with. “How is that going to help me memorize though?” she pouts.

Gigi squeezes Crystal’s cheeks together with one hand while the other tries to untie her robe. “Because you, my love, have pornographic memory.”

“No, I don’t,” Crystal snorts. That’s a lie and they both know it. Not to be a horndog but Crystal remembers anything and everything related to sex. That’s just how her brain works. And Gigi is smart to use it to her advantage.

“Crystal,” Gigi pulls down Crystal’s bralette to expose her breasts, “are you seriously going to argue with me right now at this very moment?” Crystal shakes her head. “Okay, good.” Gigi pulls Crystal down for a kiss. She holds up her right hand to Crystal’s face when she pulls away. “My hand.”

“Your hand, yes.”

“When I do this,” Gigi cups both of Crystal’s breasts in her hands, “what muscles am I using?”

“I like this game.”

“It’s not a game, Crys. I’m helping you study.”

“Okay, fine. The, uh, the distal and proximal interphalangeal joints are slightly flexed so, uh, flexor digitorum superficialis and profundus.”

Gigi pinches Crystal’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “How about now?”

Crystal feels herself melt, delicious warmth spreading to every single part of her body, turning her into a useless puddle with just that. Thanks to the oversensitivity of her nipples.

“The thumb interphalangeal joint is extended by extensor pollicis longus, abductor pollicis brevis, and adductor pollicis. The index,” Crystal moans when Gigi rolls her nipple between her fingers, “the index finger distal interphalangeal joint is also extended by the extensor indicis, the lumbricals, and both the dorsal and palmar interossei.”

Gigi honest to goodness doesn’t know what in the world Crystal is saying. She might as well be talking to her in a foreign language. But it seems like there isn’t a need for her to be stressed about it; she knows the material well enough. Leave it to Crystal to overthink.

“If this is how you’re going to help me study, I can’t wait ‘til I reach the pelvis and perineum,” Crystal breathes out as Gigi latches onto the nipple she isn’t pinching and sucks gently.

“Told you you’d like it,” she says, pulling Crystal down for another kiss. They stay like this for a while, kissing and breathing each other in. When the need for air becomes too much, Gigi moves to take Crystal’s nipple back into her mouth, licking and tugging it between her teeth. Crystal holds onto Gigi’s head closer to her chest as she arches her back, throwing her head back in pleasure and grinding down on Gigi’s thigh.

Gigi takes this as a sign to go further. She runs her hands up Crystal’s thighs before reaching in between to move her panties to the side. “Nice,” she says spreading the wetness around with her fingers. She pushes two fingers into Crystal. “What muscles am I using now?” she asks as she slowly pumps in and out, gently reminding Crystal that what they’re doing is actually studying.

“Th-those two fingers, uh, extensor digitorum,” she says, grinding down harder onto Gigi’s palm that’s barely resting on her clit. “But the other ones are, uh, are the lumbricals and flexor digiti minimi.”

Gigi scissors her fingers inside Crystal, feeling her become wetter and more pliant. “And now?”

Crystal moans at the stretch. “Palmar and dorsal interossei.”

“Good girl.” She lets Crystal fuck herself on her fingers, watching her face contort with pleasure, before curling her fingers upward. Crystal makes a noise, a sound she’s sure she’s never made in her entire life. It’s strangled and deep and guttural. “How about now?” she asks to distract Crystal from her building orgasm.

“Fuuuuck!” she moans. “Are we still studying?” Crystal’s a little bit frustrated. The student side of her brain has already closed up shop. All she wants now is to focus entirely on reaching an orgasm.

“We can stop,” Gigi chuckles, making a move to slip her fingers out of Crystal.

But Crystal’s reflexes have never been so fast in her life. She grabs a hold of Gigi’s wrist before she can fully take her fingers out. “No, no, let’s not do that,” she whines.

She grabs the back of Crystal’s neck with her free hand, pulling her in to connect their lips. “Okay, no need to beg,” Gigi says against her lips. She lets Crystal ride her fingers more before she curls her fingers upward and asks again, “What muscles am I using now?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the answer?”

“Answer to what?”

“My question, Crystal.”

Crystal slows down her movement to catch her breath. “F-flex-flexor digitorum superficialis and, and flexor digitorum profundus. But they’re more flexed now than they were a while ago when you were fondling my tits.”

“Mm, okay,” Gigi chuckles as Crystal speeds up again. “One last, I promise. Then you can come.” Crystal nods, eyes glazed. Gigi brushes her thumb back and forth over her now very sensitive clit. “How about now?”

“Feels good, Gee,” Crystal takes a breath between her teeth.

“I know but you still have to answer my question,” she says in a way like a mother would admonish her child.

She takes a moment to shift her focus back to the question at hand. “Th-the thenar muscles. Adductor poll-. No. Abductor pollicis brevis, flexor p-pollicis brevis, a-and op-opponens pollicis.”

“You did so well,” Gigi coos.

Crystal is so wet now that Gigi manages to slip in two more fingers. She pushes back on them before moving up and pushing down again. And again. And again. Eager and excited to go over the edge.

“Need to come,” Crystal practically pleads.

“No one’s stopping you.”

She lets Crystal use her fingers the way she wants and takes in the sight of her’s lips parted and eyes squeezed shut. Gigi feels Crystal tightening around her fingers, moving closer and closer towards her climax. She drapes her arms over Gigi’s shoulder and drops her head on to the crook of Gigi’s neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses up her neck to her jaw.

“So close,” she says.

Her body is beginning to tremble, a sure sign of her impending orgasm. Gigi angles her head to catch Crystal’s mouth in a sloppy kiss as she moves harder and faster against her clit.

Crystal rocks up and down to the movement of Gigi’s hand, eyes closed, lost in her own pleasure. Her face and chest are flushed, she’s panting so hard to catch her breath, her breasts having with every breath. Gigi bends her head to take one of Crystal’s nipples into her mouth and sucks hard. Crystal lets out a strangled moan and Gigi feels her muscles rhythmically clench around her fingers. She slows her movements helping Crystal, who is now slumped against Gigi’s chest, go through and come down from her orgasm.

Gigi wraps her arms around Crystal, holding her close as she regains her breath. Crystal lazily drops kisses against Gigi’s neck, up her jaw until their lips meet in a lazy kiss. Breaking away, Crystal smiles down at Gigi. She regards Gigi’s face, wondering how she ever brought that look of awe and wonder to her face. “Did I pass?” she asks, still basking in the afterglow of a great orgasm.

Gigi laughs. “I have no fucking idea. But I have a feeling I just got an A-plus in Girlfriend 101.”