#if you can draw furniture I heavily respect you

[guppygiggles]

wip 💙

[sugar-petals]

SuperM as Boyfriends Headcanon

↪ caro’s note. extra long version because i miss ‘em. best boys, they’re all bf material to the moon and back ♡

5k words | bullet points

○ warnings ⚠️ 18+, dom/sub play, shibari, female reader, grinding, poly mentions, threesomes, face-sitting, femdom & vanilla, smut and fluff

⌈ ten

— motto: they won’t underestimate me for long.

most of your social environment is gonna be confused by ten at the beginning 

and don’t really get what he’s all about

or think he’s like whatever, some random guy in a tank top

acting peculiar

finding him kind of hard to gauge

some of your family and relatives might even think he’s totally unusual and a sneaky fuckboy making you mad 

they seriously wonder what you see in him

down the line that perception has turned by 180 degrees

as it should

ten becomes more irreplaceable, relatable, beautiful, perfect and impressive the more you know him

he’s not as mysterious and impossibly badass as everyone assumes

his personality is very approachable to you 

and you find him interesting in every aspect, looks to hobbies to background to personal habits

and also opinions because ten is a guy who really thinks stuff through

so you gotta be roughly on the same wavelength 

he likes discussing controversial and complicated stuff a lot for sure

being far wiser than his age suggests 

you are the first to share those things with him until the rest of the world catches up to this gem of a person

spending so much time with you

in the most personal way he can

he takes you to see the floating markets in bangkok, you spend the summer in thailand

wakeboarding and playing badminton

his entire family knows you inside out at some point this shit is serious

it’s very important to him to go back to the roots every now and then

and that you have been around his home city as well

getting to enjoy the area and time together eating the most savory delicacies

renting a boat and paddling you around to the important spots, he can explain any question you have

this kissing is gonna be so romantic 

who needs a vacation in venice when you can go to thailand with none other than ten himself as your ferryman let that sink in

except eating durian there he is, the boyfriend who can do anything!

with seemingly no effort

ten does little kind services of love for you throughout the day

he pours you herbal tea, fixes some furniture (he’s surprisingly good at tinkering), comes home from the bakery with your favorite pastry, does the laundry with your favorite fabric softener

he also goes on a huge shopping spree with you monthly because fashion is key in this household and it’s tremendous fun

you giggle when he puts on oversized shirts deliberately to look funny

everyone in the clothing store will think oh man what an adorable pair

ten will model the living hell out of the entire stock

and buy you the cape you really really want as a birthday present

said item turns out to be your favorite couple accessory

because you can sit next to each other on a bench at the river and wear it

what’s not to love about a portable blanket

of course he will take to instagram and make it such a cool thing, photographies of you wearing really cool coats and jackets

mirror bathroom selfies together as well, with a back hug, the classic

and not just for insta

you snuggle a lot generally

ten is always available for affection

and accepts all PDA

he’s a kitty after all, he loves the warmth of your body more than you know

remember how taemin said ten’s hands are always cold, newsflash not anymore since you stuff them into the pocket of your hoodie whenever you can

and hello sir your paws will be nice and cozy on my waist

or hand in hand when you waltz through your apartment

time for dance is a must

oh my god ten is so good at all of this

although say he’s definitely faster into latin than standard genres

tango argentino, he loves flamenco as well

don’t believe me? ten is a diehard rosalía stan!

vamos

so, no-brainer, expect a lot of dancy stuff 

that escalates into wild, passionate fucking

which probably looks like an aggressive form of couple exercises

you poor sore souls

ten’s lil kitty butt is falling apart from all the “i can handle a bigger one!”-level pegging and you have aching legs all over

favorite position? full nelson

if you ask me ten’s ass is probably so carved out by the end of this you could fit lucas and kai in there from head to toe

this is not for the faint of heart

sex with this guy is extra cardio

and if you’re into that a threesome is gonna go down sooner or later

with our girl lisa

there. i said it

miss manoban in those knee-high boots, grinding her thighs between yours and you finishing off on ten’s face? the fucking hottest thing ever i need a moment wow

i don’t have to tell you how orgasmic this is gonna be

steamy sex life with ten very recommended

⌈ kai

— motto: you’re like a precious rose. i’ll protect you forever.

to be straightforward with you

he is in so heavily in demand it’s madness

to give you an idea of the scale

mark is basically occupied by yuta until the end of time 

but kai has an entire idol fanclub on top of all erigoms

those sharp moves did not go unnoticed

he gets an inkigayo sandwich every other day

jesus christ

if rent-a-sexy-bf.com was a thing kai would be the most requested

his phone would be blowing up with contracts like

and you also have to pass kyungsoo’s vibe check

and taemin’s

the road to being kai’s gf is indeed the way of the samurai

i mean honestly: kim jongin is without a doubt the hardest member to get a date with

this has got to be the most selective man of the entire industry or something

if he likes you he REALLY likes you

and he will be the one showing initiative

because he wants to make it clear he isn’t just spending time out of politeness or something

although it’s pretty logical that if kai was unable to reject someone he would no longer be an idol but a harem husband busy every hour of the day

seoul would be able to found its own village 

kai town

where like 70% of the population is pregnant

but since kai wants to keep on dancing obviously and he wants to lend his heart to only one person 

seoul has to settle with a singular nini family house instead of a kai district

where you and the man himself are a full-fledged household basically since kai’s nieces double as actual kids

if you wanna be a young ass ‘mom but not mom with kids’ and be married to kim kai this is it

does he have a thing for milfs or something

that thought just came to my mind

anyway you’re mommy anyway wink wink

fucking til’ dawn until even his muscles hurt

going raw at the gym together

him cooking the most random food with the infamous waffle maker

cuddling with an army of teddy bears surrounding you

walking the dogs with the sexiest dancer alive 

and the sexiness is only the tip of the iceberg 

we know he’s all-round amazing

kai is the king of figuring out ways to chill out with you anywhere anytime

and yes innocent chilling

...unless you’re in the mood for something else

up to you

anyway

sweet innocent chilling for now... with the stunner... just smooching at best things aren’t going raw or anything

on the couch in the kitchen in the car when it’s parked somewhere in nature

kai takes you very seriously and is a great listener

he’s literally so respectful and open-minded i can’t

he will keep your secrets and stand up for you if it’s ever needed

yes he is extremely caring and invested

kai does not tolerate others being shady towards you

if there’s an instance where you are hurt and unable to assert yourself don’t worry. he knows how to confront others with measure but a firm determination.

kai takes a lot of that responsibility but only to the degree where you are comfortable

i think you get what i mean by that

and he is diplomatic instead of plain patronizing

you have a right to be protected. it means he not only treats you well, but also makes sure your well-being isn’t disturbed in any other way outside of the relationships

outside influences aren’t to be underestimated

and since kai is a godly man you encounter a lot of jealousy from others

a matter he will take into his hands since he knows he’s the reason

standing up for you also means saying no 

to these jealous voices so this is an important boundary he has to draw

that all kinds of hellbent people want to get into his pants and take his stage image too literally is not up to you to fix

kai is there for you to enjoy and love not to defend

that’d be exhausting and beside the point 

kai prevents stress and negativity to come to you

i hope i explained this well he doesn’t do this to be bossed up or make you weak it’s because he wants to make life easier for you

guys being protective will be chalked up as chauvinistic these days. often rightfully so 

but what i mean is that kai support you in all regards so you won’t be at a disadvantage or feel terrible about something

⌈ taeyong

— motto: we’ll take good care. enjoy the pleasure.

he’s the type of boyfriend who will ask you about things he missed out on while he was busy

things um from the internet

while mark literally knows that one by heart already taeyong will ask you things like what the wellerman song is

and you thought it would be something nsfw

i got you fooled

did we forget that the man literally watched nct memes on youtube

taeyong is both even more 18+ than you think but also even more innocent than you think it’s complicated

this man is just hard to describe he’s so different, i mean every person is unique but he’s an original it’s the extra mile you know

anyway

sea shanties

bopping to it all day since he just heard it 

singing it while he prepares dinner based on a youtube recipe video as he often does

he’s the most adorable person ever ever ever

asking you why shanties are back in fashion 

(good question, requires a deeper sociocultural analysis i reckon)

planning to remix one for his soundcloud lmao i kid you not

maybe your favorite shanty 

featuring fast-pace rap and all

creating his own previously unknown phrases and shit like that you know him

palazzo rocco lemon detox flashbacks

he’s hilarious i swear

taeyong will produce his own shanties for you can you imagine

as he says: my happiness is your happiness

watch out he will drop a shanty music video with extra krumping moves

taeyong is a never-ending source of pure crack

prepare to laugh a lot like, a lot lot

how can a man who seemingly has such a serious outlook on life and such a bonkers kinda face be so lighthearted

it’s like he’s peter pan or something

especially since he has to manage like over 20 brats in nct his cutesy behavior towards you as his gf will stand out to you

yeah so to be clear we all know he’s the cute one in the relationship

and guess who wears the pants

that’s always you ma’am don’t deny it

or wait 

not for long actually because they come off um physically

but not metaphorically

because who doesn’t wanna sit on his face tbh

your favorite reserved spot

he loves it

taeyong has such a thing for your body it’s ridiculous

mister lee got a sexy mama

and you have such a thing for the gloriousness that is him

but neither of you will not admit it as openly as other people would think

all there is... is being flustered

baekhyun probably has to play some cupid now and then

and give you some ideas

like gifting taeyong plushies and things like that

baekhyun knows what taeyong is all about so the advice is very welcome

but most things you find out for yourself

by being a little braver with him you know

you walking around naked in the apartment or basically fresh out the shower with nothing but a towel

will shake up taeyong so immensely, he will back himself against a wall without you even pinning him there lmao!

jeez he’s so deep into kinky stuff but easily shook anyway

i quote him again: “born to be cute, i dunno!”

you can imagine the overwhelm when you rub yourself against him like it’s nobody’s business

it’s so much fun to give taeyong a regular horny meltdown not gonna lie

this man was grinding his whole body all over the superm stage and now he’s basically freezing up and drooling

how many denied and ruined orgasms he’s gonna get, so much overstimulation all the way  

you’ll lose count of it

and just how wet you’re gonna be

is a thing for the history books

taeyong isn’t such a big deal in nct for no reason god gave him every talent 

so great sex is obviously in his repertoire

i think you’re gonna break some records for most fucks per week

you know... guys like lucas taemin kai and baekhyun spend more time wooing and teasing and flirting

but taeyong gets down to business

one glance is enough

⌈ lucas

— motto: the hottest couple around.

ah, big boy

you really got this man’s attention

doing nothing much at all really

he probably just saw you walking around talking to friends

carrying an impossibly huge veggie burger munching and enjoying yourself after going on a jog

yeah boy that’s how you catch his eye

they say love begins in the stomach and that is the true meaning

or the nose, your food smells really good, lucas is going crazy, he’s seeing stars and shit

anyway

the towering burger isn’t the only thing he wants

lucas cannot get you out of his mind no matter how much he tries to distract himself 

with more good food, movies, games

fooling around with wayv or the superm maknaes, and working out

he’s admittedly... a little himbo head over himbo heels with you the feels got to him

he’s not gonna say it’s a date he’s just gonna invite you just because

to hang out in the kitchen while taeyong cooks and baekhyun comes up with the idea to play twister

imagine lucas with his long arms and legs bending himself all over the place

fighting with kai who almost crashed his shoulders into taemin who avoided the accident quickly

making you lose a round

obviously lucas will hustle until your team wins

mostly because he’s so tall and baekhyun is so small which is a huge advantage when stacking each other over the map

let’s just face it baekhyun only suggested this game to bite everyone’s butts and to see you have skinship with lucas

which is definitely a successful plan of the leader

yukhei is in paradise 

jumping around his room like an oversized bunny after you went home

don’t lie, you fell hard for him as well he’s just such a presence

emotionally, physically

a gentle but persistent giant

he’ll do anything to make your relationship happen once he knows you’re interested

if there’s someone meant to be a boyfriend it’s gotta be him come on

he will cave in after a while and admit he can’t just forget about you 

not gonna lie

your ex is gonna be shaking in his ratty boots

his poor eyes will literally jop from their unexpecting sockets

when he sees lucas hanging out with you

with his shining blonde hair and tall stature, that perfect shapely body, with great fashion on top of that

looking like your guardian angel

man, xuxi really does

pulling you out of your slump that’s been going on for months

and bringing back smiles and a good time he knows how to do that best

and big big hugs of course

you can imagine how soothing and grounded it feels with such huge arms around you

he will make sure that feeling is always there when you need it

because you deserve that treatment

which means he will come over very very often

yeah get ready for how yukhei is a lot more driven than you think just dial and he will be there

underneath the meme surface is someone very determined who really really wants you

yukhei is chaotic good incarnate but in that area he isn’t messing around

his brain is like: “gotta be with her”

on repeat

he must call you, he literally can’t sleep without tying loose ends together as quickly as possible

no second wasted with this guy, even far down the relationship timeline

i really pity your ex 

i mean someone dating any superm member would drive their former partner completely nuts 

but lucas is a special case

he has that kind of look and aura that makes other guys dig themselves into the ground like wiggling worms or cope by fanboying over him

i don’t wanna make this sound like a competition and yet — congrats on your noodly blondie boyfriend alright

⌈ mark

— motto: two nerds in love.

how to explain this. mark is a perfect balance of a lover, a talker, and a shy bean

with a tendency toward bean

and flicking the bean

you know

cutting right to the chase are we

mark is very invested in pleasing you as good as he can

and defeating his awkwardness

because if we know one thing it’s that he always strives to become better and better like he can’t help it

and isn’t afraid of almost biting off more than he can chew

how many subunits is he part of at this point is it gonna be nct hollywood as well god dangit

back to the point mark doesn’t treat relationships and sex as something static which is a good and rare thing

he does his best and always looks for room to improve

while being very nervous, very bilingual, it takes two languages or more to express what he thinks about you let that sink in

that’s very shaky first date sex while being extremely in love with each other

lucky you

and an afterglow where he plays the guitar for you

that’s so nice 

he can play it while laying down and shit

while singing

not rapping, actual full-fledged serenading

we’ve heard how that sounds in the relay cam

are you dating some kind of teenage heartthrob or something huh

mark will make it very clear he’ll stick around, this bad bitch is here to stay

or actually, he’s a good bitch, don’t misunderstand

mark doesn’t have a lot of edgy in him unless rap is concerned

he’s the kinda guy to get lost in IKEA with 

having a good time 

as often as his schedule permits

you really have to make use of your time together 

this man might as well the busiest idol out there

and you are no different because birds of a feather

you’re both mr. and ms. independent 

out and about very often

so meeting up becomes something special during comeback season

or wait mark always has a comeback going on

which is a double-edged sword but something you both know you signed up for 

which is why you spend a lot of time around NCT dream, 127, and SuperM 

sm’s publicity agents have to work extra hard i’m telling you

a dating rumor is the last thing both of you would need

since you befriend several members you gotta stay on the low as well

but hey the rage of jealous people of the public is nothing compared to the force of nature that is yuta nakamoto

who seriously thinks himself threatened and robbed

in case you are feeling possessive as well...

...you might have to fistfight yuta

to be able to be with mark

who is basically property of osaka at this point

yuta is a scorpio that’s just the way it is

unlike taeyong who wishes his rap buddy the best, yuta kinda wants to be mark’s wingman and see him date, live his best life

but also have mark for himself to fawn over and to adore, to be fascinated by

we get it yuta. bisexual struggles. very understandable

you have to promise in person that mark doesn’t forget about the holy gaming nights with yuta 

which is hilarious since that’s not up to you but mark’s memory

bestie, yuta uses everyone as a scapegoat don’t sweat it too much

regardless you put a weekly reminder on the fridge

so the roaring lion yuta would be pacified

he doesn’t want to lose his sweetheart can you blame him

the ultimate but also most risky solution is obviously inviting yuta for movies 

which will be appreciated but also cause a storm

mark will definitely break a sweat when you start a popcorn war or try to prove who hugs mark the best 

caught in the middle of mayhem is mark lee’s specialty what did you expect

this either ends with murder or a chaotic open relationship down the line

yuta really is attached but who wouldn’t be

it could be worse mark has double the love you know 

⌈ baekhyun

— motto: you wanna know why i’m your candy?

baby tell me are you ridin’?

in fair verona where we lay our scene...

that baekhyun always wants to woo you — his way, which proves to be very interesting to say the least — is never hard to miss

putting in effort is mochi default mode 

no matter what stage of the relationship you’re in

he might as well regularly serenade you under your balcony in the backyard just because

probably singing ‘baby we can stay up’ and wiggling his ass in all directions because he’s a dirty boy gone wild

yeah. nowadays romeo is twerking instead of feuding with tybalt

that’s good for him and everyone involved

you in particular because you get some very racy eye candy

you know how baekhyun is

at least nobody’s around seeing him put on an 18+ show like that

your little guy is one unhinged fella

if it starts pouring he will grind up and down the next lantern and belt out ‘singing in the rain’

you bet he can do some actual pole dance

he’s strong and bendy you know

and loves to gyrate his whole bag of bones like... he wants to hit you with all the body rolls

in the rain

what a freaky man

but hey you wanna stay up for sure 

doesn’t take long until you beckon him to come upstairs

where the only way to alleviate him of his wet clothes—

oh well he has those roger rabbit vibes and you can’t be mad at it

he will play off all his hormonal antics

baekhyun is hilarious

and so perverted, he can keep up with your spicy idea of playing patty-cake don’t worry

how do i know you’re an extra nsfw kinda person?

who else would like baekhyun

he says juicy things all the time

and does juicy things

yes. finally a couple on eye level indeed. 

when baekhyun asks are you ridin’ you ask how hard 

bruh

this is gonna be fun

and remember

beside handing you sacks of money

his priority is always to make you smile

i’m kidding about the bags but

baekhyun is so rich it’ll show in your relationship, but he’s more about the interactions with you rather than the lifestyle

baekhyun didn’t hustle for a bentley he hustled to sing and get out of sm alive alright

financial stability: important

luxury: very nice to have, he can make you the presents you want to have and travel a lot together

but smiles: baekhyun priority

because he so badly wants to know you love him and adore him, he sometimes feels so insecure

of course you do

you always reassure him with your reactions

it’s very important to him don’t underestimate it

baekhyun has always been talking about his ideal type in terms of how he can cheer her up

so even the naughtiest sexy time evenings are gonna be filled with all giggles

anyway other than that your pussy will be dripping

because this guy is as horny as all other members of super m combined

and you have your ways of leaving him tongue-tied and wrists-tied

taemin’s impact

superm isn’t short of bondage supplies we all know that

so yeah. shibari baekhyun is gonna happen

since he does pilates imagine what kinda shapes you can bend this lil guy into

and take some pictures

privé is in trouble 

bondage model baekhyun is bursting onto the scene

you might even run a risque blog that features cropped pictures with him

heh — you think people will recognize him by his body?

nope

first: you only upload HD pictures that aren’t whitewashed

baekhyun is basically never photographed like that

second: who expects baekhyun to be featured on a bdsm blog with his girlfriend

and this is the guy that drives you around in his expensive car with his big black shades on 

well what can i say

nothing is the way it seems

⌈ taemin

— motto: i’ll unfold a whole new world for you.

taemin is cocky, he’s sensual, and: a very smiley person as we know

least boring relationship ever

he will prance toward you whenever he can to involve you in cuddles

touch-starved taemin is a thing

kkoong can tell you about it, he needs kisses and embraces so often

might as well pepper him with it no problem

and put him into your oversized sweaters when he eats ice cream on the sofa, watching movies, and you brush his ever-growing hair

he’s smol he’s gonna fit into them don’t worry

and on the other hand he likes a rough and tough girl who thinks of him like a boy toy

who acts tsundere or like his bodyguard

working out almost daily to the point of sweat all over

a gal probably able to pretzel minho lucas and chanyeol into one giant bundle

taemin truly has the taste of a divo

multi-layered as always

so you couldn’t say the relationship is always the same in sentiment, the vibe of the dynamic could be different every day

we love a complex man

what would be volatile to others is actually an advantage up close

because taemin understands every difficult facet of himself and his partner 

even if those facets might be contradictory

or something that’s felt shameful about

he will accept and listen anyway

the same goes for getting what drives you

taemin is like a walking psychology velvet couch with fancy swirls as arm rests

point is he isn’t fooled by the surface of the world

he knows what has to be known

which also means your looks aren’t the part he prioritizes

and not even outward personality and habit is what he’s drawn to

it’s the mentality and values underneath

that’s true compatibility to him and he can feel it

he’s really really smart

and also finds it important that you get along with shinee and superm, that you think they’re nice to be around and vice versa

especially kai as taemin’s absolute bearly bestie. if kai thinks you’re shady and you don’t like kai either

or if you’re permanently super awkward and taemin’s moodmaking doesn’t help

we have a problem

but fair enough

kai and taemin are basically one soul at this point so if taemin likes you jongin does anyway 

bff telepathy

in fact jongin was probably the one introducing you to taemin lmao!

because he knows you go well together instinctively and he is correct

so not to worry then

and it’s good on taemin to think longterm and not see you as a person outside of social interaction y’know

cough cough he thinks about marriage, you might be ms. lee one day

here he goes again taemin is just very mature seeing you as well-rounded in every aspect of life

without letting his dick make the important decisions at the detriment of making this a relationship of two lives not just two bodies only

but obviously don’t assume taemin is no horny devil. we all know he dreams of the freakiest scenarios and fantasies in this whole group

going kinda crazy about the thought of making you cum which he always wants to try with new methods

which occupies his mind more than a big bowl of super spicy noodles which is taemin’s favorite meal so

at the same time taemin junior is definitely the same clingy attention whore as his sparkly owner

limp wrists from all the handjobs on your side

and very swollen lips from giving all that head on his side

this is gonna be interesting

he puts the 6v6 in 69

equals 69v69 am i right

but i’m serious that’s gonna be a lot of oral action

you definitely ask each other about having sex very often, daily if you have the time and find a nice spot

and how on earth do both of you keep your hands off each other sleeping in one bed

taemin is touchy as hell with no shyness, and you squish squeeze and grope this guy like the mochi he is

ah when things go both ways

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[wizkiddx]

this deleted itself but the req was for an ill reader who likes to try and carry on even if they feeling shit and tom noticing I think?!?

Summary:  you take start to feel a bit shit  at toms family barbecue and get caught out and taken care of

///////////

It should've be lovely, an evening in the rare but much appreciated British summer sun in Dom and Nikki’s garden. Everyone was there; all the Holland boys; both sets of Tom’s grandparents; Haz and his long time girlfriend Lucie. It was a reunion of sorts, although no one had been away working, you’d somehow all timed your individual holidays simultaneously. You and Tom to Australia; Sam and Harry to south-east Asia; Paddy, Dom and Nikki to Sweden. Having all returned in the space of a week, everyone was catching up, involving great British barbecues (which are always a little disappointing) and a fair amount of booze.

You were sat on the garden furniture with Tessa (Tom’s grandma), Nikki and Lucie. Very much a ‘girl power’ meeting if ever there was - which in a family full of boys was often needed just to keep the peace. Everything about the evening was lovely… except perhaps your body. God knows why, because you rarely got ill - having not had a day off work in two years. As much as you’d been trying to push away the slow creeping feeling for a couple of hours - it was now getting impossible to ignore. The slightly unsettled feeling in your stomach had you fidgeting in the wooden chair constantly, trying to ease it by shifting positions... to no avail.

“Y/n… Y/n?” Looking up to see three pairs of beady eyes trained on you, you faked a smile, looking over to Nikki who had been calling your name. “Tess was asking how long the flight back was?” “Oh sorry, was miles away!” You tried to cover, shifting once again, this time pressing a hand to your lower abdomen in the hope that’d distract you as you turned slightly to make eye contact with Tessa. “And I think 11 hours ish.” The girls all pulled a grimacing face in sympathy, to which you chuckled at. “No no honestly cos Tom spoiled me completely so we were in the fancy seats, I honestly was spark out of it the whole time!”

It was enough of a response for the girls to all nod, carrying on the conversation as you, now not the main focus, rubbed your pulsing temple with your other hand - in the hope to relieve some of the building pressure. Clearly, though, you weren’t a subtle as you thought - since Lucie got your attention by bumping your shoulder and leaning in closely. “Come to the loo with me?” It sounded like a question, though it very much wasn’t - the stern look in her eye enough to scare you into agreeing. With a word to Nikki and Tess, you both stood up and made your way to the inside, not stopping until you were locked into the thankfully spacious downstairs loo - the brunette eyeing you intently. “You look like shit.” “Thanks Luc, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You sighed, sitting on top of the closed lidded loo heavily. “What’s up?” Her tone was harsh and to the point, but secretly there was a look of worry in her eyes. She was one of your best mates but sometimes could also scare you shitless. “I think I’m just tired, it’s my stomach and my head, I’ll be fine.”

Lucie didn't really seem to believe you, but respected your stubbornness and after providing you with two paracetamol capsules from her bag, she let you off - both going back into the garden, where, by now Sam was plating up the slightly charred burgers.

Naturally, you’d sat next to Tom, who had pulled your chairs right next to each other - so that his leg was pressed up against yours, his arm pulled around your shoulder. That was just Tom, away from the prying eyes of the public and media, he really was an affectionate person. He just liked to feel you there. God knows how long you all sat in those same positions, but it was long enough for the sun to set. In fact, you most definitely weren’t the person to ask, because at some point, unbeknownst to you, you’d zoned out. Nobody had noticed, under the cover of the low sunset light, until Tom felt your head briefly fall against his shoulder before it shot up once again - your eyes blinking heavily.

He frowned at the sight, seeing you huddle your arms across your body, which was bizarre due to the unbelievable hot weather in London. Yes, it might have shifted into nighttime, but it was still at least 24 degrees. So as his Dad had the entire table captivated recounting some long and complex tale of his touring days, Tom took the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder - grabbing your attention.

“You alright love?” In response you just hummed, eyes shifting up to him after a little delay - similar to how your reflexes became stunted with alcohol, though Tom suddenly realised you’d barely had more than half the glass of beer he’d poured you when you’d both arrived. “ I’said are you okay?” “Yeh… yeh I’m fine.” You forced a small tight lipped smile, whilst Tom took his arm that was round his shoulder to rest on the crown of your head before slowly stroking down your hair. “Sure? You seem a little out of it?” He pushed, still in a whisper so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “Maybe just tired.” Flat out lying, you shifted back into the backrest of the chair a little more making his hand accidentally land on your forehead rather than your hairline. He didn't move it though, instead sitting and swivelling in his chair, pressing the other side of his hand to the skin as well. “You’re burning up Y/n/n” he spoke a little louder - eyes full of concern as he looked you up and down. “No I’m a bit cold if anythin-“

That was when Nikki, from across the other side of the table got involved. She’d obviously been silently observing the two of you, now feeling the need to send you both home. “Oh, we forgot dessert! Tom, Y/n would you mind helping me bring it out?” Thank god for Nikki, for finding a cover story and stopping everyone's eyes on you. Because for someone dating, three years deep, an A-lister - you hated any sort of attention, even from those closest to you. Especially sympathy, you had absolutely no time at all for that.

Leading you into the kitchen with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, Tom waited till the door was shut before turning to you.- claiming you were boiling and looked not so great. “I’m just a bit cold if I can borrow one of sam’s jumpers then-“ “Love, please go home.” Nikki interrupted as she wormed past Tom to put her own hand on your forehead too. “You’ve got the chills and you’ve not been normal all day. Am I right or am I right?” She was the worst to argue against. That was completely due to the fact she was always right. With a defeated nod from you, she clicked her tongue, pushing you to sit down on one of the barstools. “Tom go get a jumper from Sam’s room and order a taxi, I would drive but we’ve all been drinking.” “I can just go back by myself T, you don’t get to see your grandparents a lot and -“ “I love you but please please shut up.” Having rounded the back of your chair he pressed his lips to your temples as confirmation before scurrying off to the back of the house.

“You know he doesn’t mind at all? My son never was at my beckon call like he is with you.” There was a little smile teasing the corner of her lips as Nikki placed a glass of water in front of you, as though instructing you to take small sips. “I just feel bad, he’s always telling me how he regrets not spending more time with all of you and… well I’ve had him to myself for the fortnight in South Africa.” “Your just as much a part of the family as me or his grandparents are okay? Now when you get home..”

Nikki switched the tone to then list off all manners of ways that you needed to look after yourself once back, which she then repeated as soon as Tom returned with a black hoodie that you gratefully pulled over your head.

//////////////

By the time you got home, you were feeling so incredibly shit you weren’t even considering keeping up your brave face. Tom had wordlessly led you up the path to your shared home, unlocking the door and telling you to go straight to bed.

Perhaps he was so concerned because in the whole three years together he’d never ever seen you ill. Yes, the odd headache or whatever, as well as the occasional morning after the night before when you’d opted for a ‘tactical chunder’ to try and protect your modesty. But other than that, you were always the one being sympathetic to him. When he was tired, both emotionally and mentally from work; when he hurt his knee and was on forced bed rest for a couple of days ( which turns out to be the hardest time for you too, dealing with the whiny and fidgety boy man).

He came up a couple of minutes later, by which point you’d already pulled joggers on and wrapped yourself as tightly in the duvet as physically possible. If felt so bloody cold your teeth were actually chattering as you curled up into the smallest ball possible. In his hands was a small tray, carrying a steaming mug; a collection of all the different pill packets you kept in the medicine cabinet (as Tom himself had no idea which one was right so decided to use them all); a hot water bottle and what looked like a damp towel, all scrunched up.

No matter how shitty you felt you had a smile at how sweet and doting Tom was being... and as much as you hated the sympathy - if it was always given by a ripped and beautiful brunette with the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen… well just maybe you could get used to it. After snatching the hotwater bottle up immediately, then letting Tom fuss over you in every which way he wanted you gave in, losing the ability to entertain his puppy energy.

“Can we just go to sleep please?” You whined, which Tom nodded to - quickly getting changed and ready before joining you in bed.

As soon as he felt the way the bed was practically vibrating with the chills you were suffering from, he pulled you up into his chest. Now you had both your own personal heater and a hot water bottle to try and warm you up. “You wake me up if you need anything kay?”

Pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, which was nestled between his shoulder and neck. “Promise me ‘kay?” Him needing the reinforcement caused you to arch back up, looking deep into his brown eyes with the warm glow of his bedside table lamp. “You’re too good to me Tommy.” He tutted at that, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Oh no” He whispered exclaimed, making you immediately ask him what in response. “I think this fever is making you go all delusional love.” You quirked your head, causing him to continue with a cheeky grin. “Well for one, nothing would be too good for you darling and two…. When the hell have you ever called me ‘Tommy’” With him chuckling at his own joke, you rolled your eyes at his cheekiness, firmly planting your head back on his shoulder as if to shut him up. “Alright, I’ll let you off just this once cos your all feverish… get some sleep love.” “Thankyou Tommy.” “Shh love.”

And that’s how you fell asleep, finally finding a bit of warmth in Tom’s arms.

Safe to say he very much didn’t sleep so well. Yes, you felt cold - but Tom was bloody boiling. Still he didn't move because if you were comfortable, his discomfort didn’t matter. It was also a physical impossibility for him to relax until he felt (yes, technically not the most scientific way) your fever coming down. Every five minutes or so he’d gently press the back of his hand to your forehead. This boy was so whipped for you... but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~feedback is really really appreciated~~~~

taglist for tom: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8

[anothersievefistedfind]

Photo © by Kelly Maron

Fugazi, Fort Reno, Washington, D.C. USA 8/13/2001 (FLS #1013)

Ever since 1968, Fort Reno has provided the space and opportunity for an annual free all-ages summer concert series. According to the Dischord website, “The Fort Reno Summer Concert Series is an all volunteer Washington, DC institution which has presented free shows in the park for more than 40 years. The bills often feature a mixture of young bands just starting out alongside more seasoned bands -- all from the area's fertile independent music scene.”

Even though Fugazi would play the Fort Reno Park premises in Tenleytown almost every summer since 1988 until their indefinite hiatus in 2003 (with the exception of three editions, see also some of my earlier notes via here), a great deal of these recordings unfortunately are incomplete and/or suffer from significant audio discrepancies. Luckily, this one from 2001 is complete and sounds really good too, not considering a handful of sonic glitches, a bit of interference and the audience being low in the mix because of the soundboard recording and outdoor acoustics.

Actually, chances of the event washing out on a regular basis due to torrential rains and thunderstorms have been as high as Ian donning a Soulside tee shirt for the yearly occasion. By contrast, the circumstances surrounding this show in August of 2001, i.e. Fugazi’s second to last stay at Fort Reno, played out differently (at least in a meteorological way, not in the way of Ian’s sartorial choices).

In the course of the set, Guy paints a clearer picture, “I know a lot of people drove from pretty far away to come out to the show tonight, and a lot of people drove not knowing if there was even gonna be a show tonight, and uh, for those of you who haven’t been around the last couple of years, almost every time we play here there’s like an apocalyptic rainstorm every fucking year and it’s always like we’re all nibbling our fingernails and watching the lightning explode and everyone’s freaking out and then we get to play one or two songs and then everyone has to you know run under the umbrella’s for a while, but tonight Mother Nature went off early and we got to play a full set [...].”

The performance presented here might feel a bit rough around the edges, which can arguably be chalked up to the fact that this is the last show Fugazi played in 2001, a one-off gig in D.C. about a month after a two-week trek across the Midwest of the United States and Canada, as well as to the fact that both 2001 and 2002 pretty much rank at the bottom of the list in terms of (the number of) Fugazi live performances, with 32 shows each (compared to 134, 129 or 123 shows in 1993, 1990 and 1995 respectively). Considering this, it is not all that surprising that this show is pockmarked with some instrumental slip-ups or even the occasional lyrical flub. 

Nevertheless, it still is an overall interesting and enjoyable listen and it does have a nice flow to it, with many seamless transitions and song combinations, which is pretty remarkable since the band draws heavily from a body of songs that had not yet seen an album release at the time.

The set list showcases 22 songs, or actually even 23 if you count the instrumental intro which might very well be the only documented live version of this specific “link track” (one of many such little improvs, or so the saying goes). 

Out of the titled live cuts, no less than 7 are taken off of The Argument and 1 song off of the Furniture EP, recordings which would both see their official release some two months later, in October 2001. A handful of tracks off of their previous work complete the set: End Hits (3), Red Medicine (3), In on the Kill Taker (4), Repeater (1), Margin Walker EP (1) and 7 Songs debut EP (2). Unfortunately, Steady Diet of Nothing is not featured this time around.

There is little banter here, aside from Ian (ironically) chiding someone for demanding some banter before introducing Cashout, Guy inviting people to join in the World Bank protests which were to be held in D.C. in September of that year (little did he know that another turn of events was about to unfold on 9/11), or Ian thanking (the late) Father George [Dennis] for his continuous involvement with the summer concert series since its inception.

Footage of this show is available through YouTube (part one via here and part two via here) as is some more amazing photography by Shawn Scallen (via here).

Interestingly, mention of this particular Fort Reno gig is made in an article by Dave McKenna published for the Washington Post shortly after, as well as in a recent October 15, 2021 article by Tom Breihan published for Stereogum, celebrating the 20th anniversary of The Argument album.

The set list:

1. Intro 2. Nightshop 3. Break 4. Smallpox Champion 5. And The Same  6. Full Disclosure 7. Interlude 1 8. Cashout 9. Public Witness Program 10. Birthday Pony 11. Do You Like Me 12. The Kill 13. Argument 14. Blueprint 15. Interlude 2 16. Five Corporations 17. Caustic Acrostic 18. Epic Problem 19. Interlude 3 20. Oh 21. Interlude 4 22. Bed For The Scraping 23. Burning 24. Waiting Room 25. Interlude 5 26. Number 5 27. Rend It 28. Sweet and Low 29. Outro

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 12 August 1837

7 55

11 50

slept with A- fine morning F69° now at 8 55 and sat down to breakfast with A- G- came soon – out at 10 – with Mark Hepworth on the embankment in front of the house – it looked tremendously dark – I went to see what was to be done when the carts could not drag thro’ the clay of the embankment – stuff to come from Northgate – the words hardly out of our mouths before a tremendous thunder shower came – with thunder and lightning – I got wet in getting to the west tower – the red room passage all open – the rain pouring in, and down thro’ the red room floor into the drawing room – a terrible mess – my magazines lying on the drawing room floor obliged to be laid before the upper kitchen fire – a perfect river running thro’ the entrance passage from court to gardens – the old china closet front (window frames unglazed) open, and the rain pouring in – one tremendous crash of thunder about 10 ½ just as I had finished changing my dress – then sat 1/2 hour with A- at my desk at 11 10 still raining but not heavily – coping out business letters and considering letter to be written respecting the Infant Graham’s money till went down to Mr. Charles Priestley at 1 50, and he staid till 5 ¼ - § vide next page  sent for Mr. Charles P- to sound him about taking the Northgate hotel – began about the tap – would it be in his way? – should I let it or not? – mentioned what had passed with Thomas G- on the subject – yes! CP- would take it – but could not give me much for it – one thing led to another – the tap would be worth more it to sell both ale and spirits – and he said something about giving £60 a year for it – I fancy but am not certain, spirits might not be included in the sale at this rent? However I might tell the tenant whoever he might be he (CP-) would take the tap, and give the utmost it was worth – I wish, said I, you would take tap and hotel too – this led to a long conversation much to the point and partly desultory – the hotel would be a very serious undertaking – would require a great deal of capital – the landlord of the Barnby moor Inn on the London rood had on retiring got £24000 for his stock in trade furniture and wines and farm stock (£8000 for the farm £16000 for the house and cellars) – I said the capital required for the Northgate hotel would not be so great as was supposed - £3000 (allowing £500 for wines) would suffice for the beginning – said I would myself advance capital towards furnishing – would CP. take the hotel in that case – still he declined it – I then turned to the 2 letters (applications) saying I particularly wished to consult him (CP.) on the application from Liverpool – the one from London was read 1st, and CP. thought this much the most business like and valuable – he spoke so knowingly, it was evident he had been making inquiries previously on the subject (no doubt he applied for the George Inn – when I said what its tap let for £100 a year) he gave no particular answer; but I saw from his look he knew the rent whatever it might be) – we talked over Mr. Carrs’ proposal – said I must try to gain time – I must try to get the coaches but put off their being given up to me as long as I can – it was not the passengers but the mileage (horses) that was the object – it was a poor coach that did not make £100 (a hundred) a year – Innkeepers got cent per cent on wine – talked over CP.’s brewery – answering very well – brews 6 loads i.e. 6x14 bushels? = 84 bushels per week – could do more business if he had capital – but has laid by something every ½ year and is contented to get on by [degrees] pays two hundred a year rent for his brewery his expense rent, delivery, labour and materials = £1800 a year – lives for next to nothing – his wife rheumatic since they came here, but always

SH:7/ML/E/20/0110

contrives to look after her house – 8 children – I congratulated him on doing well hoped the brewery would eventually pay better than the glass house and he seemed to hope and think it would – he seemed in very good spirits and said perhaps all was for the best – I said it was generally thought his failure bankruptcy did no discredit to his creditors than to himself – Mr. Price the York country joint stock banker seems to have behaved very ill, as I had understood from Mr Harper – but CP. appears to think he (Mr. Price)will not gain so much by it as was supposed – the concern is falling off in some respects – mention of Mr. Henry Priestley he was bound with CP- for five thousand pounds but CP. had paid and ought to have had by this time a balance of a few thousands – the 64ft. fall of water in Crag valley had been sold for £3500 – Mr. Rawson had offered at £700 for it – after higgling and trying to take advantage – some man had offered a mere acknowledgments of a few shillings a year and Mr. R- seeing a sort of beginning for taking the water offered by little and little having 1st tried to get the 1st refusal (as he did for my coal) this let poor HP. into the idea that the fall was of some value – he had it valued and it was sold at the above named just before his death or funeral I forget which – Mr. Edwards and his son Charles executors and trustees – consulted CP. about what answers should be sent and by whom to the applicants – his advice excellent and ready – took – wrote rough copy of 2 letters (to London and Liverpool) according to his dictation – and, with a little shorting and correction of style, wrote the former and sent it last night – the Liverpool letter I think of turning over to Mr. Parker – on the subject of farming and hay, CP. said I should mind that mine was put together in proper order; for at 13/. per D.W. mowing making and carting and stacking the man who took it could not make his own of it – I said yes! he could – I should always mow early – have all done by 13 July in the fine long-day season, and my new hay-barn was very conveniently situated – besides the man was one of my tenants who lived within sight of his job – Mawson – mentioned his having the Stump X Inn – his rent and the 5p.c. additional to pay for the new building which would make his rent £140 per annum – took CP. into the west tower to shew him where all the wet had come from – (thro’ the open roof of the red room passage) and asked him to look at the new brew house – the copper he said should be a yard higher, and the [?] lower down – the proper temperature of the water before putting in the malt and mashing, should be 168° to 171° this very nearly indicated by the commonly used sign of seeing one’s face in the water as in a mirror – i.e. the steam being so abated as to allow one to see ones self –

SH:7/ML/E/20/0109

then had Booth Firth junior, [Culpan] brick-layer of the garden walls, and Parkinson – and afterwards Mawson and then Riley for Hilltop and busy settling with them till 7 – after banking hours – no money except gold by me for small bills – wrote and sent by Booth note to ‘Mr. McKean Yorkshire District Bank Halifax’ saying I should be much obliged to pay Mr. David Booth the bearer and my clerk of the works the enclosed check for £134.2.6 being one hundred in a/c for himself and ten pounds in a/c for Culpan garden walls, and the rest as by bills for Parkinson for work done at Shibden hall – top terrace walls – paving thro’ the barn (taking up and resetting) and the carriage court cistern arches – DB. had given Mr. Harper his accounts up to midsummer andat that time £333 the balance against me – gave Firth a check = £130 and Mawson for £67.18.0 as by SW-’s measurement for the Lodge road stoning and draining and Haybarn road thro’ the wood forming and draining and platform sods taking off and walling on the embankment in front of the house – (above 1200 yards super of sods at 2 ½d.) – A- returned between 6 and 7 – at 7 altered the style and curtailed the letter suggested by CP. to the London applicant for the hotel read it to A- and Mr. Gray (had the latter into my study) and sent the letter off by Frank tonight to ‘Mr. J. Hodgson, 69 Quadrant, Piccadilly, London’ – the hotel new and not quite finished – I am in treaty for nine old established coaches – not only a good opening for wine and spirit trade but the best cellars for the purpose (built expressively for the purpose) form part of the building – the success of the undertaking depends upon the capital at command and the exertion of the individual – the hotel has every modern convenience in superior style, and a casino, a splendid room, capable of dining 300 persons – no yet able to fix the rent but will do it as well as I can for the encouragement of the tenant – many advantages that can only be explained and understood upon the spot – dinner at 7 40 – coffee – skimmed over the newspaper – A- and I came upstairs at 10 ¼ - I sleepy lay on my bed in the blue room 20 minutes till A- came to say she was ready for bed – then undressed and sat undressed in my study from about 11 to 11 ¾ writing all but the 1st 11 lines of today and tidying my desk of bills etc fair before noon (very heavy rain (vid. line 4) from 10 am and thunder and lightning F56 ½° at 11 ¼ pm – note from Mr. Parker about one pm? while Mr. CP was with me enclosing Mr. Carr’s proposal respecting selling me his furniture coaches etc

[shorkbrian]

Give in to Love

so I have several thots about this. Like with Kiri, he would be like, relieved you’re being submissive but then he’d become like super depressed that you aren’t like idk seeming to live in your body, like you’re just a husk and he’d get so worried and sad and pamper you with so much love.

Yeah so aside from Kiri, a yan that I imagine this type of scenario is with someone like Victor Nikiforov from YOI 

yes. This Bitch right here.

So first fucking off, he’s rich. Money is no problem for him.

Second off, he’s so confident that he would not hesitate to do whatever he wanted.

Third, he’s actually pretty kind (especially to pretty, vulnerable little things like you)

It’d probably start out with the man spilling coffee all over you or something SUPER cliche like that. 

(Warnings - not much. NSFW but only the teeniest tiniest bit. barely even a mention. but obvs Yandere, dub con, dark content.)

He’s in a rush, he was bursting out of the coffee-shop, you just so happened to be walking by and in the direct path of the door and so smacks into you, knocking you onto your butt.

Immediately, you’re being helped up by a silver haired man, he’s apologizing heavily, patting your clothes into place, smoothing your hair, steadying you onto your feet. He’s so sorry, he didn’t even see you! And then the man stops, looks at you, smiles blindingly and blurts out that you’re pretty.

You’re understandably stunned. but you quickly just brush it off, his accent is foreign, it’s probably just a cultural thing. 

Then he’s offering to buy you something to make up for him trying to give you a concussion, asking if you like coffee, sweets, maybe a sweater? You look cold.

And you’re just so tired, life is exhausting, you don’t really even care anymore what happens to you. You don’t protest as the man doesn’t wait for an answer, immediately grabbing your hand and marching you into the coffee shop he had just burst out of.

“Pick anything you’d like, my treat! An apology for not paying attention to such a beautiful thing.” He smiles, gesturing at the menu.

You study it for a second, but there’s too many choices, and it’d just be easier if you didn’t have to, and you’re so used to people telling you what to do and making decisions for you and you’re lost. Where do you even start?

After a few moments of silence, the man (who's been not-so-subtly watching you as you deliberate) speaks up. “Can I pick? I LOVE their raspberry cheesecake! So good!”

It sounds fine, and you’re somewhat relieved that he was going to choose, take the burden of responsibility off of your shoulders.

He buys one of the giant slices, ushers you to table, sits you down. The man watches you take a bite, his face lighting up and giving a little clap when you give a thumbs up. He has his own fork, and he takes bits and pieces here and there from the slice. While you eat, he talks.

His name is Victor, he’s from Russia, are you from around here? What’s your name? 

“That’s such a pretty name!” He says your name once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth like it’s something to savor. 

Victor is a ball of energy, confident, full of life. He’s frankly an intimidating man, with how attractive he is, the obviously expensive suit he wears, the way he dominates the conversation and expertly handles your awkward silences and uncomfortable pauses.

By the time you leave, he’s entered his number into your phone, quickly scrolling to find your own number (even though he was only supposed to put in his own - but you really didn’t care) and note it down.

You’re pretty sure he won’t actually be texting or calling you - he was just being polite, feigning interest in someone as boring and pathetic as yourself.

Lo-and-behold, that evening you get a notification that “Vitya! (:” has texted you.

Hello! Is your body feeling alright?

Immediately confused, you send out a reply

Who is this?

It’s Victor!!! From the coffeeshop, haha. 

Oh, hi (: your contact name says “Vitya” lol what a typo

Not a typo, I like it when pretty girls call me Vitya (;

Baffled, you don’t reply, and no further messages are exchanged.

A few days go by, Victor texts you on the fifth day, asking if you wouldn’t mind recommending some fun local activities. You have to apologize - you don’t get out much, you’re sure there’s info online though.

Victor asks why you don’t go out, you decide to be blunt and succinctly explain the fatigue, you’re anxious, this is your first time being out on your own and you’re so used to other people dictating your life that it feels uncomfortable and wrong to be able to make decisions. 

The man asks if you would go to that coffeeshop again with him. The switch of topic relieves you, but at the same time you’re frowning. You probably word-vomited all over him, complaining about your problems. 

For some reason, you agree.

He meets you at the coffeeshop again, this time not even bothering to ask what you’d like to order. Victor just gets a few cookies, leads you to a table and plops down, spreading them in front of the two of you 

“In case you don’t like one of them. And if you have allergies!”

You smile at his explanation.

Victor slowly becomes a constant in your life.

The texts turn into quick calls, inviting you places, begging you to come sit with him in the park, feed some pigeons. Go to the grocery store with him? He’s lonely, don’t make him go by himself!

Even if you refuse, you’re gently bullied into doing virtually everything he says. It’s not like you mind though, you’re used to it.

He starts showing up at your apartment, you aren’t even sure when you gave him your address, but now he invites himself inside.

The first time he had shown up, completely unannounced, you had protested only once before letting him in. You could tell he was scrutinizing your home, but what did it matter? Victor was wealthy, everything you owned seemed shabby and poor.

He came over most nights, sometimes bringing food, making you sit with him at your table and eat. Sometimes he brought a book, or his laptop, and quietly sat on your couch while you puttered around. He’d always get distracted from what he was reading though, chattering towards you about this or that or the other.

Victor was nice.

He made decisions for you, he made you eat, he quickly picked up on when you were too tired to function, when all you could do was collapse somewhere and fall asleep.

But Victor was also threatening.

If you tried refusing him too many times, or if you mentioned your coworker telling a funny joke (It’s not like he wasn’t funny, the joke was hilarious - Victor just didn’t seem to like it) Victor’s face would sour, eyebrows drawing low, a deep frown etched onto his face. HIs voice would take on a commanding tone, low, as if he was going to do something that neither of you would enjoy if he had to ask again. 

It was scary sometimes.

But he had invaded your life, and you had stood by and idly watched. It’s not like you had put up a fight. You didn’t even know why he hung around you so, with the way you were constantly tired, moving through life like a zombie, sad and sleepy all the time.

Months passed and like every other year of your life, you could barely remember them slipping by. When had Victor become so comfortable in your apartment? It made you uncomfortable, but you were used to discomfort.

It came to a head when you retreated to your room for a nap, body sore and fatigued from merely existing. Victor followed you, nagging about wearing something cooler, to drink some water, how he heard about this new thing recently-

He followed you into your bed.

Like it was normal. Crawling under the covers with you, still maintaining a respectful distance, still talking. You were so tired, you didn’t care about how it made you uncomfortable.

When you woke up, he was curled around you, holding you tight. When you shifted, he had perked up, peeking around your shoulder to see your face. He had been awake the whole time, just chilling.

It was weird.

You were too tired to fight it.

Victor started paying for too much.

Of course it started small, as everything concerning Victor did. Sweets, small little gifts, occasionally a week’s worth of groceries. 

Then it escalated. He was paying for your medications, for your therapies, for your health aids. He started trailing after you to doctor’s appointments, introducing himself as a concerned friend.

You knew this wasn’t good, wasn’t healthy. Something was wrong about this, but you just didn’t care. Something was always wrong, you were always being directed and pushed towards this or that. You just had to accept it.

Then Victor was paying your rent, buying you clothes (since when did friends buy each other underwear?) surprising you with bigger and more expensive gifts until you tried to put your foot down.

You had gotten a stern talking-to, treated like an ungrateful child. And maybe you were? Victor was doing so much for you, shouldn’t you just accept his care?

Victor suggested that you move into his house, since he practically lives at your little apartment anyways. 

“My place is so much cozier! I have a fireplace, I miss it! I want to spend time with you but we could hang out in a more-” He looked around at your apartment “-comfortable place?”

You tried to argue, you did. But it took one disapproving glance from Victor and you were subdued, meekly agreeing to do whatever he wanted.

He called your landlord to terminate your lease. He helped you pack your clothes (that he had bought) into boxes (that he had bought) and arranged for your furniture (that he had bought, always complaining that your couch was bad for his back) to be sold.

Once moving in with him, he got more and more affectionate.

Right from the start, you quickly realized that Victor was very tactile-oriented. He wasn’t shy about physical touch, always wanting to hold hands or giving super long hugs, or begging to cuddle. He didn’t think it was weird, so you tried not to think so either.

Now that you were in his house, his gigantic, expensive house, Victor became even more physical. He showered you with kisses on the cheek, pressed to your forehead, on your shoulder, your neck when he curled around you at night (because of course you slept in the same bed. Victor had just laughed when you asked where your bedroom was)

Eventually, he kissed you on the mouth.

You were surprised, but you didn’t fight it. Why would you?

A heartfelt confession followed - how he had fallen in love with you at first sight, and how every day he fell more and more in love with you. You were his everything, the light of his life, he would die for you.

Don’t you feel the same?

You did, because that’s what Victor wanted to hear.

So now the two of you were dating, sharing kisses and intimate touches and eventually sharing bodies, letting him touch you even though it made your flesh crawl, touching him because he asked you to.

He provided everything, it was simpler just to do what he asked, what he desired. You didn’t even really mind being told what to do, what to wear, what and when to eat - it gave you a sense of comfort, knowing that you didn’t have to make decisions for yourself like that.

Victor would take care of you.

Even when you didn’t want him to

After all, it was simply easier to give in to love

[blkgirlblvd]

A Superstar Is What You Are

A/N: I decided to base this on the movie “Funny Girl” with Barbra Streisand just a little. Hope you enjoy! Songs used: Body & Soul by Tony Bennett, Amy Winehouse + I’m a fool to want you by Billie Holiday

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ: @youbloodymadgenius​

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Ivar x Black!OC

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs: 20. Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain't heard nothing yet! (The Jazz Singer)  &  32. You have bewitched me.body and soul. (Pride and Prejudice)

“Come on, just walk through that door and get this over with.” Standing in front of the door, Hattie tried giving herself a pep talk, she’s been jittery since last night, where she contemplated going through with this plan. 

Standing yet not moving an inch from her position she began reading the elegant yet alluring print of the words that read “The Tinted”. She remembered the first time they came into town creating a lot of buzz for themselves in just a short couple of weeks they became the best performance theater to grace the deep south.  

Turning the golden knob of the door, she stepped in guiding herself to the main theater where she knew the gentlemen would be waiting for her. 

She spotted three men seated at a table, in the far right corner of the room. All three men were vastly different in appearances yet somehow you could tell wealth and respect followed them. The man in the middle was dressed casually for a middle class man, he had to be about in his late 40s as the wrinkles showed age was not too kind to him. The man on the far left had to be around the same age as well, but if he wanted to easily lie and say he was younger, he dressed far more fashionable, decorated in rings and a gold chain which must have cost him too much money. The last man in the room was around her age. Hattie presumed he must be one of the older gentlemen's sons or just worked there, he dressed the same as her, mediocre yet the wealth laid behind his eyes. 

"Sirs? My name Hattie and I'm here to audition to be a part of your show, that you have round here." Hattie smiled. Hoping her confidence would ease their suspicion of her. The man on the left looked at her, grinning at her, yet it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but we can't allow you to audition." The man in the middle said. He smoked his cigarette, letting the smell in gulf her nostrils, grimacing at the smell.

"And why not good sir, I have just as much talent as the girls you usually allow to be up on that stage." Hattie was annoyed, she knew coming there was a bargain because of her appearance, but talent was talent and she had it. 

"You're pretty, but you're not like the other girls they're-" 

"White? Is that what you were going to say, I know who I am and I'm proud of it, sir I'm a star and if you give me a chance I'll have you swimming in bucks of cash, what do you say?" Giving him a look of reassurance, she hoped he would take the proposition. Not many white men in town gave black people a chance leaving most of her friends and family doing all sorts of odd jobs, but she wouldn't, she couldn't be one of those people.

"I'm sorry miss, but we ain't giving you this job, we'll have a mob outside our doors every night and I'm not risking my business because of that." The three men quickly began packing up their items as it seemed no one else was approaching, as they started to leave Hattie was panicking. Her dream was slipping through her grasps and she didn't know how to catch it. 

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain't heard nothing yet!" Blocking their path leaving no room to escape, she tried reasoning with them hoping they heard her pleas yet they edged her out the way going out the door leaving her in the empty theater. 

Hattie was embarrassed, she wondered what went through her mind that made her think this would work? 

Her mother told her repeatedly to just go ahead and work at the sewing factory with her and the aunties. What type of life was that though? She thought.

Finally snapping out of her thoughts she decided to examine the room she was in, hoping to imagine what could have been.

Taking the steps to the backstage, she gained access to the main stage. She couldn't comprehend how anyone would get tired of the view in front of her. She began to imagine an audience awaiting her performance. Waving gracefully as if greeting her fans, she took her place in the center of the stage. 

Closing her eyes, she went to her safe place, the inviting smell of grits and bacon overtook her nostrils, Hattie could see visibly her mother at the stove. Looking at her surroundings she realized how broken her home was, the house has been disheveled with the wood chipping away because of termites, the old furniture that reek of something salvage from the trash and sat in the sun for awhile, yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything for that was her home and she was protected. 

The vocals of Billie Holiday played through the radio the beautiful song only played on Saturdays, making this her mother's guilty pleasure once a week to enjoy the sweet sounding of the blues. The house was either filled with church music or silence.

I'm a fool to want you  I'm a fool to want you To want that can't be true  A love that's there others too  I'm a fool to hold you  Such a fool to hold you  To seek a kiss not mine alone  To share a kiss the devil has known 

She could feel the longing and pain in the words as she sang, she never knew love, Hattie didn't even think love was possible for her, generations upon generations the family always picked your husband, it didn't matter if you knew each other or not, the fate of her love life was decided and she had no say in it. 

Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she could feel her breathing become unsteady from the sheer realization that she couldn't take charge of anything in her life. She thought this would better her life and then maybe she wouldn't need to get married to some man for financial stability, yet the truth of reality hit her, she knew nothing really happened the way you wish it to be.

Clapping began to grace her ears, alarming her. She quickly opened her eyes to where the sound was coming from spotting the young man from earlier, who didn't say a word, watching her with admiration in his irises. 

"You! Where did you learn to sing like that?" Hattie smiled. 

“I-I don’t know, being in the church everyone got to sing whether you want to or not.” Staring at the man, you heard a sigh of disbelief come from his mouth. Never had he heard the sweet vocals carry that much emotion, the sound of her voice put him in a daze as he envisioned memories of a love lost.

"I should leave, Thank you for the compliment, but I wasted my time coming down here." Stepping off the stage, she wished she could stay on it forever, a part of her heart yearned to stay there longer however it wasn’t her time to. 

“You’re in.” she stopped, shocked at what the young man said. 

“You can’t be serious with me, those two older gentlemen said and I quote that I couldn’t do it, hell they didn’t even let me sing for them, so tell me…” 

“Sigurd, my name’s Sigurd.” 

“So tell me Sigurd, how am I in the show?” Hattie said. Giving Sigurd a look of curiosity as to what he will say.

“Because You’re worth the risk, Our girls here are nowhere near as good as you hell I don’t even think they can do what you just did. I want to bring real music back into this place, when my father Ragnar and uncle Rollo started this place they hoped to establish music, real music back into the people’s heart, but they have been blinded by capitalism and can’t see reason, you can make them see.” Hattie could see the look of sadness in his eyes as he thought about his time here, Sigurd was a lover of music and could play any instrument that his fingers graced, but his father and uncle had pushed him to the back and he wanted out. 

“I have a song I want you to sing that I made and I need you...Sunday night we’re having a big concert for my brothers who are returning from war and let’s give them something they won’t forget.” Hattie couldn’t help but smile at the mischievous idea Sigurd conjured up. She started thinking heavily about the pros and cons that could happen but all her heart was telling her to do was agree. Agree to the adventure, what did you have to lose?

“You have yourself a deal Sigurd. Gosh I can’t believe it’s coming true.” Kissing Sigurd on the cheek, Hattie leaped into his arms thanking him for this opportunity, bidding him goodbye she ran home to prepare herself an outfit, hoping to not disturb her mother who was sleeping on the couch, she tiptoed to her room and once inside got to work on her outfit.

                                •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

As the days got shorter to the final day, Hattie privately met with Sigurd to practice with him when Ragnar and Rollo were nowhere in sight. She found a friend in Sigurd and he greatly in her, He told Hattie how hard it was for him to make his family proud of him, constantly compared to his brothers. Hattie could understand being reminded of others' accomplishments leaves you feeling agitated. 

It was late into the night, she waited. Her mother usually went to sleep at this hour, but tonight was the night she decided to stay up longer. Hattie sighed as she waited near her mother’s bedroom door praying the lights would turn off, she knew she only had a few hours to get to the theater before the show began. 

The shuffling of footsteps alerted her, she held her breath not wanting to draw attention to herself. The sound of the light switch being turned off, quickly her feet threw her towards the front door and to the bus station. 

Arriving at the back door, Hattie banged desperately onto the door hoping Sigurd would hear her. Sigurd didn’t tell a lie when he spoke of this being a big event, Hattie spotted a multitude of cars parked miles and miles when dropped off at the bus station. Photographers lined up at the entrance snapping photos of anyone who was deemed important, she didn’t recognize anyone that could be celebrity status, but how would she know if they were famous, the only thing she knew of famous people were the voices she heard from the radio, never getting a visual of who they truly look like. 

Finally the door opened, revealing Sigurd. He was dressed very handsomely wearing aa black suit with a dark green tie that highlighted his eyes and his hair was slicked back into a ponytail, yet he still had his fluffy bangs you liked about him. 

“Boy am I glad to see you, something told me you would not come.” 

“Of course I would come, Sigurd, why would I miss upsetting your father and uncle.” Laughing at Hattie remarks, he stepped aside to let her in. He thought she looked cute in her outfit, he could easily tell it was handmade, but it worked for her.  

“So have I missed anything?” Hattie said.

“Some of the girls are doing a number right now, but when you hear singing in the rain, I want you to stand behind the curtain and wait till you hear me playing our song.” Hattie nodded, she could feel her heart beating rapidly as the time tick. She had to greatly thank Sigurd for taking a chance with her, he was putting everything on the line just for her to perform. But he said she was worth the risk and she was starting to believe it. 

Sigurd hid her backstage, telling her that his father and uncle were in the audience, asskissing his brothers probably so Hattie didn’t need to worry about any mishaps for now. The chords of Singing in the Rain began to play and her heart stopped. Let the show begin. She thought. 

Standing behind the curtain, she could see Sigurd on the piano, and the other band members. They looked at her suspicious till they realized it was you, the mystery girl. Sigurd didn’t let you meet the others but boasted about you and your vocals, they thought it was weird, but they were just there to play, not ask questions.

“Hattie, remember to just feel the music, don’t think about my father or your mother, in this moment they don’t matter. This is your moment, take it.” Tears welled up in her eyes, Sigurd always had a way with words and today was no different, she was glad she made a friend like him in this harsh world. 

“Same to you Sigurd, you’re an amazing composer and if your father and anyone else can’t see it, to hell with them. I’m proud of you Sigurd, you’re a good man.” Wrapping his arms around her, they stayed in each other's embrace. They knew the hardships both carried and thats all they both wanted. Someone to understand. 

Letting out of her embrace, Sigurd handed her the microphone and proceeded to the piano. She breathed heavily as she tried to shut out the negativity. She could hear words from her mother, Ragnar, Rollo, Her aunties, and even herself. Tonight was her time and nothing was going to ruin it.

Looking at Sigurd, He gave her the nod signaling he was going to change the song. The mysterious yet alluring chords played, everyone in the audience had confusing expressions as the dancers and singers stopped shocked at what was transpiring. Soon enough the curtain came up and she could almost cry the sight of everyone. They all looked beautiful to her dressed in the finest garments. In reality she was the sight to see, many people gave questionable looks as to what was going on, while others looked at her with disgust. Hattie didn’t care though. 

Spotting Ragnar and Rollo looking quite pissed at the sight of her she turned to Sigurd to quickly sing the song.

[Sigurd] My heart is sad and lonely For you, I sigh For you, dear, only Why haven't you seen it? I'm all for you, body and soul

[Hattie] I spend my days in longing Wondering why it's me that you're wronging I tell, you I mean it, I'm all for you Body and soul 

[Sigurd] I can't believe it, it's hard to conceive it That you'd turn away romance, oh [Sigurd & Hattie] My life, a wreck, you're making You know I'm yours for just the taking I'd gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul

Opening her eyes she was greeted with looks of astonishment, Silence filled the theater as everyone stared at her. Hattie felt like an insect being inspected right about now, but she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t feel alive while up there.

Finally the silence was disrupted by a male seated next to Ragnar, clapping as he stared deeply into her eyes. He had the brightest blue eyes and he had to be about her age as well. He was gorgeous. 

Soon after applause and cheers was all around as they stood up. For me? She thought. She honestly couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, she looked to where Sigurd was and saw him smiling happily as he stared out into the crowd as well. Finally looking at Hattie, she mouthed genius to him and he could only bow at her compliment. 

“One More song girl!” 

“Oh yes please another one.” 

“Sing some more!” Smiling from ear to ear, Hattie looked to Sigurd for advice and he did the only thing he could do. Play another song.

                               •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“That was amazing Sigurd, did you see how those people acted once we started singing?” 

“No, It was how you sang, I told you that you were a star Hattie.” 

“It’s only because I had the best Musician and composer in my corner.” After singing for hours, they were in the dressing rooms for a much needed break. Chatting up about their little plan. A door knock cut their conversation short. 

“Sigurd, can I have the room real quick?” Looking at the man who spoke, there he was. The gorgeous man from earlier. You looked at Sigurd telling to get out. 

“I’ll be right back Hattie...be careful with him okay?” Nodding your head, you bided Sigurd a bye and watched the other man in front of you. 

“Why did you send Sigurd out the room, what could he possibly do?” 

“My brother Sigurd has a knack for sticking his mouth into conversations that don’t pertain to him, so the best case is to send him away.” Giving the man an annoyed look, Hattie scoffed, hating what he insinuated about Sigurd. 

“Well I don’t appreciate you speaking ill about my friend even if he is your brother…” She trailed off her sentence, hoping the man would say his name.  

“Ivar and your name is Beautiful?” 

“Hattie. Thank you for clapping for me when one one else didn’t, I can understand how difficult that might have been to just do.” 

“When I hear something beautiful or see someone beautiful...I must appreciate it, don’t you believe so?” 

“I suppose so, I never saw that many pretty things in my life.” staring down at her hands, Hattie tried thinking of anything that completely blew her mind of its beauty. All her mind could conjure up was music. 

“Well we must do something about that.” 

“And what you are gonna do Ivar? Things like getting diamonds, or traveling to foreign places don’t exist for someone like me, I’m not those women you usually date where you can take them anywhere in the world and show them off...” Stopping herself from rambling on further Hattie got up from the comfy couch, Hattie made way to the door, walking home since the bus station was probably closed this late into the night. 

“Hattie! Hattie! I’m sorry.” Catching up to her, she could hear the desperation as he shouted after her. Ivar knew he hit a nerve and couldn’t let her leave with a bad impression of him. her opinion mattered. 

“Leave me alone Ivar. Shouldn’t you be chasing them white girls from the show?” Finally turning around to face him, since he remained persistent in following her. She didn’t realize how close he was to her, his chest was so close to hers there breathing become in sync, became one.

“I'd much rather chase behind you…"Hattie stared at him shocked. She never had anyone flirt with her so openly, much less a white man. Ivar continued to stare at her with those blue eyes that seemed to beckon her to give in to this desire he knew she felt.

"Ivar...you know there can't be anything between you and me, I'm a black girl and-" 

"You have bewitched me, Body and soul. When I saw you standing there on that stage my eyes could only stay at you, only you. You’re beautiful not because of your looks, but because you’re not afraid to defy society rules and go after what you want. As you know I’ve traveled far and wide because of war and no woman holds a candle to the courage I saw you do today and I want to stand with you in that courage.” 

Hattie zoned out as she glanced at Ivar, her body shot sparks of arousal running deep into her core as she pondered hard about what he said. About her. Any doubt about him that she suspected of him vanished, She knew she shouldn’t give in to him, yet she felt she could be happy with him even if she knew the outcome would be tragic once someone found out. 

“Sweet talker…”Hattie kissed Ivar on the cheek, laughing as a smile appeared on his face. “We can see where this goes, but you must promise me to only tell me the truth...if you grow tired of me let me know I won’t hate you if you are honest.” 

“I’ll never grow tired of this, of you. My elskede (Beloved).”

[frostsinth]

Royal Flush - Pt. 3

Prologue - Part 1|2 - Grier Art -  MasterList

GAAAAAAAAH!! This part had me near screaming while I wrote it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m changing the tag from ‘slow burn’ to ‘angst’ I think, though I don’t doubt that both are rather fitting.

Thanks to everyone for all your support thus far! I love getting all the nice messages, comments, and reblogs. I re-read them when I need inspiration. Feel free to check out my MasterList above if you haven’t already, and BuyMeACoffee while you’re there if you want.

As always, shoot me a comment, ask, or DM if you have any questions. ENJOY!

The knock at the door didn’t surprise me. I had been expecting it, ever since the greys of the room had faded and the sunlight had crested the horizon. I didn’t know I could miss a window quite so much, and turned slightly to consider it as I sat up and slid my feet out of the bed. For at least now the passage of time could be as marked as my suffering. It had been a long, restless night. Every time I felt sleep brushing at the edges of my consciousness, a pair of scarlet eyes had filled it and startled me back awake. I dreaded facing those eyes now, and slowly pulled a tunic over my head. Leery of a repeat of the previous morning.

The new bedroom was larger than the guest quarters of the night before, and blessedly bare. The only furniture was the four poster bed, and a short, dark oak table set before a plush crimson cushioned couch. Hibik had scowled deeply at the “sorry state” of the room when he had brought me up the night before, but I had quickly assured him it was better this way. He had been saved only by the suggestion that I meet with the designer later and decorate the room to my own preferences (it had been his suggestion, but I had politely agreed).

I hoped the sleepless night wouldn’t show too heavily in my face, and ran my palm quickly over the top of my head to hopefully smooth the worst of my morning frizz. I didn’t linger long, as the second thunderous knock made me grit my teeth at the impatience of goblins. Honestly, you would think creatures so small would be used to having to take extra time to do things. Yet it seemed like they were more impatient to be finished with one task and move on to the next.

I moved from the bedchambers to the small foyer before the door to the rest of the castle. There were more rooms beyond the sleeping quarters, but I had not yet explored them fully. Now, it seemed I would be leaving them without the chance. Of course, I reminded myself somewhat bitterly, they were mine for the foreseeable future… Taking a deep, steadying breath, I straightened my shoulders and set my face into its stoney fixture. I took one last moment to brace myself with my fingers wrapped around the door handle before dropping it down to tug the door open.

My head dropped back as I looked not down (as I had set my gaze), but up. And up a little more. I couldn’t quite catch my eyes in time before they widened slightly, and scrambled to recover with a soft clearing of my throat.

It was not the goblin King who stood outside my door, nor Hibik or another goblin attendant. Instead, it seemed to be… well, I was pretty sure it was a goblin, based upon the long pointed nose, grey-green skin, and huge ears. But it, or more “he”, was taller than even I was! At least a head, with beady yellow eyes that filled with his toothy grin as we took each other in. He was leaning against one lean, muscular arm propped against the door frame, and his ears flopped as he titled his head to the side when I opened the door.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” He exclaimed, thick brow knitting slightly and one raising up in a quizzical expression. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Did I wake you?”

“Erm, not at all, My Lord…?” I recovered from my shock quickly, and left the end of my greeting hanging to allow for introductions. I certainly hoped I wasn’t supposed to know this man already.

He gave a snort, waving his hand through the air. “No ‘Lord’, Your Highness.” I almost gritted my teeth at the lack of proper titles in use at this castle. “I am Damjan. General of His Majesty’s Armies.”

I tried not to stiffen visibly at that. A thousand thoughts quickly raced through my head, most prominently the one wondering what the man likely most responsible for the untold losses of my Kingdom would be doing standing at my door. I felt a stab of resentment at the sight of him, remembering the scent of stale blood and soft wails of anguish from the last time I had visited the frontlines. Was this the ploy? I felt anger bubbling in my stomach. Set me off balance, push me to the very edges of my emotions and let me have a sleepless night. Then have the General of their Armed Forces interrogate me. Ply me for secrets. My jaw tightened. They would get nothing from me, of that I was quite determined.

I wasn’t sure if his friendly smile was more aggravating or comforting with such thoughts and memories rattling around in my brain. I offered the older man a curt nod, working extra hard to keep my voice flat.

“A pleasure to meet you, General Damjan. To what do I owe this honor?”

If he noticed that I spoke at him through my teeth, he didn’t show it. He dropped his arm from the door frame, his athletic body moving with a military grace I found myself pleasantly familiar with. He cupped his hands in the small of his back, presenting himself with his feet shoulder width apart.

“I have been asked to escort you to the training cliffs,” He informed me, his professional expression breaking slightly to let the edge of a smirk cuff his thin lips, “As of today, I will be your personal instructor.”

“By whose authority-” I started, my voice growing a sharp edge.

“Come along, Your Highness,” He interrupted, turning and marching down the hall, “Let’s get a taste of what you know.”

Put off my guard, I stifled a sigh. Just a breath’s delay more, and I stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind me. I had to lengthen my stride to catch up to him, but soon fell into step at his side down the obnoxiously loud and cluttered hallways.

I couldn’t help staring at him out of the corner of my eye. Wondering what freak genetic mix-up had placed the disproportionate, lanky goblin frame in such a huge body. I quickly darted my eyes forward as I saw his flick to the corner to consider me as well.

“Something I can help you with, Your Highness?” He asked lightly, sounding amused.

I shook my head, tucking my hands behind my back as we marched along. “Apologies, I forget myself.” I replied, fully expecting a barrage of insults or a reprimanding for my insubordination.

He chuckled instead, and I glanced at him again out the corner of my eye. “I can understand your confusion. But I assure you, I am a goblin.” He cocked his head to the side, and a mischievous smirk twisted the corners of his lips. “Half, at least.”

I managed to keep my stoney face in place, but nodded politely. “I beg your forgiveness for my slight. I did not mean to intrude upon your personal life.”

He gave another soft chuckle. “A glance is hardly an intrusion!” He exclaimed, turning and leading me down a separate hall. I noticed the torches seemed to be lit on our path, whereas other hallways remained dark. “And I am proud of my heritage. My mother was an orc, you see,” He continued, bypassing a dark hallway for a lit passage again, “And my father was… well… he was ambitious.”

I barely managed to stifle the laugh that formed in my nose. Ambitious indeed! I could almost picture it, a sprightly little goblin trying to romance a behemoth orc. I pursed my lips to keep from smiling. But the humor quickly faded as I remembered just exactly who this half-goblin was.

“I have never met an orc,” I intoned dryly, “I imagine their prowess as warriors has served you well, General Damjan.”

He seemed to sense the rising tension, and shrugged it away. “I was raised beneath this very mountain, so I imagine I wouldn’t know.” He paused at a darkened intersection, turning his head to consider me properly. “But I do not share their views on war, and am more than happy to retire at a young age. Relatively speaking.”

That stopped me in my tracks, and I met his gaze with steel as I turned to face him as well. The unspoken words on my lips in my eyes. What about all those men who would not get to retire? What of all the soldiers who never saw an age beyond “too young”? We squared each other up, soldier to soldier. I had seen a few battles, and he had seen a few too many. But the history of the last decade aside… The fact that a human and goblin soldier could stand across from each other in the same hallway? Without drawing swords or exchanging blows? Ten years ago it wouldn’t have even been imaginable. Five years ago it would’ve been our worst nightmare. As we eyed each other, we both came to the same quiet acknowledgement, and I felt a strange contentment wash over me. He offered me a stiff, respectful nod, and I returned it graciously. Honestly. And that was that.

It was a good reminder of what once was and what was to come, and I felt suddenly glad that I was going to be a part of it. In whatever capacity. This new peace… it was for the better. For both Kingdoms. I studied his face briefly as he snapped his heels together to lead the way back down the hallway once more. The exchange having succeeded in loosening the unspoken tension between us, a familiar goblin grin returned to his face.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve already got, Your Highness.” His grin grew a little. “And what you’ve got left to give.”

…...….

I sensed more than saw the set of eyes on me. As I dodged and ducked under another fast paced swing from the half-goblin’s meaty fist, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. But if Damjan noticed our new observer, he gave no sign. If anything, his attacks became even faster. I moved my feet quickly, tightening my core and flexing my thighs to bound back and forth out of the way. I saw his feint for what it was and spun easily on the ball of my foot, jabbing my elbow towards him. 

He grunted as the blow landed against his raised defense, yet was not so easily defeated. His hand caught the back of my neck, and his own elbow shot towards my face. I twisted from his grasp, forcing my shoulder into his chin then sliding my foot out as he fell off balance. Sweeping him off his feet.

General Damjan landed heavily with an even louder grunt than before. I drew in a sharp breath, looking down at him with my fists still balled, instantly regretting my brashness. I had gone too far, knocking him off his feet. I fully expected him to be angry with me for besting him, my host and senior. Not to mention our tentative peace; would he take this slight as a personal insult? Had I taken the spar too seriously? I took a few steps back, panting slightly as the sweat dripped over my shoulders. Already planning out my apology and preparing for the worst. 

But the big green fellow suddenly laughed, and I looked at him with surprise. Wiping the back of one over sized hand across his forehead, he rolled back to his feet.

“Good match!” He exclaimed and I almost winced as he reached out. For of course there would be repercussions for having embarrassed my new instructor. But his heavy hand simply clapped me on the shoulder proudly. “You’re stronger than you look!”

I glanced up at him, beaming down at me with his pointed teeth. “...Thank you.” I replied finally, slowly loosening my stance as I realized this was no feint. “I found our spar quite… educational, General.”

He laughed again, dropping his hand and stretching. “Let’s do it again, Your Highness. You’ll keep me in my fighting prime.” He winced slightly, running his hand over the grey streaks in his short cropped hair. “My old age prime.” Then he cocked his head to the side, big ears flopping. “Tomorrow morning sound good?”

I offered him a curt nod, straightening back into my square shouldered formality. “I look forward to it.”

The half-goblin grinned again, bumping my shoulder companionably with his as he strode past me. I turned with the force of the gesture, absorbing the blow and spinning lightly on my heels with it, watching him head over to the ring wall where we had left our towels.

I stiffened at the sight of the goblin King leaning against it, an equally toothy grin on his own face. Luckily, my face was already flushed from the heat of the day and the strenuous activity. I was sure he wouldn’t notice it had darkened a few more shades. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Who else would make the hairs on the back of my neck rise quite like that? Still, it was the first time I had seen him since… the embarrassing misconduct.

Damjan gave the King a respectful half-bow, and I used their temporary distraction to consider my options. But there was no avoiding him, though I glanced out the corner of my eye to absolutely assure myself of that. The memory of the previous night had me hotter at the collar than the sparring match, and I steeled my gaze and my nerve as I slowly paced over to the wall.

“... Your Majesty,” I almost mumbled, nodding to him respectfully.

He held out my towel to me, still grinning like a fool. “You’re a good fighter.” He said as I gingerly took the cloth from his outstretched hand. “I am glad Damjan was available today.”

“You sent him.” I concluded. As I had expected, though no one would confirm it for me.

Grier cocked his head to the side. “You said you enjoyed training and sparring. I figured most of our soldiers would be no match for you, simply on account of their size, but the General might be more your level.”

“Yes, I found him a challenging opponent.” I replied formally, glancing down at the towel in my hands and resisting the urge to shift on my feet again.

“Perhaps we can spar sometime,” The King offered eagerly, “I would love to see if I might be an equally worthy challenge.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, and said nothing for a long moment. “...As you wish.”

I felt his scarlet eyes running over me, and was careful to keep my facade of stoicism uncracked in the face of his scrutiny. His smile returned, and he leaned down on his elbows over the wall. He was outlandishly dressed again, his tight shirt a faded orange pinstripe with a collar almost down to his navel and washed-out, billowing black pants with green embroidery. I wondered briefly if he owned a single article of clothing even mildly subdued in nature.

I wrung the towel in my hands, feeling very self-conscious standing before the goblin bare chested again. Though this time I was also coated in sweat and dust from the dirt ring. I rubbed one foot into the ground, longing to look away from those bright beady eyes. Struggling to find some words to say but finding everything wholly inadequate. The hot sun beat down on my bare shoulders, and I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. I began wiping down my arms with the rough cloth as an excuse to break our eyes apart.

“... Come, I am sure you would like to wash up. ” He exclaimed, straightening once more. “And the day is early yet, perhaps you would like some breakfast? Some tea perhaps?”

I hesitated again, chancing a glance up at him through my dark lashes. He had already begun to make his way back between the walls of the barracks, and paused, looking over his shoulder at me. He gathered my boots and shirt from where I had left them while he waited. I sighed internally, then placed one hand on the low wall of the ring. Hoping over it as easily as opening a door. I saw his scarlet eyes watching me intently as I did, and thought I saw his lips twitch slightly. He tossed me my things as I got closer. I dropped my gaze with the pretense of pulling on my boots, following after him as he finally turned and led the way back into the castle proper.

Once again, each windowless hallway we passed down had torches lit while others we passed by were so dark they appeared to be walls of black to my weak human eyes. I noticed Grier shooting a glance over his shoulder at me as we passed another such intersection, his red eyes glinting in the firelight.

“What are your feelings on magic?” He asked, his tone light.

“In what regards, Your Majesty?” I returned warily, following into a small side room which was still shrouded in mostly darkness. 

I blinked a few times to clear my vision as he lit a few lanterns about the room. It appeared to be a small washroom, set with basins of clear water. I looked around carefully, considering the decadent mirrors that framed my sweat and dirt caked form now edged with the soft yellow glow. The basins flowed like small fountains, with fresh water pouring from intricately carved patterns in the walls. The water pooled in deep stone basins, then trickled over the edges into the pitted floor below before descending into some unseen place. I walked over to one curiously, as Grier gathered up a clean towel from a stack of linens in the corner.

“Goblins are quite practiced in magic,” He replied, wandering back over with a vivid red towel in hand, “It is integrated heavily into our days. Small magic for that, granted. Little charms and enchantments mostly. I do not believe it to be as common in human culture.”

I dipped my hands experimentally in the basin that stood at my waist. The water was cool and refreshing to the touch, and I cupped a small amount in my palms. It glistened beautifully in the lantern light, almost unnaturally. I brought my face down to splash it over my cheeks experimentally. It felt somehow crisper than normal water, and I watched the drops from my face shoot ripples across the surface below. A distorted reflection of my face peered back at me, and I ran my hand back through the water again to break my own gaze. I was very consciously aware of the watching eyes as I brought my wet hands over the back of my neck.

“I have little experience with it,” I said stiffly, “Except for-”

I stopped short, hesitating. I slowly ran water up my arms and shoulders, swallowing and half-hoping he wouldn’t notice the slip. I saw him tilt his head to the side in the mirror above the basin. I almost sighed. No such luck then.

“Except for?” He prompted, taking a few steps closer with a small smirk dancing on his lips.

I didn’t answer for a moment, dropping my gaze down to the surface of the water again. “... Except for the magic used against us on the battlefront.”

“Ah... yes,” I heard him shuffle, then give a nervous laugh, “I would apologize for that, but it seems tasteless to do so…” I glanced over at him as he came around to stand facing me, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “... I am pleased that I can assure you that our magic will only be a boon to your people now,” He cocked his head to the side slightly, holding out the towel to me, “And it gives me no small amount of relief to be able put this war behind us.”

I took the towel gingerly, making a point not to meet his eyes. I felt his fingers brush mine and tried not to stiffen noticeably. Unfortunately, I had never managed to master a flushing face. I prayed he wouldn’t notice the subtle darkening of my skin, and if he did, would choose not to comment.

“I was not, however, asking simply for the conversational effect,” He continued as I patted at my face with the surprisingly soft towel, “But to gauge your willingness to be charmed.”

I froze, looking up at him with the towel pressed against the lower half of my face. I had managed to keep the worse of my surprise from my eyes, yet judging from the twitch at the corners of his mouth, I hadn’t managed to completely hide it. 

“I am afraid I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.” I breathed after a moment, composing myself.

He waved one three fingered hand in the air, smiling brightly. “Well, I am quite the charmer myself, if you don’t mind me saying. I would certainly be willing to put a spell on you.”

I turned away, clearing my throat and twisting the towel  in my hands. So it was finally time for the conversation I had dreaded. My ears felt like they were on fire, and I cleared my throat.

 “I beg your forgiveness for my rude behavior-” I started quickly, spilling out the words I had been practicing all night.

“Rude behavior?” He interjected, sounding surprised. 

“My actions were improper.” I continued, trying to remember the rest of the rehearsed speech. Though his interruption had been unplanned, and let me a little lost. “I acted brashly, and hope you will not take them the wrong way.”

His silence sent a tingling spark down my spine, and raised the hairs on my arms. I gathered up my shirt, pulling it over my head with my back still to him. When he still didn’t answer, I slowly turned, carefully to keep my face expressionless as I tucked the edges of the tunic into my pants. I wasn’t sure if he had ever gone so long without speaking, at least not in my experience.

Scarlet eyes were waiting for me when I turned, and perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed a little paler than usual. He managed a small, crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and a chill rattled through me.

“... I was talking about casting a charm on your eyes. So you can see in the dark as we do…” He clarified quietly, then his eyes dropped. “But I don’t believe that’s what you are talking about.”

I blanched, my stomach turning over in somersaults. I very much wished at that moment to turn and bolt. Back out to the training cliffs perhaps, to have Damjan crack his fist into my face. Or to the empty tower bedroom, to throw myself out the window. Anywhere but in that small washroom across from the goblin King. 

By some small miracle, I managed to keep my composure. I tucked my hands behind my back and squared my shoulders. Denying even to myself the absolute chaos that reigned in my head at that moment.

“My apologies, Your Majesty-”

“Grier.” He interrupted, perhaps a bit too harshly. The goblin stopped short, seeming to catch himself in surprise at his own tone. I saw him chew at his own cheek. “...You were talking about our kiss.”

I didn’t answer, my tongue feeling heavy and dry in my mouth. Maintaining my stony composure even as he began fiddling with the collar of his shirt. As per usual, I found myself without words. I scrambled, thinking over everything else we had talked about.

“I… I would want to know more about the magic,” I started, deciding ignoring the conversational switch had ever happened was the most polite thing to do, “Before I agreed to it. I do not have any charm experience.”

“Obviously.” The King snorted, and I felt my spine twitch at that. 

I kept my gaze level though as he turned his attention back to me. In his eyes, something flickered; not quite anger, nor sadness. Something somewhere in the middle. Finally, he waved his hand in the air again, brushing aside the strained silence.

“But we have business to attend to, Prince Nikostratus.” He stated, then with lithe grace pushed himself off the wall with his shoulders and strode to the door. “I sent for Hibik to bring over the Treaty for our final review.” His usually languid stride was quicker, and I had to lengthen my own to keep up. “I thought it might be most poetic to sign them in the War Room, if you are in agreement.”

His voice was light and airy. As if whatever tension from just moments before had never happened in the first place. But as he continued on, babbling some nonsense about converting the War Room to some other purpose, I noticed it was distinctly too light. Too airy. His laughter was flat, and his toothy grin didn’t reach his eyes. I wondered if he was perhaps more insulted than I had initially thought; perhaps in goblin culture I had offered him some slight. I racked my brain over the memory of the previous evening, trying to pinpoint exactly where I had insulted him. If I didn’t know, then I could certainly never be sure I wouldn’t accidentally do it again.

I barely noticed as he led us into the large room, centered around a huge oval table with the world mapped out in intricate detail. Like all the other rooms, it was cluttered, though less with fabrics and mirrors. Instead, there were bits and pieces of armor, as well as swords and maces and pikes and numerous other weapons. They were… displayed, for the most part. Though a fair few looked as though they had been taken from their place, fiddled with, then never quite put back. I made my way over to the table, studying the intricate carved mountains and painstaking details of the plains and forests. It was actually quite beautiful, and I reached out to delicately stroke the polished edge. 

I realized a silence had settled, and turned to find Grier watching me, his own hands clasped behind his back. I belatedly came to the conclusion that I had completely zoned out and stopped listening to whatever he had been saying. I removed my hand from the table like a child who had been caught at the sugar jar and cleared my throat. I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch, though somehow those deep red eyes managed to look a bit sadder.

I dropped my own eyes, and shuffled slightly. “Your Maj… King Grier,” I started, and the words felt heavy in my mouth. I felt my composure waver slightly, and tried not to let my guard down as I turned to face him properly. “I feel I should… “

“You have nothing to explain.” He assured me, his voice strangely thin. “I meant what I said last night.” I winced slightly, and he sighed heavily at that, sounding resigned and more than a little disappointed. “I will never ask more than you are willing to give.”

I was saved from having to scramble for some form of answer for him yet again by the sound of the door opening and the appearance of Hibik, arms overflowing with parchment. A step behind him was Damjan, who gave me a hearty grin when my eyes settled on him. And behind him… was Gareth.

I felt my back tighten at the sight of my guard, whom I had hardly expected to see here. I had thought him long gone from the region. His lips were tight, his eyes dark. There was an unkept scruff on his chin and cheeks that suggested he had not had the most relaxing two days. I squared my shoulders again, meeting his gaze with as much unwavering confidence as I could muster. Raising back up the walls I had foolishly allowed lowered just moments before. He offered me an overly formal and polite bow. Hibik’s ears bounced as he too bowed to me, handing me a copy of the Treaty, then bustled over to hand another to the King. Damjan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder, and I jerked a little under the weight.

“ A historic day indeed, Prince Nikostratus.” The General exclaimed, still grinning. “And an early retirement for me!”

I offered him a polite nod, listening with half an ear as Hibik explained something about the need for witnesses. I watched Gareth out of the corner of my eye, but my old guard seemed to be making a point not to look at me. The goblins, varied in shape and size as the three of them were, seemed so very animated compared to the two of us. In fact, their chatter and gestures made me feel like a statue, and I clenched my teeth a little tighter for the fact of it. I couldn’t see the words on the page before me, but moved my eyes as if I was reading them anyways. Wave of emotion after emotion hit me, so fast and powerful I couldn’t even begin to register them before the next one rushed through.

Here was my mentor, a man who once had been one of the few people I would call my friend. He had also been a childhood friend of my mother’s and my only connection to her once she passed. There had been many years I had looked up to Gareth, and many spent training in his direct shadow. I had become a soldier because of him; and now I knew, above all else, that I had committed a crime barely shy of treason in his eyes. The distant way he addressed me, the cold anger that even now I could feel bleeding from him. I felt my own temper flare. What else could he have expected from me?? Allow my sister to be wed in my place? Allow my kingdom to fall to ruin?

I was glad we had spent so much time discussing and debating the previous day. It meant I didn’t have to worry that I absorbed none of the words my eyes ran over. Of course, that also meant I trusted Hibik, and in turn, Grier, to have transposed our agreements honestly and without malintent. I wondered briefly if they had guessed the effect Gareth’s presence would have on me, and had planned this moment. But one last glance at the edge of my vision, where the man stood with a chiseled expression that just barely held his rage, and I decided I would much rather trust my life to the goblins.

“If you are ready, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Hibik intoned.

Grier nodded, and I thought him overly subdued despite himself. I didn’t have time to linger on it though. My heart raced and my head swirled as the parchments were placed on the notary stand and an inkwell was brought forth. Grier signed first, and I saw his mouth set in a tight line as he did. I felt equal measures of guilt and pain at the sight, which was quickly replaced by a heavy weight that settled on my squared shoulders as Hibik passed the pen to me. I tried not to hesitate. Tried to move with a befitting grace and poise. But my hand shook a little as I brought the quill back from the inkwell. Luckily, Grier would be the only one who would be able to see that. And I hoped he would not begrudge me the fear that drowned out all the sounds of the room as I brought the tip to the page.

I felt numb as I stepped back from the notary stand, passing the quill back to Hibik. I saw Gareth and Damjan exchanging looks that looked more akin to threats than peace, and could feel the tension in the air as palpably as if someone had filled the room with water. Hibik was dutiful and meticulous, however, and quickly sanded both signatures. He delicately rolled one copy, sealing it with wax and the Royal Goblin Crest before passing it to me.

Gareth stepped over, a lingering distrust in his eyes as he considered not only Damnjan, but even tiny little Hibik. I tensed as he squared up to me, bowing ever so slightly. The rest of the room forgotten.

“Your Highness.”

“Sir Gareth,” I greeted him formally, trying not to spit the words, “I trust you are well.”

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” He replied, his tone so cold it burned. I felt his disapproval like a knife in my chest, and tried to stand a little taller in the face of it. He bowed his head slightly again. “... Your Highness.”

The way he added my title almost as if an afterthought might as well have been a slap to the face. And the malice in his eyes… I felt my pulse falter at it. But there was no going back now, and despite his disapproval… I knew this was for the best. I had to believe that.

“Your sister sends word,” He interjected, even as I opened my mouth to speak again, “She believes you have been held against your will.” I saw his eyes flicker over my shoulder ever so briefly as my retort died in my throat at the mention of my sister. “... It is not an uncommon belief.” My free hand clenched into a fist, so tight the knuckles turned near white.

I steeled my jaw, knowing his intent to cause me as much anguish as he could. “Assure her I am well, and enter into this Treaty of my own free will.”

His sneer was hardly perceptible to the less trained eye, as his fixed features barely shifted. But I knew him too well. “Your Highness speaks of the Marriage Contract, I believe?” Again, he didn’t give me time to respond. “... She wants to see you.”

My heart sank in my chest and I almost broke. The numbness in my breast had spread, and I could hardly believe I was still standing. I tucked my fisted hand behind my back. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing it shake.

“No.”

Gareth’s head cocked to the side. “Surely Your Highness has not forgotten the Princess’ tenacity already?” I wanted nothing more to punch the arrogance right off his face, and felt my eyes narrow slightly. “If you try to deny her, she will still find a way.” His face softened slightly for fondness of her. “Regardless of any attempts to detain her.”

I knew he was right. My sister was nothing if not intelligent, perceptive, and endlessly persistent. A drive that got her into trouble almost as much as it got her out of trouble. But the thought of her coming here? I almost shuddered. As though seeing her might remind the goblins of their initial marriage arrangement plan. And Morgana knew me far too well; I would never be able to convince her I was safe and happy if I brought her here. To the castle that made my head pound with the disorder and chaos.

“Your sister is welcome here.” Came a light voice from my shoulder.

I didn’t look at Grier, I didn’t need to, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck quiver as he moved to stand at my side, considering the guard before me. His scarlet eyes were filled with an unfamiliar chill. His disdain for the man hardly hidden.

“No.” I repeated firmly, my own anger barely kept in check and bleeding ever so slightly into my voice. “...Not here.”

“The border then.” Gareth decided, and I could have slapped him for his insubordination. I saw the glint in his eye daring me to. Proving to him what he had already decided.

Thankfully, Grier stepped in before I decided if I would, slipping the sealed Treaty from my clenched fist at my side. Physically putting his smaller form  between the two of us. Forcing the soldier’s eyes to focus on him.

“Two days time, at the Northern Border. Noon, and no later.” He ordered him, then held out the treaty. “I trust you will be able to handle the safe delivery of this to your King?” One slender brow twitched. “Or shall I send an escort?”

The authority of his tone was undeniable, and again I found myself impressed with the strength of his execution. Despite being a foot shorter than both of us, his presence was powerful, and demanded respect. No quarters were given, no room for argument.

Gareth was forced to take a step backwards to keep the ample space required for royalty at the goblin King’s intrusion. I delighted in his outrage at having to do so, but knew he was far too wary of his tense standing with the goblins to act in any way that might be even remotely disrespectful. I saw him grit his teeth, then dip into a bow at the waist.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He took the parchment as graciously as he could, his voice hard.

“You are dismissed.” Grier ordered, even as the guard opened his mouth to speak further.

I wished I could somehow record the moment. The way his eyes flashed, the way his open mouth stayed that way, shock in every corner and crack of his stoic mask. I would have enjoyed revisiting it on future days. He cast me a final, borderline treasonous look, then straightened. Spinning on heel and marching out.

“All of you,” Grier waved his hand indistinctly after the man had made his exit, “Out.” I started to follow Hibik and Damjan, but was stopped in my tracks as the King quickly added. “Not you.”

I paused, glancing after the other goblins as they slowly closed the door behind them. My pulse raced, and I was hardly in the best place to keep my guard up. I struggled to keep my lingering anger in check, turning to face Grier with my hands clasped behind my back. I built the mask back up, piece by piece, soldering each into place. Leaving nothing but a cold stone statue to face the goblin King.

He took a long, slow breath, standing by the notary table, looking down at the parchment there. As he let it out through his teeth, I felt my own breath hitch in my mouth.

“So it is done.” He said finally, then reached out to trace the edge of the contract lightly with one finger. “For better or for worse.”

Most definitely worse, I thought quietly to myself. But said nothing. The numbness was returning. The weight of the rest of my life laying itself one brick at a time before my eyes. My breathing was shallow and thin, and I felt light headed. Yet still I stood, in silence. Staring down the man that was soon to be my husband.

“It has been a long day,” He continued, then chuckled softly, “And it is not even noon.” Scarlet eyes swept over to me. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head, hardly feeling the motion. “No, Your Majesty.” My voice sounded distant, even to my ears, and painfully cold.

He sighed again, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll take you to your rooms then.”

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t give an answer, stepping to the side to allow him to lead the way out of the chamber. I felt my eyes dart a final time to the Treaty on the stand, felt the lump forming in my throat. I didn’t linger long, and was soon following the King down the hallways.

I didn’t bother to try and keep stock of our path. I walked through a fog of my own design, each step heavier than the last. Each thought more painful than the one before. I wondered in that moment if I would ever see my Kingdom again. If I would ever see the castle where I was born, or walk among my people. I was a pariah now, an outcast. In signing the Treaty that sealed their peace, I had also signed my death to them. I would never be accepted at court, most especially after we held an official ceremony. Least of all was the fact that I knew my father would disown me in whatever way he could without completely nullifying the Treaty. But for all that… I had brought peace. I had saved lives. Even as I tallied my losses and as visions of my dreary future paraded before me, I could hold that close to my heart. Like a balm to soothe the other pains.

I nearly ran into Grier as we reached the door to my quarters in the high tower. So lost was I in my thoughts. He shouldered open the door, gesturing for me to enter before lingering for a moment in the doorway. I would have groaned, had I less restraint. He had something more to say. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to take one more beating that day.

“... Prince Nikostratus,” He began finally, seeming to carefully pick his words even as he spoke them, “I cannot begin to fathom what you are… feeling… or thinking…” He straightened, running one three fingered hand over the stone doorframe. “But I… I can not press enough that you never need to do anything you are uncomfortable with. And…” He took a deep breath, “And I apologize that I cannot just pretend it never happened as you do, but if last night… if that was the only kiss I shall ever receive from you… Then...” He hesitated, dropping his eyes, “Then... I will treasure it... For it is not your fault you are marrying a fool…” He shifted again, unable to stand still. “I just had to let you know that. And to know that you owe me nothing. Ever. You have already given more than enough in the service of your people.”

I faltered at his words, my heart racing at an alarming pace in my breast. The anger bubbled up in me, and my hands purled back into fists behind my back. Was this to be my life? Endless back and forth emotional assaults? Would I ever be given more than a sleepless night to just-

I grabbed the door in my hand as he moved to close it, and his eyes widened in surprise. I watched them look me up and down briefly, and took a step back, gesturing with my free hand. His pronounced brow jumped up at that, and I saw him draw in a sharp breath. But then he stepped into the foyer. I closed the door behind him, facing it for a moment while I composed myself. And tried to figure out what the hell I was doing anyway. I berated myself for my brash impulsiveness. Tried to sort through my spinning thoughts.

I turned back to him, standing with a very puzzled look on his face. I opened my mouth, but realized… I still hadn’t decided what I wanted to say. So I was forced to shut it again.

“... You owe me no explanation,” He offered, raising his palms as if to show me he was unarmed, “I need no apology. It was not my intent to make you feel guilty, or trapped.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I just needed to tell you. I am not like you; I wear my emotions on my sleeves,” He offered a light laugh as the words seemed to gush out of him, “Honestly, I found I am beginning to wonder if humans even have emotions. Or maybe it is just Royals. I have little experience with either you see.”

“I-”

“I mean no insult,” He said quickly, interrupting me again, “It will just be an adjustment. Or, or I suppose we can just keep it to the basics, yes?” He tapped his chin, “Some sort of schedule or routine. Whatever you are comfortable with. Limited to whatever capacity you want.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I mean professionally, of course!” He rushed to add, “I understand if our… private arrangements are to remain separate. I am sure that we can come to something comfortable for you, I mean, and you just need to tell me what that is. I don’t want to assume and therefore end up in an uncomfortable situation. Because honestly, I-”

“Oh, would you just, SHUT! UP!” I snapped finally, “Just shut up! SHUT UP! For two, goddamn, bloody seconds. Just-”

I cut myself off, realizing not only had I spoken out loud, my voice had risen to an almost disturbing volume. That, and the fact that the goblin King was staring at me with eyes the size of dish saucers. I stared back at him for a long moment. Then I felt myself crack, and shook my head. It was too late now. I’d already yelled at the King... Might as well let it all out.

“I just… By the Gods you are so absolutely…” I started, then dropped off again. I began to pace, from one side of the room to the other. I felt like with each step, a little bit more of my composure dropped away. “Do you realize how ridiculous… You think that just because I don’t spew my emotions everywhere every time I speak I don’t have any??” I managed to control my volume a bit better, but the tone was still harsh. “I just. Want. Two. GODDAMN SECONDS. Just let me breathe! Please, for the sake of the Gods and all that is…” I jerked to a halt, glaring at him, clenching and unclenching my fists. “You just make me so… I just… GAH!” I threw up my hands, pacing back and forth again.

For his part, Grier watched my track, following me with his scarlet eyes. He remained frozen in place, a million things flashing across his face as he stared. But I didn’t have the patience to try and sort them out. I was exhausted, worn out, and sick of it all. I stopped in front of him again, throwing up my hands one last time before crossing them over my chest.

“So there!” I snapped. “You broke me. Congratulations. You see the cogs behind the, what, let’s call it  ‘seriousness’, shall we?” I clenched my jaw to keep it from shaking. “How surprising that the human statue has feelings.” I waited barely a breath, but when he didn’t answer, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well?? You’ve really nothing to say now?”

To my surprise, a small, coy smile played across his thin lips. He offered his hands, palms up again, giving a small shrug. “You told me to, what was it? ‘Just shut up’... Remember?”

I almost laughed at that, but instead heaved the heftiest of sighs, lifting my hand up and pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers. I felt my anger starting to ebb away, and regret was quickly taking its place.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” I breathed, “I am… very tired… And that was incredibly rude of me.” I winced, my face falling, “I would beg your forgiveness, and will throw myself at your mercy.”

He did laugh, loud enough for the both of us, and it made me jump slightly. “At my mercy? Good lord, where do you humans come up with these things?” He shook his head, wild hair dancing about his shoulders. “It is I who should apologize, my young Prince. I should not have pushed you. Which is ironic, as I was trying to do exactly the opposite…” He sighed as well, though lightly, shaking his head again, “I just thought that… well, I know what humans think of my kind, and last night when you…” He cleared his throat, looking down at his feet and shuffling them. “It confused me, but you have certainly set me straight, and I assure you it will not-”

“That’s not what I meant.” I interrupted, then flinched. Even going so far as to take a step back as if the King might strike out at me. But he merely looked up at me curiously. “... What I said earlier… My apology.” I swallowed hard. “It was not… ah…”

I dropped off, flustered, and rubbed at the back of my neck. Why was this so damn hard? It was like every word I knew had fled from my mind. And each strange thought and emotion this man caused to rise up inside me had no name, no label. No way for me to describe it to myself, let alone to him. He waved his hand errantly, as if he was detached from the situation. Though I didn’t believe it for a second. There was too much eagerness at the edges of his voice when he spoke next. 

“Please, spare my feelings and speak honestly, my young Prince.”

I swallowed hard again, dropping my gaze politely. “I… I simply meant that it was improper of me to…” I cleared my throat, unable to say the word, “It was… unwarranted and impolite. I was certain you would take it as an insult, to be… assaulted in such a manner.”

“Assaulted?” He echoed, his lips curling back into the toothy smile. “I would hardly call a kiss an assault,” He cocked his head to the side, his grin becoming arrogant, “Especially when I already had my hand on your knee, as I recall.”

I felt my face growing hot at his words, and the memory they recalled, but buried my embarrassment and attempted to return my face and tone to be as flat as possible. “Such a thing, in any circumstances, is simply not done.”

“But you are my fiance,” he scoffed, “Surely you humans are not so uptight that kissing your intended is considered abuse?”

I had to purse my lips to keep them from quivering. “It is not common practice, to my knowledge.”

“Well then, I hope your knowledge on the matter is limited.” He laughed again, and moved a few steps closer. “So… You did not mistakenly kiss me?”

I took a step back, nearly stumbling. He paused, considering this, then fixed me with a new smile. I wasn’t sure I liked it. It made my heart rate erratic and brought more of those nameless emotions to my chest. I swallowed hard again.

“... No…” I admitted softly, and felt the same stabbing guilt at the confession as I had when I had admitted to him my preference in partners.

His grin grew to be almost unbearable, and I dropped my eyes. Then rubbed at the back of my neck. I saw him take a tiny step closer out of the corner of my eye.

“... Would it be too bold, then, to invite my betrothed to dinner?”

I stammered through a few useless phrases, and felt my face darken several more shades. Honestly, I was surprised the top of my head didn’t catch fire from the heat. My ears were painfully hot, and I rubbed at one as I tried to compose myself. I could see the goblin out of the corner of my eye, and couldn’t help but notice he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“I… ah…” I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

“To give you a few hours for your own company,” He offered, “Or to rest, if you wish.” I started putting the mask back up, forcing myself to meet his gaze and opening my mouth once more. “Don’t.” 

He closed the distance between us in a final stride, craning his head to look up at me and efficiently halting whatever false politeness or proper response I had planned. 

“You don’t need to… hide behind… all that.” He gestured to my face, and then laughed at his own ridiculousness. “You can be yourself around me… if you want, of course. If you prefer to keep up your.. Let’s call it ‘seriousness’, shall we?” He smirked, and I managed to close my mouth. “If it makes you more comfortable, then by all means. But maybe I can see a little more of who you really are…”

I hilted a sigh, glancing off to the side. “...I don’t know who that is.” I confessed, my voice thin and weak.

I started slightly at the feeling of his hand brushing my jaw. I looked down at him, meeting his scarlet red eyes as his hand slid to cup my cheek

“Perhaps I can make a suggestion then?”

He had to stand on his tiptoes to brush his lips against mine. Instinctively, I started to pull back. His hand was light against me, and he let me retreat. But I paused, a hair’s breadth from his mouth, his breath on my face. Hesitating. Because, perhaps... that hadn’t been all that bad.

He waited a moment, likely to see if I would prefer he cease and desist. Giving me the opportunity to break away. When instead a quivering breath chased out from between my lips, he chased after them. Kissing me more sincerely. I hesitated again, feeling my eyes and heart flutter. He ran his fingers along my jaw, tracing up to nestle the tips behind my ear. Stretching up to me and kissing me so gently it made my head spin.

I lost myself in the sweet taste of his mouth. My arm came up, wrapping about his waist. Pulling him closer to me. Pressing his torso against mine. I curled down, letting him rock back onto the balls of his feet. I could taste his smile then, and felt our kiss deepen.

I jerked back after a moment, and quickly dropped my hands, staggering back a step.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize,” He ordered me, “Never apologize for actually taking something you want for once. For enjoying yourself for half a second.” His grin returned. “Especially when I enjoyed it too.”

I shook my head, unsure what else to do. He sauntered closer a step, but his proximity unsettled me again, and I matched it with a step back.

“In goblin culture,” he mused, staying a few paces away now, “It is quite expected for an intended couple to be physically affectionate towards each other.” He cocked his head to the side. “... Can I try again to tempt you with dinner?”

My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears, I almost didn’t hear his request. Finally, I nodded, if belatedly, and swallowed a lump in my throat.

“As you wish, Your-”

“If you say ‘Your Majesty’, I am going to scream.” He warned, flexing one elongated digit at me.

I pursed my lips, swallowing at the lump again. “... As you wish… Grier…”

His toothy smile returned quickly, and he beamed up at me like a fool. “Then I look forward to it.”

...

UPDATE: Part Four HERE

[prongsisabadger]

The Wolf Pack Chapter 13

The enemy had set up an energy field far behind their lines, which progressively expanded its diameter. This was a new issue altogether, the heavy canons were the only real artillery left because apparently, Skywalker had decided to send the ships back for supplies. Even if the cannons could do a lot of damage, they could not get past an energy shield. So we were faced with a heavily armed, well protected enemy who was closing in on us and could possibly take out the last line of defense we had.

"We need to keep them from the canons at all costs and figure out a way to fight them even with that shield up." Said Master Kenobi.

"If it's going to be such a problem, why not take that shield generator down?" Asked Ahsoka.

"Easier said than done." answered Rex.

"Well, I -for one- agree with her." said Skywalker.

"Well since you just volunteered yourselves, I'll leave the shield to you." said Master Kenobi. "Rex, Kriari and I will attempt to draw the enemy into the buildings."

"We will still be overwhelmed easily…" Said the captain.

"We could divide our forces into three teams and outflank them while Master Kenobi and I draw their fire." I suggested.

I continued to explain how, if we placed troopers both to the north, south, and west, and then engaged the enemy in the middle, they would most probably concentrate fire on us and let the troopers do their jobs.

"That is a sound strategy, young one. What do you think, Captain?" He asked, turning to Rex.

"It's worth a shot."

We then moved on to organizing the medical triage. We only had two medics left, but that was enough. We would station one of them at the site of the triage and one in the frontlines for first aid. The triage would be guarded by three troopers and the rest of us would be at the frontlines. We would hide in the buildings and wait for the shield to pass us before engaging, and then, it was all up to Master Skywalker and Ahsoka.

Captain Rex would lead the southern team, Master Kenobi the northern one and I would lead the ground assault. Mine was the biggest team, and as such the one that would have the most losses. Captain Rex made some introductions and then left to take his position. The only names I'd been given were those of the medic, Kix, and the lieutenant, Happy.

I gathered our division for one last briefing.

"Well boys, unfortunately we will have no time for introductions today," I started. "Our aim will be to delay the enemy as long as we can and keep them away from the canons until reinforcements get here."

They all listened attentively and nodded along to what I was saying.

"I will try and draw as much enemy fire as I can, so make your rounds count, gentlemen." I continued. "Oh, and something else: no one, and I mean no one, gets left behind. If there is a trooper down I want him taken to the medical triage. This might be a difficult battle we are about to face, but each of your lives count, and I plan on protecting them. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander." they chorused. I smiled.

"Well boys, let's show these scraps of metal what real soldiers are made of."

…

We all held our breath. I could hear a trooper beside me trying to do breathing exercises to calm his nerves. Across from where we were hiding, behind a fallen ship, another trooper seemed to be talking to himself. Tensions were high, the anxiety to get this over with, overwhelming. Seconds dragged along, minutes seemed like an eternity. I put my hand on the shoulder of the clone beside me and smiled when he looked up. We can do this. He nodded sharply.

Then, the blasts started, and that was our cue. I leaped from behind the speeder and rushed onwards. Deflecting blast after blast and taking droids down with their own shots. And then, I reached their lines. I'd never made it that far in a battle. During Geonosis, all of my squadron's fighting had been at a distance, never actually engaging. This was much different. Not only did I have to be aware of blaster fire but make sure I wasn't grabbed, or hit. It was amazing how my training kicked in on it's own, at this point I was running on muscle memory, instinct and the Force. But as we had expected, the droids started concentrating fire on us Jedi, and soon enough I was forced to retreat to where my division was.

"Get back to your troops and fall back!" yelled Master Kenobi from a few meters to my right.

"Are you coming, Master?" I asked over the noise of the battle, still cutting down droids.

"I'll be right behind you, now go!"

So I did, and told our forces to fall back. We needed to regroup. Once we made it into the buildings, Rex's men started to arrive, and there were a lot of them missing.

"The enemy has overrun our position, we lost most of our division there." He informed us as we took cover behind some furniture.

"You two will take the men and regroup, protect the canons at all costs. I'll delay the enemy…"

Rex and I started to protest but Master Kenobi cut us short.

"That was an order you two! Get out of here!"

He turned to take down a droid that had reached our position.

"Don't you dare die on me on our first day, Master!" I yelled back as we retreated further into the buildings.

All I heard before we turned the corner, was his laughter.

…

We made it back to where our men had set up their lines, a little ways off from the heavy cannons. They were all waiting for us and asked for instructions the second we got there. We needed to hold our position, we needed to keep the canons safe. But we were also sustaining heavy losses, and I wanted to do something about that. We were out in the open, and there was very few hiding places where we could station snipers. But it was worth a shot. So I asked Rex what he thought of that. For all his obedience and loyalty, Rex was a very independent, confident man, and he never shied away from expressing his opinions. I appreciated that greatly.

"We have a few guys who are good enough shots. And outflanking the enemy is always a good idea, but we are running low on men and firepower," He started. "We could always employ your last strategy: you draw their fire, we cover you."

I sighed and contemplated the idea. The enemy would be onto us any minute and we had to come up with something now.

"Do we have any explosives left?" I asked.

"Some, yes. Why?" He asked.

The plan wasn't failsafe, in fact there were many ways in which it could go wrong, but at this point we were short of options. We decided to take advantage of the structural damage some buildings had endured and use that to bring them down on both sides of the road. That way, there would be a smaller gap through which the droids could advance, reducing the fire our troops ould take and forcing them to advance slower and in fewre numbers. I would take point and guard the opening, a first line of troopers would take cover amongst the fallen buildings, and a third would be stationed on a ridge right before the canons.

And then, we waited. I stood in the opening, eyes closed and feeling for the enemy that was approaching steadily. I felt Rex beside me.

"What are you doing here, Rex? Go take cover."

"All due respect, kid. I'm staying right here." he said, taking both his blasters and taking off the safety. "If a seventeen year old is going to go down protecting my brothers, then I'll be right beside her."

I smirked a little.

"What makes you think I'm protecting your brothers, Captain?"

The first blast flew across the road and right towards Rex's head, but before it could take him down, I deflected it with my lightsaber.

He smirked.

"Just a feeling."

[sabraeal]

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 1

Prologue

Obiyuki AU Bingo Medical Drama AU

Here it is guys, the modern AU version of Seven Suitors for Shirayuki that you all asked for and I thought I would never really write. Obviously the chapters for this will not be 1:1 with parallel content-- I think we ALL would like to avoid another Chapter 6-- but here at least is the beginning of what I’m sure will be a stupidly long journey.

Plink. Plink. Plink plink plink--

“You know.” Shirayuki sets her hands flat against the keyboard, the surest way to keep them from becoming fists. “I really don’t think the janitorial staff will appreciate having to get those down.”

Obi turns wide eyes on her, striving for an air of innocence she doubts he’s possessed since long before his voice dropped. “What do you men, Miss?”

He twirls a pen between his long fingers-- cheap ones, little blue Bics that hardly scratch out a solid line since the hospital cut down on frivolous spending-- and flicks his wrist. It flies unerringly upward, lodging itself firmly in the particleboard of the ceiling.

At least it won’t be lonely with all its friends to keep it company. “They can’t just leave those up there, Obi. It’s probably a fire hazard.”

At least, she thinks so. Considering how EHS feels about anything being on the floor besides furniture and feet, she can only imagine they have strong opinions on ceilings too.

Obi scoffs, languidly kicking his legs over the arm of his chair. Anyone else would look ridiculous, but with his long limbs and cunningly tailored suit, Obi just looks dangerous, like a panther behind glass.

“Don’t worry, Miss.” Another projectile unerringly hits its mark. “They’ll come down on their own.”

Her mouth flirts heavily with a frown. “So I can look forward to a pile of pens on my floor next Monday?”

“Nah.” Teeth flash between his lips. “It’ll be all cleaned up before you get here.”

Shirayuki stifles a sigh, turning her attention back to her notes. Exasperation only encourages him. “I’ll be done soon. If you want you can wait in the hall--”

“Miss.” He presses a hand to his chest, affronted. “Would I ever leave your side? What if something happened to you while there was this one, flimsy door between us? What would Master--”

“Don’t let Zen catch you calling him that.”

“--even do to me if some terrible fate befell you while I turned away for just one moment?” He blinks, far too innocent to be earnest. “You wound me, Miss.”

She lets out a huff, flyaways fanning out around her face. “Considering how many bags of Funyuns you’ve fished out of the vending machine the past year, I think it’s safe to say that nothing will happen to me if you choose to harass Higata down at the nurse’s station instead of me.”

His smile sits stiffly on his lips, pen stilling between his fingers. “It did happen, once.”

Her heart gives a single, loud pound in her chest. “Obi--”

“Anyway.” His smile slides into a smirk, sitting more comfortably on his face. “We’re back on days after this, aren’t we?”

Her fingers roll back into their rhythm, keys tacking pleasantly beneath them. “For a little while at least. Why, do you have exciting plans?”

“Miss.” His expression wilts like a plant left in the maintenance closet. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

She blinks. The answer is simple: lounge around in her scrubs-turned-lounge wear and catch up on The Great British Baking Show while eating a staggering amount of Thai food. But he should know that; it’s what she does every weekend after she’s been on nights, and he’s usually right there beside her, making inappropriate comments about Paul Hollywood’s piercing eyes and speculating if he comes by the last name honestly or whether he had a stint in the adult film industry.

(”It’s the future, you know.” She waggles his smart phone; hers is still in her bedroom. As nice a gesture as it was from Zen, she’s never quite gotten used to keeping it on her. “We could just google it.”

“No.” He turns to her, affronted. “I appreciate the thought, Miss, but there are some things you don’t google.”

She arches a brow, tucking her feet under his butt on the cushion. He lets out a put-upon grunt, but allows it. “You just don’t want to find out it’s some old, perfectly respectable English last name.”

“It’s not that,” he snips as Netflix rolls through to the next episode, promising nun-shaped pastries. “Knowing things ruins the mystique.”)

“I mean,” he sighs, “are you going out with the boss?”

“Oh!” She stares, helpless. “I don’t...know? He hasn’t said anything to me.” She gives the keyboard a few cursory pecks before asking, “Has he said anything to you?”

His expression only falls flatter. “Has he said anything to me about your theoretical romantic plans?”

Her cheeks prickle, the sure sign that a blush is starting to dawn. “Well, you usually know before me!”

“I...wish I could say that isn’t true,” he sighs, rolling until he’s sitting properly in his seat-- or at least, as properly as Obi ever does, slouched so low that his chin is level with the ankle crossed over his knee. “But it is. And no, I haven’t...heard of any plans.”

“There you have it.” She waves a hand and turns back to her work. “No plans. Just us, some Thai, and a bunch of decorative but delicious meat pies.”

“And Paul Hollywood’s piercing eyes,” he says with more relish than anyone should. “But you’re all right with that?”

“What? Of course.” She shrugs, clicking down to the last field. “He’ll call if he has time. And if not, there’s always next week.”

Obi arches an undeservedly dubious brow, in her opinion. “Next week?”

“Sure.” She barely pauses as she says, “Zen’s a busy man. And I’m a busy lady! I don’t need to see him every weekend. Or every week!”

“Right,” he huffs, “but you, you know, presumably would want to see him more than you did when we lived three thousand miles away.”

“Obi.” Shirayuki shoots him a warning look. “We see each other plenty, and certainly more than every six months--”

“Ten months.”

“Fine, ten months.” She shrugs, gazing fixing back onto her screen. “Still. We saw each other just last week.”

He blinks. “Last week?”

“Yes, last Saturday.” She tilts her chin up, chuffed she’s remembered it. “We went to the Getty Center to see the Monet exhibit.”

“Miss.” His mouth twitches. “That was three weeks ago, and you were bored out of your mind.”

Her jaw drops. “I-- I was not!”

“You kept calling him Manet, blamed it on your Portland ‘accent’--” Obi does some vigorous finger quotes she does not appreciate-- “when the curator corrected you, excused yourself halfway through and then speculated whether drowning was a peaceful death while we stared out at the Pacific.”

Her lips pull thin, and she pointedly shifts her attention back to the screen. “I need to finish this.”

Obi raises his brows, rucking up the silvery slash above his eye. “You were bored.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of art, no.” Her fingers hesitate above the keys. “Three weeks?”

He nods. “Three weeks.”

She grimaces. “All right, let me just get the notes for this discharge written up for Garrack, and we can head out.”

“Oh, the discharge?” Obi’s looking far too pleased with himself. “You mean the ultrasound girl?”

“Yes?” His sudden interest is unnerving, to say the least. “Third trimester pregnancy, lots of blood and cramping, thought she was losing the baby, ended up just having a ruptured luteal cyst.” She stares at him, brows drawing down in confusion. “Did Ryuu tell you about it?”

“Mm-hm.” If it was possible to look like those little mischievous kitty emojis he sends her, he’d be doing it now. “And that you held her hand through the whole sonogram dealie.”

“Well, yes. No one was with her.” The girl had been so pale she nearly matched the sheets. “I wasn’t going to let her find out she had a stillbirth by herself. That’s just cruel.”

His eyes melt from gold to amber. “Of course you wouldn’t, Miss.” In a breath that softness is gone, replaced by his Cheshire Cat grin. “But are you sure that’s all?”

“W-what else would it be?”

“Ryuu said you were very interested in that baby on the screen.”

“I’m an obstetrician, Obi--”

“No need to deny it, Miss,” he assures her. “I understand completely. After all, some of that may be in the cards for you, soon.”

Shirayuki stares at him. “A luteal cyst?”

Obi heaves a sigh. “No, Miss! Maybe you have--” he waggles his narrow brows-- “baby fever.”

“What?”

“It’s only to be expected, after all,” he says with a shrug, as if this were a done deal. “You and Master have been together for six years.”

Shirayuki nearly balks, nearly suggests that he takes a walk down to the pediatrics ward and ask to check out their number line--

Until she does some mental math of her own. It has been six years. “But I-- but we-- we haven’t--”

Obi’s brows lift in a terrible cross between amusement and curiosity. “You have talked about this, haven’t you?”

They most definitely have not, which didn’t seem like an oversight until just this moment, and now--

“Shirayuki.”

She jumps, eyes darting to the door. “Dr Gazalt! I didn’t-- I didn’t expect you.”

Garrack blinks, brows raising. “Yes, me. The one who is waiting for your shift notes. Higata tells me there’s a discharge I have to sign for?”

“Oh, yes. I--” she glances at the empty notes field-- “I’ll get that done right away. I was just, ah, finishing up now.”

“Hm,” Garrack grunts, gaze shifting to where Obi is contorted in his chair. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping you.”

“Why, Chief,” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “You can’t possibly think I was being anything but the most helpful for Doctor--”

“Oh, I know what you were being.” There’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, and a spark in her eye as she reveals, “A nuisance.”

“Chief.”

“I’ll be done in a minute!” Shirayuki interjects, too shrill. Both of them turn to her, brows raised mildly, and she adds, “Just, ah, give me some quiet.”

“You heard the lady, big boy.” Garrack grins. “Looks like you’ll be shadowing me.”

Obi’s expression rings with alarm. “Oh, I think I’m supposed to--”

“Oh no, you’re not escaping this time.” She reaches in, getting a good grip on his tie, and tugs. “I got some heavy things that need to be lifted.”

save me pls Miss

I’m almost done

Miss she wants me to help rearrange the stock room PLS hurry

Five minutes

im wasting away i can feel the life leaving my body

We’ll get breakfast This will go faster if you stop interrupting me

the angels are calling me home theres a light at the end of the tunnel Miss

Walk towards it This is probably your only chance at heaven

M I S S

It’s no use, Obi. I may be an optimist, but I’ve seen your search history

Touche

It’s not until she’s in the elevator that it hits her: she’s forgotten something.

Her brain is, as usual, coy with the rest of the information. Did she forget something important on her report? Did she leave her keys back on her desk? Does she have some appointment this evening that will keep her from getting confused every time someone says biscuit in the tent?

Nothing comes to mind, the answer hanging frustratingly out of reach. She’d have better luck trying to get Obi to talk about his past than she will trying to brute force this memory.

Shirayuki sighs. Time to check everything.

She’s wearing clothes-- check. They’re not her scrubs-- also check. Shoes match-- double check.

Her hand sweeps into her purse. Keys-- ouch, yep, check. Wallet-- check. Phone--

Buzzes hard against her palm.

Shirayuki blinks. It’s quick, only lasting a beat before it stops. Just a text, but-- it’s eight in the morning. Even with all her early-rising, day-shift doctor friends, this is well before their first morning coffee has kicked in. This is--

Weird. Worryingly weird. She drags the phone out of her bag, waking the screen to be greeted with 12 MISSED CALLS.

Shirayuki stares. That can’t be right. She’s kept her phone on her all shift, only tossing it into her bag when she’d stopped by her office to log her notes. There’s no way she’s had that many calls in an hour. And texts--

Well, that number is staggering. Her screen shows only the last one, a very cheerful, ill kill him and hide the body so well hell get famous as cold case from Yuzuri. She grimaces. Whatever Suzu’s done now, he’ll spend the whole day regretting it.

Well, that’s not exactly fair. It could be Kazaha, or even Shidan if he’d made her work down in the pharmacy hard enough. But...

It’s definitely Suzu.

She traces the appropriate squiggle onto her phone to open it and her homescreen unfurls before her. Her thumb hovers right above the little speech bubble--

A bright ding lets her know she’s arrived at ground level, and the entirely unamused bodyguard leaning against the doors lets her know that she’s late.

“Well,” she says, tipping the phone back into her bag. “You’re looking...hale?”

“I was promised breakfast,” he reminds her in a pleasant, if displeased rumble. “This is a thing that is happening.”

She makes sure to infuse some extra bounce into her step as she exits the elevator, earning a weary scowl. “Doctor Gazalt must have worked you hard.”

“Doctor Gazalt has some definite opinions about how her office should be arranged.” He raises a hand, rubbing pointedly at his neck. “What do they make the furniture out of here? Bricks?”

“Concrete, probably,” she agrees. “Pancho’s?”

He nods. “Spicy sauce. Extra spicy sauce. I’ll get the car.”

She grins. “Sounds like a deal. Meet me out font in ten?”

He lets out a huff. “I’ll meet you out front whenever I manage to lug my broken body across the parking garage and into the driver’s seat.”

“You poor baby,” she deadpans, patting his arm.

“I’ve suffered,” he tells her, affronted. “And don’t forget! Extra Spicy!”

The hospital is a cool cocoon, it’s temperature scrupulously maintained for the benefit of the labs and supplies inside, and so when Shirayuki emerges into the bright, May morning--

The heat hits her like a wall.

The air is oppressive; with each step it weighs her down, like a body laying across her back, and oh, she cannot wait until Obi gets here with the towncar, because there is no way she can last more than ten minutes without air conditioning.

Shirayuki has to laugh at that as she trudges down the granite stairs. She, who had spent her summers in a stuffy attic of an old Victorian house with only a single circular window to allow air in, happily devouring book after book as she laid on her bed with little more than underwear on, to whom air conditioning was a ridiculous luxury--

And now she can’t live without it. Probably couldn’t bear to sleep in a tiny twin bed either, with a mattress last changed out when she stopped wetting the bed. Not now that she’s experienced queen size and memory foam. Zen’s truly made sure she can never go home again.

Not that it was an option, anyway.

She oozes onto the pavement, taking a moment to really feel how sweaty twenty steps and thirty seconds can make her, and turns, goal blessedly in sight. Pancho’s lime green paint glistens in the morning sun, and the smell of meat cooking on the griddle inspires her to make the last three yard push. Well, that and she’s absolutely sure that Obi won’t let her in the car empty handed, not after he had to move Garrack’s desk.

“Good morning!” Shirayuki manages. “Two breakfast burritos. One...al pastor...extra spicy. The other...veggie? Mild.”

The vendor peers down from the counter-- it’s the dark-haired one, Shiira. Good. He won’t scream if she passes out in front of him. “Doing okay there, ma’am?”

“Never better,” she assures him, knuckles white where she grips the metal. It’s the only thing keeping her upright “I love heat. So much.”

His mouth curves into a faint smile, ringing up her order. “Boston thinned your blood, did it?”

“I’ll get used to it.” It’s been a year, sure, but it will happen at some point. It has to. “I did it before.”

He barks out a laugh, mouth opening to say more until his gaze catches over her shoulder. “Oh, can I take your order, sir?”

Shirayuki steps off to the side, her shoulder bumping hard into the magazine rack hanging off the window. It wibbles hard, metal banging against metal as it vibrates against the side of the truck. She catches it with a grimace, stilling it before it can make more of a racket, and glimpses the name WISTERIA on the front page. Her hand hovers, ready to grab it--

And catches the National Enquirer above it. Her hand jerks back like it’s been scalded. She doesn’t need to see any of that, thank you. Probably just more articles about Izana’s philandering ways.

She huffs out a laugh. Anyone who wrote about his wife crying in bed, unable to stand from grief has clearly never met her. Yuzuri’s probably read it already, with bullet points ready to bitch about, and--

Oh! Yuzuri. She digs into her bag, fishing out her phone. 12 MISSED CALLS sits bright on her welcome screen, nagging at her. As much as she wants to know just what ridiculous scheme has gotten Suzu in trouble now, she can always catch up later.

With a flick of her thumb she summons her call screen, and there it is, twelve calls missed, and all of them--

All of them are from Yuzuri.

Her heart pounds loud in her ears, the sound of the street around her muted. The screen won’t stay still, making words blur as if she’s trying to read in a dream, as if any moment they’ll drip off the page.

But it’s no dream. She’s had twelve calls from Yuzuri in the past hour, and her hands are trembling.

Something must have happened. Suzu’s hurt, or Kirito’s sick, or-- or--

What had her text said? She swipes a thumb, ready to find out, but--

Her phone buzzes, right in her hand. Shirayuki stares at it, dumb. She must have forgotten to turn on the ringer.

YUZURI it reads, and her heart skips a beat.

“Is everything okay?” she breathes the moment the call connects, one hand clenched in her collar.

“No, nothing is okay,” Yuzuri snaps, voice crackling in that way that means both danger and most probably homicide. “I will fly out there and help you hide the body. There are lye pits everywhere, Yuki.”

She blinks, head jerking back from the whiplash. “Excuse me?”

“Or I’ll do the job myself, if you want,” she continues, undaunted. “I’m sure a rich kid like him has a lot of enemies. We’ll never get caught.”

“Yuzuri.” She shakes her head. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

“Wha--? Zen!” she says, exasperated. “You mean he hasn’t even told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Oh my god,” Yuzuri breathes. “I can’t-- you haven’t even seen the news?”

“I was on nights.” She turns to the rack behind her, riffling through the magazines. “I didn’t really have time to-- oh. Oh my.”

WISTERIA WEDDING BELLS TO RING AGAIN! the tabloid boasts, showing Zen right on the front, his hair tousled as he steps down from the private jet. She’d laugh it off, just like she always does-- she’d lost count of the number of times they reported his engagement to Kiki before she got married, and Obi made a habit of buying anything that reported them having an affair so he could snapchat it to Kiki at his leisure-- but this-- this--

(”Is everything all right?” She picks her head up from his shoulder, but beneath her palm she can still feel his heart racing. The movie keeps playing on the screen, something fraught and in French, and when he stares down at her, she can see the white all around his eyes, shining in the dark.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” His arm wraps tighter around her, and he gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. She’s never realized how much he looks like Izana until now.

She raises a brow. “You seem tense.”

“Ah.” he shifts beneath her, gaze flicking back to the TV. “Yeah, I just-- have a project I have to finish up next week. Just...starting to really feel the deadline. You know how it is.”

A line carves a chasm between his eyebrows, worn by the inexorabe waters of worry. There’s never much she can do for him, the man who wears the weight of the world on his back, but-- but she can do this, sitting back on her knees, fiddling with the watch around her wrist.

“Here,” she says, pulling it tight around his.

He stares down at it, confused, and she smiles. There’s something perversely gratifying to giving a man who has everything something so second-hand it still has the heat from her body. “What--?”

“My lucky watch.”

He tilts his eyes up to watch her, so blue in the dim. “Is this the one I gave to you?”

“After I broke yours?” She nods, smile tilting ruefully. “And now I’m lending this to you. Bring it back safe.”

His fingers brush it, almost reverent. Zen may not let her bear any of his burden, but she can make it feel lighter, even if only for a while. “I...will.”)

Her watch gleams from beneath the cuff of his blazer, visible as he holds out an arm to help a pair of shapely legs behind him. The cover creases in her hands, cracking under her grip, and--

“Are you going to buy that too?” Shiira asks, somehow both pointed and concerned.

Shirayuki shakes herself. The tabloids are always quick to speculate, slapping fiancée over any woman he shared air with for more than a minute. This doesn’t have to mean anything.

And it wouldn’t, not if she hadn’t already thought--

“Shirayuki?” Yuzuri prompts, alarm ringing through every syllable. “Are you--?”

“I’m fine.” It’s not a lie if she doesn’t know whether or it’s true. “I just have to-- I’ll have to call you back.”

She hangs up with Yuzuri mid-breath, doubtlessly gearing up to give her an earful of opinions. It’s rude, yes, but she can hardly think past the next name on her list, scrolling until ZEN WISTERIA lights up on the screen.

It’s a mistake, it has to be. It’s just some picture, out of context, slapped right onto the page like it means something.

Two foil-wrapped packages slide toward her. “That will be seven forty--”

You’ve reached the voice mail of Zen. Wisteria. Please leave a message at--

“This too,” she says, slapping the rag on the counter.

Shiira stares at her, wide-eyed.

She coughs, arranging it with slightly more care. “And, um, a horchata. Please.”

You’ve reached the voice mail of Zen. Wisteria. Please leave a message at the tone.

Shirayuki shifts her load to the crook of her elbow, nibbling at a cuticle. “Hi. It’s, um, me again. I just got off shift, and I--” she takes a long, hard breath, and switches tack-- “just call me. Whenever you can. I’ll keep my ringer on.”

A black sedan slips up to the curb, the passenger side door stopping right at her toes. The window scrolls down with a soft hum, and Obi stretches across the seat, his mouth rucking up in a smirk. “Come on, Miss, we don’t have all--”

His whole body stiffens, the warm amber of his eyes fixed to her face. “Miss,” he breathes, lips hardly moving, knuckles white where he grips the console. “Miss, what’s wrong. Are you--?”

She shoves the magazine through the window, crumpling it into his hands. “Miss, what--?”

He stares. Obi might not recognize the watch-- might not even know she had given it away-- but oh, he can recognize the ring.

“That’s Mrs Wisteria’s--”

“Yes.” She can’t even bear to hear it spoke. “Yeah.”

His brow furrows. “There has to be some explanation. You know how these rags like to come up with--”

“He won’t pick up.” Her voice cracks, but she can’t-- she can’t do this here, right on the sidewalk. Not in front of her hospital. His hospital. “Or Mitsuhide. Or Kiki. I don’t...”

Know what to believe. her lips catch the words before they slip out. If she doesn’t say it, it can’t be true, it can’t be real, this can’t be happening.

“We’ll figure it out,” Obi tells her, but his voice wavers, and his hands clench tight on her seat. “Just get in and we’ll--”

Her phone cuts him off. She jumps to answer it, glancing down at the screen to see--

Oh. Oh no.

IZANA WISTERIA, it reads.

“Oh,” Obi breathes. “Shit.”

[cinanamon]

saw this going around so describe your mutuals with a certain ~vibe~! :)

I tried to do as many mutuals that I normally talk to/interact with so I’m so sorry if I missed you!!! It’s not really an aesthetic or vibe but a scene/emotion, ig, that they reminded me of or I could envision for them...? Everyone got one scene but this ended up being way too long with all the mutuals I did too so it’s all under the cut !

@jaesmintea — You’re hard at work at your desk when your friends barge into your dorm with a dramatic flourish, pulling you out of your desk before you can even blink. Though you complain of an early class the next morning, you’re smiling, and anticipation swirls in your gut, shines in your eyes. You willingly get caught up in the storm of your friends as they animatedly prepare for another night of adventure.

@valentinesicheng — It’s about to storm. There’s a distant rumbling of thunder, and the air is heavy, though not oppressively so. You take in the comforting orange of the sunset as you push open the door of your childhood home, and you make your way up the familiar steps to begin cleaning out some old belongings that have been sitting in the storage room for a little too long. Nostalgia sits in the pit of your stomach as you rummage through each box, but you don’t feel regretful as you place items in the give away pile; objects may come and go, but memories stay.

@masterninjacow — You’re sat in a quaint, cozy corner of a cafe in Paris, late morning light caressing the furniture around you. There’s a half-eaten croissant and recently-filled mug beside you on your table, but they’re hardly at the forefront of your mind as you continue to scribble and write at the leather-bound journal in your hands. The baristas hardly bat an eye at your presence, used to you lingering at that corner table for hours as you simply write away at the fragments of time, inspiration at the tip of your pen.

@legendnct — You’re at the arcade, deep in focus as you attempt to best your friend at a dance game. Your tongue sticks out of your mouth, and you lean heavily on the bar behind you. Left, right, up, up, down, left. They beat you and you groan, but it’s good-natured as they collect their tickets. The both of you head up to the award desk to pick a prize, and they end up getting a stuffed animal which they give to you. You feel your heart swell with affection as you pull them into a hug.

@minsprings — You’re practically flying. One order down, already on the phone with another client, another friend. Writing down notes and finishing products that you wrap up neatly into a box, ready to be shipped. Once you start working, it’s hard to stop; you want to finish quickly yet well-done, and you’re almost caught off guard when you turn around to find no more work to do. It’s refreshing; it’s rewarding to know you’ve done your best, and that hard work pays off.

@coshuangmos — One. Two more. Four more stacked on top that veers to the side dangerously. You didn’t seem to notice, or rather, mind, the increasingly large pile of books beside you as you browsed the shelves. How were you supposed to pass by without taking a few? Books were invaluable; they taught you skills, they took you on adventures, they informed you and made you feel a plethora of emotions you didn’t think you’d ever experience in your everyday life. You carefully lifted your stack and made your way to the counter. You could never understand why the library was never crowded; the path of knowledge must be a well-kept secret, and people may only find out if they’d read but a page.

@xiaocity — You excitedly dropped the clothes you ordered onto your bed, and your friends watched you expectantly as you disappeared into your closet. Dramatically, you stepped out to model one of the outfits, and your friends began to laugh and cheer at your performance and fashion sense. You couldn’t hold the act for long, for a smile soon broke across your own lips and you giggled along with them.

@markswoman — It’s quite beautiful, really. Wonderfully crafted, the textured paint and vibrant colors impeccably placed to draw the viewer’s gaze around the painting. You didn’t realize how long you had been standing before the masterpiece, your hand stiff from being cupped under your chin, your blazer uncomfortably cinched around your shoulders. You clear your throat quietly as you smooth out your outfit and your features, and you glanced behind you at the rest of the gallery. Patrons amble around, stopping before statues and art pieces for only a few moments before continuing on their way again. You give the painting one more longing glance before placing your hands in your pockets and stepping away to mimick the other viewers—never realizing the beauty of a moment, the beauty of the creations of humankind.

@4-sun — You sit in your backyard, a book open on your lap and lemonade in hand. You’re supposed to head in soon, you know, but before you can stand, you hear the leaves rustling off to the side. When you look up, you’re staring into the eyes of a deer, gentle yet majestic. You regard each other with a dull sense of respect and wonder before the deer seems to nod and disappears back into the woods.

@jupitersmark — You didn’t realize you were picking up speed as you rode down your subdivision’s sidewalk. The morning air felt refreshing as you passed people walking, and you stopped pedaling to glide by. The trees and houses passed by in a blur, and you felt the urge to close your eyes and simply feel the movement of your bike, your body, your bones. Your eyes only snapped open when a crack in the sidewalk almost sent you toppling sideways.

@henderbeans — You pushed the gas station door open lazily and strode over to where your friend was sitting on the curb. You joined them, and you stretched your legs out across the asphalt as you took a swig of your slushie. The both of you nodded at some people that entered the store, and your friend passed you the hand-held fan as they pulled up a show to watch on their phone. And even though it was unbearably hot, you still rested your head upon their shoulder as the show began.

@jaemericano — “You cheated!” You gasped with a laugh as you threw a blueberry at your friend across the table. They only smiled sheepishly and laid down their cards, saying something about their luck as they took a bite out of an orange slice. The morning breeze kept the summer heat at bay from your porch, and your laughter mingled with it as it carried your voices down the road.

@yinxiong — You purse your lips as you watch the popcorn bag begin to expand in the microwave, taking its sweet time. Your friends ambled back and forth between the living room and the kitchen in search of snacks, and the ding of the microwave seemed to shock them to life as they hurried back to the couch. You snorted as you poured the popcorn into a bowl, and you happily settled between two of your friends as you pressed play, the blue light of the screen illuminating your faces.

@imaginedreamies — You’re dropping in at your favorite cafè quickly before you head to work. Though you keep checking your watch as you wait in line, the second you see the cashier, you can’t help but return their infectious smile. When did the smell of coffee become so potent? When did the atmosphere become so refreshing? And so as you wait for your drink to be made, you decide to ignore time and instead bask in the simplicity of it all.

@xingmis — The bell above the door of the old-fashioned candy shop rings, signaling your arrival. Children, with their parents in tow, dance between your legs as you make your way to the shelves. You pack an assortment of chocolates and candies into a bag, and the man behind the counter is dressed just like an old-timey worker. The shop feels so out-dated, so thrown back in time, that you can’t help the knowing smile that crosses your lips.

@nakyngs — You brushed your fingers through your dog’s fur absently, a smile playing at your lips. The second you went to pull your hand away, he whined and gave you pleading eyes. “Oh, fine, just a little while longer,” and he happily nuzzled back into your hand as your petting was renewed with an affectionate vigor, your face pressing against his scruff with a fond giggle.

[fanfictionaries]

A Sin Confessed - What’s Old is New Again Challenge

Prompt: “I do everything for a reason. Most of the time the reason is money.” – Ava Gardner

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Original Female Character

Summary: Brenna Wright was not a good person and the blue-eyed stranger that brought old memories to the surface of her mind? Well he was just a job. 

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, dark, NSFW/18+ only

Author’s Note: Thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ for this lovely challenge and the opportunity for me to explore a darker side of my writing! Also thank you to @justareader​ for checking over my French (I’m a little rusty)! 

I loved writing this and honestly think Brenna might have to be a reoccurring character/this fic might need a part two...Enjoy!

***

Brenna Wright was not a good person. Anyone who thought otherwise was either unfortunately ignorant or foolishly optimistic.

Things that would stop others in their tracks, were as simple as picking out furniture or ordering food at a restaurant for her. It was never a question of whether she should or should not – only the dilemma of who, what and how much. Sure, she had her limits. Every woman did. The only difference being, the limits of most were trivial aspects of pride, egoism, and disillusioned self-respect. Hers were simple – no children and no animals. Therefore, everything else was up for grabs. Theft. Arson. Intimidation. Kidnapping. Torture. Murder. And her personal specialty – bounty. For the right price of course. She wasn’t an idiot. And she sure as hell wasn’t cheap.

Good guys. Bad guys. She’d worked for them all. From those of renowned self-importance all the way down to the lowest of nobodies. She couldn’t care less. As long as she got paid, she did her job. No questions asked.  

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” said the owner of the small corner store. He was an older gentleman, greasy around the edges with a wandering eye that made even her skin crawl. But the store was convenient. It was small, indistinct, and located in the middle of the city. Which meant the area around it was large and busy enough to make someone traveling to it invisible. People often frequented the location when they found themselves in need of discretion. Sure, there were plenty of other shops in the city that fit the same bill, but only this one sold the more…unsavory items. Eventually, the people she was looking for always showed up here.

“I’ve been working,” Brenna replied, hugging the oversized coat around her body and taking a moment to scratch at her arms and the side of her face – imitating the mannerisms of the part she was playing.

Letting out a short, boisterous laugh, the shopkeeper eyed her up and down from her unkept curls to her dirty clothes, and seemingly drugged out appearance, “I’ve got a few ways in mind on how you can make a little extra cash.”

“Il faut tourner sept fois sa langue dans sa bouche avant de parler,” she seethed under her breath, turning from his leering gaze and heading down an aisle. If the man was smart – he’d watch his mouth. But then again, she was only the woman he’d watched dissolve into addiction and mental illness for the past four years. And he was useful. If she killed him, it was unlikely the next owner would be as conveniently idiotic with a streak for the illegal.

Pretending to fiddle with a packet of gum, her eyes darted to the front door. The familiar chime sounded through the air and Brenna kept her eyes low as she covertly checked out the stranger who’d just entered. He was tall and large, his size taking up an impressive amount of space in the tiny shop. His figure, while solid and imposing, held a contrasting lightness to it. The juxtaposition of his heavy density but delicate way in which he stepped intrigued her. Stumbling through the aisles, she made sure to draw enough attention to catch his eye. Reveling when the stranger’s gaze darted to her for the slightest of seconds, she turned to the cooler and began to mumble nonsense under her breath as she used the reflection of the glass to continue watching.

“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper asked, standing taller and squaring his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to make himself seem intimidating. The stranger didn’t seem fazed in the least, stepping up to the counter.

“I need papers,” said the stranger, his voice a soothing gravelly tone.

“Papers?” The shopkeeper feigned an incredulous, dumb expression, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Brenna rolled her eyes; it was the same every time. Why the man bothered, she had no idea. He always dropped the act after the second inquiry.

“Listen – let’s not waste our time. I know you provide papers, so just take this—” the stranger spoke low and firmly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a heavy manila folder before slamming it onto the counter “—and do your fucking job.”

Brenna’s eyebrows rose against her will; that was definitely a response she had never heard before. You’d think from the ease in which the stranger handled the situation, he’d been here before – but he hadn’t. She knew that. Even when she wasn’t here, she kept tabs on all her spots. A flash of metallic silver caught her eye. A sliver of metal peeking through the gap between his gloved hand and clothed arm.

Bingo.

Reaching into the cooler and grabbing a forty of malt liquor, she stumbled to the front, pushing herself between the stranger and the tense shopkeeper.

“Listen—” she slurred “—Chessa. I don’t have enough for this today, but I swear, I’ll have the money tomorrow.”

“I’m dealing with a customer here woman, besides you know the rules – no handouts. I’m not running a charity for fucking junkies.”

“Oh, come on, Chessa. You know I’m good for it!” she pleaded, knocking into the stranger and leaning heavily over the counter. “I’m good for the money Chessa. I’m good for it.”

The harsh smack of the back of shopkeeper’s hand to the side of her face made her head snap to the side and her ears ring. The throbbing pain and blood that pooled in her mouth was expected but not the worst she’d ever felt – he hit like a fucking bitch.

“Fuck you!” she exclaimed, reeling back and smashing the glass bottle of liquor onto the laminate flooring before storming out of the shop with the sound of the shopkeeper slinging a disgusting string of abuse following behind.

Walking down the street and turning into an alleyway, she worked her jaw back and forth, spitting the blood that had pooled in her mouth onto the filthy cement.

“Salaud. Un jour, je vais le tuer,” she grumbled to herself, leaning against the damp brick alley wall and waiting. The stranger was definitely her target. That much was true. The opportunity to lean in and confirm that the flash of silver she’d spied was in fact, a full metal arm, almost made getting back handed like a bitch worth it. Almost.

A few minutes later, the stranger, clad in a grubby red Henley and tattered ballcap, walked right past her. People were so predictable. Waiting a beat, she turned out of the alley and began to follow the man at a leisurely pace, mentally noting the small details about him that might be helpful later. Things like how he favored his right side, but still walked with his weight drawn to the left; most likely due to the metal arm. A metal arm – she’d seen it all now. When her employer had briefed her on the job, she’d made a mental note of the unusual characteristic. The way they had described him, extremely dangerous and not to be underestimated, she assumed they wanted her to take him out. But to her surprise, they insisted that he be taken in alive. What made this guy so special? Eyeing the backpack strapped securely around his center and the multipurpose boots laced tightly, she could tell he was ready to run at any moment. The way in which he handled the shopkeeper said he was a man of action – he had no time to fuck around. But there was a reservation to the way in which he did it that made it known he wasn’t desperate either. That was something different from the people she was usually hired to find. Still – he had shown up exactly where she expected him to be. Twice now. He was just as predictable as all the rest. If she was right, he’d turn left any second now.

Just as she predicted, the man took a left turn on the following street. Smirking to herself, she lowered her head and keeping a casual pace, turned the corner as well. However, her confidence was shaken when she found no sight of the stranger upon rounding the corner. Where could he possibly have gone? Speeding up, Brenna scanned the area around her, looking for any signs of the stranger with the metal arm. What was it her employer had said? Do not underestimate him? It was her confusion that kept her from spotting the movement to her left until it was too late. A hand reaching out from the gap between two buildings grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and pulled her into the small space. The section between the two buildings could hardly be called an alleyway – more like an architectural blip as the width was only large enough for herself and an inch of space from where the stranger stood, looking down at her dangerously.

The first thing she noticed was the striking color of his eyes. Impossibly blue. Clear and blue with the slightest mix of green around the iris. It was like looking into a beautiful, crystal clear pond. The thought held reminiscent of another time. Another life. Strong arms, a rich umber color, same as hers, holding her close. A soft breeze. The light chirp of Citril finches high above.

“Why are you following me?” he asked, speaking low and sternly.

Lost in the mixed emotions of his eyes and the memories they produced; she did not answer right away. Instead she stared at him dumbfounded as if she hadn’t done this almost her entire life.

“I’m not going to ask again—” the stranger leaned forward, the hot puff of his breath hitting her face “—why are you following me? Who do you work for?”

Thinking fast on her feet, Brenna found herself taking an approach she never had before. But then, this target was different from any other she’d encountered. He was smart. Smart enough to figure out she was following him in less than ten minutes. Perhaps he knew in the corner shop when she’d bumped into him. Maybe even from the moment he’d walked in. If that were true, then he knew she used disguises, deception, and lies to do her job. She needed a new approach. She needed to intertwine honesty with the lies.

“Hydra. I work for Hydra.”

His grip tightened on the collar of her jacket, a second hand coming up to wrap around her neck. Brenna suppressed the instinctual reaction to fight back. She was working an angle here and based on the strength and the mechanical whirring of the arm that currently held her life in its hand, she knew when she was at a disadvantage.

“Let me guess, they hired you to find me. Take me back?”

She nodded, feeling the grip tighten and her air supply cut off little by little. Every fiber of her being begged for her to fight for her life – to twist and squirm in his grip. Yet, she stayed still; the whole time, never looking away from the intensity of his stare. The secret to a good lie was always in the eyes.

“Well I’m not goin’ back. So, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck right now,” the blue-eyed stranger said, looming over her as black spots began to overtake her vision.

“You—” she struggled with the words, her body screaming for the sweet relief of oxygen “—you got out. You got away. How?” Her body, no longer able to remain slack, convulsed, hands flying up claw at the unmoving forearm. Legs kicking out underneath her, she dangled from her neck alone. His hand did not loosen, but the expression on his face softened ever so slightly. A micro-expression of confusion.

“Why do you care?” he asked her, still holding tight to her airway. Either he was unaware of just how close she was to passing out, or he didn’t care. Brenna used every last ounce of her strength to stay conscious. The focus of her eyes went blurry, her head swam, but her answer to his question was surely the answer to her survival as well.

“I want out too.”

When she awoke, the first thing Brenna became aware of was a dry heat and the sound of running water. Opening her eyes, she took in the sight of a small bedroom. It was dirty; wallpaper peeled from the walls in thick, grey strips revealing the rotting plaster behind it. Floorboards covered in dirt and dust, warped and twisted, giving the floor an unusual texture. Across the room sat an old space heater, plugged into a questionable outlet that threatened electrical fire at any moment. It was aimed directly at her body, which was unmistakably absent of the clothes she’d been wearing earlier. Instead, only her panties and undershirt remained. Attempting to roll from the bed, she found herself hindered by an unforgiving pull at her wrists. Looking above her head, she saw her wrists expertly bound to the old, iron headboard. The knot was unyielding as she pulled firmly at it, testing its strength. Her heart rate sped, but she willed herself to stay calm, present, collected. Nothing felt amiss as she took a moment to assess her body. No aches or pains in any place but her neck and face. The water she had heard upon waking up, was now very clearly the sound of a shower running. Eyes scanning the room, she spotted her clothes sitting on an old chair. This wasn’t the worst scenario she had ever found herself in. Montreal would still be the worst. This was nothing. She just needed a plan.

Unfortunately, Brenna was given no time to come up with one. From the other room, the sounds of a squeaky faucet turning and someone shuffling around could be heard. When the stranger appeared from behind the bathroom door, he was dressed once again in the same dark wash jeans, but this time with a fresh, loose fitting t-shirt. His feet were bare, a bold choice in her opinion, but then again, the person in charge of finding him was right there, tied to his bed. His hair hung, wet and tousled, dripping water onto his shoulders and sliding down onto the expanse of his metal arm. In short sleeves, Brenna was able to see the full extent of the appendage. It was more magnificent than she could have imagined. It moved, shifted, twitched like a one of flesh and blood. Yet there is was – an amalgamation of metal, gears, and wires. Shifting her gaze from the mechanical anomaly, she took in the rest of him. He really was quite handsome. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, a nice symmetrical face, a built physique, a little pretty, a little rugged. If she wasn’t worried he would kill her any moment, she’d find the fact that she was tried up in his bed to be exciting. It wasn’t often that she received a job that was so easy on the eyes. And Brenna was never one to pass up opportunistic situations.

“You’re awake,” said the stranger, walking over to the small chair and moving her clothes out of the way before sitting down. The wood groaned under his weight, but he trusted it as he sat down fully. He’d sat in it before – which meant he’d most likely been in this location for longer than a few days.

“And alive,” Brenna responded, staring hard at the man across from her. “Why?”

The blue-eyed stranger took a moment to contemplate the answer, staring through her as he clenched his jaw, “You said you wanted out. I figured if that were even remotely true, I should try to help.”

“That’s quite a bit of generosity for someone who’s running for their life. Savior complex?”

“Heavy conscience. I have a several lifetimes to atone for.” He spoke the words with a burdensome resolution.

“I think you and I both know that there’s no atonement for the things we’ve been forced to do,” she half lied. It was true there was no saving her soul, but no one had forced her to do anything against her will in almost twenty years. The way in which the blue-eyed stranger assessed her, gave her hope that her plan was working. She was building a rapport. However, the part of her that craved danger found itself unable to hold back a flirtatious comment, “But you know what they say – A sin confessed is half forgiven. Care to confess and repent, Blue Eyes? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He laughed unamusedly, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest, “I think I’ll pass.”

The crossing of his arms only seemed to fuel the inappropriate attraction she was feeling. His arms and shoulders were so ridiculously large, and it had been so long since she’d had someone…large. Flexing her fingers, Brenna could feel the blood draining from her hands, leaving a tingling feeling behind. Pulling on the restraints she slid herself into a sitting position, “Tell me, Blue Eyes, do you always tie up the women you help?”

“I had to make sure you wouldn’t run away before I decided to trust you. I also needed a shower. Didn’t know when you’d wake up.”

“And my clothes?” Brenna asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“After you passed out, I figured it was best to search you for weapons,” he answered, continuing to stare at her, a bored expression plastered across his face.

“Well you were certainly thorough. Did you have your fill while I was unconscious?”

“That implies that I cared enough to look.”

Brenna smiled, slow and sly as she narrowed her eyes at him, “Pity.”

She couldn’t say for certain, but she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch at her comment.

“Well, are you going to untie me, or do I have the pleasure of staying on your bed, half-naked, for the forceable future?”

The blue-eyed stranger stood, stalking towards her as he pulled a knife from his pocket. Brenna’s flinched at the flick of the blade, an instinctual reaction that she could tell made the man pause for a fraction of a second.

“Well, you didn’t have any weapons on your person. Not even a knife. If Hydra had sent you to capture me and you had been serious about doing it, I doubt you’d come empty handed,” he mused, reaching your side and leaning over her grabbing for her wrists.

“Just like that then? You didn’t find anything on me, so you trust me?” A decent amount of skepticism would be expected in a situation like this. A woman looking to get out from under the thumb of Hydra and their dastardly ways. A woman genuinely putting her trust in this stranger.

“You tell me something—” he stared down at her, knife paused against the rope at her wrists “—They must have told you about me when they assigned you to find me. Why in the world would you trust me to save you?” Brenna couldn’t help it, once again she was lost in the strange familiarity of the blue-green depths of his eyes. Like floating in the crisp waters of a memory.  

“I didn’t,” she answered truthfully, fully intending to make up something contrived and pathetic. However, her mouth was speaking before her mind could catch up, iterating the thoughts that flowed through her head. “Not at first. And then I looked in your eyes and knew that I could.”

And she did. If she genuinely was looking to put her trust in someone, it might just be the man in front of her. But she wasn’t looking to trust anyone.

The blue-eyed stranger assessed her for a few more seconds, before pushing his blade through the thick rope as if it was paper thin. At the sweet release of her arms, Brenna brought them to her chest, rubbing at the tender skin as blood began to flow back into the appendages. Upon seeing that he had not stepped away from her, Brenna looked up at the blue-eyed stranger a breath away from her. He looked at her; he was searching for something – but for what she did not know. The truth? Her secret? Her story? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He’d never get it.

“Trying to find something, Blue Eyes?” she asked playfully.

He pulled back, as if he had just become aware of his staring in that moment. Shaking his head and stepping back, he gave her space to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Shower’s free if you want one – can’t promise there’ll be a lot of hot water,” he said, turning from her and heading towards the doorway that lead out of the bedroom.

“It’s a shame I didn’t wake up sooner. We could have conserved the hot water by sharing.” Her comment fell on deaf ears as he continued out of the room. Laughing to herself, Brenna stood and entered the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her as she turned the water on and stripped from the rest of her clothes. Taking a moment to stare in the mirror above the sink, she assessed the damage to her face and neck. Red and yellow bruising was already making an appearance on her skin across her left cheek bone and in a ring around her neck. Delicately, she traced the handprint that graced the golden-brown skin of her throat. In a few days they would fade, but till then she was marked with the evidence of being bested by her target. Her normally springy, dark brown curls hung limp and frizzy above her shoulders – partly from her own doing to appear the part of ‘down on her luck’, but also from, what she could only assume, the less than careful way she was transported to the apartment she currently resided.

Stepping into the lukewarm water, she reveled in the feel of it running down her body. Eyeing the contents of the shower, she was not surprised to see a lack of conditioner. Picking up the bar of soap, she began to work it over her body, wiping away the grime and dirt. She scrubbed at her nail beds, thoroughly before set the bar down and sighing at the two-in-one shampoo. Her hair would not thank her for it, but she reasoned it was better than the gritty feeling on the surface of her scalp. So, she squeezed a small amount onto the palm of her hand and made special care to keep the product near her scalp only. Standing under the heavy stream, she contemplated what her next move was.

Clearly, she had gained his trust or at the very least did not come off as a threat to him. She could laugh at the thought. Just as much as people were predictable, they were equally narrow-minded and uncreative. Why did everyone always assume that the small were weak or that you needed something as primitive as a knife or a gun to incapacitate a man?  Rolling her head from side to side, she knew that this whole thing could end in a matter of seconds if she wanted it to. She could easily have the man immobilized at her feet and be collecting her money. But where was the fun in that? It was so rare that she found herself in a titillating scenario as the one she was in now. No, it would be so much more satisfying to see how far she could push the ‘kindred broken spirits, looking for a new life and purpose’ thing.

Turning off the water that had long run cold, she pulled the curtain back and stepped out onto the ratted, thread-bare mat. Looking to the open doorway, she found the blue-eyed stranger standing, towel and her folder clothes in his arms. He stood solid and stoic; his face inscrutable as his eyes scanned the line of her body. Like a heavy-handed caress, he followed her hills and valleys from the curve of her full thighs to the peaks of her modest breasts. Sexual tension hung in the space between them like the steam that floated throughout the humid air around her. Stepping lightly across the bathroom floor, she took the towel and clothes from his arms.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly, watching with rapt interest as the man before her appeared to battle with something internally. Presented to him like a feast for the starving, she wondered why he did not partake in tasting the delicacy before him. Was it the heavy conscience he claimed the possess? Or was it something far more trivial – such as the simple issue of consent. People really ought to just take what they want. Rising onto her toes, the towel and clothes dropped to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her full lips to brush against the warmth of his own mouth. Fingers of flesh and metal gripped her naked body as they consumed each other – lips, tongue, and teeth. Pressing her wet form into the hard plane of this body, the blue-eyed stranger groped the ample flesh of her ass tightly as they stumbled in the direction of the bed. Turning him, Brenna used the full force of her strength to push him onto the mattress below her. He fell, willingly, allowing her to climb onto his lap, taking his own wrists in her hands and pinning them above him. Her wet curls hung heavy around her face, dripping the blue-eyed stranger below her, but he didn’t seem to care as he broke from her grasp and reached up to cup the back of her head. He pulled her down, capturing her bottom lips between his teeth.

The control she had was short lived. Distracted by the heat of his kiss, she allowed the blue-eyed stranger to gain the upper hand. Flipping them over so that she lay on her stomach, face pushed into the firm springs of the mattress, he reached around her and massaged the tender flesh of a breast. Arching her back, Brenna pressed her ass firmly into the front of his jeans, rewarded by the rigid length of his cock. Growling low in his throat, he bit down on the junction of her neck and shoulder causing her to cry out. He continued to nip and suck at the sensitive flesh of her shoulder as he braced himself above her, right hand traveling from her breast to the juncture between her legs. Finding the flesh there warm, wet, and ready, he wasted no time in plunging his fingers into her depths. Brenna moaned, low and needy as he stroked her in long, forceful pulls.

Pulling from her completely, Brenna felt empty and wanting. Moving to turn, a hand to the center of her back kept in place as the sounds of shuffling fabric filled her ears. The next thing she knew, she was being filled by the white-hot length of him. Thick and long and raw, he bottomed out in her before pulling out slowly and reentering with similar force. Wrapping his metal arm around her middle and his flesh arm across her chest, he laid his body flush against her as he fucked her. The intimate way in which he took his time, languidly and passionately bringing her towards her crest, contrasted so unbearably well with the rough and filthy fact that he’d rather have her this way – unable to see her face as he entered her and still wearing all his clothes.

It wasn’t long before she could feel the familiar pressure building within her. Nails digging into the flesh of his forearm, Brenna found what little power she could in the movement of her hips. Grinding back against him, they battled for dominance over the pace and angle as they both chased their own release. Never before had she fought for control in bed. Like most things in her life, it was an area she governed – domineering and calling the shots in her own pleasure. However, now, as the blue-eyed stranger plowed into her at a pace he dictated, she found herself panting and whining like a desperate woman asking for permission. What was it about this man that made every facet of her being fade away – replaced only by someone reckless and willing to potentially lose?

A few more thrusts and her orgasm overtook her, leaching the ecstasy from her very bones. The blue-eyed stranger followed quickly, pulling out and spilling on the small of her back. Brenna took a moment to catch her breath as he collapsed beside her. In a surprising act of intimacy, the blue-eyed stranger pulled her into his side, wrapping an arm protectively around her. Looking at the relaxed expression on his face, Brenna couldn’t help but feel as though she should feel guilty. It was unfortunate his peaceful state was about to end. Parting her lips, she reached discretely into her mouth and grasp her front left canine between her thumb and pointer finger. She pulled it with little effort, twisting as she went until she felt the familiar pop. Taking the tooth from her mouth, she revealed the sharp, needle end where the root should be. There was no hesitation in her movements as plunged the metal into the side of his neck, knowing instantly that the tranquilizer was already seeping into his system.

The blue-eyed stranger’s eyes flew open, scrambling away from her as he brought a hand up to the point of entry. A shocked and confused expression washed across his face, and then one of sick realization. Brenna slid from the bed, standing and walking towards her discarded clothes in the bathroom. The stranger tried to follow her, falling pathetically to the floor as his legs gave way underneath him. She dressed quickly, reaching into the pocket of her coat and pulling out an old, burner phone – something he had apparently deemed nonthreatening. She snapped a picture of him, lying there helplessly, staring at her with betrayal in his blue-green eyes.

Texting the proof of a job well done to her employer, along with the words “It’s done. Come and get him.”—incase the picture wasn’t clear enough, she discarded of the phone out the window, no longer in need of it.

“They should be here soon. Try to keep it together until then – wouldn’t want you choking on your own tongue, now would I?” she remarked, heading towards the door.

“Why?” The words stopped her. She supposed he deserved an answer.

Turning around, she sauntered over to him and crouched down on the balls of her feet. She took his handsome face in her hand, squeezing his jaw between her fingers as she stared into the depths of his for the last time. Why indeed. She could have plunged that needle into his neck at any moment. So why had she decided to do it this way?

Tonguing the empty space within her upper row of teeth, she took a moment to ponder the answer before speaking, “I do everything for a reason. Most of the time the reason is money. But you, Blue Eyes? You were more personal. I did you…for me.”

Marvel Taglist: 

@caffiend-queen 

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

@grincheveryday

[captainofthebrokentides]

Drug Addled Confessions Michael Ragosa x OC

Rhia, a nurse at San Antonio is enlisted to keep her boss in check after he accidentally takes MDMA, advice is given and the start of something big is kindled. 

Rhia sighed as she reached the nurses’ station, joining in Kenny’s emergency huddle.

“So I promised, I’d keep this on the DL, But I think it might need some damage control.” Kenny nodded subtly over to the far wall, where Michael Ragosa was leaning. The dark-haired administrator’s shirt was untucked, the collar loose and tie barely hanging around his neck. He was staring intently at a pump of hand gel, pointing the bubbles out to anyone who was passing by; very loudly. “How long has he been doing that?” She asked furrowing her eyebrows. Michael Ragosa was always so straight laced. She couldn’t think of a time she’d seem him properly smile – like a cheek hurting, uncontrollable smile, and she’d been working the night shift for six months. They’d had a few run ins in the recent months, their last big one had ended with him hissing at her that this was her last chance, her paperwork was about five weeks behind and she’s forgotten to stock count the pharmacy three days before, but it was on her to do list. She’s tried apologising, had explained that she was only human after all, but he had reeled off that the board were unprepared to take the heat of a missed stock take and he didn’t have the time or money to deal with an incompetent nurse. She’d been angry, shouting at him that if they weren’t so low on staff she wouldn’t have had to run between three trauma emergencies at the same time, and did he expect her to pull extra hours of the day out of her ass? She’d finished off her tirade by throwing her iced coffee at him. The brown liquid coating his fine features and soaking through his expensive looking white shirt. Luckily she had walked away and bribed Mollie to put her finished paperwork on Ragosa’s desk for her by the end of the shift, so she could at least cling to the last vestiges of being able to save her job. That was a fortnight ago … and the last time she’d spoken to him.

They’d got on well until about three months ago. He’d made her feel comfortable and laugh during her interview. He’d been nice enough to take an hour out of his day on her first shift to introduce her to the night shift big wigs like TC and Topher, both of whom now treated her like a member of their family, and to show her around the place, buying her a welcome cup of coffee when they’d arrived at the food truck. In the early months he’s even made a point of stopping her for chat in the corridors, his eyes looking warm and caring as he checked how she was settling in and if she needed anything. But over the last couple of months he had been becoming steadily more and more cold. He was being a dick, sometimes with, but mostly without reason. The only person he’d talk to without an edge in his voice was Landry. It hurt Rhia a bit to think that those nice, kind eyes that once welcomed her, now looked at her as though they were hard as stone, with no feeling behind them except annoyance and anger.

“About ten minutes” Kenny said quietly, watching as their boss gently ran his fingers across the wall as if he was lovingly caressing someone’s cheek. “Mhmm you should have seen him earlier, gazing into the ceiling mirror in admissions for a good five minutes, like a child staring into a candy store window.” Mollie agreed, closing the chart she was looking at sharply. The unexpected noise made Ragosa jump, the soles of his leather shoes actually leaving the floor, but his eyes never left the bubbles. “Is he having a breakdown? Do I need to get a psych eval?” Rhia asked, feeling equally worried and perplexed. “I know the whole Jordan and the Christian Scientist thing is a big bundle of hell, but I’ve never seen him like that.”

Kenny chuckled and ducked his head, beckoning Rhia closer to him so he could whisper. “Na, he’s fine. He’s high as a kite.” Rhia’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline, surely she had misheard, “What?” “Yup, he took some aspirin from Landry’s desk, but they weren’t aspirin, they were MDMA, and now he’s totally spaced” Mollie laughed and sauntered away “And making an ass of himself”

Rhia sighed, she had a feeling she knew what the answer would be before it even left her mouth. “I’m not even going to ask why Landry has MDMA on her desk, but what are we going to do Kenny?” The male nurse grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “We aren’t doing anything, I’m needed in trauma two.” He clapped a large hand over her shoulder, “You however are going to keep him out of trouble, Jordan is already having a hell of a night, we don’t need him drawing attention too.” Rhia shook her head and tried to back away, but Kenny caught her by the crook of her elbow, his fingers gently squeezing the joint. “Oh hell no, Ken, he hates me. I’m not doing that.” Kenny smirked. “Who? Ragosa? That man doesn’t hate you. He can’t keep his damned eyes off you.” “Oh really?” Rhia pulled herself away from Kenny’s grip and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “What was all that shit he spewed at me the other week? He was so angry.” “You’re still here though, right? Did he even give you a disciplinary for giving him a bath in coffee?” Kenny had a point, she’d not heard a peep out of Ragosa since the incident, no word of apology or reprimand. “No.” “Exactly, the man has a sweet spot for you. Why don’t you use it to help us out?” Kenny wrapped his arm around her in a one-sided hug. Rhia sighed, she didn’t believe Kenny’s reasoning – Ragosa was married, sure it may be a little rocky right now, but she doubted he would be looking at her like that. She did have to admit though, she wouldn’t mind if he did, really. Michael Ragosa was an attractive man, with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She knew she’d get no peace for the night if she didn’t agree to Kenny’s plan. “Ok, but you gotta keep my back covered if we get busy.” “Sure thing! Good Luck!” Kenny nodded, grabbed a stack of files and walked away from the nurses’ station with a final chuckle at Ragosa, leaving Rhia alone.

She took a couple of deep breaths, she could do this, it was only Michael, he couldn’t hurt a fly really. She made her way over to the far wall, and reached out to touch Ragosa’s shoulder. He flinched for a second, but then turned to look at her, his eyes taking a second to focus. “Rhia!” he whispered breathily, and he smiled, and actual smile. Rhia found herself smiling back, his grin was infectious. “Hey Michael” she opened her mouth to coax him to leave with her when he cut her off. “Your hair, its so pretty, it always looks soft. Like silk. Can I touch it?” he didn’t wait for her to answer before twining his fingers through some of her loose waves, closing his eyes to indulge in the feel of it on his skin. “Sure you can Michael. And thank you, it’s nice of you to say.” His eyes sprang open again, and he gazed at her intensely. “I’ve got many nice things to say to you.” “Is that right?” he nodded, and fiddled with the ends of a curl. “Well, how about we go grab some water, sit in your office, and you could tell me them?” “Water” he repeated again. He allowed Rhia to take his hand in hers and pull him in the direction of his office. After a couple if seconds, he threaded his warm fingers through hers, and Rhia had to stifle a smile as a warm feeling began to bubble in the bottom of her belly.

Rhia closed the door of Ragosa’s office softly behind them and lead him over to the sofa. Michael sat down like a dead weight, the furniture complaining with a loud creek. “’m not that heavy” he mumbled. Rhia chuckled lightly and went to fill two glasses with water from the jug on his bookcase.  She passed one to Michael, and took a mouthful of her own, stowing it safely on the floor before herself down next to him. She made herself comfortable, crossing her legs underneath her. Michael watched her movements intently, sipping from his glass. Rhia looked up and caught his gaze, she smiled softly, but didn’t say anything, he looked like he was thinking. A few moments of peaceful silence passed.

“I didn’t mean it you know.” His head was hung in shame and he was looking up at her through thick, dark eyelashes. “I don’t think you’re an incompetent nurse. You’re so good at what you do.” He started counting compliments off on his fingers, avoiding Rhia’s eyes. “You’re kind, you’re caring. You always have a smile, people need to see that smile, it’s too beautiful to be hidden away. All the staff and patients love you. This hospital needs you, and I …” he swallowed heavily “I need you too.”

Rhia stayed quiet, listening to his speech, but she took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers lightly for comfort.

“I’m sorry for saying it all. I’ve not been handling myself well lately, I let things get on top of me. Lydia and I are getting a divorce. She’s been keeping my kids from me. They have to call me in secret. Do you know how painful that is?” his handsome face crumpled slightly and his eyes became red with brimming tears. He rubbed a finger gently over her knuckles. “Everyone treats me like I’m a dick. All the time. Here and at home. Here at least it’s part of the job. Landry says I need to meet people halfway.” He slouched forwards, shoulders pulling themselves together in an unconscious self-protection move. Rhea sighed, it looked like these thoughts had been taking chunks out of him for a while. “I think that’s a good idea, it shows people you care and offers them some respect. That works for both here and at home. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on at home for you Michael, or how painful it all must be, but it can’t let you turn away from being the good, caring person you are. You should be you, live your life your way, give everyone respect and treat people fairly, and unduly judge no one.” Michael laughed and smiled at her. Another proper smile. Showing his pearly white teeth and displaying slight dimples. “Is that your key advice?”

Rhia smiled back warmly. “It certainly is.” Michael nodded. He pulled his hands away and rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to know a secret?” he leaned in, so their faces were only a foot apart. His warm breath brushed cross her cheeks and Rhea felt her tummy clench with anticipation. His beautiful dark eyes held hers. He smelled like expensive aftershave, mint and coffee. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her words leaving her at their proximity. “I always wanted to be a doctor, you know, spend my life doing something to make other peoples’ lives better. I wanted to be good, beautiful Rhia. I wanted to be good, just like you.” He lightly touched his finger to the nip of her nose and gave her another heart-breaking smile.

“Why didn’t you?” She breathed, her brain clouded. He shuffled closer to her and put his lips next to her ear, his hand resting on her forearm. “I can’t see well enough, my eyes are deteriorating, I went with the next best thing. I’ve been waiting for something to push me to get surgery, something worth me facing my fear. I think I found it.” He pulled away from her, and watched her with sparkling dark eyes. Rhia smiled and cupped his face in her hands. “I think you should be you. Do what you want to do.” Michael nodded, and slid the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes flicking between her eyes and rosy lips. His brows furrowed for a second, before smoothing out again. Clearly dealing with a inner battle. “You know what I’d like to do, right now?” his voice held a bubbling excitement Rhia laughed, “What would you like to do right now?” Michael got to his feet and took both Rhia’s hands in his, pulling her off the sofa with surprisingly controlled strength for someone that was rolling heavily on ecstasy. “I want to dance. Come on. I know where we can dance.” Rhia smiled and laughed, she let him lead her out of the office and into the courtyard where half the night shift were taking their breaks. A rhythmic Latino beat poured out of the speakers and filled the night air.

Michael, not caring about all the eyes on him, started to dance, arms in the air and hips swaying to the music. Unable to control her laugh or her smile that was mirroring Michael’s Rhia accepted his outstretched hand when it was offered, and tried to forget her surroundings. Ragosa spun her around and expertly helped her with every twist and turn. She laughed with him, and breathed in the fresh many scent of his aftershave every time she came up flush against his body.

“Rhia!” Rhia vaguely caught someone saying her name, trying to pull her out of her and Michael’s personal moment. “Rhia!” The voice belonged to Topher, who stood watching the two with his eyebrows raised. Rhia nodded at her friend and placed her hands firmly on Ragosa’s chest. “Michael stop, stop.” She coaxed, and he stopped, perplexed, watching Topher over her shoulder. “Yes Topher, what can I do for you?” she asked trying to catch her breath. “Kenny says you’re needed for an emergency assistance in Trauma three … if that’s not disrupting your night?” he grinned at her. Rhia looked at Ragosa who looked like a kicked puppy, his dark eyes sad. She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be back, duty calls. Keep yourself out of mischief Mikey.” Rhia smiled and nodded at Topher as she passed him, “Cheers Toph, have a good break, we’ll talk later.” “Oh yes we will, you’ve got some explaining to do!” the older man shouted back as he made his way to the food truck.

Rhia pushed through people to get to the hospital doors, but stopped as she pushed them open. She watched as Michael continued to dance on his own, without a care in the world. “Wooh! Topher!! This is my jam!!” he yelled to the doctor over the music. Topher looked over at Rhia who laughed and shrugged going inside.

****

Rhia hadn’t seen Ragosa since she left him out in the courtyard, she’d figured he’d called it a night and gone home early, so she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and made her way out of the locker room and headed towards the entry doors to the ER department. To her pleasant surprise she found Michael waiting for her, leaning against a gurney. He had cleaned himself up, back to his usual smart standard, and his eyes were once again bright and clear. He shot her one of his dazzling smiles and waited for her to approach. “Hey, you’re looking good, how are you feeling?” she asked, placed herself next to him on the gurney, they were so close their shoulders rubbed against each other. He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Much better, I feel some … clarity.” He looked down at his toes. “my divorce is coming through, I worked out with Lydia that I can see my kids. And I decided to get the surgery.” He took a deep breath a looked up at her, his brow furrow free and open. “Thank you so much for tonight and everything you did for me. Thank you for listening. For being there. For indulging me. It means a lot.” He reached his hand out and grabbed Rhia’s giving it a squeeze. “I’m starting again. It’s a new chapter.” Rhia smiled at him, her cheeks flushing. She squeezed his hand back. “It’s a pleasure Michael, I’m always here, if you ever need me.” He breathed out a little chuckle and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I feel I might always need you.” Her cheeks burned with a blush and Rhia bit her lip through a smile that threatened to split her cheeks. “Would you like to come and grab a cup of coffee with me? One that we can drink, and wont end with it ruining my favourite shirt?” Rhia laughed and squeezed his hand tightly in hers. “I’m really sorry about that. I should have apologised sooner.” Ragosa waved his hand nonchalantly with a grin. “Never mind about that. So … coffee?” Rhia gave a sigh and leaned in pressing a kiss against his soft cheek. She liked how his skin felt under hers. “Right now, I think you need some rest.” She gathered her things and headed to the door. She turned back to look at him. He looked dejected and forlorn. “But let me know when your divorce comes through, then I’ll hold you to that coffee.” His face brightened and she waved, blowing him a quick kiss, “Have a good morning, Mikey.”

@reelovesbennycolon​ - it’s not Benny, but i thought you still might like.

[moonwaif]

FFXV Halloween Week 2020: Day 7

@ffxvhalloweenweeknsfw

Monster of the day: Witches

Theme: Spells/Potions

Scenario: Halloween Party (games, pumpkin carving, etc)

Mod’s choice: Black Cats/Familiars

NSFW: Costume play 

Pairings: Gladnis

Rating: M

Tags: Sex Magic, No actual sex, Awkward Conversations, Getting Together, Paranormal Investigators AU, Enthusiastic Consent 

(Also on Ao3)

---

As an official member of the C.D.D.S. (a.k.a. Chocobro Daemon Destroyers Squad, as dubbed by Prompto), Gladio has a pretty flexible relationship with the word “normal.” However, even he has to admit that nothing about the current investigation is anywhere near the realm of normal.

First there’d been that weird purple envelope with the heavy wax seal. Inside was a letter from one Ardyn Izunia, written in flowing script and kindly soliciting their services at Zegnautus Keep—an old castle, located somewhere in the distant mountains of Niflheim. This was also weird. Sure, the C.D.D.S. may have been well-known exorcists in Lucis, but they weren’t exactly world-renowned. On top of that, Izunia claimed to be an acquaintance of Lord Regis, yet Noct didn’t know him. Gladio didn’t know him. Neither did Ignis, or any of Lord Regis’s old acquaintances. And when Prompto did a websearch, it came up empty.

That probably should have been a sign, Gladio thinks, striding through the castle halls. He glances at the giant portrait of Izunia smirking down at him, framed by cobwebs and moldering tapestries. Its eyes seem to follow Gladio as he passes, its smile shriveling in the shadows. The real Izunia had been just as disconcerting when they’d met him. But Noct had been in a slump since his father’s death. Noct had been depressed. That meant Ignis and Prompto were depressed too, and this seemed like a good chance to get away from it all. Besides, Noct was curious. He wanted to know more about this mysterious acquaintance of his father. So they stuck around, and when they were unexpectedly joined by the Nox Fleuret siblings, who Izunia had also commissioned—well, they figured the more the merrier and tried to be on guard.

 What catchy name will Prompto give this particular case, Gladio wonders? Something about hubris, maybe. Something about old gods. Before anything specific can crystallize, Gladio is already at the set of massive, iron-laid doors. They groan as he yanks them open and steps into the castle library.

 Ignis is still exactly where Gladio left him—hunched over a desk, hidden behind a stack of books. “How are they?” he asks, not even bothering to look up.

 “Stable,” Gladio answers, “at least for now. The curse on Ravus is spreading. Luna still isn’t responding. Cindy’s looking after them.”

 “And still no sign from Noctis?”

 “The planchette hasn’t moved in the last half hour.”

 “Dammit!” Ignis slams the book closed and tosses it aside. He makes a steeple with his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should never have come here.”

 Gladio draws up behind Ignis’s chair. In the dim light, he can see loose papers full of obscure runes, time-weathered pages penned in tightly-scrawled ink. If this were a normal gig, they’d have wrapped everything up by now. They’d have subdued the spirit, and if that wasn’t possible, exorcised it. The client would be shoving fistfuls of money at them and weeping tears of joy. Ignis would have food on the grill. Gladio would be setting up camp for the night. Prompto would be complaining about EMF detectors and other technical jargon while uploading the latest footage to their blog. And Noct would have been loafing around, watching all of them with a contented smile, asking when dinner would be ready.

 Gladio gives Ignis’s shoulder a squeeze. “What’s done is done—no use beating ourselves up over it. We’ve gotta keep our heads clear if we're gonna help Noct.”

 Ignis sighs heavily. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Gladio. I lost myself for a moment.”

 “Don’t sweat it. Now are you sure you haven't found anything?”

 Ignis drops his hands to leaf through a book. “Nothing about those marks on Ravus’s arm, or what could be strong enough to entrap the most powerful medium in Tenebrae.”

 “What about the portal?”

 “No definitive answers, but nothing that contradicts our initial theories, either. Noct and Prompto are most likely caught between the two realms.”

“Which means Luna’s still our best shot at reaching them. Damn.”

“About that . . .” Ignis shifts in his seat, turning to face Gladio fully. “There is one thing—an old tome, written in Solheim runes.”

Gladio perks up. “You think there’s something in there that could help us get to Noct?”

“Possibly. There is . . . a spell.” Ignis removes a book from the stack. It’s dark and fat. Any markings on the cover have been completely worn away. “A ritual, to be precise. It enables the caster to send spiritual energy to a soul trapped between Eos and the spirit realm.”

“All right! I knew we could count on you, Iggy.”

Gladio claps him on the shoulder. Ignis slumps under the weight. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

There’s something about Ignis’s expression that Gladio can’t put his finger on, but he doesn’t have time to parse it. "Which components are we missing? Anything we can substitute?"

"We have all the necessary items. It’s just, this spell—well, it requires two people."

Gladio nods. "Cool, so we'll tag team it out."

Ignis winces. "I really wouldn't be so quick to say that if I were you."

"Why? Does it require a sacrifice?"

"Of sorts.”

Gladio raises a brow. Ignis closes his eyes. When he opens them, it’s with steely resolution.

“It's a book of sex magic, Gladio."

 ---

It takes less than five minutes to move all the furniture, less than ten to finish drawing the array around the bed. After all, Ignis isn’t the high witch of the Lucis Caelum clan for nothing. He lights the candles with a snap of his fingers while Gladio sets out the bowls of sylleblossom petals and animal fat—six in total, one for each of the Astrals. Then both of them step into the array.

Gladio removes his jacket. He suppresses a shiver as Ignis draws his thumb along his chest and abdomen, leaving behind a maroon sigil. He stays very still as Ignis unbuttons his own shirt, and when it’s his turn to copy the sigil, he tries very hard not to stare at Ignis’s pecs, or the freckles on his stomach.

Ignis clears his throat. His entire face is red, from his neck to the roots of his hair. “Next we present the offerings. If you don’t mind, I can go first.”

“Be my guest.”

Ignis reaches into the pocket of his trousers. “This pendant was given to me by Lord Regis when I was still a child, in honor of my appointment as the high witch’s apprentice. I have since kept it with me out of respect for the Lucis Caelum line as well as for good fortune. I offer it today as a token of gratitude and good will to the Astrals and to the elements, that they may grant Lord Noctis their aid.”

He sets the pendant in one of the bowls of sylleblossoms (Gladio definitely does not admire the muscles in his shoulders and back when he bends over).

Gladio reaches into their satchel of supplies to remove his own offering. “I brought cup noodles.”

Ignis stares at him.

“Um.” Gladio shifts uneasily. “These delicious noodles are for the Astrals, so that—”

“Just put it down,” Ignis snaps. “In one of the bowls.” He waits until Gladio is finished. When he speaks again, his voice is somewhat softer. “Gladio, before we go any further, are you sure about this?”

Gladio squares his shoulders. "You said it should be the two people closest to the target of the spell. Out of all those conscious and present, that's you and me."

"I know, but you shouldn’t feel obligated. There may be other ways. I could keep looking. I could—”

"Ignis. I want to do this."

Ignis exhales deeply, with a sort of resignation. "Very well."

"What about you?” Gladio asks. “Are you good? If not, me and Cindy are pretty tight. She hasn't known Noct for that long, but maybe if I talk to her, she and I could—"

"No.”

The response is forceful—loud, even. Ignis pauses to adjust his glasses.

“The principal caster should be an experienced magic user,” he continues calmly, “which is me. And if it has to be anyone, I'd rather it be the two of us."

Gladio decides not to read too much into that last statement, but he does feel a little smug.

"So," he asks, "what next?"

"Eager, are we?" Ignis remarks dryly. "Just stand there, for now. And follow my lead."

He turns to retrieve two goblets from the bedside table and hands one to Gladio. The liquid is fragrant with cloves and other herbs. Next, Ignis links their arms together, so that they're each holding the goblet before the other's lips.

"Repeat after me," Ignis says. "Ic bescence þe mīn ferþ . . ."

Gladio repeats, understanding only every other word. But he trusts Ignis, so when the goblet tilts toward his lips, he drinks until it's drained.

"Now then." Ignis's entire torso is flushed now, and Gladio is sure it has little to do with the wine. "I suppose this is the part where we go to bed."

"If that's what the spell says," Gladio concedes.

The mattress creaks as they both take a seat on the edge. Ignis perches very stiffly, arms and legs drawn close to his body.

"So." Gladio leans back on one hand, stretches his legs—pretends to be much more relaxed than he really feels. "How specific are the details of this spell?"

"Any act of intimacy will suffice," Ignis says quietly. "So long as the fertile essences are spilled by both parties."

Well then, Gladio thinks. It shouldn't hurt to look, right? He is, after all, an expert in looking at Ignis—though mostly through stolen glances, or carefully neutral gazes. Now he lets his eyes roam freely. Ignis is slender without his shirt—his shoulders broad and sinewy, his waist narrow. Myriad freckles and moles pattern his skin. Gladio wants to reach out and run his hands over every single one. Instead, his eyes snap up to Ignis's face. Ignis stares back, expression inscrutable. He leans forward, and Gladio inches toward him, arm raising instinctively as he prepares to—

"I've never done this before," Ignis blurts.

Gladio falls back. He blinks, then scratches his head with a chuckle. "Yeah, this is my first occult sex ritual, too."

"No, I mean, I've never done this with anyone, ever—being intimate."

Oh.

"Is that a problem?" Ignis presses.

"Of course not," Gladio says. "I'm just . . ."

Ignis's lips curve in a rueful smile. "Surprised? The role of the supreme high witch doesn't allow much time for romantic escapades. Unfortunately, I'm not very experienced. I hope it won't be too unenjoyable for you."

He says this with his typical flat, sarcastic affect, but there's something tender underneath. Something dark and edgy.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it," Gladio assures him. "You're perfect, Iggy. Everything you do is perfect. But are you really okay with this? Kind of an intense first time."

"I'm okay with it. Actually, I . . ."

He pauses, gaze darting to the floor. Gladio waits with entirely feigned patience. By the time Ignis looks back up, his entire body feels like it's on fire.

"I've always wanted it to be you," Ignis says.

A raspy, trembling breath escapes Gladio's lips. With it goes the last few tattered shreds of his composure. "Iggy. Fuck, I—I'm gonna take such good care of you. I want to make you feel good, Iggy."

Ignis takes Gladio's hands and guides them to his waist. "I know," he says. "I trust you."

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 12 August 1837

7 55

11 50

Slept with A- fine morning F69° now at 8 55 and sat down to breakfast with A- G- came soon – out at 10 – with Mark Hepworth on the embankment in front of the house – it looked tremendously dark – I went to see what was to be done when the carts could not drag thro’ the clay of the embankment – stuff to come from Northgate – the words hardly out of our mouths before a tremendous thunder shower came – with thunder and lightning – I got wet in getting to the west tower – the red room passage all open – the rain pouring in, and down thro’ the red room floor into the drawing room – a terrible mess – my magazines lying on the drawing room floor obliged to be laid before the upper kitchen fire – a perfect river running thro’ the entrance passage from court to gardens – the old china closet front (window frames unglazed) open, and the rain pouring in – one tremendous crash of thunder about 10 ½ just as I had finished changing my dress – then sat 1/2 hour with A- at my desk at 11 10 still raining but not heavily – coping out business letters and considering letter to be written respecting the Infant Graham’s money till went down to Mr. Charles Priestley at 1 50, and he staid till 5 ¼ - § vide next page  sent for Mr. Charles P- to sound him about taking the Northgate hotel – began about the tap – would it be in his way? – should I let it or not? – mentioned what had passed with Thomas G- on the subject – yes! CP. would take it – but could not give me much for it – one thing led to another – the tap would be worth more it to sell both ale and spirits – and he said something about giving £60 a year for it – I fancy but am not certain, spirits might not be included in the sale at this rent? However I might tell the tenant whoever he might be he (CP) would take the tap, and give the utmost it was worth – I wish, said I, you would take tap and hotel too – this led to a long conversation much to the point and partly desultory – the hotel would be a very serious undertaking – would require a great deal of capital – the landlord of the Barnby moor Inn on the London rood had on retiring got £24000 for his stock in trade furniture and wines and farm stock (£8000 for the farm £16000 for the house and cellars) – I said the capital required for the Northgate hotel would not be so great as was supposed - £3000 (allowing £500 for wines) would suffice for the beginning – said I would myself advance capital towards furnishing – would CP. take the hotel in that case – still he declined it – I then turned to the 2 letters (applications) saying I particularly wished to consult him (CP.) on the application from Liverpool – the one from London was read 1st, and CP. thought this much the most business like and valuable – he spoke so knowingly, it was evident he had been making inquiries previously on the subject (no doubt he applied for the George Inn – when I said what its tap let for £100 a year) he gave no particular answer; but I saw from his look he knew the rent whatever it might be) – we talked over Mr. Carrs’ proposal – said I must try to gain time – I must try to get the coaches but put off their being given up to me as long as I can – it was not the passengers but the mileage (horses) that was the object – it was a poor coach that did not make £100 (a hundred) a year – Innkeepers got cent per cent on wine – talked over CP.’s brewery – answering very well – brews 6 loads i.e. 6x14 bushels? = 84 bushels per week – could do more business if he had capital – but has laid by something every ½ year and is contented to get on by [degrees]   pays two hundred a year rent for his brewery his expense rent, delivery, labour and materials = £1800 a year – lives for next to nothing – his wife rheumatic since they came here, but always

SH:7/ML/E/20/0110

contrives to look after her house – 8 children – I congratulated him on doing well hoped the brewery would eventually pay better than the glass house and he seemed to hope and think it would – he seemed in very good spirits and said perhaps all was for the best – I said it was generally thought his failure bankruptcy did no discredit to his creditors than to himself – Mr. Price the York country joint stock banker seems to have behaved very ill, as I had understood from Mr Harper – but CP. appears to think he (Mr. Price)will not gain so much by it as was supposed – the concern is falling off in some respects – mention of Mr. Henry Priestley he was bound with CP. for five thousand pounds but CP. had paid and ought to have had by this time a balance of a few thousands – the 64ft. fall of water in Crag valley had been sold for £3500 – Mr. Rawson had offered at £700 for it – after higgling and trying to take advantage – some man had offered a mere acknowledgments of a few shillings a year and Mr. R- seeing a sort of beginning for taking the water offered by little and little having 1st tried to get the 1st refusal (as he did for my coal) this let poor HP. into the idea that the fall was of some value – he had it valued and it was sold at the above named just before his death or funeral I forget which – Mr. Edwards and his son Charles executors and trustees – consulted CP. about what answers should be sent and by whom to the applicants – his advice excellent and ready – took – wrote rough copy of 2 letters (to London and Liverpool) according to his dictation – and, with a little shorting and correction of style, wrote the former and sent it last night – the Liverpool letter I think of turning over to Mr. Parker – on the subject of farming and hay, CP. said I should mind that mine was put together in proper order; for at 13/. per DW. mowing making and carting and stacking the man who took it could not make his own of it – I said yes! he could – I should always mow early – have all done by 13 July in the fine long-day season, and my new hay-barn was very conveniently situated – besides the man was one of my tenants who lived within sight of his job – Mawson – mentioned his having the Stump X Inn – his rent and the 5p.c. additional to pay for the new building which would make his rent £140 per annum – took CP. into the west tower to shew him where all the wet had come from – (thro’ the open roof of the red room passage) and asked him to look at the new brew house – the copper he said should be a yard higher, and the [?] lower down – the proper temperature of the water before putting in the malt and mashing, should be 168° to 171° this very nearly indicated by the commonly used sign of seeing one’s face in the water as in a mirror – i.e. the steam being so abated as to allow one to see ones self –

SH:7/ML/E/20/0109

then had Booth Firth junior, [Culpan] brick-layer of the garden walls, and Parkinson – and afterwards Mawson and then Riley for Hilltop and busy settling with them till 7 – after banking hours – no money except gold by me for small bills – wrote and sent by Booth note to ‘Mr. McKean Yorkshire District Bank Halifax’ saying I should be much obliged to pay Mr. David Booth the bearer and my clerk of the works the enclosed check for £134.2.6 being one hundred in a/c for himself and ten pounds in a/c for Culpan garden walls, and the rest as by bills for Parkinson for work done at Shibden hall – top terrace walls – paving thro’ the barn (taking up and resetting) and the carriage court cistern arches – DB. had given Mr. Harper his accounts up to midsummer andat that time £333 the balance against me – gave Firth a check = £130 and Mawson for £67.18.0 as by SW.’s measurement for the Lodge road stoning and draining and Haybarn road thro’ the wood forming and draining and platform sods taking off and walling on the embankment in front of the house – (above 1200 yards super of sods at 2 ½d.) – A- returned between 6 and 7 – at 7 altered the style and curtailed the letter suggested by CP. to the London applicant for the hotel read it to A- and Mr. Gray (had the latter into my study) and sent the letter off by Frank tonight to ‘Mr. J. Hodgson, 69 Quadrant, Piccadilly, London’ – the hotel new and not quite finished – I am in treaty for nine old established coaches – not only a good opening for wine and spirit trade but the best cellars for the purpose (built expressively for the purpose) form part of the building – the success of the undertaking depends upon the capital at command and the exertion of the individual – the hotel has every modern convenience in superior style, and a casino, a splendid room, capable of dining 300 persons – no yet able to fix the rent but will do it as well as I can for the encouragement of the tenant – many advantages that can only be explained and understood upon the spot – dinner at 7 40 – coffee – skimmed over the newspaper – A- and I came upstairs at 10 ¼ - I sleepy lay on my bed in the blue room 20 minutes till A- came to say she was ready for bed – then undressed and sat undressed in my study from about 11 to 11 ¾ writing all but the 1st 11 lines of today and tidying my desk of bills etc fair before noon (very heavy rain (vid. line 4) from 10 am and thunder and lightning F56 ½° at 11 ¼ pm – note from Mr. Parker about one pm? while Mr. CP was with me enclosing Mr. Carr’s proposal respecting selling me his furniture coaches etc

[alvaar-aldaviir]

First Bite (Vampire AU)

Based from this post. Because I can’t be trusted @ffxiv-writers.

Time Frame: Heavensward. No Spoilers. AU

Notes: A dumb vampire AU where the twins are older and dhampire’s. Vampires are the upper class and respected academics/mages in Sharlayan and so quite respected there, but wary mistrust everywhere else. Dhampire’s do not need blood to survive, but to replenish their magic. Everything else in the story is the same, more of an exploratory ‘what if’ because we ALL know vampires are kinda hot and I have no self control.

Just a self-indulgent bit of writing for that first bite scenario, after a heated battle against the Dravanians in early HW.

Cross posted to Ao3.

   -

“You going to be alright?” Alvaar asked softly, studying the Arcanist still slumped against the side of the bed closer to the fire. He’d done his best to patch the larger holes torn into the long-abandoned cabin in the Coerthas Western Highlands, but even then the blizzard raging outside still blew frigid air through.

He wasn’t overly surprised when he only got a mute nod from the pale Elezen. Alphinaud hadn’t spoken much since he’d collapsed in the snows after a fourth abrupt bout with the Dravanian Horde during their scouting mission. With a barely breathing dhampire in his arms, unfamiliar terrain, and a storm rolling in, Alvaar had been given little choice but to try and hole up somewhere to wait it out. Finishing tacking up one of his spare oil skins over one of the shattered windows for insulation, he hopped down off a chair and moved closer. Tossing a few more logs on the fire and tugging the tipped over long table a bit closer to help reflect more heat into the sheltered alcove he’d made from what surviving furniture remained. It wouldn’t be the most lavish of accommodations, but there was plenty of wood to keep them from freezing to death and they wouldn’t be buried under snow. That would be good enough to get them through.

“Jerky?” he offered, holding the wax paper bag he dug out of his pack in offer. “Otherwise I might have enough stuff on me to cook something,” he continued, finding a seat beside him on the floor.

Still buried under the thick blanket Alvaar had wrapped him up in earlier, Alphinaud shook his head slowly, gaze fixed on some far-off point through the floor.

“You should eat something Alphinaud. And don’t start with a ‘only the blood of the living’ crap I’ve seen you eat scones and tea,” Alvaar chided.

“I eat solid foods yes. But it would be a waste right now. I won’t keep it down,” he murmured.

That made the Bard still before ducking his head to study him with concern. “You sick? You said earlier it was magic depletion. That’s a rest and eat well situation Leveilleur. I can do a broth or something instead?”

Again, he shook his head, seeming a touch more annoyed but breathing out a slow sigh before he winced with discomfort. “I... I’m afraid I didn’t account for this much difficulty in our travels. And in light of recent days and troubles it has been difficult to acquire fresh stock...” he mumbled.

Staring at him for a long moment, Alvaar finally piped in with a flat, “You need blood.”

The dhampire’s ears twitched, a faint flush coloring his face as he ducked his head. “I... I’ll be fine. It will be difficult, but I can make it until we get back to Ishgard. The shipment Urianger was orchestrating must have arrived by now.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, Alvaar chewing on another bite of jerky as he mulled it over before washing it down with a swig from his canteen and slapping a hand to the floor.

“Well, people got to eat,” Alvaar offered with a much calmer tone than he really felt. “It’s just a bit of blood, right? Nothing fatal?”

Alphinaud blinked at him in surprise, the first proper look Alvaar had gotten of him and the red of his eyes was a stark shift from the deep blue he was familiar with. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show.

A few stunned moments ticked past before the Arcanist was nodding. “Y-Yes. I mean no, I mean... of course it’s nothing fatal I’m not savage,” he scoffed at last before his expression muted back out with a faint wince.

Alvaar studied him silently, noting the slightly hunched posture and the way the Elezen’s arms were wrapped at his stomach. He seemed almost sick from the Bards point of view, and in some manner he probably was. Alvaar was familiar with the feeling of starving after all, the gnawing almost sickening ache of an overly empty stomach...

“Then I’ll help,” he stated promptly. “Or donate, whatever you want to call it. What do you need me to do? Get a knife? Offer my neck? What?”

Staring at him in puzzled discomfort for a moment the Arcanist sighed heavily. “Nothing so dramatic... in fact I, well, I prefer drinking from a glass honestly that’s how I’ve consumed blood for years,” he mused aloud.

“... Holy shit do you just have fucking wine bottles of blood lying around in your fancy mansion in Sharlayan? Have you ever served it to a non-vampire?” Alvaar asked, tone purposely upbeat to keep them both distracted and given the nervously amused snort that escaped the pale Elezen it must have worked.

“In a fashion, yes I suppose so, and no. We’ve never mixed up the bottles. ... but a knife would be wasteful I think. It would also hurt more, and I would really rather... Just your arm please? If you’re certain...” he murmured, keeping his gaze lowered and obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Hey, what’s a little blood among friends hm? Sides, it’s better than the alternatives. I’d rather not see any problems today and, well starving sucks,” Alvaar murmured, holding his arm over after slipping it free from his coat and rolling up his sleeve.

The fingers that lightly gripped his wrist were eerily cold, enough to almost make the Bard flinch but he refrained given how guilty Alphinaud already seemed about the whole thing. And it wasn’t a big deal, it would be like a trip to the chirurgeons... just where needles were teeth... apparently...

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” the Arcanist murmured, thumb trailing along the inside of the Bards wrist almost like he was measuring something. Then he was drawing Alvaar’s arm up even as he lowered his head, mouth opening wide and-

‘Have his canines always been that long?’ Alvaar wondered with a start, watching in morbid fascination as elongated canines set to his skin and-

“Ah!” he hissed before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth and still stubbornly staying put by force of will at the burning pinpricks he felt in his arm. The pain only doubled when the Arcanist jerked away abruptly at the sound.

“Sorry! Twelve above, sorry Alvaar I-” he apologized immediately.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reflex. Do what you gotta kid,” Alvaar cut in, lifting his arm a bit for emphasis. “Rude to waste food, right?” he joked.

The glower he got in return made him grin even as his heart was thumping instinctively with fear.

“I meant sorry because I haven’t done this in some time and I’ve sort of forgotten the steps...” the Arcanist grumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment on his face. “Just... don’t judge, it’ll help.”

Alvaar had been about to question it before falling silent at the wet heat of a tongue lapping over the wound. He winced again on reflex, but the sting was already fading to leave only the pleasant warmth of the man’s mouth against his skin.

“Oh... that’s, neat?” he murmured, still morbidly entranced by the whole situation.

Alphinaud made a soft sound, more to let him know he’d heard him than for anything else. Darker eyes flicked to the Bard pointedly as he lifted his head slightly. “Better?”

“Yea. It’s fine.”

“Good. ... Could you... oh, never mind,” he huffed.

“Could I what?” he pressed.

“I was going to ask if you could look away but somehow, I doubt you would,” Alphinaud mumbled sheepishly.

Blinking at him in confusion, the Bard snorted when it clicked. “Don’t bite people much huh?”

It earned a flat scowl. “Not particularly. Were things not so dire I would prefer to just weather it out but... with all of the fighting since we arrived, I’ve depleted my aether reserves. Even half vampires still have slower aetheric recuperation than most every other creature-”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating but maybe explain it once you’re done?” Alvaar cut in pointedly. “Honestly, I think it’s more surprising you’re not just fixated on my blood.”

“I am,” Alphinaud shot back a bit sharper than he meant and quickly looking away. “... It just... helps. To think about other things and not the fact I’m starving. Wouldn’t you pace yourself so you don’t make yourself sick?”

“... Would you get sick?” Alvaar returned, tilting his head a bit in puzzlement.

“I... no, but what could happen would be worse and I would rather it not happen.”

“Lose control you mean,” the Bard continued flatly, taking the faint flush on the other Elezen’s face as a yes. “Listen I won’t hesitate to punch you in the fucking face if you start gnawing up my arm. This buffet ain’t open and it ain’t free.”

“You say while insisting I hurry up and drink...” Alphinaud returned drily.

“And you should before my senses come back to me and I change my mind. That’s my draw arm I’m offering and it’s going to be a pain in the ass firing while injured.”

“You won’t be injured,” the Arcanist returned promptly before setting his teeth back to Alvaar’s arm and this time he barely felt a thing. Well, he felt something distantly, like his arm was locally numb and he registered the pressure, but he could still clearly feel the softness of lips and tongue against his skin and-

It was a little unsettling how those smut novels were rather on point. It was sort of... sensual wasn’t it?

Looking off abruptly, the Bard resolved himself to not think about it. It was just to help a friend. A very annoying prat of a friend that also happened to be a half vampire or dhampire or... whatever it was. Certainly nothing to get this bothered over. Unless…

“... Wait, there isn’t some passive enchantment shit is there?” he asked, looking back at the snowy haired Elezen. Who wasn’t listening and seemed rather intent on the whole blood thing now...

Shite.

“Hey. There isn’t some mind control shit in all this right?” he asked again, louder and tapping Alphinaud’s shoulder as he tried not to panic.

Thankfully, it got his attention, pulling away with a parting lick and wavering sigh. “Beg pardon?” he asked, blue eyes back to normal but dark and vibrant and honestly if Alvaar needed to find words to describe the soft breathy way he spoke and look he was giving it would be something akin to ‘hour two of marathon sex.’ The urge to ask if he wanted a cigarette almost overrode any sense of propriety.

His question dropped off his mind as he noted the clarity of his own thoughts against the warm and almost sleepy look of the dhampire sitting next to him. If anyone here was charmed it wasn’t himself… And hadn’t Minfillia mentioned something about the Echo protecting his mind from outside intrusion in the past? … Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to be the one panicking here.

“You okay?” he asked carefully after shaking himself free from the thoughts.

“Fine. Perfectly fine,” Alphinaud replied, finally seeming to settle fully into the present and glancing down to where his fingers were still curled around the Bards wrist before lowering a hand to his tome. The healing spell was faint, but still as quiet and warm as the times before as it sealed the two pinpricks of blood before he let go and shifted away a few feet. “Thank you, um, yes, sorry for that and not to be rude but please stay over there for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Alvaar murmured slowly. “But you’re fine?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re not going to savage me...”

“Of course not.”

“So...?” Alvaar pressed after a few moments.

“.... What?” Alphinaud asked, giving him a wary look.

“I don’t get a critique on the vintage?” he joked.

 “Alvaar don’t ask that...”

“Why not?”

“Because I really don’t enjoy hurting people contrary to public opinion of my kind and it’s a little hard to remember it when you taste that good,” he returned flatly before pausing, another faint flush coloring his face before he was hugging his knees to his chest in a sulk.

“.... You know I thought I would be... So, is it more like trying to pin down a liquid flavor or a solid flavor?” Alvaar continued anyway.

“We are not having this conversation Aldaviir.”

“I see how it is. Here I am, putting myself out on the line and-”

“Alvaar.” It’s said firmly but there was a touch of anxiety underneath, a note the Bard doesn’t miss in part because it’s reflected in the nervous gaze he’s getting. The glitter of ocean blue over the top of his knees where he’s still hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs and making himself as small as possible.

It’s not the first time he notices how naive and inexperienced the dhampire can be, but it is the first time he thinks perhaps the Arcanist may be more concerned over what makes him different than Alvaar ever was.

He blinks, meeting that worried gaze for a long moment before glancing away to study the fire instead. “You’re right, I shouldn’t tease you. I’m sorry that was out of line.” The quiet crackles of the fire and howling winds outside are the only thing to fill the minutes of silence that stretch between them.

“... How do you make jokes about it?”

The whispered question almost doesn’t reach Alvaar’s ears, but it does and he gives the Arcanist a puzzled look anyway.

“The people of Eorzea... They fear my kind. They only begrudgingly accepted any help from my Grandfather because the situation was so desperate, and they didn’t know what he was. Surely they might suspect it but they would never ask. The only ones here aside from the Scions that know what I am is you...” he murmured, carrying on when Alvaar remained quiet. “When my sister and I first arrived, we came across a caravan being overrun by bandits. The situation was so bleak, and the night was so dark, we had little choice but to use our powers to help them.”

Voice trailing off, the Arcanist buried himself a bit further into the blanket he’d been given. “They screamed. They called us monsters. When everything was over, they tried to kill us too. Alisaie said she wasn’t surprised. The ignorance of Eorzeans has always been a problem she said. But... I started to understand why.

“We don’t think of it much in Sharlayan, where vampires are accepted parts of society. Mortals donate blood freely and it’s preserved and kept openly. Many of the great advancements in aetherology have been made with mortal and vampire scholars working together. There’s no reason to be afraid of vampires because it’s taught to us from the day we’re born not to hurt others. Why would we have to take what’s freely given? We give back our achievements and research freely in exchange. We fight and work together. It’s a cardinal sin to turn someone into a vampire, or to willfully harm someone. Punishable by death or exile at the very least, a sentence that may as well mean death. But the people of Eorzea don’t see that. They only see us as monsters... as something approaching voidsent... So why don’t you? Why aren’t you afraid?”

Studying him quietly for a moment Alvaar pushed himself closer. Pausing briefly when Alphinaud tensed before carefully looping an arm around the Arcanist’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Settling his cheek against soft white hair he blew out a faint sigh.

“You’re not a monster Alphi, you’re my friend. I made a promise to you and Tataru both when we fled to Coerthas. That I would keep you safe and protect you. I don’t make those sorts of promises to people I don’t trust and care about. What you are doesn’t change who you are right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a friend with some interesting dietary needs.”

Blinking at nothing in particular, the dhampire made a slight annoyed face Alvaar couldn’t see but could hear. “It’s vaguely insulting to hear you distill my troubles down to something so base.”

Alvaar gave a soft snort of amusement. “Sorry. Not my intent. It’s just... not a big deal to me personally Alphi. The world at large has its reasons, and I’ll admit I was wary at first but we’re really not that different. Sides, whatever you took I feel fine so it doesn’t seem that big a deal to me.”

“Your blood is... unusually aether rich,” Alphinaud commented after a moment. “It wouldn’t take very much.”

“No shit? Well, I barely cast magic anyway, so I guess that’s fortunate for next time,” Alvaar returned easily.

“Next time?” The incredulous look on the Arcanist’s face had the Bard trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“Yea next time. There always ends up being a next time for this sort of stuff. Gods, read a book Leveilleur,” Alvaar joked, pulling away enough to steal part of the blanket and readjust it over both their shoulders.

“What sort of books are you reading where there’s an invariable need to take blood from someone ‘next time?’” he persisted, frowning as he was once again pulled into the Bard’s side.

Ruffling fluffy white strands absently, Alvaar stretched out a bit, crossing one boot over the other and settling back against the broken bed frame. Leaning his cheek against Alphinaud’s head, he gave a faint squeeze of the arm around him. “Come on, quit fussing and get some sleep.”

“That’s not you answering my question Alvaar,” he complained.

“I have my sources. Now hush, we should get some sleep while we can.”

The Arcanist blew out an irritated breath but didn’t argue it further. Though he did make a reasonable effort by the way he shifted and the several bothered huffs he made as he got comfortable of letting Alvaar know he was beyond annoyed. It just made the Bard chuckle in amusement, again ruffling soft strands gently before closing his eyes and slipping into the easy light sleep that was waiting to claim him faster than usual.

It made him miss when the Arcanist finally eased into his side, shifting a bit closer into the Bard’s warmth before falling into a quiet sleep himself.