#like velvet to match the gloves more

[moonstruckdraws]

okay- yeah- okok look- yes- alright- okaaaay @hellishgayliath

This. This is my favorite outfit.

I figured I wouldn't be able to make the dress look like the flower & then I stumbled upon a dress that had a rose on the hip with fabrics flowing out of it. Then it hit me & I made this draft

I love how the band & top of it kinda looks like petals & the heavy and light materials over the actual dress!!

I do think it might be too light? like I could've made the colors deeper, but i color dropped from the flower so. I was also going to make the gloves white, but the darker color fits more, I think so.

It's giving prom dress to me which I'm not entirely sure if I like or not. But I still think it's my favorite.

[gurugirl]

Dress up

sugardaddy!harry x yn | An extra for The Arrangement

Summary: Y/n dresses up in diamonds and jewels and thinks she looks sexy so she secretly makes a solo video of herself. But then she goes out on a limb and sends the video to Harry while he's working.

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've given you an update for these two! This was requested! Here

Word Count: 4,548

Warning: 18+ only, smut, use of toys, spanking, sharing of a solo sex tape

The Arrangement Masterlist

. .

Y/n remembers a time when she’d wear clothes that were slightly unkempt. Clean but perhaps maybe a little wrinkled. Shirt hems and collars would be folded funny, buttons misaligned, sweaters and dresses not fitted properly…

Back then she relied on the drier to de-wrinkle her clothes. Nowadays a professional service delivered her freshly cleaned and pressed items to her door. All of which were tailored to fit her perfectly.

So it wasn’t unusual for Y/n to play dress up with herself when Harry was away at the office and she was at home alone. She enjoyed having such nice clothes and things filling her closet. It’s something she never had before.

She’d layer on a silk Chanel dress with her Ferragamo belt, a Hermes scarf, and the expensive custom disk hat with silk roses Harry bought her when they went to the Kentucky Derby. She’d watch herself in the long floor-length mirror and practice walking like a woman who owned the kind of clothes she was wearing.

But sometimes she focused on the jewelry. The pretty shiny rocks and jewels, delicately woven precious metal bands and chains… Harry had bought her more jewelry than she’d ever seen in her life. Diamonds, gold, platinum, rubies, emeralds, pearls, silver… Rings, watches, brooches, necklaces, anklets, earrings, belts, and bracelets. You name it.

And on this particular evening, Harry was at a dinner meeting that was going to run late. She’d bathed and put on her perfumed moisturizing balm and then walked naked into her massive walk-in closet where she opened up her lingerie drawer and spotted the elbow-length velvet opera gloves. She’d only ever worn them once but she remembers the way they felt on her arms and how luxurious it made her feel.

Watching herself in her mirror she slid each glove up her arms and posed, raising her arms over her head to lift her tits and make her tummy appear more svelte.

She grinned as she turned and then she had a sudden idea. Opening up her jewelry armoire she was presented with shiny, sparkly bobbles and jewels.

“Siri… shuffle music by Sara Vaughan to the master bedroom speakers.”

When the jazzy slow music began to play she traced her gloved fingers over the diamond necklace she often wished she could wear every day. It was littered in diamonds, the drop cutting down to just above her cleavage. Lifting it up she placed it gently over her head and laid it over her bust. It was spectacular. Heavy and twinkly and chilled on her skin. She smoothed her hands down her body and stared at her figure in the mirror wearing nothing but gloves and the ridiculously expensive necklace Harry had bought her.

Which then gave her the idea to add on the pretty rainbow jewel body belt. The thin chain was loaded with various colored diamonds, emeralds, rubies, topaz… The end of the chain draped down her back, laying just over her bum with a pretty pearl at the end. Then she put on the drop diamond earrings that matched the necklace. The bottom diamond was so big it nearly reached her shoulder when she shrugged.

She layered pearls and opals and her diamond bracelets over her gloved wrists and then slid on her black high heels, doing a dramatic twirl and bending to see her backside with a giggle.

She swayed her hips to the sexy music crooning through the speakers and then grinned at herself in the mirror, “Look how pretty… Daddy would love this.”

Feeling her naked skin under her gloves was a dream. The way the velvet ran smoothly over her flesh felt sexy and the more jewelry she layered on the prettier she felt. All sparkly and fancy with soft skin and perked nipples.

Sitting her video camera on its stand next to the mirror she hit record and began dancing slowly with herself, all decked out in diamonds. Running her hands over her curves and up to her tits she bit her lip and looked at the camera, “There isn’t anyone that wouldn’t want to have this…” She spun around and laughed to herself before bending at the waist and spreading her thighs just enough that the camera could catch the view of her pussy from behind.

Peeking over her shoulder she stared into the lens and drew a hand down her back and over her bottom before swatting a cheek and moaning softly, “Not so bad with the glove,” she spoke aloud as she lowered her fingers until she could feel the velvet sliding over her pussy, back and forth.

Humming she looked at herself in the mirror and then pressed her finger over her other tight hole, “Needs a little sparkle, doesn’t it?”

She stood up and pulled open her toy drawer to select the plug of the night. It was an easy choice. The anal plug with diamonds. Real diamonds. Another thing she didn’t often wear because it was the least practical of her plugs. But it was pretty.

Stepping back up to the camera she held the plug up and drizzled lube over the tip then repeated the words of the song Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets…

Bending at the waist, ass aimed toward the camera she took her left hand and pulled at her cheek as she began to push the plug into her hole with her right hand. Y/n had become quite the expert at putting in her own plugs. She was used to it now. Even though Harry always told her to not do it when he wasn’t present, she often did it anyway. They had fun with it every time he found out she disobeyed him (but she knew he secretly loved it).

“Oh!” She squeaked when the cool metal fit into place and stretched her out. “Feels so good…” she swayed her hips as she spread her ass cheeks for the camera and hummed to the music.

Turning around to face the camera she tutted at herself, “Beautiful… So sparkly. Think I deserve a treat,” she grinned at her reflection and brushed her hand down her torso to her hips, and raised the other arm over her head as she toyed with her clit and gasped.

Of course, she was putting on a little show. Something to watch later on in private. She’d gotten in the habit of making little videos of herself dancing naked or masturbating. Or just talking about nothing really. She’d started to feel so confident and happy with herself thanks to Harry. And the videos were her naughty little secret. Sometimes, with the extra sexy ones, she’d even touch herself as she rewatched them later on, loving the way she looked.

This time was no different. She was stunning with sparkly jewels and velvet gloves. Long stretched of bare skin, breasts bouncing as she swayed and twirled.

Reaching for her breasts she squished them together with a moan and then jiggled them at the camera before swiping her thumb over each nipple, “Get those nice and hard. We know how much I like hard things don’t we?” She laughed to herself.

Reaching into her toy drawer she found her tiny pink vibrator and turned it on, “Gonna feel so good,” she ran the small toy down the center of her body, between her breasts, over her belly button, and then circled it over her pussy with a sharp inhale.

Moving to the music she kept her eyes on the camera and continued pressing the toy against her clit, “Oh… I’m getting so wet.”

Her breathing picked up and her nipples tightened more, goosebumps covered her skin as she felt the yummy sensation of arousal fill her veins.

“Mmm… I do it so well. Always get myself off. Don’t need Daddy every time, do we?” She chuckled and then gasped when she pressed the toy harder against her bud.

“So wet already. Such a dirty, horny girl…” she bit her lip and turned off the pink toy before placing it on the counter and running her velvet-covered fingers up and down her swollen, wet pussy, “So messy… mmm… Gonna get in so much trouble doing this. I think Daddy’s gonna have to spank me.”

The more she stroked her pearl the wetter her gloves got. She clenched her empty hole and moaned, “Need more. Like all my holes stuffed,” she spoke breathily as she peeked into her drawer and pulled out her clear silicone dildo. The extra long one that was ridged thickly and made her come so fast. She needed to get on with the show. Harry would be coming back soon.

Pulling her soft chair in front of the mirror and the camera she gently sat and cooed at the feel of the plug shifting under her bum, “Oop! Fuck that’s feeling really good.”

Y/n lifted her legs, planting her heeled feet on the seat cushion and spreading her thighs so there was an excellent view of her plug and her pussy.

“I’ve gotten myself all wet,” she drew a finger over her inner thigh and licked at the velvet-gloved finger, “Mm! I know why Daddy says it tastes so good. So yummy,” she sighed as she spread her legs wider and placed the dildo against her pussy lips, running it through her slippery folds before finally pushing it in slowly.

She parted her lips and stared into the camera as she began to work the silicone toy in and out until she could push it in deep and it pressed into the shared wall where her anal plug was. The toy tucked in her ass bobbed every time she thrust the dildo in deep and she moaned at the sight, “Oh my god… that’s so hot isn’t it? Look at how both holes take everything I give them so well.”

Fucking herself with the dildo and rubbing her clit with her gloves she stretched her neck back and whined loudly.

The slick sound of her cunt around the silicone toy filled the spaces between the notes and the music playing, just loud enough for the camera to pick up the sound. Going in faster she lulled her head forward to keep her eyes on the camera but she was in a bit of a daze. She always tried to keep her eyes open for the camera when she came because that was her favorite.

“Good girl, baby… Taking your toys so good. Fucking look like a goddess right now. Oh shit… that’s it… doing it so good…”

Her chest was rising and falling and she heard the chime of an incoming text, which she was sure was Harry, “Daddy’s trying to reach me,” she laughed playfully, “But his little girl is busy fucking herself, isn’t that right?”

It wasn’t long before she was shaking and her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her velvet gloves were ruined with her arousal as she fingered her swollen clit and clamped down on the dildo and the plug with a soft cry, “Oh god! Right there… Fuck…”

Her orgasm had wiped her out. She tried keeping her eyes on the camera but her whole head was swirling with pleasure and lust as she trembled and moaned, creaming all over her dildo.

She heaved and pulled the toy out, dropping it to the floor, and leaned back into the cushion to recover for a moment, “So good. You always do it right. Even better than Daddy sometimes,” she snorted a laugh and sat up to look at the camera teasingly before wobbly legs took her across the space to turn off the recording on her camera.

.             .             .

Y/n had watched her newest home video at least four times. And she was so turned on every time she watched it, she’d make herself come in record time, rubbing her clit and feeling so proud of how pretty she looked and how brave she’d become since she’d been with Harry.

And the recent video with all the jewels was her best work yet. She really loved it. So much so that she was thinking about sharing it with Harry. She wondered what he’d think about it. She was positive he’d just go nuts over it like she did. He’d act all upset and stoic. Probably give her a good spanking (at least) but she knew he’d adore it.

So, in a moment of sheer insanity or bravery (she wasn’t sure which) she tucked her top row of teeth into her bottom lip, attached the video to a text message for Harry, and squealed when she hit send. She couldn’t believe she’d sent it. All of her solo videos had been her little secret all this time but now she was bringing Harry into the mix by showing him.

It was 2 pm on a Wednesday. He was at the office and probably just getting out of his most recent meeting. And she knew he’d see it shortly after she sent it.

She kept her eye on the screen of her phone, waiting for the message to say ‘read’. It only took a few minutes. She giggled to herself as she snuggled into the couch with her laptop and watched the video, trying to time it so that she was watching it at the same time he was. Wondering what he was thinking with every minute that drew on.

Her heart was racing in anticipation of his response. She knew she’d be in for a bit of punishment but she didn’t know exactly what to expect from it.

But then minute after minute drew on. The video had ended and there was no word from Harry. No bobbing dots to indicate he was texting. No phone call. Nada.

She felt heat creep over her skin as she thought about all the ways Harry would teach her a lesson. Y/n knew Harry was making a plan. Surely he was devising some kind of punishment for her misbehavior. She couldn’t wait.

Less than an hour later Harry was walking through the front door. Y/n peeked over the back of the couch toward the foyer entry and she saw him pass through but he didn’t look in her direction. He breezed by cooly and went into the kitchen.

Y/n scrambled off the couch to follow after him. He was pouring a glass of water for himself silently when she rounded the island and put her hands on his shoulders, “Hi, Daddy.”

He grunted and moved away, making her hands fall from his back as he put the water pitcher back into the fridge before taking a long gulp of his water.

Waiting silently for him to award her a glance she watched her man place the empty glass into the sink as he sighed, placing his palms flat onto the marble countertop, “So you think you can take care of yourself better than I can? Is that right?”

She knew that line would stick out to him.

“I was just teasing. You know no one does it better than you, Da–“

“And you disobeyed me. Looked like you were having the time of your life, Y/n. Did you enjoy wearing all the expensive jewelry I bought you? Enjoyed getting yourself off while I was working hard to keep a roof over your head?” He turned and looked at her. Stern and serious.

Now she knew he was being dramatic. The whole keep-a-roof-over-your-head comment was a bit silly. Harry could retire right then if he wanted to.

“I did enjoy it, actually,” she quipped back before biting her lip.

“Well now at least you’re being honest with me. When did you make the video? Was this today?”

Shaking her head she leaned into the counter, “A week ago.”

He nodded slowly, his green eyes trailing down over her body. She was only wearing one of his t-shirts.

“And what were you up to today that compelled you to send me this one-week-old video?”

 She gulped, “Nothing really. Um… I just wanted to share it with you because I liked it. Thought you’d like it to.” She said blinking her eyes innocently at him.

Harry sniffed, “It was very pretty to look at. But you went against my explicit rules. Does Daddy not give you enough orgasms every day? Every morning and every night I work to keep you satisfied. Are you so desperate for an orgasm that you can’t wait a few hours until I get home?”

She breathed shallowly and looked down, “I just sometimes like to do it myself. And I felt so pretty.”

Y/n felt Harry’s touch on her arm, “Come.”

She followed him upstairs to her closet where he opened up her drawers until he found her toys and then her gloves and opened up the jewelry armoire.

“Put everything on that you had in the video. Meet me in the bedroom when you’re ready.”

Y/n felt her nerves bubble as she put everything on. The jewels, the gloves, the plug, and her heels. She sighed as she gave herself a once over in the mirror before stepping out into the bedroom where Harry was seated at the end of the bed facing the TV. Her video on the large screen paused at the beginning. He had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, ready to get to work.

“C’mere,” he patted his lap. He kept his eyes focused on her body as she neared him and placed her hand on his shoulder to sit down but he pulled her over his thighs, tummy down, and ass up where he gave her a very swift smack and then massaged at the meat of her bum, pulling her plushy cheeks apart and tapped her plug, “Good. Looks like we’re all set.”

Her head was hanging down and the weight of the necklace was especially heavy in her new position, the earrings pulling at her lobes as she rocked over him to stabilize herself. She imagined she was going to need to hang on to something.

“Watch with me. Lift your head. Let’s see this dirty little video my spoiled girl made.”

She scoured the screen with her eyes, her body in view and the jewels glinting off the light from above her. Y/n had to strain to keep her head up. She leveraged herself up with her hand on the bed next to Harry’s thigh.

She had seen the video enough times that she had the whole thing nearly memorized. The music, the moment she bends and shows the camera her plug, the lines she spoke…

Harry spanked her ass, two stinging open palmed swats to each side and she winced at the pain and gasped as she slid down, losing her balance when she kicked a leg up.

“Stay still for me and keep watching,” he spoke gruffly as he grasped the front of her neck and tilted her head back up so she could watch with him.

Gulping into his palm she arched her back when he spanked her bottom again, “Look at how pretty you are in my lap, baby,” he ran his hand down her spine to the little jeweled belt where the pearl hung at the top of her crack, “All these expensive things on your body, ass up for me,” he twisted the plug, “Pussy wet.”

She moaned when he ran his fingers between her crease and pressed his middle finger inside of her cunt before pulling it out and wiping it on the back of her thigh, where he then gave her another smack.

“Who bought all this for you, baby? Hmm? Who made this whole thing possible?”

“You, Daddy!” She didn’t hesitate to answer him.

“That’s right. This video wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me. This pussy wouldn’t be wet if it weren’t for me.”

She nodded against his palm and moaned when his fingers circled her clit.

“Always my desperate, needy little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasped when he pinched her bud and she wiggled her hips but he gripped her neck tighter, “Don’t wiggle. You got yourself into this mess. These are the consequences.”

She squeezed her eyes closed as he swatted her again before he continued speaking, leaning down to groan into her ear, “Do you know how hard I got the moment I opened up that video at work? Walking down the hall to my office I had to hide my boner and click the volume off.”

She felt him pinch at her inner thigh, giving her clit a moment of respite from his fingers, “Had to calm myself down and lock the door. But then I finished watching your little video and I had to excuse myself to leave work early. Do you know how disruptive that was?”

She grunted as he pressed over her plug, “Right now, I’m supposed to be in a meeting with a potential investor. This was a big deal, Y/n. But I physically wasn’t able to stay at the office for a moment longer, and it’s your fault. Every time I thought about the way you came with your legs spread and this little plug flicking around from the dildo you were fucking yourself with… had to calm my cock. Was gonna burst in my pants.”

His fingers slid back into her cunt, two this time as he pumped into her walls and continued gripping her neck, “Look.”

She shifted her eyes to the screen and her voice filtered through the room, her gasps and moans as she began to come. And just as he described, her little plug was twitching in time with the way she was pressing the dildo into her cunt. It was a pretty sight.

She moaned when he kissed the back of her ear, “Fucking gorgeous when you come, baby. But this video? S’like a work of art. But you were still naughty. Didn’t get permission to do any of that did you?”

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

His fingers were filling her up and squelching with every thrust, “You look so proud of yourself too. So confident. Like a big girl playing dress up with Daddy’s things. And if my cock weren’t throbbing right now I’d really teach you a lesson but I need to come inside of this little pussy. Been aching for it.”

She felt his legs shift and her body was moved, heels on the floor as he steadied her hips before he stood up and began to undo his pants, “Bend over the bed, spread your legs.”

She wanted to watch him pull his cock out. Wanted to see how hard he was but she knew better than to hesitate. She laid herself tummy down on the mattress and spread her thighs apart.

One of his hands was on her hip, lifting her slightly when she felt his thick cock drag against her pussy and then his chest was pressed into her back, “No one does it better than, Daddy.”

The moment he finished his sentence, lips against the shell of her ear, he slammed his cock inside of her. He took both of her hands in his, the velvet gloves keeping her from feeling his palms, as he pulled her arms behind her back and took both wrists in one big hand as he continued rocking into her.

She felt a sharp smack on her ass again and he grunted, thighs flexing as he worked into her. Her shoulders burned as he kept her arms held down at the middle of her back, one hand groping her ass cheek.

The view he had was gorgeous as always. Her plug pushed and pulled with every thrust of Harry’s cock and he could feel the press of it gliding over his cock through her tight warm walls.

The necklace was digging into her chest but she welcomed the way it felt on her skin as well as the burn of another swat to her bum because her body was giving itself over to him.

“My spoiled girl just keeps getting whatever she wants. Even when she’s naughty she gets all these pretty things; gets Daddy’s cock inside of her, gets all the orgasms she can handle. Guess you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you, baby?”

“Umph!” She croaked, her cheek smushed into the comforter, letting go of her ass as he leaned over, palm on the mattress, and drove into her with the kind of force she loved. It felt so much better than anything she could do to herself with her meager dildo. Harry’s cock was exactly what she needed.

“Yeah? Didn’t hear you make that noise in your little video.” He buried himself in, bullying another lewd sound from her throat as his hips rutted against her ass.

“Can’t help those pretty little noises can you? Daddy’s cock will always feel better won’t it?”

She was jolted forward, her mouth open with drool pooling over the blankets, “No… your cock… aoohha!”

Harry grinned at her inability to answer properly as he continued pounding into her, still holding her wrists together at her mid-back.

“Squeezing the fuck out of me baby. There you go… fuck…”

Y/n’s orgasm wiped her body out. The way the plug was stretching her out and Harry’s big cock was slamming into her guts she couldn’t hold on for a second longer.

She heard Harry panting between grunts and then felt both of his hands on her ass as he pressed in deep and unloaded himself, filling her insides with his come.

“My pretty baby. Love seeing you dripping in diamonds and all fucked out of your mind. Does it make you feel good baby? Wearing all these expensive things?”

He had his chest pressed into her back as he spoke quietly into her ear, hips pasted to her ass.

“I love it. It’s so nice, Daddy.”

He moved off of her, reaching an arm under her waist to pull her up to standing, and turned her in her arms, “Look at this,” bringing her gloved hands into his, he lifted them upward, “Ruined. Need to buy you new gloves it appears.”

She realized the cleaning job she’d done on them after making the video had been shoddy at best and now the tips of the fingers were steaky and lighter than the rest of the material, “Maybe dry cleaning?”

Harry pursed his lips as he began to take off her bracelets, unhooking each clasp, “Maybe. Not sure these can be salvaged, though.”

When he pulled her gloves off he reached around her neck to undo the necklace and then her jeweled belt before running his hands up and down her arms, “Gorgeous with or without all the diamonds,” he smirked.

“I like the diamonds, though. Fun to play dress up.”

He raised a brow and brought her left hand up to his mouth pressing his plush lips over her ring finger, “Thinking about what you’d look like with a pretty diamond right here.”

Y/n parted her lips and kept her gaze locked on Harry’s, “Like a… ring?”

Harry laughed at her shocked expression and pushed his fingers between hers as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, “Yeah. Like a ring.”

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances [2]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A massive thank you to the amazing @midgardian-witch for being the best and proofreading this nonsense and another huge thank you to the wonderful @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, choking, biting, hand job, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is getting his ass handed to him), swearing, Blue crying, p in v sex (Blue fucks another dancer at the beginning), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer.

Word Count: 2679

Rouged Lips in the Gaslight

Trixie was bent over the arm of the velvet sofa in Blue’s office, sharing its colour with the name of its owner. 

He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress himself or her. Just hiking up her short skirt (the same one she had been wearing for her routine half an hour ago) and pushing her underwear to the side while he unzipped his fly. 

She felt good, she always did. Warm, tight, and the sounds she was making alone, enough to make a porn star blush, should have been doing it for Blue. 

But they weren’t. And it was the fucking seventh time in barely two days. 

Every time he tried to get off it just didn’t work. He’d tried all the classics, combinations of his personal favourites, different dancers, different positions, different times of day, anything he could think of. 

He got hard, sure. Hell, that was the problem to begin with, he was horny. Fucking desperate to come. It just never happened. 

“Blue, fuck, please!” Trixie’s moans increased, getting louder as she neared her high. 

He picked up his pace, thrusting harder, tightening his grip on her hips and slamming her back to meet his; trying to satisfy that itch that just would not be scratched. 

He snarled, closed his eyes, and -  you with one hand on his throat and the other wrapped around his dick squeezing as you bit his lip until it bled. His blood on your mouth as you kissed him possessively, laying claim to him as he came; ruining him for anyone else. 

Trixie screams as she comes, snapping Blue annoyingly back to reality. 

It feels good, the way her cunt squeezes and flutters. Usually, that would be more than enough to bring him to his peak, to make him pump her pretty pussy full of him. He just can’t get there. 

He sighs in frustration, sweat on his forehead as he pulls out and quickly stuffs his painfully hard cock back into his trousers. 

Trixie breathes hard, a little dazed and shaky as she stands. There’s a little frown of confusion on her face, any hope that she hadn’t noticed Blue’s lack of orgasm quickly dissolving. 

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. But it does. 

“Get the fuck out.” 

His voice is hard and cold and Trixie doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He sits on his desk when the door closes and runs his hands over his face. This was getting fucking ridiculous. He was Blue fucking Jones for god’s sake. He couldn’t let anyone, especially you, one of his dancers, his property, do this to him. 

He breathed out roughly and stood again, his mind made up. It was just a little blip, nothing more than that. He just needed to show you who was boss, bend you over and fuck you until you begged him to stop. That would fix all of this. 

.

You sigh loudly as you finally find the correct gloves. They’re a deep scarlet, the only remaining matching pair that goes with the outfits of the seven other backup dancers. When Gorski told you they were in the tiny storage closet on the upper levels you had to bite your tongue to stop the groan that had threatened to escape. 

The storage closet was a mess to put it politely, random junk just dumped in there when there was nowhere else to put it. It was only because Blue had wanted Song Bird to have eight backup dancers for the routine, when for the past three weeks it had been seven. 

The gloves are a little battered, but nothing that would be noticeable to the patrons of the club, not when you were up on the stage anyway. 

You catch your reflection in the full length mirror that is jammed a little haphazardly in the corner. For a second the gloves in your hand look like blood. 

You put away the things you pulled out as best you can, not such an easy task in the mayhem mess, and turn to the door. 

Your hand barely grazes the cool metal of the handle before it’s wrenched out of your grasp as it’s flung open. 

Panic grips your heart and you visibly jump back just about managing to keep the little yelp of surprise that wants to escape quiet. 

And when your eyes land on the figure in the doorway, you’re more than glad you did. 

Blue glares at you, his eyes dark and shining in the dim light. He has a small, tight smile on his face. One of those practised expressions he wears at the club when he’s charming customers. 

He closes the door behind him, not taking his eyes off you and stalks forward, expecting you to back away. 

You hold your ground, annoyance fizzling in your blood at the gall he has to try to intimidate you and for a second you forget yourself. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He pauses mid-step, blinking before he tries to pull that mask of superiority back on. “That’s not a very nice way to greet me now, is it?” He spits. 

“What are you doing here?” You repeat, your tone firm and fierce, unimpressed by how he bristles and tries to square up to you. 

“I own this place, and everything and one in it.” He leans close, his hot breath hitting your face. “I can go wherever I like.” 

You hold his gaze for one long moment before you swallow and step ceremoniously to the side, planning to walk past him. 

Blue matches your step, blocking your path. “What are you doing in here?” 

You hold up the gloves. “For Song Bird’s routine.” 

He stares at your hands for a moment, picturing you in the backup dancers' outfits. His throat bobs as he swallows before he grits his jaw. He had to focus. Had to get you out of his system. 

“What do you want, Blue?” Your voice is firm and sure, covering up the spike of uncertainty that has settled in your chest. 

He pauses, finally glancing up from the gloves to your face. Though now that he is looking directly at you it feels worse, blistering to be under the intensity of his gaze. He licks his lips. “You.”  

You stay quiet. 

“Just you.” He repeats, taking a step forward and placing a hand firmly on your shoulder. He pushes you back into the row of hanging clothing forcefully and leans close as the gloves slip from your hand. “You know, I thought you were just a scared little Bunny I could have some fun with, but you’re not.” He growls.

You swallow, fear swimming in your stomach, mixing with a dizzying haze of emotion. 

“You’re… dangerous. A Lion in rabbit’s clothing.” He mutters, tracing his fingers lightly along your jawline. 

Instinctively you smack his hand away. 

He grins at your gall. “You know… I’ve hurt people a lot more important than you for less.” He whispers. 

“Then why don’t you?” 

Blue pauses, his expression frozen on his face like a tableau, a tiny spark of uncertainty flickers into life behind his eyes. “I don’t… want to right now.”

“Liar.” 

He scowls. “Listen-”

“No, you listen.” You grab a hold of him, placing your hand firmly over his mouth and pinching his cheeks. 

His eyes widen, darken as arousal burns along his veins. 

You have no idea what’s gotten into you, why you’re doing this again. He could kill you on a whim, a snap of his fingers and a flick of his head would be all it took for his goons to empty their clips into your chest. 

Still, it seems like you’re in too deep now to change directions. 

You push him back a little, giving yourself some breathing space. “You don’t want to hurt me because you want me to hurt you.” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing. His hands still at his sides, making no effort to even wriggle out of your hold. 

You lean a little closer, echoing his teasing tone from before. “You like it.” 

There is the tiniest hitch of his breath and it’s all the reassurance you need. 

When he doesn’t respond quickly enough for your liking you squeeze a little tighter, feeling the imprint of his molars through his cheeks as you nod his head up and down. 

“There we go, did no one teach you it was rude not to answer a question?” You loosen your hold on him, revelling in the red impressions left on his skin. It shouldn’t thrill you, shouldn’t excite you. 

You trail your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb over his plump bottom lip and he shudders, closing his eyes for a second as he fights the urge to grab your arm and pull you closer. 

Instead he darts out his tongue, swiping it lightly over the tip of your thumb and groaning. 

“Did I say you could do that?” 

The snarl in your voice makes his eyes snap open, makes him open his mouth for a frantic apology. 

The second his lips part you push your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm tongue to silence him. 

He startles, eyes going wide for a second as he grabs hold of your wrist instinctively. But the second his mind catches up with your actions he doesn’t pull back, only presses closer. 

He groans around your thumb, running his tongue along the length as he pushes his body flush against yours, grinding his aching cock against your leg. 

He’s so hard, throbbing as he rubs against you. A small whimper echos from his throat. 

You bite your lip, a wave of arousal washing over you at the sight. “You’re so pathetic, you know that?” 

He moans louder, frantically nodding his head as he thrusts his hips, sucking on your thumb for all he was worth. He squeezes your wrist, wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place. 

You pull your thumb from his mouth suddenly, smearing his salvia on his chin and grabbing hold of his throat as you push him back away from you. 

Blue whines, his forehead pinched in distress and hips bucking aimlessly, trying to seek out that delicious friction again. 

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You growl, loosening his tie and roughly pulling it free as you undo the top three of his shirt buttons. “Fucking pitiful.” 

“S-sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip as he gazes at you. 

You smack his cheek lightly and he groans, the sensation striking down to his cock like lightning. He’s dazed for a second as you manhandle him, too wrapped up in the feel of your fingers digging into his skin to even have one coherent thought. 

You twist his tie around his wrists, binding them harshly before you gather the last of the material and wrap it around your right palm. 

He gasps as you step behind him, your chest pressed against his back, and grab hold of his neck, pulling his wrists up in the process. The material digs in, makes his skin sing and fingers throb. It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Blue bites his lip again, trying to keep some of the obscene sounds to a minimum. He feels dizzy, lightheaded as you squeeze his neck and use your free hand to slide down his chest to his trousers. 

The amount of times he’d tied up others, whipped and beaten until they’d crying and begging and pleading. It had felt so good, so right. But this… god it was nothing compared to this. 

You sink your teeth into the side of his neck and he keens, his back bending. He gasps, shivers and tries to breathe deeply through the wonderful pain, but your grip on his neck tightens, pulls him back further under your control. And he nearly comes on the spot. 

You bite harder. Niping and sucking at his skin, only soothing with your tongue for the briefest moment. 

He squirms under your hold, pressing up against your mouth and whimpering nonsense. 

He cries out when you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers and unzip his fly. His heart thuds under your hand as you let his trousers fall to the floor and push his boxers down his thighs. 

“Please, oh god,” he whines when you squeeze especially hard on his neck and then gasps when you wrap your hand around his leaking cock. “Lion,” he stretches the word, rolls it around in his mouth desperately as you jerk your hand, your pace hard and brutal. He follows with his hips as much as you let him, tightening around his neck and pulling him back against you if he moves too much. 

“Lion, please!” He sobs. 

You break your mouth away from his bruised skin to hiss in his ear. “Look at yourself, look at how pathetic you are.” You tug his neck, forcing him to look at himself in the floor-length mirror. He lets out a sob as his own reflection stares back. How flushed his skin is, how desperate his eyes look. The way he barely struggles. How hard he is, leaking and throbbing under your hand. 

“Lion,” tears build at the corner of his eyes, “please.” 

“You’re wretched, despicable, barely worth the energy it takes me to make you come.” You sneer. 

And Blue screams. 

The knot in his stomach twists, liquid fire running along his spine as your words push him violently over the edge. He comes hard, spurting all over the floor. The force of it even hitting the edge of the mirror as he jerks and bucks and cries under your hold. 

For a moment it’s like he’s floating, light and far away from himself. Warm and safe under your touch. 

You loosen your grip around him instantly, worried for a second that he’s passed out and then silently hating yourself for enjoying that idea so much. 

He stumbles a little without your firm hold, but you guide him back to sit on the edge of a large box. 

He breathes deeply, spaced out as you slowly unwrap his tie from around his hands. His wrists are red, fingers off colour. He shivers slightly, his trousers still around his ankles. You pause, questioning if you’d be able to get him standing to do them back up without Blue falling over. 

Instead you turn to pull out a long, fluffy coat that had been used in a dance months ago to drape around him. 

He softly grabs your forearm as you turn, the touch a stark difference from earlier. 

“Please,” he looked up at you, his eyes hard and voice weak. “Don’t go.” 

The silence seems to hang for a long second. 

You swallow and take the coat off the hanger before wrapping him up. You squeeze his hand and move closer to him, intending to just stay a moment, but he grabs hold of your arms, pulls you closer still and buries his face into your stomach. 

He stays still for a moment, his fists tight as he hangs onto your shirt. 

You don’t know what to do, your hands hover in mid-air and… then his shoulders start to shake as he cries. 

“Hey, hey,” you lightly touch his head, running your hand through his short hair. “Hey,” you soothe and he looks up at you weakly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles between sobs. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squat down to his level and stroke his cheeks. There’s a whirlwind of emotions fighting in your chest. 

He shakes his head. “Did I… Did I make you angry?” 

“No, no.”

“Did I disappoint you?” His voice breaks at the last word, fresh tears streaming over his skin. 

You lean forward, kissing his lips gently, then his cheeks. 

He swallows, hiccuping from the sobs he’s trying to fight back. He kisses you back softly, reverently, his hands warm and gentle on your arms and back as he holds you close. 

What the fuck had you got yourself into? 

Thank you for reading!

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[amoscontorta]

Roleplay, Undercurrents, and Rising Curtain: Sylus's POV

It really bothers me in the game that the clearly traumatic experiences MC undergoes in the canon storyline don't seem to have any consequences for MC's character development. Yes, yes, this is a self-insert gacha mobile game, blah blah. MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's issues.

Third person POV (Sylus), second person POV (gender-neutral reader/MC) CWs: violence, murder, foul language, cursing, mentions of trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, Sylus is giddy being able to be near MC again even though MC is still mean to him

SFW if you think murder and Sylus's singing is SFW

ao3 link here

He is watching you from the shadowed doorway as you examine yourself in the mirror. He can almost see your mind tick, tick, ticking away, evaluating the quality of your costume for tonight, the slight frown on your face betraying your uncertainty that you, and he, will be able to pull tonight off and emerge on the other side in one piece.

He is used to this type of soirée, a viper’s den wrapped in velvet and silk, the veneer of civility paper-thin, where one wrong look or clumsy response can cost you your reputation, or much, much more. And as a betting man, he’d gamble that you, on the other hand, are not used to this type of gathering at all. You who are straightforward, with your fangs bared and guns blazing, the honesty palpable in your bright eyes and laughter, in your scowl and impatience and eagerness.

He steps into the light, revealing his presence to you through the mirror, and watches as you turn to him, draped in scarlet, and a pulse of satisfaction has his lips lifting. You look delicious, with your head tilted haughtily, the red jewels flashing from your neck and wrists. Your outfits match, and you’re dripping in stones and fabric the color of his eyes. He hasn’t felt this sense of satiation in a long, long time. He pins the brooch above your heart and looks into your eyes, and it doesn’t matter that even though you know the truth now, you are still looking at him with the cold unfamiliarity of someone constantly assessing the possible threat in every gesture he makes. It doesn’t matter that even though he’s helping you, you’re still treating him like the enemy, when it is everyone outside these walls who threaten you, and he is currently the only one defending the gates and preparing to shatter the siege.

None of that matters. Because you’re right here, finally. You’re allowing him to touch you, as he smooths the fabric around where he has just pinned the brooch, your heartbeat strong and steady under his palm—you’re reaching out to him, sliding your hand in his; he can’t feel your skin through your gloves but he can feel your heat at his side, in his palm. He will ensure that, with time, the look in your eyes changes when you feel him appear behind you, when your palms touch.

You say something biting to him, full of doubt, the wariness and spite palpable, and he revels in how safe you must feel with him already to extend your claws around him like this, to be reckless and treat him like an insufferable puppy that you’re forced to indulge instead of the half-feral wolf that he is to so many others. The progress from hate and fear from just a few days ago, to this snarky impatience is intoxicating, better than any gin fizz or successful wager—it’s faster than he had calculated as the blood poured from his heart and you spitefully jammed your palms into his chest in an attempt to stem the flow.

In short, Sylus is in a great mood tonight and he’s looking forward to exterminating the rest of the vermin that have been gnawing away at the foundations of his house in his long absence. And he’s going to make damn well sure that he gets to dance with you before the fireworks truly begin.

***

Things are going according to plan—he snickers, recalling that this plan is the one you accused him of not having. He will show you, in time, that he always has plans, with backup plans, and backups to the backup plans. He can forgive you for not knowing that about him yet. But you’re the only person he’s in a forgiving mood toward tonight. He has deposited you safely at the bidding room of the auction, the subtle glow of the protocores illuminating the lovely line of your haughtily upturned nose as you sauntered away from him clutching his black card, the other guests whispering in a painfully unsubtle manner behind their hands, speculating about who you are and the nature of your relationship to him. Mine, he had declared, as he handed over his proverbial wallet and told you to have fun.

As he strides down the dimly lit hall of the hotel in which the auction is being held, the deep carpet shushing his purposeful steps, he spots one of Sherman’s minions standing at attention at a closed door and can’t prevent the excitement rushing through him. He is so close to the craven idiot who dared act in his name, who sowed discord in his ranks, who hurt you so terribly and deprived you of your ‘family’, who, regardless of Sylus’s opinion of them, you clearly loved deeply. He is eager to kill two birds with one stone (apologies to Mephisto): wipe Sherman’s existential stain off this plane of existence, clean his house, avenge your loss, and be back to dance with you in a matter of minutes. The lackey finally notices him, begins lifting his wrist to speak into his earpiece, but unfortunately for him, he is little too late, as Sylus’ evol jerks him into the air by his neck—he is about to tighten it to snap the fuck’s spine in two when he hears your gorgeous voice through his own earpiece.

He pauses, suddenly anxious that something has gone wrong for you that and you’re in danger and that he’s not there, when he hears you say, “Do you mind if I use your card to buy one of these protocores?”

He shakes his head a little. Did he just hear you correctly? He might have to re-evaluate his estimation of your intelligence. He will continue to adore you even if you’re a little slow; your other qualities more than make up for any deficiencies in the intelligence department. Because why the fuck else would he hand you the equivalent of unfettered access to his bank account and tell you to have fun? Of course you can buy whatever the hell you want with it. But he knows you’re clever; the way you meet and counter his sarcasm, taunts and challenges without hesitation makes that clear. And you wouldn’t have survived for this long, risen to one of the elite teams in the Association’s ranks, if you were an imbecile. But he is busy, your sudden question made him anxious for you, and he's frothing at the mouth to get back to you to claim his dance.

“Do not bother me with such trivial matters!” he hisses into his own earpiece, and watches as the eyes of the idiot, who he still has by the throat, bulge further in response to his assailant angry-whispering into the empty hallway.

He’s about to finish this when he hears your voice again, offering an offensively low sum for the highest grade protocore this pretentious establishment has to offer.

“5 million!” he counters in a whisper-shout. He is not going to let these clowns think that your man is broke. He waits to hear your response, finally noticing that the guard he still has suspended in the air has passed out. When he hears you double the amount he had ordered you to offer, and then proceed to demand the rest of the items up for bid, Sylus laughs so hard that he momentarily loses control of his evol and the unconscious goon falls with an unceremonious, muffled thump onto the richly carpeted floor. Sylus contemplates his crumpled form for a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes. Suddenly he doesn’t have it in him to kill a guy who is probably only here for a paycheck, even if he does have atrocious taste in employers.

“You can thank my charming guest for your life tonight, if you manage to get through it alive,” he murmurs to the lump on the floor, before punching the door open with his evol-wrapped fist and striding in to find Sherman turning with a look of horror on his face as he recognizes who, precisely, was just laughing like a madman on the other side of the now ruined door.

After, once Sylus has successfully avenged himself and more importantly, you, he hums a little tune as he picks up Sherman’s detonator and saunters back to the ballroom. Maybe, if things keep going as well as they’re going now, and you like him a little better, he’ll sing it to you as a treat. Because of you, he's having so much fun.

***

And now, finally, he is going to claim his own treat before the action really begins. The utter boredom he was forced to endure while interrogating Sherman and uncovering his trite motivations is replaced by an eagerness bordering on mania to get back to his interesting little Hunter. He watches in amusement as a man sidles up to you and shows interest in your brooch, after having thoroughly shown interest in the rest of you before mustering the courage to actually speak to you.

He watches with slightly less amusement as your curiosity is piqued and you ask with your customary eagerness to learn new things, “Hightower? What’s that?” The man’s eyes light up at this apparent interest of yours, seeing an in with you and assertively requesting that you join him for the banquet dance.

Aaaand that’s enough. Sylus steps into the light and slides his hand around your waist, pulling you decisively into his side and feeling that dangerously seductive calm wash over him, as it always does, when he’s allowed to touch you. He knows it makes him weak. He does not care. His other strengths more than compensate for the crack in his armor you represent. Unlike Achilles, he knows exactly how to protect his vulnerability. His hand flexes involuntarily, fingers pressing a little too hard into your hip, until he is able to will it relaxed again.

“A Hightower is a type of gun. Just one can level this entire building,” he answers your question, fingering the detonator in his other pocket. He doesn’t need a Hightower to finish what he started tonight, and the thought translates into an the intense smugness as you frown at him for interrupting your conversation with your luckless suitor. “The brooch is a gift from me, I’m afraid,” he says smoothly, more than ready to send this guy scurrying along his way and draw your entire focus back to him, where he likes it best.

“You weren’t trying to sell it now, were you, kitten?” he goads you, just to see how you’ll respond to this blatant mischaracterization of the situation.

You don’t disappoint him: with your tight jaw belying your coy tone of voice, you run your hands  up his chest, underneath the coat draped over his shoulders, and pretend to be a spoiled, thrill seeking brat testing a sugar daddy’s patience. Finally, the insignificant obstacle standing between him and the dance he has been looking forward to all evening gets the hint and slinks back into the crowded shadows.

And finally, finally, the music begins, bodies are moving around the two of you, and you’re in his arms as he gracefully leads you through the steps of the dance. He soaks in the feeling of his arm around your waist, your hand in his, your chests brushing against each other as you sway together across the dance floor. He notices that your attention is split between expressing doubt about whether he’s telling the truth regarding knowing the aether core’s location and constantly assessing potential threats—but Sylus does not want your eyes drifting elsewhere. He smoothly draws your eyes back to his, where they belong, and ensures that the only thing you can see is him by tightening his arm around your waist, drawing you in closer, and refusing to give you a direct answer to all of your questions. He sees your little scowl, the frustration in the line of your mouth, suppresses a wince when you deliberately stomp on his foot—but he doesn’t mind. Just as he doesn’t mind that you might not believe that he’s fulfilled his part of the deal, that he knows exactly where the aether core is, and that he has his own house’s situation finally under control with Sherman’s demise. In time, you’ll learn that you can trust him. And he has all the time in the world, now that you’re finally here and not trying to kill him.

He's in such a good mood he’s floating like a feather, until you mention the protocore bombs and something changes in the expression on your face. If he hadn’t been staring at your lovely face for weeks now, from afar through Mephisto and hacked security cameras, and while you were sleeping under his roof (if you have an objection to him exploiting your proximity by watching you as you sleep when you’re right there, under his roof, then sue him), and if he wasn’t currently in the process of soaking in every microexpression flitting across your upturned face from this close as you dance together, he might have missed it. But he doesn’t miss it. And he certainly doesn’t miss the involuntary shudder that runs through your body pressed to his. He realizes in a flash of intuition that the idea of the bombs bothers you—

He watches your throat as you swallow, and the very light sheen of sweat gathering at your temples, he watches your eyes begin to dart around again, your hand flexing with what is likely the need to grab your gun from underneath the fabric of your outfit, and he realizes that you’re starting to panic. Or have a panic attack. At the thought of bombs—

Like the bomb that destroyed your family and came so close to killing you too

He has watched you for weeks, seen the way you’ve worked almost non-stop, taking on assignment after assignment with hardly any rest in between except for when you were on the brink of collapse. When you weren’t working, you were training, kilometer after kilometer on the treadmill, heavier and heavier weight sets. And when you weren’t training, you were trying to orchestrate a way to infiltrate his territory, to hunt him and the aether core down. You weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t attending counseling. You haven’t processed what happened to you at all, and no one around you has forced you to confront what you have been avoiding this whole time. The dark circles under your precious eyes, the short fuse and oh so transparent mask of a smile plastered across your lovely, exhausted face—how they just let you continue as you have been infuriates him, and only the thought that he’s here now, in your life, whether you like it or not, is the only thing that stops him from adding new names to his extermination list. He will succeed where they have failed to care for you, even if you hate him for it.

However, he takes a moment to reproach himself, as just a few hours ago he was gloating to himself that soon you’d learn that his contingency plans have contingencies, that you could trust him to think of all the variables and know how to dismantle any obstacles. Yet he has been missing something so obvious while making his calculations of how tonight would go. Of course you’d have remaining trauma from what you have survived and what has been taken from you.

He recalculates—it’s too late to change the state of play now, but instead of the fireworks he has been looking forward to unleashing into chaos, this is now going to have to be a controlled demolition.

He lifts his hand and runs his fingertips along the curve of your jaw to return your focus to him. Once your too wide eyes are locked on his, he tightens his hold around your waist again.

“Look at me. Look only at me.” He waits, and something inside of him crows in triumph as, your hands tightening on him, you follow his directions and stare into his eyes, letting him continue speaking without struggle.

“We are going to detonate the bombs now that were originally intended later for me, kitten. It’s going to be loud, and most of this place will be rubble when we’re done.”

Before you can ask the how and why, he continues. “I have the detonator. I know you’re frightened. I’m sorry this is the method that I have tonight. But keep your eyes on me, and breathe. We’ll get through this together, do you understand?”

He can sense the shift in the energy of the room, the metaflux fluctuations and the increasing violent mood of the crowd, but he will make time for this and deal with any fallout from this slight delay. He will ensure that you get through this without spiraling into a panic attack and possibly getting hurt.

“Do you understand?” he asks again. And that same satisfaction, the sense of calm, that only you seem to be able to give him floods through him as you take a shuddering breath and nod, ever so slightly, eyes never leaving his.

He lets his fingers drift down your face, takes your hand in his and slips both of them into his pocket, pulling you even closer, your cheek coming to rest against his chest. He guides your hand around the detonator in his pocket, squeezing your hand gently in reassurance. “We’ll do this together. You’re in control,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd now, having utter faith that you will have the courage to press the button despite the dread that must be filling you right now.

And you, with your cheek pressed against his warm chest, his steady heartbeat drowning out all the other sounds, including the ringing in your ears, your own thundering heartbeat, flashes of memory, a door closing, Caleb’s last words to you—you close your eyes and press, and the world explodes around the two of you. But you’re breathing, and Sylus is still holding you tight, and you’re alive, and you’ll deal with the terror threatening to drown you after you’ve gotten what you came for.

After you take one deep, slow breath, you reach for your gun, shove Sylus to the side and shoot the wanderer that was about to stab him in the back.

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

w/c: 7k

A/N: this chapter is a little bit shorter than the last few but I hope you enjoy it regardless! huge s/o to @blueywrites + @jo-harrington for beta reading and helping me with parts ♥️

tw: 18+ no minors, depression, acts of depression, drinking excessively etc

Granules of brown sugar melt against heaping creamed rolled oats, nestled into the crisp white second hand vitrelle made Corelle brand bowls. The pattern of dainty brown flowers skim around the outer surface, one that Eddie is now rubbing softly with the pad of his thumb. 

He had never noticed them before this very moment. The guitar string callouses skid along the cool surface of the bowl. The familiar feel reminded him of the soft skin on your back as he held you while you slept, strumming along your body to the tired tunes of your breathing.

A song he’d listen to forever if he could. 

Eddie found himself noticing many new things he hadn't noticed before in the early daylight hours of the morning. He didn’t want to stir you, didn’t want to disrupt the beautiful sleepy angel next to him. Wrapping you tighter against him, pressing light kisses to your hairline, he soaked up the warmth of your skin against him. Drinking in your smooth breathing and matching it to his own. 

Fluttering heart beating wildly in his own chest, he can’t believe you are here with him. Last night felt too good to be true. All these months of lonely pining, unsure if you felt the same, only for it to be true that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you.

He was elated, heart overflowing and spewing candy hearts from his eyes and mouth at the weight of your body tucked into him, fitting like a glove against the bend in his arm. 

He was head over heels for you. 

A wave of assurance washed over him when he woke this morning and found you curled in on yourself, the cotton sheets wrapped tight up under your chin, slack lips open and your eyelashes laid sweetly against your cheeks. A breath of relief leaves his muscles— you’re still here. 

The rise and fall of your naked form when he pulled ypu into his side had him breathless upon first opening his eyes this morning. The sunlight basking through peaks in his bedroom curtains and providing enough light for the dust mites to dance their daylight waltz amongst the stuffy air and crowded surfaces in Eddie’s room. 

Cotton sheets dipped into your curves. The smooth skin of your cheek pressed into his own chest. The steady whirring noise of your breathing in and out of your nose with your lips closed delicately.  

Beautiful. Radiant. A thousand other adjectives he could use to describe you but there was only one he wanted to call you: his. 

The toaster erupts with a metallic clunk, bringing him back from his day dreaming and focusing again at the task at hand. 

Grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer, he smears cold butter against the warm toast, the knife scraping gently as the warm crusted pockets flood with butter and sweet grape jelly.

He finds himself daydreaming again. He pictures the corner of your lips coated in jelly, he’d reach forward and brush his finger against it, maybe his lips would kiss the crumbs away. You’d giggle at his stupidity and he’d melt like the butter into this toast at your warm smile. 

You were perfect. Everything he had wanted and more. And years of being friends, then enemies, then roommates and now lovers. He was giddy, stomach filled with snowflake flurries resembling a winter storm. 

He balanced the bowls of oatmeal in large hands, the toast cut in diagonals and stuffed like rabbit ears into the cooked oats. A pep in his step, he practically floated to his room, back to you, snug in his sheets, his pillows. He’s carried by the wings of the butterflies in his stomach. 

A tickle on your cheek has your eyelids fluttering slow, the cool feel of unfamiliar sheets twisted by your chin have you jumping in your skin, but the warm velvet voice in your ear whispering good morning greetings and a peck against your ear tames your heart and softens the goosebumps on your skin. 

The same calloused palms that held you in a protective manner last night now gently stroke the underside of your chin in a lazy pattern. Up the rounds of your cheeks, and circling the plump of your lips. Eddie’s hands are unusually warm against your skin, the heat from the bowls hot on his palms.

The mattress bends beneath his weight as he sits with one leg on the bed and leans on a hip over you. The bourbon colored ends of his curls sweep feather-like against your bare chest, like the white tufty pappus of a dandelion head.

You titter softly when his lips slide down your neck and blow a softened raspberry against your skin. 

“Good morning, baby,” he sighs beneath your ear. The pearls of his teeth graze your neck because he can’t stop smiling. The silk of your hands wrap around his arms, fingers gliding over the carve of his muscles. And your eyes finally flutter open. 

A halo of sunlight breaches his frizzy curls and pull every bit of amber from them, his smile cozy and familiar the warmth seeping through you as his blackened honey eyes drink you in.  

His eyes trail your sleepy features, caressing your skin with each slow drag across your face. Taking in every inch of you he can. 

“Sleep okay?” he purrs gently, planting a rose petal kiss on your lips. 

Last night was perfect, everything you had hoped for and more. 

You didn’t know sex could be so intimate, so passionate.  Feeling how much he cared about you with every kiss, every touch of his molten fingers on your skin. He gave you the love and adoration you had yearned for. And it felt good. 

So, so good. 

Something that delicious should be enjoyed again and again. An indulgence, a finger swiping into the edge of a frosted cake for temptation deemed too strong. But unlike the taste of frosting melting away on your tongue, craving more and wanting another taste, you couldn’t. 

Peering into his eyes, you can see how much he loved you. But the feeling sat sour on your tongue, and burned your belly in a lonely way.

But why? 

You could push through this right?

Didn’t you want this?

Want him?

Heart hammering for Eddie, all green flags and sticky love, kicking feet and giddy heated cheeks, but your brain was screaming another sound, ringing bells of unworthiness loud in your ears. 

You don’t deserve him. 

His love won’t last. 

A quick smile that doesn’t reach your eyes implants on your lips. Insecurity is evident among them when the twinkle of love is replaced by dark brooding agony. And if Eddie sees it he is blinded to it. So wrapped up in bubbly love for you he thought you hung the stars. 

The way his brown eyes are gazing at you hurts your heart. Before hot tears can fall down your cheeks you blink rapidly. Wells of salt stinging in your eyes as you swallow them down. 

Answering his question in a hushed almost whisper, you push yourself up on his mattress, clutching the sheet around your chest, suddenly aware of how naked you are. Bare beneath the sheets a once welcomed coziness now feels like shards of glass embedded into your skin. 

Your knees tuck up beneath your chest, in a small attempt to shield yourself more from the man you wanted to love but couldn’t. 

Eddie is all adoring dimples and pinked cheeks. His voice is laced with flowing sweet words of pleasantries. He places a pillow behind your back, so you can be comfy,. 

The act cracking your heart deeper waiting to be split like the thin shell on a peanut m&m. 

“I didn’t ask, but do you like oatmeal?” 

You’ve never known a single smile burrowing into your soul deeper than his does. But it aches and burns. Nose tingling bringing up another wave of tears, you simply nod, you wipe your eyes hastily with the back of your hand as Eddie turns and grabs the bowls. Oblivious to your turmoil. 

He brings the warm bowl of oatmeal to the bed and places it in your hands. Jelly having slid down the toast and snuggling with the brown sugar and oatmeal. Joining you on the bed Eddie sits beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him as you sit shoulder to shoulder.   

You don’t deserve him. 

His love won’t last. 

Lead filled arms hold the metal spoon to your lips, a warmth in your mouth that has no taste. For you are not hungry. The beast inside spreading its ferocious wings and sucking any amount of joy from you. 

But he said he loved me. 

He doesn’t. Don’t fool yourself. 

Staring ahead you are trapped in your mind. A hostage to your demons. The sunshine of happiness is replaced with heavy thunderstorm clouds of acidic rain, eating away your insides like maggots on a carcass. 

Eddie is talking between mouthfuls of his breakfast but you don’t hear him. The words unable to make sense against your ears as you stir your spoon around and around the bowl. A hypnotizing motion. 

Unaware of the state you are in, Eddie is floating high on cloud nine. A pinky cheeked cherub shooting arrows of lust below him. He’s giddy and cheerful, a light of beckoning hope next to your brooding steel trapped mind. 

He’s too good for you. 

The voices shout louder in your ears and you fight tears away. 

Just another notch on his belt, silly Tooty. 

Run, before he does. 

“Sweetheart?” your breathing is erratic and complacent. Sweat is trickling down your hairline. Wet beads in the space behind your ears and forming on your upper lip.

Run. 

Choking down the bile of panic cradled in your throat, you croak a smile. “Sorry, what?” 

-

The rest of breakfast is void of noise besides the ominous clinking of spoons against bowls and the gulping slide of oatmeal down Eddie’s throat. Chewing your toast to humor him you still taste nothing, barely registering your teeth are grinding together against themselves until Eddie asks if you’re alright. 

Fine, you lie, easy on your tongue, the forced smile is harder, painful. Settling an unease in your bones that creaks and groans like a worn porch door batting against the frame in a windstorm. 

Pulling hard to untuck the sheet from the one corner of Eddie’s bed that didn’t manage to come undone during the passion of last night, you wrap it around you fully, and scoot down the length of his mattress. The walk of shame gown held tight in your grip. Doubling as a shield of comfort around you, a flannel sheet of armor. 

Not announcing where you are going in fear of breaking, you scamper from the room, quick feet on the carpet and shivering in the cool air on your shoulders. Eddie’s hot desperate eyes burrowing into your back as you lock the bathroom door. 

He’s everywhere in this house, and your mind is suffocating. Lungs punched of any oxygen as you struggle to stand using the knob as a crutch. 

What makes you think you’re deserving of his kindness?

The daunting demonic voice laughs mercilessly in your head, bouncing off the pinked brain matter and echoing lol against the hollow marble of your skull, scribbling along it in permanent marker. 

Unworthy 

Undeserving

Hot tears stream down your cheeks and you shed the cloak of flannel armor, reaching for the silver knob of the shower and turning it to the hottest temperature the small water heater will allow. 

The stream of the scalding water sears your back like steak in a skillet, you welcome the burn with open arms. 

Thinking of Eddie’s doting and how sweet he was to you made your stomach splinter. All he was doing was exactly what you had hoped for, wished for, stayed up long nights aching for. 

But it wasn’t simple. 

You were terrified. Scared shitless of his love for you. But you knew Eddie and you knew he loved big, and cared in ways that most people couldn't fathom. 

Hot water rolls down the front of your shoulders and flows over your softened nipples, mixed with salty tears. 

The tears only stop when there’s a soft knuckled bang on the door. 

His endearing voice is small against the closed door, “hey babe?” 

You don’t answer. Unable to free your mind from the double hell of feeling inadequate and petrifying anxiety of being loved by someone you can’t love back. 

But you do love him. 

You always have in one way or another.. even when you shouldn’t have. You did. 

But the overwhelming feeling of his affection is too much, you don’t know how to feel, or act. Not as if Chad ever made you feel loved. Somehow the feeling of being loved is almost the same crushing feeling of being choked out. 

Because you’re not good enough. 

You don’t deserve him. 

The bathroom door opens and Eddie’s calm voice breaks through the void. Makes its way through the silent sobs that are causing your body to shake violently. 

His shadow is blurred against the shower curtain. Coy hands peel the cream plastic and blue fabric away slightly, opening the threshold to the shower and the steam rolling out, thick in his vision. 

“Tooty?” 

Back to first names. 

Back to the basics. 

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was wrong. And he had spent the last ten minutes walking back and forth along the carpet, wracking his brain. Pulling his hair in frustration when tears stung his eyes and collected like puddles in his lashes.  

Trying to figure out the solution to a problem he didn’t have the equation for. 

No one did. 

This was a fight within yourself, solving for x when Eddie barely passed basic algebra. Nobody could fix this.

Broken goods, sold at a discount and marked down. 

Trash. 

When you don’t answer he says your name a smidge louder. Reaching his fingers out to touch your shoulder and almost breaking on the spot when you coil away from him. 

His touch once so protective and undeniably reassuring in your blood now threatens to make you react with bared teeth and steel eyes. 

But you refrain, pushing yourself further away from him. Deeper into your sorrows of a life of despair, a valley of dread. 

Relentless, Eddie won’t give up easy. His voice is meek and breaking with each cold shoulder of avoidance you offer. 

You’re nothing. 

“Baby,” he pleads, a tear running down his cheek, collecting in the column of his throat. “Talk to me.” 

His cheeks return to normal color, his eyes don’t dance with twinkles, the corners of his mouth turn flat. He's beside himself. 

The voices deepens now, roaring loudly like a river. A familiar tone. One that has terrified you for almost a decade, Chad. 

You think someone could love you like me? Better than me? 

Take it, fucking whore. 

Yeah, cry for me. 

“No.” 

Eddie’s brows turn inward. Concern painting his face. “Tooty?” 

Who would want you? 

You’re nothing. 

A hand on your shoulder makes your spine twinge with icy cold resentment causing you to flinch unexpectedly, shivering away from him. A wounded animal, protecting yourself. 

“I said, no!” 

When you turn to face him you are met with wet eyes, and the saddest expression you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing. 

One that would bury itself in your mind and haunt you at night. More horrifying than a scary movie because it was real, right before your eyes. 

Eddie doesn’t give you time to think before he twists his mouth into a question, “what’s going on? What did I do?” 

This is not a conversation you want to have. You can’t. 

Plain and simple. 

“Leave me alone,” you beg, salt in the skinned wound. You turn the water off and shove past him, your warm wet skin sliding against his dry bare chest. 

Unlovable 

Undeserving Tooty. 

The terry fibers of your robe cocoon you in a hug. And you’re reminded of the memories this fabric holds. The first night Eddie had moved in, and him wearing it with pride. 

The night he defended you against the twins, when you were piss drink and he wrapped you up tightly to cover you up. 

He was a good man. 

And you were a bitch. 

An unlovable shrewd, forcing someone to open up and then cutting them off because you couldn’t handle the thought of someone loving you when you couldn’t love yourself. 

You deserved what Chad did to you. 

Eddie is talking a million miles an hour trying to explain himself as you leave him in the bathroom. His throat aches from swallowing back tears and his heart is breaking. 

Turning in a swift jerk of your head you face him when he begs you to look at him. 

“Please, goddamnit please just talk to me. Help me understand what I did wrong!” 

“There’s nothing to understand Eddie! We fucked! So what? No big deal.” It was the biggest lie you’d told yourself. It was a big deal. It meant everything to you, but you couldn’t do this. 

He’s stunned, mouth hung open and his pink bottom lip starts to quiver. The same lips that kissed you so delicately and made you cum so hard it was like the Fourth of July behind your eyelids. 

Not having any of it, his sadness turns to anger on the drop of a dime, his shaky lip flipped to a snarl, “Don’t you dare do this, don’t you dare turn this around as just some one night stand bullshit.” His eyes search your face for any tell on a sick joke. But he knows you better than that.  

He can’t contain the fueling rage inside of him and he almost shouts in your face. “I know what it meant to you!”

“Really?” you voice in a shaky tone, crossing your arms across your chest in a manner that suggests you couldn’t give a single fuck about his feelings, but barely below the surface you were screaming for help. “If you got all the answers then enlighten me.” 

His voice is softer, gentler. He timidly reaches out to hold your clothed shoulders, the tips of his fingertips grip them softly, thumbs rubbing small circles. Hoping his touch could bring you back to him, bring back the angel from his dreams and coax you out from this hellish nightmare he had fallen into. 

 “Don’t act like this baby, please.” 

Your head hangs in defeat and you’re ready to give up. A sigh escapes you and he lifts your chin with a ringed finger. He licks his lips and he says the three words you couldn’t hear. 

The three small words that confirmed the anxiety in your chest and made your heart crumble. And it kills you. 

It kills you to hear the words come from the man you’ve been yearning for.

It kills you to know you won’t ever be able to say them back to him. Even though you’re dying to.

And it kills you to know you don’t deserve to hear those words from him. 

His fingers feel like talons against your shoulders and you're caught in his grasp. A hawk swooping to catch a field mouse. You can practically feel the blood pouring from your skin by his nails through the robe. The sharpness squeezing your lungs and attacking your mind. 

And like a bullet from a gun, you fire back. With hateful words and a dead tone, fire lit behind your pupils and your caged self inside of them begging to be let out. Begging to be let free and loved by Eddie. Slapping his hands away from you, you pull away from him, your back hitting the wall with a thud, the same wall you leaned on last night when he kissed you for the first time. 

The word is final. And so full of venom it feels like poison on your lips. 

“Don’t.” 

Wounded like an animal he defends himself. His slapped hands are red and stinging as he hangs them limply at his side. He shakes his head and his lips glow with how hard he’s pressing them together. 

“Tell me I don’t mean anything to you,” he yells, hurt and unable to contain his building desperate pleas to win you back, “Go ahead! Use your words Tooty. Tell me last night meant nothing to you.”  

He’s a fiend for your poisoned drug and you are his dealer, giving him what he wants, directly to his vein of choice. The veil of hatred falling in your vision and coating your stone still features. A single tear welled into your eyes. Falling the exact time you tell him words you knew weren’t at all true. 

“It meant nothing to me.” 

He chuckles in a hurt tone trying desperately to hide his own tears, a sick smirk of dismay is displayed on his quivering lips. And he’s fighting like hell to stay standing on two feet. 

“So now what? Huh?” His voice breaks and he clears his throat, hands on his hips and looking towards the popcorn ceiling, desperately blinking tears back, and once they’re hiding again he nods his head forward, one last attempt to have you break with him. To admit you were lying to yourself. 

Crossing his arms he’s trying not to shake with fury and grief. Through gritted teeth he misters up enough courage to ask you something he doesn’t wanna hear the answer to.

“Tell me what you want since you’re so big and brave. Don’t be a coward now sweetheart, tell me what you want.” 

You almost vomit on the spot. But choke it down long enough to spill the last lie from your pretty lips.

The nail in the coffin. The big finale. 

“I want… you to leave.” 

—

JANUARY 

It took three hours and all the boys from Corroded Coffin to help Eddie move his things out. He took a few days off from work to get his affairs in order. Filling out the proper paperwork to change his address back to the light blue trailer in Forest Hills for the time being. 

You weren’t home when it happened. He had made sure of it. 

When you closed your eyes at night you could still hear slam of metal connecting to metal when he slammed his van door and the crunch of ice and snow beneath his van tires as he sped away. 

You didn’t cry anymore when Metallica played on the radio. And nobody but you knew that every glass you had owned had been shattered against the front door when you came home to his empty room. 

A reality that had your eyes swollen for days. 

It took you two weeks to see the envelope on the table. A scrawl of shitty handwriting with your name on it. 

Tucked inside the pristine white envelope was more than twenty $100 bills, fresh from the bank. And a small note: 

“If you need more let me know, 

take care of yourself - Eddie 

That night you wept. Clutching onto the handmade shirt Eddie had given you, the night before the concert. The only thing remnant of him living in the house. Not counting the newer jar of pickles in the fridge, like the last— the lid was missing. 

Hot tears slid out of your eyes faster than a tub draining. A call to Robin is broken with blubbering hysterics and honking noises of your nose being blown into a wadded Kleenex, and in ten minutes time—she manages to drop everything to come and look after you. 

Countless hours slip by of her rubbing your back and even crying along with you, she swore Eddie and you were meant to be. Her words were blankets of comfort on you as she tried her best not to bring him up. 

She had promised both Steve and Eddie to not tell you where he was staying, for your own good. 

And like the kind hearted friend she was, Robin stayed for a few days. Taking off work and cooking meals for you even though you refused to eat. 

On the third day of not eating and refusing to leave your bed, she put a call in to Steve. He was hands on his hips disappointed in you. Lecturing you about how your actions hurt people and how you couldn’t be a brat forever. He threatened to dial the Wheeler’s to have Karen step in. 

But you wouldn’t budge. 

When Nancy had shown up on a Wednesday morning, she immediately went to work. Making a schedule for you to follow, and taking absolutely no bullshit when you told her you were a grown woman and could deal with things on your own. 

When she blacked out Eddie’s name from the calendar, silent tears fell down your cheeks. 

Seeing his name brought you both solace and pain. A reminder that you had done this yourself. That he wasn’t coming back. And it was because of you.

You moved with the motions of each day.

Shower 

Brushing your teeth 

Eating breakfast 

Getting ready for work 

Going to work 

Eating lunch 

Working

Driving home 

Eating supper 

Brush teeth 

Bedtime 

You sat in silence when you weren’t at work. Finding little to no enjoyment in anything anymore. Avoiding everyone’s calls. Staring at the 4 walls in your bedroom like a prison cell. Eddie’s stupid jar of pickles tucked snuggly between your crossed legs, your supper for weeks now. 

The only thing on your mind was him. He stuck with you in everything you did. He was everywhere. You even started drinking orange juice from the jug just like he did.

His laugh. The small giggly one he’d had since boyhood and the deep belly laugh he’d generate when you would roll your eyes at him, all of his teeth showing. 

His smile seemed to stretch across the Milky Way. Wide and pearly, ear to ear. His cheeks prickled with deep dimples. Somehow getting cuter with age. 

The darkest eyes full of mischief and wonderment. You could get lost in the Wonka chocolate river pooling in his eyes. Changing with his emotions like a mood ring, they gave him away.  

—

Corroded Coffin hadn’t played a gig since A Merry Corroded Christmas. Hard to play a show when the lead singer couldn’t pull it together during practices or remember to show up to them. 

Steve had stayed up with Eddie the first few nights, talking him off the edge of a violent end he didn’t see a way out of. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to forget that night. The passion was cosmic. And he knew you felt it too. Whether or not you would admit you were lying to yourself didn’t interest him. 

He was used to rejection. 

Used to feeling like he was nothing. 

What was breaking him was the ghost of you in his arms. Your sleeping body haunted his dreams, made the demons escape from hell and flood his vision. 

When he woke and you weren’t there the pain surfaced tenfold. And no amount of whiskey or Rick’s finest trees would fix it. 

The cycle never ending

He cared about you more than he cared about himself. 

The day you asked him to leave was a blur. He woke up at Gareth’s apartment a day later, no recollection of how he had gotten there. 

Your words etched into his skin like a tattoo. 

I want you to leave.

FEBRUARY

Still Loving You by Scorpions is playing on repeat between Nothing Else Matters by Metallica again in the guest house behind the lavish empty pool of Steve Harrington’s new home on Cornwalis St. 

Thirty some odd days had passed and Eddie Munson was nowhere near the man he used to be. 

Where his skin was once smooth shaven was now replaced by a prickly sparse beard. His once sparkling chocolate eyes were now dull and almost ashen. Dark circles rim his eyes from lack of sleep and poor nutrition, a diet of Marlboros, whiskey and pretzels giving him enough energy to work and come back to the same space he had called home for a few months. 

Throwing himself into working long hours at Boom’s he slept very little at night. When he did close his eyes he’d be jarred awake by a nightmare, one he hasn’t had since he was a kid. And he’d lay awake for hours replaying the same day over and over again in his mind. 

Each time ending the same way.

Shreds of notebook papers cluttered the floor, each littered with blue and black ink, all different but entirely the same subject: you.

Poems, songs, haikus and even a poorly written sonnet he had attempted while drunk at 2 AM sitting in a lounge chair he had drug out from the pool shed to sit along the edge of the frozen pool cover. 

His hair hadn’t been brushed in weeks. Leighanne offered to help comb out the tangles and mats but the burden was too much for him to handle. He denied her kindness, brushing it off with mumbled ‘m fine ’s and don’t worry ‘bout me ’s.

But in reality the thought of another woman’s hands in his hair only made the tears fall harder. 

When Eddie first moved in, Steve and Robin were still in the apartment, and Eddie’s things were moved to a storage unit across town. 

When the lease was up at the end of January, Robin moved into Vicky’s apartment over Surfer Boy Pizza and Steve purchased a house, along with an expensive diamond ring he would be anticipating on giving to an eager Leighanne, holding off until her birthday for the right time to pop the question. 

The Harrington/Buckley apartment was then subleased to Eddie. A sublease that didn’t last more than a week before he was booted out by the landlord for destruction of property when he accidentally started a fire in the kitchen. 

He was only trying to replicate your lasagna. 

Steve graciously invited Eddie to move in. and Eddie kept to himself for the most part. And on nights when sad music was blaring from the small guest house, Steve knew better than to ask if his friend wanted to play cards or kick back with a few beers. 

-T-

January came and went and close to the end of February  Josie told you she was cutting everyone’s hours, the salon would no longer be open on the weekends. The envelope Eddie had left for you was thrown into your night stand and you refused to use any of it. 

No one in town was hiring for another hairdresser so you opted to driving fifteen miles out of town to find another job. 

The job you had gotten was bartending at a rundown shithole bar worse than the Hideout. But the tips were good and your boss was sweet. A pot belly old farmer who only played country classics and served warm beer and peanuts, the shells making curved mountains on the filthy splintered wood floor.

It was refreshing to get out of Hawkins, but most importantly, it was the best chance you had at not running into someone who looked like him. 

Your body started to ache at all times, tender in places that never hurt before. Exhaustion thick on your features 

Months had passed and you hadn’t seen your friends. Nancy would call every now and then and check in. Jonathan and her were seeing a couples therapist for intimacy issues. She said Mike was hinting at proposing soon to El. 

Eddie’s shadow lingered on your skin and you swore you could feel his breath in your ear. Whispering how he loved you.

Some days were better than others, but most days you would get so worked up you would vomit from the pain. Betrayal splayed in your guts. Your mind was working against you.

His teary eyes and hurt expression were all you saw when you closed your eyes. And every night you cried yourself to sleep, cocooned into a pile of too many blankets, dreaming that Eddie was holding you tight against his chest, never leaving…never letting you go. 

MARCH

Eddie worked more than twelve hours a day, acting as two full time mechanics with how hard he was throwing himself into projects. Boom, although grateful for Eddie’s help and go-getter attitude, worried about him. Especially when he noticed the other two knot head mechanics he couldn’t afford to fire, helping themselves into his office flipping through personnel files. 

“Sean told me he makes more money than me! I was just checking to see how much more you think he’s worth! 

Aaron chuckled when Boom tossed him out of the office by his collar. 

A secret motive snug on his Copenhagen smile. The Information he was seeking: found and a reward would be granted for his loyalty to a long time friend.

…

“… alright fine, I guess pineapple is pretty good on pizza.”

“Told ya, Harrington, ” licking his lips, Eddie reached into the cardboard box and grabs another slice, the melting cheese stretching for what seemed like miles,  “I know good pizza.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, taking it easy on his friend who finally is looking like his normal self again after two months of becoming almost unrecognizable. 

The sad music didn’t play anymore. And his fingers didn’t bleed from writing songs about you. 

He was accepting what happened. Still sad, a little depressed but moving forward with his life. 

The date was approaching, Steve knew it and so did Eddie, neither wanted to talk about what he was going to do yet but Steve held his tongue for far too long. 

“so.. that Metallica concert is coming up… you still g—”

Before Steve could finish muttering, Eddie was already finishing his sentence, chewing along with his explanation. His fingers twirl the rings on his other hand. A nervous fit settling in his stomach.

“—already sold ‘em. Gonna drop the money I got for them in her mailbox tonight.” 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his chair, threading fingers through his coiffed hair. “So that’s it huh?” 

“So what’s it?” Eddie questioned, nonchalantly standing suddenly from the table with a scratch of the chair's legs  against the tiled floor. Throwing his paper plate and napkin away, he stops at the trash can. Doubling back he almost cracks under the scrutiny of Steve’s eyes. 

“Steve, she doesn’t wanna be with me, we’ve been over this. I fucked up, came on too strong.” 

“I’m sorry man,” Steve apologizes, a drag of his large hands down his face. “I really thought she felt the same way—,” he huffs out a breath, “fuck, we all did!”

A shake of Eddie’s curls silences Steve’s words, the whirring noise in his ears, “I’m fine man, really. I’m gonna keep doing what we said we would all those years ago.” 

Walking towards the front door and stomping louder than he should have, Eddie thrusts his arms into his leather jacket, the silk inside cozy along his faded cotton shirt. 

His keys are hanging on the little hook by the door, Steve’s decorator thinking of every detail, he lets the brass teeth dig into his palm. 

“Even if she hates me Steve,” one hand on the silver doorknob, rings clicking against it in his tight grip, he turns his head and looks into pitiful moss colored eyes, as he delivers the only truth he’s ever known, “I still love her.”

Slamming home the driver’s door to the van and turning his key into the ignition, Skid Row’s I Remember You plays gently through the speakers. Eddie hums along and pats his thumbs against the steering wheel. 

It was true he was doing better.

His hair was combed through after using copious amounts of the cheapest conditioner Melvald’s had to offer. And he didn’t need the whiskey anymore to make it through the day. 

He yearned to see your face. 

Even if it was a glare his way or a raised eyebrow at something stupid he had to say, he’d do just about anything to see it. 

Would you be smiling? 

Were you happy without him? 

He hoped you were doing well, and maybe would want to be friends again. 

Turning onto Cherry Lane is pure nostalgia. It had only been a few months but everything looked the same. He felt different and maybe expected everything else to change along with him. 

And there it was. Your house. 

The house he had lived in, learned life skills he should have learned years ago, and most importantly shared the deepest love he’d ever felt with someone in his life.  

The windows were dark, except for a small light in the kitchen, a candle he assumed. The smell of vanilla warmed his nose as he thought of the familiar scent you had kept burning.

The driveway held your car and another he didn’t recognize. By first glance he thought maybe it could be Nancy. But she had just brought her old station wagon into Boom’s last week for a tire rotation. 

The license plates on the fancy BMW were not from Hawkins, housing the wrong number for the county on the Indiana plates. 

His ears heated with jealousy. Throat closing tight trying to hide a choked sob. 

How could you have moved on from him so quickly? The thought of you hooking up with someone while he was practically a dead man walking made him weak in the knees.

A punch to the gut. He had never felt so low in all of his life.

He couldn’t help himself when he jumped out of the van. Foregoing slamming the door. Stomping on cold concrete with shaky legs all the way to the front door. He fumed as he blinked back tears. 

He was prepared to make an ass out of himself. He’d announce himself the same way he had when he opened the door the day he has moved in all those months ago. 

A loud boisterous, HONEY, I’M HOME 

With knuckles raised and his heart hammering in his chest like a bee trapped in a tin can, he was ready to knock. 

Ready to see your shocked face with some faceless guy probably with a better job and stupid suits when Eddie’s wild hair and goofy grin was on the other side of the door. 

But he is stopped short when a muffled shrill scream vibrates off the walls and finds his ears.

see you in volume 12

🐑 (sacrificial for readmore)

[squiddy-god]

"Antique hearts"

Zhongli x reader

Sweet, cute, and domestic fluff with the former geo archon turned charming man. More re-uploads. As usual no beta no prof

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Hesitance was etched along his defined features when you suggested a trip to mondstat, nothing too long, simply a day away from the familiar mountains of liyue. "Are you sure my dear? " He inquired, you nodded smile painted on your face, "it'll just be for a day I promise, there's a place I'd love to take you" 

How could he say no when you gave him such a hopeful expression. He let out a deep sigh, amber eyes closing gently. It was no secret that zhongli was not a fan of mondstat taverns, the oddities that they often served- it simply wasn't his cup of tea. Thankfully you had no intention of taking him somewhere like the cat tail or angel's share, no no, you were planning to take him somewhere you were certain he'd love. "Alright, I suppose a day's visit to the city of wind wouldn't hurt" He agreed, still slightly sceptical. 

Holding his gloved hand in yours you lead the tall man through the stone streets of mondstat. Although the geo Lord stuck out quite a bit in his liyue attire, people still smiled nonetheless. "Dear, where exactly are you taking me? " His inquisitive gaze was locked upon you, the rich hues of his eyes holding a silent plea that it wasn't a tavern. "Well we're almost there! You'll see soon" 

You were indeed right, you soon came to a quaint cafe, a hole in the wall that was almost never packed. 

He took in the sight, a charming sign hung up above and the small chalkboard with a drawn cake and teacup, it gave a calm atmosphere he rather appreciated in a city such as the bustling mondstat. "Wait until you see the inside" You chirped, interlocking your fingers and leading the way. 

The interior was plastered with a warm yellow wallpaper, murals of cities and gardens painted on the walls. It was as if  each wall was a new place, straight from a story book's pages. But truly what caught. His eyes were the antiques. The front room was adorned in cute white shelves stacked with anything from porcelain birds to beautiful oak jewelry boxes. Elegant carvings in the dark wood drew his eyes to inspect them, a shimmer of curiosity lighting his dazzling face. 

You smiled seeing him so happy, the gentle smile he now dawned warmed your heart and you chuckled. The lady at the front desk created you with a warm smile before leading you to a table in the further back of the cafey. Zhongli admired the walls, beautiful flower bushes and charming window shutters tying together in a landscape unfamiliar yet beautiful. 

"This place is quite charming, hmm, even the cloth on the table holds much character, perhaps this place holds interesting stories" He mused holding his chin. He was delighted to learn they had a vast selection of tea, some blends even from liyue harbor, how curious that such a small cafe had such selection. 

His gloved thumb traced the smooth porcelain cup, swirls of gold lining the rim with pale yellow flowers painted on the smooth surface. 

"This is a common shape for tea cups, the design is wider and lends itself to the maximization of surface area" He began, eyes shifting subtlety from the hot liquid to your eyes. You happily listened as he went on, gently placing the cup down on the matching saucer as you intertwined your fingers atop the table. His voice was soothing and calm, the slight rasp lending itself well to his deep vocals. "The reason for this is to focus on the texture and feel of the tea, specifically teas with rich and velvet textures. Hence it is often used to serve black teas such as Sichuan Imperial Gongfu" He finished, a warm smile on his face as he sipped his tea. 

He always loved when you listened to him, he adored how appreciated you made him feel. That twinkle of attentiveness in your eyes as he spoke, yes, he'd make sure to return that love ten fold.

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[ripleylove]

You rock my world.

pairing: Jey Uso x fem OC (Sharon).

genre:fluff and suggestive?

summary: As Jey and his twin brother Jimmy were eating at a Chinese restaurant,in front of them passed a beautiful girl,that Jey instantly took a liking on.

A/N: hi! posting this at almost 6 am cause seeing rhea on my screen after like three months gave me motivation so ye ALSO I couldn't sleep so I said fuck it in gonna post after weeks. hope y'all enjoy!!! <3

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The ramen shop Jey and his twin brother Jimmy were eating in was full to the brim,but,with a bit of persuasion,they managed to convince the owner to let them sit on the big window placed at the front of the traditional restaurant.

"C'mon,Jey! You promised you were gon' pay this! Why you arguing with me?" Jimmy exclaimed while making dramatic hand gestures to prove his point.

Jey sighed,and,clumsily,placed a hot dumpling in his mouth, enjoying the warm sensation it brought.

"Nah,uce,you are paying for it." Jey nonchalantly said,and Jimmy audibly gasped,making a few heads turn.

"You can't be for real! I paid the last time,so now it's your turn,uce!"

"But it was your idea to come here,why do I gotta pay!" Jey exclaimed,putting his wood chopsticks in his ramen bowl as he tragically turned to his twin brother.

As Jimmy's third plate of spring rolls arrived,Jey rolled his eyes.

"See? You wanna eat like a damn pig, you're gonna make me broke! That's what you're paying for,I ain't paying nothing." Jey said with a sassy tone to his voice,but their arguing quickly stopped. (or,at least, Jimmy's arguing.)

"Ooooo,look at that! God damn!" Jimmy muttered under his breath,and Jey couldn't help but stare at the beautiful girl passing just in front of them.

Her pitch black curly hair extended to her back, accentuating her brown and glowy skin.

Her red velvet dress flowed by its own on her perfect body,fitting like a glove on her curvy figure.

Her plump lips decorated with brown lip liner and lip gloss that was slightly lighter,and her perfectly made shimmer eyeshadow added more details to her flawless self.

Her matching stilettos completed her outfit, together with her black Birkin bag and her big gold hoop earrings.

Jey looked at her with,almost,heart eyes.

The confidence that her aura radiated, was able to captivate everybody's interest,and Jey wasn't any different.

As she was making her way to the bar where she would have to meet her best friend Karina,she turned around to make eye contact with the twins,but,especially,with Jey.

"Oh,man. She's looking at you!" Jimmy said,while teasingly nudging his younger twin's muscular shoulder.

Jey immediately acted confident,rubbing his beard with his rough fingers,while looking at the girl he deeply desired.

"That girl is mine." Jey said,standing up from his seat at the window,his twin mirroring his actions.

As he was standing,she was still looking at him,and as she saw him starting to approach,she smirked and started walking away.

Jey didn't hesitate to run out of the restaurant,but,as him and Jimmy were finally out,they couldn't manage to find her.

"That's it,man! This is how I lose the prettiest girl I've ever seen!" Jey whined,and looked at his brother with a look of defeat.

But,after some seconds,the girl came back to their sights,and she was just some meters away.

"She's so pretty." Jey whispered,as he watched her passing in front of him, probably heading to a bar close by.

The realization hit,and Jey decided to chase the most beautiful girl he's ever seen,while she was directed to the bar.

Entering the place,with both of the twins following behind her,she greeted her best friend Karina with a hug,that was reciprocated.

Besides the two pretty girls,a classy and quite old looking guy approached,and tried to hit on the girl Jey desired.

"Hey,I bet you, can't nobody get that girl." Jimmy whispered in Jey's ear,and the youngest twin rolled his eyes.

"Jim,I can get her." Jey looked at his brother with a 'I'm done with your bullshit' kind of look,and Jimmy tsked.

"I bet you never-Neverland,you can't." Jimmy teased his brother with a nudge in a joking manner.

"Watch me get that girl." Jey securely admitted,looking at the girl he wanted.

"C'mon,uce. Hurry up or they're gon' steal her from you!" Jimmy motivated his twin brother,and Jey finally decided to make a move.

With a confident walk to the front bar,Jey quickly but surely reached the girl he liked,and she was staring at his every move with her ocean siren eyes.

Jey offered his palm to her,a gesture that she immediately understood.

She removed her hand from the old man's grasp,and took Jey's instead.

A sincere smile lingered on Jey's face,while she wrapped her hands around his neck,and he wrapped his around her small but curvy waist,as a ballad song graciously embraced the two in a bubble of softness.

Her body moved gracefully against his,and Jey's large hands caressed oh,so tenderly her back,that was exposed thanks to her charming red velvet dress.

The dim yellow light of the bar created an intimate atmosphere,and her sparkly honey flavored body oil made her whole figure outstand.

As the chorus of the song gently filled the two lovebirds' ears,her icy blue eyes looked up at his chocolate ones,and they could already feel the connection between each other.

"So,what's your name,ma?" He asked while still looking at her,and he swore he saw a flush lingering on her cheeks for a moment.

"Sharon. Yours?" She asked back,and he smiled at her soft tone of voice,and he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Joshua,but I like to be called Jey." He admitted,and she mirrored his previous smile.

"Jey." She whispered under her breath with a sheepish smile,and,to him,it seemed like his name gilded off your tongue like honey.

"You could also call me yours." He added with a wink,and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"So...do you wanna get outta here?" He asked after some other songs played in the background (and after they danced them all),hopeful that you would agree.

In fact,she nodded and he let go of her waist,wrapping his large hand around hers,and the sensation it brought was priceless.

Jimmy was sitting at the front bar drinking his second glass of Martini,when he saw the both of them coming towards him with joined hands.

"I suppose you really did get her,uce. Wouldn't have expected my bro to have such a talent!" Jimmy snorted,taking another sip of his alcohol,and Jey gestured to him to shut up.

"Shut up! Uce, I'm gonna use your car to take Sharon out of here,and you gon' take a taxi. Got it?" Jey didn't even give time to his twin brother to respond when he gave you his (twin's) jacket,and brought you out of the bar.

Jimmy sat on the stool of the front bar with a deeply confused expression and he asked to himself,

"Did he just steal my car and my jacket?"

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[feralbutfluffy]

Give a Man a Mask

The man who caught Aziraphale’s eye was lounging rather indecorously on one of the many benches lining the walls of the ballroom. He (because despite every inch of them being covered, Aziraphale was sure it was a he) wore a well-tailored black velvet suit jacket that fit snuggly over a black waistcoat intricately embroidered with gunmetal filigree. Underneath the waistcoat, Aziraphale could just make out a black shirt and a flash of burgundy lace at the man’s throat. Black leather gloves laced up around his wrists, and matching knee-high boots fit snuggly over the man's fitted black trousers.

Aziraphale sighed with envy. He could never pull off something like that.

Of course - he told himself - it wasn’t the man necessarily that had caught his eye. It was the clothing; he had always noticed and admired fine clothing, and his outfit really was exquisitely made.

Besides, it was hard not to notice someone who had dressed in such stark contrast to the rest of the guests. It seemed everyone else was dressed to excess, resplendent in feathers and lace, gemstones and pearls. This man’s costume, by contrast, was downright modern; minimal but striking, yet still in keeping with Carnivale. The handstitched leather Plague Doctor mask beneath a black tricorn hat completed the look. It should have looked offputting, really...

It did not.

The man looked less like a man, Aziraphale thought, and more like a long black shadow curving against the wall. Aziraphale popped a fritelle into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing. 

If he was honest with himself (which he would prefer not to be, all things considered) he knew what had really attracted his attention; there was something about him - the lazy confidence evident in the way he was sitting, or the dark clothing perhaps - that made him think of Crowley. He hadn’t seen the demon in a few years, and although he was absolutely loathe to admit it even within the privacy of his own mind, he did rather miss him.

Well. He missed him and worried about him in equal parts. Handing over the thermos of Holy Water a few years before had certainly ramped up his anxiety.

He was extremely glad of his full-face volto mask as he watched the figure out of the corner of his eye. He popped another fritelle into his mouth under the mask, chewed, and swallowed with a little groan of pleasure. They really were delicious.

The Plague Doctor swiveled to face him as if he had heard him, and although there was no possible way the stranger could have heard anything of the sort from across the crowded ballroom, Aziraphale blushed ferociously. The heat of it was almost unbearable behind his full-face mask.

He turned his body away from the man, staring down at the sweet delights laid out on the banquet table, and tried very hard to ignore what felt like a heated stare. He gazed down at the galani, his mouth suddenly dry.

Although he was almost expecting it, the dark presence at his elbow a moment later made him start.

“Buonasera, come sta?” said the Plague Doctor in perfect Italian, tipping his hat in a quick formal bow.

Aziraphale had been right about it being a man.

He jerked back at the greeting, startled by the man’s sudden proximity, and scrambled for a reply. 

“Oh! Buonasera!” Aziraphale could think of nothing else to say. He cringed behind his mask and wondered if he could miracle his way out of a conversation that was embarrassing before it had even begun.

The Plague Doctor was wearing a zendale beneath his tricorn, and the silk hood concealed every part of his head not covered by mask or hat. He tilted his head, looking like a curious raven, and rested both his gloved hands on top of a cane Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. His tight grip - Aziraphale could see his knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves - obscured most of what looked like a beautifully carved gunmetal handle.

He looked up. The large eyesockets of the mask were filled with dark glass lenses, revealing absolutely nothing. Aziraphale smoothed down his more traditional costume. The cream and white concoction with gold embroidery and an abundance of lace ruffles had rather delighted him when he’d stepped out this morning, but it felt quite indulgent next to this austere creature.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself?” said the Plague Doctor in an extremely thick Italian accent, leaning forward on his cane so that the beak of his mask almost punctured his bubble of personal space.

“Oh yes, very much so!” Aziraphale nodded, wondering what had drawn this man to his side and how he could possibly reverse it. For all that he had been intrigued before, he hadn’t intended to actually engage the stranger in conversation. There was something extremely unsettling about him up close. Perhaps it was the costume, or the way he was standing; it was patient, watchful, almost… predatory.

Aziraphale shuddered, and the Plague Doctor’s head tilted the other way, making it clear he had noticed. 

“Va bene, Signore?” Are you well?

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh yes… Sto bene!” I am well. There was a brief pause while he summoned up formal Italian and hurriedly added a thank you. “La ringrazio!”

The Plague Doctor nodded. “How did you come to be here?” The words came low and slow, and Aziraphale felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his skin prickling with awareness.

He had always had a bit of a weakness for the Italian accent. 

“It was suggested to me by the concierge at my hotel,” he smiled, even though the man couldn’t see it. “He thought I might enjoy it, and he was right! I am enjoying it tremendously! The food alone...!" He made an appreciative noise. "How did you…? Are you local to the area?”

A slight tilt of the head as if the Plague Doctor were considering his question. It was surprising how demonstrative he was able to be without a single facial expression.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Aziraphale thought he could hear a smile in his voice, “Although for tonight... Certo. If you like.” 

The man swept into a much deeper, more theatrical bow than before. The black feather in his hat almost grazed Aziraphale’s chest. “This is my palazzo - my festa - and I am your host for the evening. You are…” he said, and straightened, holding out his hand. When Aziraphale hesitated, the man crooked his fingers impatiently and for some reason Aziraphale obeyed, quickly placing his white silk-gloved hand in the man’s leather-clad grip. 

“... You are extremely welcome here,” the man finished, bringing Aziraphale's knuckles to his mask.

It didn’t seem to matter that there were no lips there to brush against his hand; Aziraphale felt it as if the man had kissed his knuckles open-mouthed. A dart of something hot and unutterable shot through him, flared up and burnt out, thankfully vanishing before Aziraphale had time to recognise it and panic.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. La ringrazio,” he said, feeling flustered.

“No need for such formality, Signore,” the Plague Doctor said warmly, tugging his hand without warning to bring them shoulder to shoulder. He tucked Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his elbow and patted his hand as if to reassure him that it was alright.

Aziraphale thought that it was probably not alright.

Surely it was not alright to walk arm in arm with a total stranger? Surely there was something morally grey about taking a turn with a mortal Italian dandy who apparently owned a palazzo and, by extension, the many sweet treats Aziraphale had been helping himself to throughout the evening?

If nothing else, surely he should feel some guilt or shame about enjoying the closeness of a stranger who reminded him so much of Crowley?

Continue reading...

[roguelov]

Crimson Stained Petals (Chapter 5)

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~6.1k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: fluff, pining, heated makeout, bloodlust, some angst

Chapter 4, more chapters to come!

With a single exhale from the universe, days flew by on the breeze. Your once tense nerves for the party suddenly formed into bubbling excitement. Yet, before you could stew in such emotions, the day of the party arrived. As the sun slowly descended, you began to get ready and luckily Lucienne happily offered to help.

“You look stunning,” Lucienne commented as she finished up the final touches.

Your hands ran over the fine material. A bashful smile curled over your lip and you muttered, “Thank you.”

She smoothed out the dress once more. She stepped back, smiling at you. “Now go, you don’t want to be late.”

You stumbled out your thanks as she ushered you out of your room. You laughed then walked towards the front door. From the front entrance, Morpheus heard your footsteps and sweet melodic laughter. His back faced you, yet as you rounded through the corner he peered over his shoulder. In a single look, you revived his ancient heart.

You were draped in a matching color: an inky midnight black. The neckline plunged rather far, a revealing cut. Thick, velvet, straps looped over your shoulders with fine silver fabric mimicking tassels draped and swayed over your bicep at every fraction of your movement. The dark corset delicately cinched your waist, elongating your figure. Silver embroidery - swirls, spirals, with floral accents - trailed across the top of the corset. The same pattern was added onto the skirt, winding down the side and along the bottom. A single slit ran up the dress revealing the dark ruffling underskirt - or so the illusion. With every movement, a small train behind you swished. The final touch were silk black gloves pulled up past your elbow.

It was elegant, it was expensive.

It was also a gift from Morpheus for this special night.

Morpheus slowly remembered how to breathe again as he fully turned around taking you all in. “You’re beautiful.”

You bowed your head, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks, “Thank you.” It was such a simple compliment, yet coming from him it meant the world to you. “And you look handsome as well.”

Morpheus wore a pristine three piece all black suit. A notable design was the similar swirling, floral pattern on his vest, however it could only be seen up close. It was black on black, and still striking. His pale skin glowed against the void of color. His eyes sparkled like gems, blue topaz seen dangling from high society ladies’ ears and necks. He was the epitome of night, not an ounce of color on him this evening, not even his usual ruby.

“Thank you,” he smiled softly. He extended his arm out to you. “Shall we?”

You easily returned his smile, and looped your arm through his. “Yes.”

Morpheus led you out to the carriage, and the awaiting driver. He kindly opened the door for you and helped you in. For a moment, you were royalty. And you secretly indulged in the fantasy of riches and glamor. You were from wealth and not a lowly worker. You were about to have an evening of adventure and fun with your date -

Date?

Plopping down into the seat, you stewed in such thoughts as Morpheus joined you. He slid into the seat across from you and asked the carriage man to please go. It would be a long ride and it was best to start now. The sun had already set, leaving hints of its warm light still clinging on the horizon. Yet, neither of you panicked. It was a ‘midnight gathering’ per Robert Galding’s words.

You jerked in your seat as the carriage lurched forward.

Date? You thought again. Is that what you truly were tonight? Were you his date or was this a simple act of kindness? Yes? No? Somewhere in between? No, you were a simple employee who struck gold with such a generous employer.

Or, so you continued to tell yourself.

Even if a part, deep down, wished otherwise. A part of you with a voice so small and neglected over the years. If it could just speak, if it could just have this for a moment. But, perhaps it was best to not indulge in such dizzying fantasies. He was your boss and -

“Are you okay?”

Jolted by his voice, you snapped out of your thoughts. You blinked, staring wide eyed at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Morpheus offered a soft lopsided smile. “You seem … lost in your thoughts I suppose, are you okay?”

You laughed nervously, pushing aside your previous thoughts. “I guess I’m a little nervous. I haven’t had much experience in parties.”

If any.

“I’m sure you will do well. It will be fun, a nice change of pace,” he offered.

You nodded. “I’m sure it will be.”

Hopefully.

He smiled, leaning back into his seat. “Relax, we have a long journey ahead.”

Your eyes dropped down as his leg gently bumped into yours, a small reassurance. Your heart flipped then quickly settled. His calm aura, his charming smile, the way his head tilted back further into the seat, how his eyes softened as you stared, you were spellbound by him.

His calmness radiated, making you calm.

In a few short hours, you arrived at an extravagant home - a mansion. Warm light oozed out of every window and opening. Soft chatter and laughter of people enchanted your senses.

Morpheus stepped out, graciously took your arm and guided you to the front entrance of the home. Standing inside the main hall, a man talked with a woman. His laughter was so loud and so contagious. His smile radiated. He was a dash of sun during these dark hours. His chestnut hair, flecked with grey streaks on his temples, was slicked back and nearly touched his shoulders. His chin was stubbled with a faint beard, a certain ruggedness to his otherwise soft appearance. His suit was a fine charcoal grey, soft and subtle, like the color of a rain cloud blowing away on the wind revealing the sun behind it, or grey found in the pebbles of a riverbed full of fish and life. He was a breath of life, and you were instantly in awe of him.

The woman giggled then shuffled off into the ballroom off to the side. The man’s warm eyes swiveled, locking onto the pair of you. His eyes instantly lit up. “Morpheus,” he greeted, smiling ear to ear.

“Robert,” Morpheus said with a far more reserved smile. Morpheus turned his head addressing you. “This is my dear friend, Robert Gadling. Robert, this is my company for tonight, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Robert reached over, taking your hand and politely kissed your knuckles. “Pleasure, and do please refer to me as Hob most of my friends do.”

“Pleasure, Hob. You may simply call me, (Y/N).”

Hob smiled, beaming and bright. “So, how do you know our dear dark friend?”

“Oh, well, I’m actually one of his employees,” you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. “I’m a live-in servant. I mainly do house chores.”

“She is my plus one,” Morpheus interjected. “And that is all I wish to hear from tonight.”

He didn’t need, nor want, more gossip.

Hob glanced at Morpheus with a certain flint in his eyes and nodded. He glanced back at you, still smiling, “Well, I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Thank you.” You returned the smile.

Morpheus led you into the room. He greeted a few others and introduced you, but you quickly forgot their names. It was a bit overwhelming. He steered you to a table filled with refreshments. Picking up two filled glasses, he passed one to you. You both silently cheered before taking a sip. A sweet wine coated your tongue and down your throat. You hummed, thankfully for the alcohol hoping to settle your nerves.

Morpheus leaned into you. “I am going to speak with Robert, will you be okay by yourself?”

You couldn’t deny the quick douse of fear over your heart. Your eyes darted to the other guests who laughed loudly. However, you simply smiled at him. “I believe I will be, I’m more than capable of handling some social interactions.”

He chuckled lightly. “Good, I will be back shortly.”

He strolled off to Hob, who stayed by the ballroom entrance to greet any other late guests. You eyed the crowd, sipped your drink for a boost of courage, then decided to try to talk with others. You hadn’t spoken to many on your way in, you might as well see what these fine folk are like.

Morpheus slid up beside Hob. His eyes were still on you as you made your way to the crowd of people. Hob followed his line of sight and snickered under his breath. He turned to look at his dead old friend with his ever charming smile. “So, a mortal?”

Morpheus did not respond initially.

”Although. I did specify not to bring Lucienne, you still somehow managed to bring an employee of yours.”

”Is there a point you are trying to make?” Morphues tore his eyes away from you.

Hob continued to smile, one that was endearing and kind. “I’m simply glad you came.”

Morpheus was slightly taken back.

”It’s good to see you out again. You haven’t visited me in years, and had declined my other invitations so I’m happy to see you are doing well.”

Morpheus’s gaze slowly peered back at you amongst the crowd. Your smile was wide and beautiful, and your laughter was still the most wondrous melody he had ever heard. “I am, better than I have been in years.”

“Good.” Hob pushed himself off the wall. “I do believe it is time we start the party, I hope you don’t mind what I am about to do.”

Unaware, you laughed as a woman recounted her lively escapades with countless partners.

“Excuse me?” You twisted around to see the host, Hob, with his hand reached out to you. “May I have the honor of dancing with you?”

“Oh, um,” you hesitated, seeing how Morphues was nowhere to be seen. But, you couldn’t be rude to the host of the event. You carefully placed your hand in his, “Yes, you may.”

Hob smiled and led you over to the dance floor. It was nerve wracking. It wasn’t the honor of dancing with him, but also the first dance of the night. Your nerves must have been apparent because Hob joked, “You don’t have to worry, if anything I should be. I have two left feet.”

A smile tugged on your lips as your nerves settled. Hob gently spun you around and instantly the musicians - who eagerly waited - began to play a beautiful melody. Hand in hand, arm on waist and shoulder. hob led the two of you in a circle to the heart of the song. Quickly, and thankfully, others began to join. The dance floor was filled with a sea of people and a cacophony of noise.

“So,” Hob began as he twisted you around, “how did you come to know our dear brooding friend?”

You laughed once. “It’s not an exciting story, quite plain actually.”

”Tell me, if you can.”

”Well,” you sighed, “I travel often, and wanderer I suppose, never in one place for too long. I was in town and saw an advertisement in the local paper for a live-in servant to do housework. I was low on funds and decided to take a leap.”

Hob nodded, “I see, so happenstance?”

”Correct.”

”And I hope you do not mind me asking, but why haven’t you set roots somewhere? I understand the need to see the world, I also don’t stay still for long.”

“Like you said, to see the world and sometimes my feet are already moving before I can hear the call myself.” Your smile turned somewhat sorrowful. “I am always looking for something. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ll know it once I see it.”

Hob’s eyes softened. “And I hope you find what you are looking for.”

Suddenly, Hob’s eyes flickered behind you. A knowing smile curled on his lips. A new hand tapped on your shoulder and a familiar voice asked, “May I have this dance?”

Looking behind you, Morphues stood in the moving sea of spinning people with his hand offered out. You glanced back at Hob, and he gave a small nod. You can go, it said. You faced Morpheus smiling widely, “I would be honored.”

You placed your hand into his and instantly the world faded away. Taking your hand, he spun you around almost as if he was showing you off. He brought you close as his free hand landed carefully on your waist. Despite the layers you adorn, you still felt it.

“I hope Hob wasn’t too much for you,” he asked, leading the dance.

You laughed lightly. “No, not at all.”

“Good.”

Dancing with him, the world melted away. It was you and him, nothing else. Two hearted pounded in unison as feet echoed the chaotic beat. If others were watching - and they certainly were - you did not care. Sparks flew. Words needn’t be said. Each of you were utterly entranced. You danced and danced, pulling and pushing each other. The gap between the two of you seemed to shrink and shrink with every step and turn.

He was so close.

So tantalizing close.

Morphues spun you around, bringing your back to his chest. His hand laid flat against your stomach. His other hand held your wrist still leading the dance. He dipped his head, his hot breath fanned across your ear.

“Care to join me for a breath of fresh air?” He whispered.

You tipped your head back, and hummed, “Yes.”

Off the dance floor, and your arm looped through his, Morpheus led you away from all the commotion. Through the pair of double doors, he stepped outside onto the terrace. On the lawn, there was a cobblestone path leading to a fountain with an assortment of bushes and flowers lining the path. It was open, and freeing, with its rolling hills surrounding the property. You could see to the farthest home with its lights still aglow inside. You could imagine picnics in the sun, or tumbling down the hills like a child. It was gorgeous, yet the hills brought a silence unlike the constant chatter of the forest.

Morpheus guided you down the cobble path and around the fountain to a bench. He sat down, his back to the fountain and manor. It was a miser of privacy, but he was willing to take it. He needed the fresh air, he needed just a moment alone with you. He gazed up ahead at the twinkling stars and crescent moon. You carefully sat down beside him, however you did not look uo. Instead, you looked at him. He was the night. The color of his hair plucked from the dark corner of the night sky, his skin bathed in starlight, and his eyes were like two moons brought to life from legends.

He was a god of night.

Stunning, lovely, and frightening all at once. He was dangerous, you knew that. A man of power, and a man of prestige. And yet, you could not stop your heart from fluttering in his presence, you could not stop yourself from constantly seeking him out, you could not stop thinking about him.

Delusion, such blind delusions.

He was dangerous and charming, a wicked combination.

But, for a moment, you allowed yourself to live in these dizzying emotions. If just for a single night. Let me have this, let me pretend, let me dream. You leaned over, with your heart in your throat, and pecked his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me,” you whispered. “Even if I was your only choice.”

Morphues whipped his head. Surprise and confusion battled in his eyes. You were so close. He could hear your wild heartbeat, and he knew his own matched it. He could smell your impossibly sweet blood coursing through your veins igniting his courage while also driving him to near insanity. Your soft breath hitched, your lips parted, and your face under the moonlight beckoned him - like a moth to a flame.

Or a predator to its prey.

Your words finally broke through his stupor. “Only choice?” He repeated those words, almost unsure he heard you correctly. “My dear, it was never a choice. I brought you - I came here - to show you a good time. If anything I should be giving my thanks that you agreed to join me.”

”But, you didn’t have to, even if your friend heavily suggested -“

”If I did not wish to come, I wouldn’t be here/ And you have been so kind and wondrous with your stay. I wanted to repay your kindness.”

He didn’t have to. He didn’t need to say a thing to you, yet he constantly sought out your options and checked in on you. “Why?” You asked.

Why me?

“Because I wanted to, is that so wrong?”

”No, no, it’s not,” you shook your head, “I just cannot fathom that a man of your stature acts the way you do.”

It doesn’t make sense.

“Should I ignore you? Scold you? Treat you poorly so that you hate working for me?”

”No, I -“

He leaned forward, his hand rested on top of yours. All you saw and felt was hime. His hand sparked a fire across your fire and burned its way into your chest. ”Please, stop questioning my generosity. I do what I do because I want to. I wanted to bring you here, I wanted you to meet my friend, I wanted to dance with you, I wanted you to be here with me.”

You couldn’t breathe. He stole your breath, your thoughts, and any sane reasoning. Don’t. Don’t do it. Your logical side urged you, it was here to protect yourself. However, you could not hear it over the sound of your own heart, a heart full of want and blinded by rose colored glasses. You couldn’t hear it over Morpheus’s voice that sang sweetly in your ears. You couldn’t see reason when he was directly in front of you, and how his soft lips tempted you.

Damn everything for just a moment.

In a flash, you closed the gap and kissed him. It was short, a quick peck on the lips. You may have gathered the courage to act, but you didn’t want to overstep. You pulled away - a small sliver of space to breathe and collect your thoughts. Opening your eyes, you were met with the most beautiful blue imagainable, a blue which haunted your dreams. You leaned away as an apology formed on your tongue.

However, Morphues was a viper.

His hand shot out and wrapped around the back of your neck, bringing you back to him. His lips collided with yours. This time he wanted to savor it, he had a tasting and it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He eagerly parted his lips, begging for entrance. And why would you deny him? It was messy, it was intense, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You were set on fire by him, consumed by him.

He tilted his head, and slipped his tongue inside. Instantly, you moaned, unabashedly and surprised by how easily he pulled out such a sound by you. You gave yourself over, letting him learn how to make you sing.

And sing you would.

His tongue swirled around, making your skin flush. You grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. Your bodies flushed together like puzzle pieces. A hum rumbled in the back of his throat. His lips were impossibly soft and addictive. The touch and taste seared into your mind, a memory to always look back on. A hauntingly sweet memory.

More. He wanted more.

He gently lowered you down on the bench. His hands landed on either side of your head. He finally broke the kiss, staring down at you - you who was somewhat sprawled out so lovely on this stone bench. You looked delectable, you looked ravishing, you looked like a goddess he was ready to drop to his knees and pray to. Your chest heaved frantically. He could hear how your heart raced, and how it raced in tandem with his ancient one. You had brought new life back into this immortal.

Staring up, Morpheus was casted in the moonlight. An angel of mythos or the devil of temptation, you couldn't decide. However, in this moment, you frankly didn’t care. Salvation? You never cared for it, especially now. Under the moonlight, his eyes almost seemed to glow, unnaturally so. A trick of your drunk mind - drunk on alcohol, sin, and love. You reached up, caressing his face. He immediately leaned into your touch. He turned his head and kissed on top of your glove on the inside of your wrist.

A flare of desire and hunger swirled inside of him. It was deadly to play with them, but he couldn’t leave this moment yet. He weaned to savor every possible second until the clock struck.

Or before the monster called.

He kissed down your arms. You hummed, craning your neck. You threw your arm over his shoulder, not wishing him to leave. He nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. He groaned.

Dear lord -

His lips traced over the vein in your neck. Your blood called out to him. He could feel the pulse by his lips, beckoning him. He tentatively kissed the crook of your neck. Hearing you sigh in delight, he continued. He trailed butterfly kisses up and down your neck, feeling you squirm under him. He slowly placed an opened mouth kiss on your neck and you shivered. Desire surged through him. His teeth grazed over the unblemished skin, and he thought it a crime to not tarnish it.

Part of him, lost in the moment, wanted others to see. He wanted them to know you were his. No hands shall touch you unless they want repercussions. He began to nibble on your skin. You breathed out a moan, drawing him closer. You didn’t dare let him leave now.

He could imagine countless nights tangled together. He could imagine you laid out on his bed, on his silk sheets. He could imagine how you called out his name like a prayer. He could imagine mapping out your body with his lips. He could imagine how your back would arch under his touch. He could imagine how your eyes would droop in lust and want. He could imagine himself begging for a taste. He could imagine you smiling and turning your head to reveal a faint scar where he already fed before. He could imagine how sweet you would taste and how the pain brought ecstasy. He could imagine -

His incisors lengthened, beginning to poke at your skin. Unaware, and drowning in bliss, you hummed softly. Morpheus slowly began to apply pressure. His once playful intentions were replaced with something more sinister. Pain and pleasure mixed. Morpheus could not, and would not, stop. He had you in his grasp, and all he wanted was a taste. Just a mere taste. Back in the garden, it wasn’t enough. You lingered on his tongue constantly all day and all night.

More. Just a little more, a voice growled in his thoughts.

However, pain grew to discomfort, it was no longer pleasure. You hissed. He felt it. He felt your heartbeat jump, not out of lust but fear. He smelled the surge of concern wash over you. It was bitter. He instantly lurched back. He hovered over you. You opened your eyes, meeting his. His eyebrows furrowed together as sorrow stained his eyes. You tried to say something - anything - to calm him, to keep this going. But, he was gone. He muttered under his breath, then ran off.

It happened all so fast, like in a blink. One moment he was drawing out such desires, the next he vanished. Like a mirage, a dream. Now, you were left on your back, breathless, trying to claw at the fleeting memory. You wanted to savor, to hold it close to ensure it was reality and not some fantasy of the night.

“I’m sorry.”

That was what he said. The two words finally caught up to your ears. He was sorry, but why? Why would he be apologizing? Was it you? Was it -

You sighed, deeply. The fantasy, the allure of the night, had finally washed away. You shouldn’t be delving into such delights. Not with him. You sat up, and ran your hand over your neck. You winced slightly under the tender flesh. You glanced back at the light of the manor, to the cheers of people and music. Now, you had to walk back and pretend to others as if they did not know what happened, as if the signs were not slowly forming on your neck.

You walked away, not daring to glance back at the space which held a new secret. It was best to get back to the manor, best to get back to reality. You shouldn’t mix yourself with him, you knew better. Slipping back inside, you scanned the room. No one paid any mind to you, perhaps too drunk to care. However, you did not see Morpheus, no signs of the regal dark king.

The idea of the ride back, those long few hours, weighed on you. The tension, the awkwardness, and the obvious confrontation was going to be unbearable. Yet, you continued on your search because you wanted to go back, you were done with this silly dream, done with your delusions. You only needed Morpheus to return back with. If you can find him, which was somehow proving to be more difficult.

You did, however, find Hob. He was leaning on the wall near the doorway to the main foyer and ballroom. He was watching over his guest ensuring they were still enjoying themselves.

You approached him, “Excuse me, Hob?”

Hob, who was enjoying a moment of solitude with a drink, smiled at you. “Yes?”

You glanced around once more, yet still no Morpheus. You sighed deeply, addressing Hob. “I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Morpheus?”

“I’m sorry, I have not.” Hob frowned, “Has something happened?”

“No, I just wish to go home now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to see you go. But, I will keep an eye out for him. If I see him, I will tell you straight away.”

“Thank you, Hob, I appreciate it.” You turned and fell into the crowd, moving through the crowd of people trying to find him.

Hob sighed and leaned his head against the wall. “I suppose you heard that.”

On the other side of the entrance, Morpheus was pressed against the wall hidden in the edges of darkness. Yes, he heard it all. And, it pained him greatly. He ran his hand over his mouth, still feeling your lips and skin on his lips. Most of all, he felt his incisors still out seeking your blood.

“I did,” Morpheus mumbled.

“You should talk to her.”

“And do what?” Morpheus hissed. “I nearly killed her tonight, Robert. And I can still feel myself being pulled in by her.”

“And what should I do?”

“I’m not sure. I simply can’t be alone with her, for I am afraid I will hurt her gravely.”

Hob sipped his drink. “I understand.”

A silence hung over the pair. Hob watched as you circled the party still looking for Morpheus and even asked a few others. Meanwhile, Morpheus was only a few feet away.

“I’m surprised you brought her.” Hob whispered. “A mortal and one in your care, it’s just like -“

“Do not speak his name.” Morpheus’s tone was cold, and intimidating. Hob was crossing a line, one neither spoke of but knew existed.

Hob, however, quickly brushed over Morpheus’s threat. He wouldn’t speak his name, but he would warn his friend. “I worry about you, Morpheus. That is all, we all do. I just hope you understand what will and what always happens to mortals.”

“I am very aware of their lifeline, Hob.” More than most realize, he bitterly thought.

“… I … I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Morpheus frowned at Hob’s gentle tone. Hob was truly his closest, and only, friend he had. He trusted him without a doubt. “I believe we both know pain is permanently ingrained in our long lives.”

Hob snorted, taking another sip. “Yes, I cannot disagree with that.”

“Please,” Morpheus mumbled, completely broken. “Tell her I fell ill, or that I already left. Send her away in our carriage, and I will find another transportation home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I can’t be near her now.”

“Okay.”

That was all Hob said, before he pushed himself off the wall and walked towards you.

Morpheus peered out from behind the wall, and watched. Hob smiled as he approached you, only for his smile to drop like a well timed act. He told a lie, and said to take a carriage home. Your face dropped, but before sadness could take hold you smiled. You thanked Hob, and wished him the best and to hopefully see him again. You held yourself high, and buried your emotions deep. You would not break, at least not now in public.

Morpheus’s heart squeezed. To think he caused this, to think he brought heartache upon you, it nearly ruined him. And in a way, he believed he deserved it. Was he not a monster after all? Did he not almost lose himself and try to kill you?

Hob, taking your arm, led you out. While, Morpheus slinked away into the darkness, into halls unseen. Like the monster he was. Hob walked you outside and saw you out. With a flick of the reins, with a whine of a horse, Morpheus now knew you were safely away from him. When Hob returned, he headed directly towards Morpheus casted in his shadows.

“She is gone.” Hob stated.

“I know.”

“And so how will you get home?” Hob asked.

“I have my ways.”

Anger and discontent roared inside Hob. “What will you do? Run the whole way? Ride a carriage and pray the sun doesn’t touch you? You are not even wearing the charm I gave you, how will you protect yourself now? You think you are faster than the sun, or do you want the sun to catch you? Or do you think my magic can do such great feats of sending you away in a blink or stopping the sun from rising?”

Morpheus’s lips thinned.

Hob sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am just worried for you.”

Morpheus’s expression softened. “I know and I appreciate your concern. But, I can see myself out.”

“Morpheus, please -“

“I will be fine, I assure you.”

Hob wanted to argue more, but Morpheus had been set in his ways. “Okay, but do make it back alive. If not for my sake, but for her sake.”

Morpheus blinked, then sighed. “I will. Thank you for inviting me, Robert. I do apologize for the inconvenience I thrusted upon you.”

Hob waved him off. “Nonsense, it makes for an exciting night, just keep in contact more.”

“You have my word.”

Morpheus was out the door before Hob could properly say goodbye. Outside under the moon, Morpheus tipped his head back, exhaling deeply. He opened his senses allowing the world to flood through him once again. Hob’s comment about running home was partially true. Perhaps if he was in his younger years, and if he had fed properly recently, he could have surpassed you in the carriage. However, he was older and muscles had not been used in so long. He had resigned himself to a chair and desk, dealing with stories and business. Instead, he could make it home before sunrise, but not before you. No, you would walk into an almost empty manor with questions and thoughts he could not answer.

No, not until tomorrow. Or if he had the courage to do so.

He looked towards the direction of home, towards you in the carriage vanished from sight. Inhaling, he turned then stepped once then twice then sprinted away. One moment he stood in the driveway of Hob’s home, the next Morpheus was gone. All that was left behind was the sounds of wiping wind, and regret.

Meanwhile, you stewed in your thoughts. Hob had lied. You knew that. It was evident on his face. Morpheus was not sick, he was hiding. But, why? Why the lies? What happened by the fountain? What changed?

And why did you care so much?

You closed your eyes, and rubbed your temples as a headache slowly formed. To think tonight ended in such an unbelievable way. You nearly wished to go back in time and warn your younger self. But, you couldn’t. So, instead, you sat here with bitter thoughts and a confused heart.

When you arrived at the manor, in the dead of night, you quietly thanked the carriage driver. He said nothing, only rode off. You slowly approached the door, and it dawned on you: you had no key. You internally groaned, but knew one person was home. Ringing the bell, you winced at how long it resonated throughout the silence. You, thankfully, did not wait long. The door swung up revealing a slightly disheveled Lucienne. Her glasses gone as she blinked trying to get her bearings.

“I am so sorry, Lucienne,” you apologized. “I truly didn’t wish to wake you, but I didn’t have any choice.”

Lucienne’s eyes landed on you, then darted behind you. “Where is Lord Morpheus?”

“Still at Robert Gadling’s. He had fallen ill, and insisted I go without him.” You so easily spewed out the lie you were told.

Her eyes widened, “Is he okay?”

“I believe he is, he is under Mr. Gadling’s care that I see no reason to cause concern.”

Lucienne nodded. “Right, well, I do hope he comes home soon.”

You didn’t respond to her statement. “May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Lucienne stepped aside and allowed you through. She shut and locked the door behind you. Turning towards you, Lucienne asked, “Are you okay?”

“What?” You spun around.

“Are you okay? Traveling alone and for so long, not to mention having to leave Lord Morpheus, I suspect you might be in some distress. Which is unfortunate after what I hope was a lovely evening.”

“Oh, yes, well the night was fun, certainly unforgettable.”

Lucienne smiled, softly. Her eyes were clearly tired.

“I should let you go,” you said. “You must be tired, for I know I am.”

She chuckled lightly. “Of course, goodnight.”

The two of you started to parts way, but Lucienne froze halfway up the stairs. “Oh! Before I forget, there is a letter for you.”

“There is?” You glanced up at her from the bottom floor.

“Yes, I went to the post office this morning and the worker there asked me to give it to you. I placed it on your desk in your room.”

Your eyes darted to the hall, to your room. “Thank you, and again I apologize for waking you.”

“Nonsense, it soothed me knowing you made it back okay. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow about your adventure,” she smiled, making her eyes crinkle.

“Yes, maybe.” You returned the smile, despite it not being as genuine as hers.

“Goodnight,” she hummed sleepily.

“Goodnight, Lucienne.”

Walking into your bedroom, you first started the task and annoyance of undoing the corset and peeling off the layers. You sponged yourself off, then threw on a nightgown and robe. You nearly crawled into bed, utterly exhausted when you remembered the letter. You changed course heading towards your desk. Picking it up, the sender was titled: Alvin Sheng. A pen name you recognized. And instantly, you were greeted with relief and dare you say some nerves. Opening up the letter, you moved to the window using the moonlight to read it.

My Dearest,

I hope this letter reaches you well while on your new chapter of your life. In your previous letter, you spoke of your new job - one you implied of utmost importance. I am impressed to say the least, but I do hope you know what you are doing. If anything - and I do mean anything - arises please do contact me. But, as you are like myself, I know you will accomplish what you set out. I just implore you to be cautious. So, all I want to say is I wish you luck, and I hope to hear - or to ease my old heart, see - from you soon.

Please write again soon.

Much love and sincerely,

Alvin Sheng

To you Alvin Sheng was your loving uncle, to most he was a nobody, however to the hidden dark world lying beneath it all he was a legend: he was Van Helsing.

[shortchoco]

been thinking a lot lately about Sampo's 5* design. A part of me REALLY wants his original hair colour to be fully white BC of his little white strands and his eye lashes to also be like that cuz I think it'd make him look gentler??

His downturned eyes is the reason I love him more than any other man in hsr. He just looks like a cat!! If he smiled more often with his eyes open I think the white hair and lashes would make him look so SOFT.

and I wonder what kind of clothes he'll wear. Desperately hoping it's not the generic male design with long coats I'm sick of that.

I want him to like have 3 starts floating on top of his head with a matching earring like his bp icon (has to do with my theory of him being some device to grant wishes)

For the clothes I'm thinking a ringmaster in like the circus? His normal outift already looks like that anyway but it's a little all over the place.

I think a velvet vest and a black shirt under would be nice. Also a mini bowtie. I want him to have a cloak that's like split in half behind his back and looks like the purple-grey fangs of the snake thingy he has on his normal design.

Of course!! Not forgetting short, black gloves and his little eyeshadow. I really do hope his eyes have slit pupils like acheron's so that he resembles a white snake 🐍

AND HIS MASK.... EUGHHH I have like 3 main ideas;

A grey snake mask that covers half of his face

Broken heart mask on his eyes

The mask in sparkle's showtime LC with a little more detail

Hmm, that's basically it. Really wanna hear and see sampo nation's own designs ABT him cuz I feel so starved all the time and have no one to talk to about this irl so I'm just going insane internally.

Here's a messy sketch of the rat I did in a shaky bus <3

[moon-huny]

Stole the Moon - Chapter Two

CW: My content is not for anyone under 18. Some sharp objects in this chapter. Mild language. Some coercion and, whats this, sexual frustration? You're still kidnapped so, mentions of imprisonment.

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Finally feeling generous, Buggy calls for his right hand man to bring you above deck. Can he smoothly transition into his plan, or do you have other ideas?

A/N: I know I already said it in an update post, but thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my work. And for all the new followers! It truly means a lot.

I am going to rip the bandaid off now. No clown smut in this chapter. I know, I know, okay, I'm sorry. This is meant to be a slow burn people, we need some push and pull before we get to the push and pull, ya know? That being said, there will be some nasty nasty in chapter three, I can promise you that. Okay, that's all, enjoy.

masterlist ✧˖°

previous • next

Days passed and you hadn’t received a visit.

Every evening, a small bowl filled with enough food to keep you alive is passed through the bars along with a small tin cup of watery tasting alcohol. Nobody spoke to you, nobody lit the candles when you ran out of matches, nobody offered you even a passing glance. You were left entirely alone in the darkened hull of a gaudy ship sailing to god knows where.

Maybe he forgot about you. What use could you provide to a man like that? You began to question what it was he even needed you for. What could you possibly know about the sea that he didn't know? You’d tried so hard to remember, hoping something, anything, would come to your mind.

You thought about the map. The one he spread out for you to see that night. You recalled the waiting look in his eyes, hoping you’d recognize it. Nothing. You replayed the moment again in your head, his broad gloved hands smoothing across the fabric of the map. What did the map look like again? All you could think about was the flex of his hand. The way his eyes had flicked up to look at you, under a strong brow and peering through long lashes.

Your memory wandered back to the moment when you were closest to him. When he had you caged against the wall, the heat of his body radiating off of him, hot breath ghosting over your lips. The way his knee pressed ever so deliciously to your –

You gasp, in shock and disgust at your own thoughts. “Oh, absolutely not,” you say aloud. The loneliness was getting to you.

You went to the port hole. In your time down here you’d searched the entire cell for anything you could use to escape. After coming up empty handed, you took it upon yourself to do some… redecorating.

You’d made the bed more comfortable with some fabric you’d found, and stacked the empty cargo into a more comfortable variation so you could look out the small round window. Climbing atop the sturdy mound of boxes and barrels, you looked out across the velvet waves. The crescent moon shone brightly, its reflection causing the gentle water to sparkle and flicker, as though tea candles were floating and bobbing on the surface.

A tear rolled down your cheek, another, and soon you were crying with too little energy to sob. That's when you thought you heard someone walking gently above you on the deck of the ship, humming a tune. It was different from the sea shanties you normally heard during the day, this melody sounded more like a lullaby.

The song was haunting, and yet, hearing another person, knowing somebody was sharing this moment with you in the moonlight, lightened the weight on your chest. Your crying stopped, the comfort taking over your exhausted frame as you leaned against the wall by the window listening to the voice pull you into the warmth of sleep.

Unknown to you, the vocalist leaning against the railing of the ship was devising a plan. A miserable plan to ruin you and lead you to a hell you wouldn’t recognize until it was too late – a sly smirk spreading across his red painted lips.

///

Buggy was spread out across his throne-like chair. The captain’s quarters were decorated like a big top circus tent – red and white fabric ballooned across the ceiling of the small room. The space was filled with gold and treasure of every kind. The desk was cluttered with navigation tools and maps.

“Cabaji, I’d like for you to retrieve our guest now,” his voice dripped with a sinister undertone. He barely paid any attention to the man before him, instead staring at a dainty silver necklace wrapped around his hand.

“Captain, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Cabaji wavered before his ringleader. The chief of staff knew what you had the potential to do, he knew what you were and it was only a matter of time before you figured it out too.

“I didn’t ask you to think,” his head fell to the side finally regarding the swordsman. “I asked you to go. GET. THAT. BRAT!”

“Yes, captain.” Turning about-face with a sigh, Cabaji made his way down to your cell.

///

Hearing footsteps this early in the morning was unusual. Unusual enough to cause you to bolt upright in bed. Through the darkened hallway – the morning light not quite reaching the lower decks of the ship yet – your eyes adjusted enough to see a recognizable swordsman stalking toward you through the shadows.

You sprang from the bed, your eyes not once leaving the taller man’s form. Standing in the middle of your room, you made your best attempt to question him before he could reach your cell door.

“It’s a bit early,” your voice wavered, a look of uncertainty on your face. “What do you want?” You questioned hoping that the increase in volume would make you sound more confident, it didn’t.

He unlocked the door and threw it open. “Get out, you’re coming with me.”

“Like hell, where is the clown? What are you planning on doing with me?”

This was the first time anyone had spoken to you in days. This was perhaps the only moment you might have to get some answers.

Cabaji sighed with frustration, he wanted nothing more than to sling you over his shoulder, carry you to the captain’s quarters and save everyone a lot of time, and yet, he recalled the final words Buggy said before sending him on this errand.

“And Cabaji, … don’t touch her.”

He wasn’t one to question Buggy’s orders but, on a crew that was so rarely regulated outside of performance, Cabaji had to wonder what the order was for.

“Come. Now.” You gave the green haired man a hesitant look.

“If I don’t?”

“Then I can only imagine Buggy will let you rot down here.”

Spending another moment alone might kill you, especially in the sensory deprivation chamber that was this room.

“Lead the way,” a weak response. Cabaji turned, leaving the door open.

At first you couldn't make your legs move. The idea that you could walk out, just step beyond the threshold of iron and rust and rot. Yet, you did, slowly at first then all at once speeding up to catch the stoic man.

Climbing up onto the deck in the morning light was reward in and of itself. The sun was just finishing its rise, gracing your skin, warming your face and causing you to squint.

“This way,” Cabaji called after you. He made his way toward an ornate door at the stern of the ship. He peeled the doors open, walked in, and stood to the side as you followed behind him.

His eyes scanned your appearance and, after consideration, displayed a distasteful look. You could have assumed you weren’t looking your best, being locked up on a pirate ship wasn’t exactly a spa retreat. The braid you had your hair in was full of tangled knots you had tried again and again to brush, your skin was dull, reflecting your time in the dark and your clothing could hardly be considered appropriate.

“He’ll speak with you soon,” said the swordsman. “Whenever he decides to collect himself,” and he slipped out behind you, shutting the doors.

Standing alone in the den of a predator, you naturally did what any prey would do, you began to inspect.

The room was beautiful – if not a little cliche for the circumstance – the big top theme was not lost on you. Though the room was small, something about the leading lines of the tent-like structure above you made the space feel larger.

On one end of the room, large draping curtains separated his bedroom from the rest of the office. The large wood carved bed dressed up with colorful weighted fabrics called to your aching body. Weeks of sleeping on a plank had taken its toll on you.

There was a large desk in the center with several detailed maps displayed across it. A small gleaming dagger staked into the mahogany kept a stack of papers in place. After looking around the room and seeing no one, you pulled the jeweled blade from the wood opting to carry it by your side just out of sight.

Behind the desk, a large chair with a circus motif. Golden lions wearing collars perched on the armrests, the crushed red velvet of the seat complimented the gold and ruby circus tent adorning the back.

As you reached out to touch the gorgeously detailed piece, a voice from behind startled you.

“It’s just as comfortable as it looks, ya know,” said Buggy. “Go ahead, have a seat.”

He was standing at the entrance. How did you not hear him come in? You both stood opposite one another in the room. A space between you that was comfortable and one you would normally prefer to keep, but you would rather have revenge. Holding the small knife behind your back, you stood stone still, hands becoming clammy and heart rate picking up.

“S’matter?” he said. “You look terrified.” Mock concern, his specialty.

“What do you want?” quiet, just above a whisper, it was like your voice had floated from your lips. The pillowy softness of your words drew him closer.

He made his way around the desk to you. Your eyes never leaving one anothers. He pulled the silver necklace from his coat pocket. He looked more relaxed without the garish captain's hat and the arsenal of weapons he usually kept draped on his person.

“I wanted to return something.” Your eyes glanced over at his hand holding a beautiful silver necklace. A dainty spiga chain wrapped around his fingers, but the real draw was the antique pendant encasing a gorgeous moonstone. You recognized it immediately. It belonged to someone close to you, but her face was blurry in your mind.

“I’ve never seen that before,” you said, hoping you hid your emotions enough to not draw intrigue.

“Oh? Because, I remember it looking gorgeous on you.” His eyes flicked down to where your arms crossed behind your back. Your breath stopped, squeezing the handle of the dagger hoping he wouldn’t ask.

“Put it on me then,” you say, fast enough to draw his attention away from your nefarious little friend. You spun around quickly to move the dagger in front of you, hiding it against your inner arm where your limbs crossed over your stomach.

The blue haired man smiled a sly smile. He stepped toward you, your back to him was not ideal but, as far as you knew, you still had the element of surprise on your side.

His hand came up to gently move your hair out of the way. His gloved fingertips just lightly brushing along the top of your back and over your shoulder, pushing your braid to the side. You tried to steady your breathing, feeling nervousness rising to your chest knowing what you were about to do.

His arms came up over your head to rest the pendant across your chest. As he brought the clasp together at your nape, he didn’t miss his chance to lightly drag his knuckles against the soft skin on either side of your neck. Clipping the silver together, his touch lingered for a moment.

By the way you reacted to such featherlight touches, Buggy knew Cabaji did exactly as he’d asked. Nobody was to touch you. Your hunger to connect with another person had to be fed by him and him only. If this was to work, he’d have to consume your every thought.

Right now, however, you were poisoning the butterflies in your stomach and focusing on executing your impromptu plan. In one swift motion, you spun to face the man behind you. His arms dropped to the side. His face contorted into one of anger, eyes narrowing at you. The dagger pressed into his jugular, a forceful stab is all it would take to kill him.

“Hands where I can see em, clown,” you spit.

His face pulled into a worried expression. Eyebrows furrowing together, eyes pleading, he swallowed a lump in his throat. You admit, you felt powerful. He began drawing his arms upward in order to bring his hands to the sides of head. You swore your peripheral vision was playing tricks on you.

You whipped your gaze to verify that what you were seeing was true. Both of his arms ended in stumps. Your eyes widened and you affixed your terrified gaze back onto the man.

“Nice try, sweetheart!” and punctuated his remark with a wink.

It all happened so fast, two cotton clad hands flew in from behind you and gripped your wrists. The strength of them hauling you back and pulling your arms up above your head. You looked up and confirmed your fears.

Indeed, Buggy’s disembodied hands were pulling you upward just enough so you were forced to balance on the tips of your toes. You dangled in front of him, chest heaving in panic. You let out various little feral sounds attempting to struggle out of the binding grip he had on you. Until, out of pure vexation, you let out a scream.

“Ooo, geez, honey please,” he said, frowning and squinting his eyes closed. “Little too loud for the morning, okay? Let’s maybe dial it back a bit.”

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“Yeah, well doll, you missed that chance didn’t ya?”

You let out another few struggling grunts and then another scream.

His eyes rolled, “We done? ... Wanna do one more? Ya know, when women are screaming in my room it’s usually after cumming a third time.”

You just stared at him dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The comment itself just about slapped you across the face enough to shut you up. He knew it too.

When he clocked that most of your fight had left your body from exhaustion, he made himself at home in your personal space yet again. Feeling his presence so close felt claustrophobic. His eyes scanned you. The weight of his gaze was enough to have you withering, his hands still holding you up.

“This dress is all wrong for you,” he said. “How about you get cleaned up, hmm?” the stump of his arm came up under your chin to lift your eyes to him. “I can’t have an exhausted dinner guest, you’d be asleep by dessert!” Then at a hushed volume, “and I prefer a conscious final course.”

Making a disgusted face at that last comment, what he was offering didn’t sound so bad. The things you would do right now for a bath, a chance to brush your hair, to clean the grime from your nails, to rest. The watercolor green eyes of the man before you softened, as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Alright then … I’ll leave you to it,” he finally dropped you as his hands found their normal resting place on his body. At the snap of his fingers, two young women opened the doors and came rushing in, immediately crowding you.

“Ladies, do you think you can help our guest get more comfortable?” he asked them as he backed up and began to take his leave.

They both stood before you, arms crossed with disapproving looks on their faces. Their outfits were perfect mirror images of each other, same for the makeup. Their hair was cut short, each movement they made caused their tight coils to bounce. The height and overall measurements of the two women were exactly alike as well.

Their only difference was their skin, hair and eye color. The red-haired woman had a pink tinge to her tawny skin – an obvious sunburn from being at sea – and bright blue eyes. The woman on the right had clearly added too much blush atop her natural sepia coloring in order to match her partner’s reddened condition, the hair framing her face was a smooth onyx color, her eyes a warm amber shade.

They turned to face him in perfect unison, “We can try.” They both said.

“Greaaat.” he replied, clearly off put by their synchronization. “Well then, doll, I’ll see you at dinner this evening.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚

taglist: @tokoyamisstuff @mommymilkerfanclub @chaoticqueen33 @tootoomanycats

taglist is open.

[dira333]

Dira dear darling

Could i please request a plotbunny with Matsukawa and jealous reader? Also, here's a number - 7. Idek what you need it for but i'm really looking forward to whatever you cook up!!

Once again, thank u so much for sharing your work with us!! Stay hydrated and take frequent breaks!!! 💫💜❤️✨️🩷💙💚

I don't like writing jealous people, so I took some creative liberties.

Prompt Nr. 7: Lost my gloves, you give me one

"I can't believe it," you gasp, stepping out of the house. "Going behind my back while I'm getting ready?"

Issei has the decency to look guilty, but the furball in his arms doesn't seem to care.

"Look, she was being loud," he starts and the cat in his arms makes sure you know what he means when she all but yells in your face.

"I know, Issei, and now you're covered in red fur."

"It suits your dress," he tries, but you just shake your head at him, softly pinching his ear.

-

"Come here," Issei draws you in as you pretend to stalk away.

"No," you moan, "You don't love me anymore."

"I love you a lot," he points out, "It's the cat that doesn't love you."

"Don't be a meanie," you growl but let him catch up, snuggling into his side. "I'm just a dog person, okay?"

"You're not a dog person and I still love you," he points out, leaning in to bite your nose.

"Ugh, your hands are cold," you groan when he takes your face, trying to kiss you.

"Sorry," he whispers against your lips, "Lost my gloves."

"You." Kiss. "Can." Kiss. "Have." Kiss. "One." Kiss. "Of." Kiss. "Mine."

Issei stops, face so close you're probably going cross-eyed trying to look at him. "Are you sure? Normally it's my job to give you a glove."

"Ah, I'm feeling manly today."

-

"I'm so going to regret this," you tell Issei as you put his present on the table. "Promise you're still going to love me after opening this box."

"Babe, you're scaring me. Did you get me and Makki matching costumes or what?"

"No, and don't ever mention that idea again."

He grins, leaning in to peck your lips before pulling back to look at his present.

"But seriously. Why is your present so big? Mine's so small!" He points at the little velvet box that's now sitting on the table, the process of handing it over almost making you forget your present for him.

"Shut up," you growl, "you know it's not that small."

"That's what she said," he grins, taking off the top of the box.

All jokes are forgotten at the sight.

It's not a kitten, even though you wanted to get him one. But Mochi, the five-year-old tabby at the shelter, had looked up at you with such sweet eyes you just couldn't walk past her.

"You got me a cat?" He breathes out, eyes turning a little glassy.

"I got you a cat," you confirm. "But you gotta feed her, okay? I'm already in charge of killing all our plants."

He pulls you in, kisses you feverishly, and turns back to Mochi who's content in her box, purring as she looks up at the two of you.

"You got me a cat." He repeats. And in those five words, you can hear that this means a lot more than you had originally thought.

Or maybe it means exactly the same.

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Coriolanus and Bellova argue yet again. But this time, there are consequences that change both of their lives forever.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A VERY DARK CHAPTER. It contains manipulation/gaslighting/brainwashing, cursing, violence, and misogynistic undertones

A/n: This chapter is from Coriolanus’s POV (still in third-person). The next chapter will recount these same events but from Bellova’s POV. Also, the part in all italics is a flashback.

Coriolanus had never felt better. 

He had secured his position as an apprentice Gamemaker, was flourishing at the University, had become the heir to the Plinth fortune, and no longer worried about going hungry or losing his home. 

He felt as if he was on top of the world. And he intended to stay that way, no matter what it took. 

Coriolanus sat in his office in the Citadel, adding the finishing touches on a report Dr. Gaul had assigned for his military strategies class. He was no longer afraid of her, and had come to admire her macabre ways. Violence and death was simply a part of life, after all. There was no use in being scared of it.

He glanced at the new monocle lying on a stack of books that “Ma” Plinth had gifted him that morning. It reminded him of Dean Highbottom. Normally, thinking of the old fool would irritate him, but now it made him smile. 

Rat poison truly did come in handy. 

Putting down his pen, he looked at his watch. Twelve o’clock. He figured now was a good time to pause his work to eat lunch. Now that he could afford to purchase anything he wanted whenever he wanted, buying food was never an issue.

He checked his reflection quickly in the silver mirror on his desk, and grabbed his leather satchel which contained a matching wallet. Just as he was about to stand up, someone knocked on the door. 

Now annoyed, he sunk back in his chair. “Come in. And don’t waste my time.”

In walked none other than Bellova Reginelle, donning a suspiciously wide smile. He immediately took in the blood-red dress she wore. It was a beautiful velvet garment that fell down to her ankles but had a daring slit in the side. The bodice made her figure look flawless, and the off-the-shoulder sleeves complimented her slender neck and shoulders. She wore matching gloves that went past her elbows, as well as a pair of tall black stilettos. 

In short, she looked like a threat. One that needed to be eliminated before it could cause trouble. 

Coriolanus simply gave her an indifferent look. “What brings you here?”

His old rival let out a short laugh. “Hello to you too.”

He rolled his eyes. “I said not to waste my time. Get to the point before I kick you out.” 

“Fine, fine,” Bellova said. She stood before his desk, looking down at him with a slightly smug expression that made Coriolanus grit his teeth in annoyance. “I have…a proposal for you.”

He smirked. “That’s odd, considering that you’ve spent the last few months avoiding me.”

She purses her lips, clearly trying not to roll her eyes. “I decided that wasn’t the best course of action. We’re not children anymore, Snow, being petty won’t get us anywhere. Instead of working against each other, maybe combining our power and influence would be more beneficial. For both of us.”

Coriolanus frowned. “So what exactly are you proposing?” 

Bellova inhaled sharply. “We should get married.”

He blinked. “Pardon?“

“It would be a politically intelligent move. With my connections in the Department of Justice and yours with Dr. Gaul and the Gamemakers, we could be unstoppable. Nobody would dare to cross us ever again. All we’d have to do is play pretend for the press, and we would have a chokehold on the entire Capitol.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Coriolanus laughed. It was a cold, condescending laugh, which grew louder at the sight of Bellova’s furious expression.

“You seriously thought I would consider marrying you? You truly are delusional.”

Bellova’s face hardened, contorting with rage. “Fine then,” she said slowly. “How about this: either agree to my proposal, or I won’t hesitate to ruin your life again.”

Coriolanus scoffed. “And how exactly would you do that?”

Bellova smiled cruelly. “I would tell every press outlet in the Capitol every awful thing I know about you. I would tell them that your asshole of a father stole the idea of the Hunger Games from Casca Highbottom just to impress Dr. Gaul. I would tell them how you murdered that tribute in cold blood the arena last year. I’d tell them that you sent Sejanus Plinth to his grave and used his parent’s grief to replace him as the heir to the Plinth fortune. And I would tell them how you murdered Dean Highbottom just last week. Did I miss anything?”

Coriolanus just looked at her, stunned. 

“Oh yes, how could I forget: I’d tell them that you fell in love with a district girl and cheated in the Games just to keep her alive-“

“I did not love Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus snarled.

Bellova sneered back. “You’re the worst liar I know, you should really learn the art of deception if you want to be a politician. What happened to your little songbird anyway? Did you kill her to keep her from spilling your secrets?”

Coriolanus felt his heart pound loudly in his chest. How she had discovered all of these things, he didn’t know. 

What he did know was that he had to ensure she never told a soul. 

His hand reached down to open one of his drawers. He had a feeling he may need what was inside.

Then he stood up, towering over her. “Nobody would believe any of that, especially coming from you.” 

Bellova blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re a conniving, overprivileged, pathetic little c-“

His insult was cut off by a sharp blow to the face. 

“How dare you speak to me that way?” Bellova screamed, her eyes glinting with pure hatred.

“I’ll speak to you however I fucking please,” Coriolanus sneered, walking around his desk to stand within a few feet of her. 

Bellova was too enraged to see what he slipped into his pocket.

“I’m going to murder you, Snow,” she seethed.

“That’s ironic, considering you came here with the intention of marrying me.” 

Apparently, that was enough to completely shatter her composure. 

Bellova started towards him, her perfectly manicured hands reaching out to wrap around his neck. As soon as she began to move, however, Coriolanus reached into his coat pocket, his palm wrapping around cold metal.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Coriolanus sat on a stool, waiting for Dr. Gaul to return. She had summoned him to her lab show him something she called “a leash in a bottle”. He didn’t have the slightest clue what that meant, but he supposed he was about to find out. 

The doctor reappeared, holding a metal box protected by a combination lock. Setting it down on the table in front of Coriolanus, she quickly entered the code and removed the lid.

Dr. Gaul reached her gloved hand into the box and retrieved a single syringe. It was slightly bigger than a normal one, and it was filled with a clear concoction.

“I’m very proud of this,” the doctor began, her eyes full of glee. “I have spent years trying to perfect it.”

Coriolanus nodded in acknowledgment. “What exactly does it do?“ he asked. 

Dr. Gaul grinned wickedly. “When injected into the neck of a human body, it quickly begins to alter the brain. It will decimate any hostile tendencies, replacing them with a docile and pliant nature. The injected person will also experience severe memory loss, but the doses can be altered to only erase certain things, such as this one here. After it has taken full effect, the injected can be molded into whatever the injector desires.”

Coriolanus stared at the syringe in awe. “That’s…incredible.”

The doctor beamed at him. “Thank you, my dear.” She put the syringe back in it’s box, and held it out to Coriolanus. “This one is for you. To use in your time of need.” 

Coriolanus took the box carefully. “Dr. Gaul,” he said. “With all due respect, why give this to me and not someone else?”

She chuckled lowly. “I have a feeling you’ll find the answer to that very soon.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Bellova’s hands were an inch away from his neck, Coriolanus shoved her, sending her stumbling backwards into the wall. Before she could lift her arms again, Coriolanus whipped the syringe out of his pocket. 

He used one hand to pin her to the wall, and grinned as her eyes widened in fear. 

“Snow, what the fuck are you doing-“

She cut herself off with a piercing scream as the needle of the syringe was plunged into her neck.

Coriolanus swiftly injected the serum, keeping his hold on Bellova tight to ensure she did not escape. When the dose was fully gone, he pulled out the needle and tossed the syringe to the side. He stepped back and let Bellova collapse to the floor, writing in agony. 

Her entire body was shaking, as if she was having a seizure. Somehow, she managed to climb onto all fours, letting out choked moans of pain. 

“Wh-What,” she gasped. “What are you doing to me?” 

Coriolanus crouched down in front of her, grabbing her by the chin firmly. “Finally shutting you up after all these years.”

“No!” Bellova squeezed her eyes shut, and tears began to roll down her face. Her arms soon gave out, leaving her to curl up in a ball on the cold tile floor again.

Coriolanus stood up, waiting for Bellova to stop convulsing. It took at least another couple minutes for her to go still. 

He leaned down again to inspect her. Her body seemed completely limp, her eyes were shut, and her breathing was steady once more. 

Then, her eyes shot open. Coriolanus watched intently. She looked dazed, and her grey eyes, which usually had a piercing nature to them, were wider and almost…innocent-looking. 

Bellova slowly sat up, shifting so that she sat back on her heels, her knees pressed against the tile. She looked up at him, her eyes full of nothing but naivety. 

“Hi Coryo,” she said, her tone so soft and sweet that Coriolanus had to refrain from gaping at her in shock. “I…I must have hit my head or something…why am I on the floor? What happened?“

Coriolanus’s mind raced to think of a proper lie. “You passed out due to dehydration and hit your head. You must be more careful.”

Bellova smiled brightly. “I will Coryo, I promise. I’m confused, though…who am I to you again? I can’t seem to recall.”

A deceivingly warm smile spread across his lips. “I’m your fiancé. We’re set to be married in the next couple years.”

“We are?” Bellova said, a look of awe on her face. 

Coriolanus laughed quietly. She looked so helpless, so gullible. “Yes, we are. You’re my future bride, how could you forget that?”

Bellova took his hand when he offered it to help her stand. She giggled, stumbling forward slightly and leaning her head against his chest. “I’m a lucky girl, aren’t I? I’m going to have the most handsome husband in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus stiffly embraced her, and felt her sigh happily against him. This seemed like a hallucination, like something that simply didn’t fit within the reality that he knew. 

All his life, he had harbored mixed feelings about Bellova. Sometimes he really enjoyed her company, other times he despised her more than anyone else. But after he realized that she’d been a driving factor in why he was convicted of cheating in the Games, he felt nothing but hate and contempt towards her. She was simply another Capitol brat. But she was an intelligent Capitol brat, one who possessed a mountain of damning information about him. 

Simply changing her personality into something more…agreeable instead of killing her was an act of mercy. 

Coriolanus allowed himself to smile. He quite liked this new version of her. She was like a toy, a mindless but pretty figurine that would bend to his every whim.  

She was no longer his rival or a threat to his career.

She was a puppet, and he held all of her strings.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! I know this chapter took a very dark turn, I hope that you will continue reading to see what happens next!!!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

<< Beginning | < Previous | Next>

Chapter Three

The gown fits like a glove, hugging your figure up top and flaring out into a long skirt past your waist. Long, dark blue sleeves hang loosely from your arms, the velvet fluttering with every movement.

“It looks good on you,” Fíli remarks as he does your hair in front of the mirror. His fingers dance past your fresh stitches and he lays the elegant braid down to hide them. His bead glitters at the end of your marriage braid. “There. That should keep them out of sight.”

Meanwhile, you awkwardly fumble with the corset laces on your back. Too tight, squeezing your sides painfully, but then too loose, your chest threatening to spill out. “Can’t I just wear my own bra?!” you snap in frustration.

Fíli’s hands cover yours. “Breathe in, not too deep.” You do, and he tightens the laces and tucks them beneath a silver ribbon around your waist, tying it into a neat bow. He moves next to your shoulders, kneading at them in an attempt to relieve your tension. His thumb rubs over your necklace, an intricate, twisting chain Fíli explained was a gift from Thorin.

“One last thing,” he says quietly, leaving you in front of the mirror as he fetches something from the wardrobe. He returns with a silver circlet and places it gently on your brow. The delicate web wraps around your head, a star-shaped sapphire mounted in the center. It matches his own crown, nestled in his thick hair.

“You look beautiful,” Fíli murmurs with a tender smile, resting his chin on your head. Half-closed eyes sweep up and down your reflection, and his smile brings out the dimples hidden beneath his beard. Pure adoration. “I’m the luckiest dwarf in the world.”

Your eyes drop to your feet. Dwarves are not particularly fond of heels, so instead you wear sensible yet elegant flats. “Do I have to go?” you whisper. The idea of being on display for a kingdom you don’t know makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Fíli’s smile falters. “It is expected. You are my wife, you are Erebor’s princess—the people love you.”

“Can’t you just say I’m sick or something?”

“There will only be more questions, and I am not a good liar,” he points out. “You cannot hide in here forever.” His voice is gentle, but tinged with a warning.

Wary of what awaits you on the other side of the doors, you haven’t left the royal suite at all—not even for meals. Fíli or Dís would bring you a plate, and Kíli would slip you extra desserts with a wink. Every time someone remarked that they hadn’t seen you in a few days, the others would merely agree, comment on how dedicated you are to your duties as princess, and steer the conversation in a different direction. You duck your head in shame and turn away.

“Y/N, please…” Fíli follows you over to his desk in the corner of the room.

Pushing aside parchment and empty inkwells, you brace yourself against the desk. You lean forward and let your head drop with a sigh.

Arms wrap around your waist. Fíli leans down to whisper in your ear. “Please, Y/N,” he repeats. “I want you there with me.” His warm breath fans over your neck and you suppress a shiver. It takes everything in you not to stiffen as his chest rests against your back.

You’re slowly getting accustomed to Fíli’s… touchiness. His need to feel your body, if only to reassure him that you are real. At least he’s warm compared to the chill that lingers in the halls.

You let out a shuddering sigh. “Okay.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you, Fíli, and Kíli approach the enormous, stone doors. They are open already, revealing hundreds of dwarves milling around inside. Your pulse quickens. This is what you had feared, what kept you hiding for over a week. The kingdom all watching you while you try to pretend nothing is wrong.

The long tables have been moved to the side to create a more spacious area for dancing. You spot Bofur straddling a large barrel near the doors while Dori gives him directions. He brightens up and raises a hand in greeting as you enter the hall.

“Hi Bofur.” You squint up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get this cursed thing open,” Bofur puffs. He pauses and looks down at you. “Something wrong? You look a bit pale.”

You give Bofur a strained smile. “Just… just a bit of a stomachache, that’s all.”

He raises an eyebrow, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Stomachache, eh? I don’t suppose there’s anything else going on in there?”

You stare at him blankly. Then it hits you. “Oh! No, absolutely not!”

Bofur seems taken aback at your reaction, but Dori gives you a friendly nudge. “No need to be upset, lass. These things can take some time. Just keep at it, eh?”

“What was that about?” you hiss under your breath to Fíli as the dwarves’ attention returns to the barrel of ale.

Fili links your arms as you approach the high table. “It’s, ah, a bit of an open secret that we are—or were—trying for a baby. Thanks to a certain younger brother.” He gives Kíli a pointed look over his shoulder.

Kíli feigns innocence, but he can’t hide his mischievous smirk. “What? All I did was warn them in case you started making too much noise!”

“You have no shame,” Fíli snorts. He glances back to you. “I did tell you they’d ask questions if you claimed you felt ill.”

Thorin and Dís give you guarded looks as Fíli pulls out your chair. You try to smile, but it comes off more as a tight-lipped grimace.

“Relax, natha,” Dís whispers. “Just breathe and smile. The rest will come naturally.”

Naturally. Sure.

To avoid thinking about… anything, really, you look out over the gathering. You raise an eyebrow when you spy a small group of noticeably taller guests. There’s a familiar redhead among them. Kíli, bless his heart, is trying his best not to stare. If Thorin’s scowl is anything to go by, he’s not doing a very good job.

“Hell of a birthday party,” you mutter to Fíli. “Elves? Thorin really let Dís invite elves?”

“She talked him into it,” he says with a shrug. “Said it’s good for diplomacy, a show of good-will. They were supposed to be here for trade negotiations anyway.”

“Including her?”

“That was most likely Amad’s doing as well. She doesn’t have quite the vendetta against elves that Thorin does.” His voice drops into an even lower whisper. “She likes her, thinks she’d be good for Kíli. Keep him grounded, perhaps. All she has to do is convince Thorin.”

“She’s got her work cut out for her there,” you snort.

Fíli hums in agreement, but he too scans the crowd. “Glóin’s missing,” he comments. “Shame, I would have liked to see Gimli. It’s been quite a while.”

“Did Glóin not stay in Erebor?” It’s hard for you to fathom, the idea of breaking the Company, of anyone being absent.

“An agonizing decision. He didn’t want to relocate his entire family.” Fíli pauses and chuckles. “Gimli practically begged to come on the quest—we took bets on whether or not he’d follow–”

But his words are drowned out by music starting from the band in the far corner of the room. Excited couples move to the center of the hall.

Dís reaches across the table to shake Fíli’s arm. “It is your celebration,” she murmurs. “Go have fun.”

“I believe that is your cue, Y/N,” Kíli adds with a wink.

Fíli kicks his brother underneath the table, but stands and offers you a hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Do I know how to dance?” you whisper frantically as you take his hand. You lift your skirt as he leads you down the steps to the dance floor. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to dance!”

“I taught you,” he whispers back. “Just don’t think about it. Let your body do the work.” He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding yours. A violin comes to life, and suddenly the world fades. It’s just you and Fíli. He starts off gently, slowly, picking up speed. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me. Trust yourself.”

You nod stiffly, still feeling clumsier than a newborn giraffe compared to the surprising grace with which Fíli moves. Though perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise, given how skillfully he maneuvers with his swords during a fight. You begin to relax into the rhythm and let him guide you through the steps until muscle memory takes over.

“Get ready,” he murmurs, releasing your hand and gripping your waist firmly. He lifts you up and spins so your skirt flows out around you. Then in one smooth motion, he dips you low. The music fades, and he straightens up, eyes locked with yours. He leans in until his mustache beads hit your face and his nose brushes yours. But then he stops, eyes worried, questioning.

There’s hundreds of curious eyes on you both, burning like dragon fire, waiting to see what their prince and princess will do next.

Conscious of your audience, you stand on your toes and carefully press your lips to his. Instantly, his arm around your waist tightens. Fíli lifts you off your feet, hugging you against his body and pulling your head closer with his free hand. Your kiss was soft, chaste. His is rough, desperate. You aren’t quite ready for it, and decline his tongue’s request to explore your mouth. You squirm in his grip.

Fíli releases you and your lips. There’s scattered applause from the room as Fíli sets you back on your feet. “I told you I taught you how to dance.” But there’s no teasing lilt to his voice, no cheeky wink to signal amusement. He won’t make eye contact.

For the rest of the night, it’s like pulling teeth to get a word out of him. Dís and Thorin exchange looks of concern when he quickly excuses himself from his own party after dessert. Then their eyes turn to you.

“He, uh… I think I’m ready to turn in as well,” you mumble. “G’night.”

In your chambers, you carefully remove your dress and slip into your nightgown, very aware of Fíli’s gaze on you. But when you try to meet his eyes, he always seems to be looking elsewhere. You sigh as you pull pins out, letting the braid fall from your hair. Silence hangs heavily, neither of you speaking a word for what seems like hours.

“Was it real?” Fíli asks abruptly.

“Was what real?”

“You know what I mean. When we danced, when we were finished… was it real?” Or was it just what was expected of you?” His voice is clipped, bitter.

You turn to look at him on the edge of the bed, shaking your head in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

Fíli stares at the floor. “I am trying so hard,” he mutters at last, running a hand down his face. He looks up at you, eyes dull. “I miss my wife.”

Your heart sinks. “Fíli, I’m right here.”

“But you’re not,” he replies sharply. “You are somewhere, and I cannot reach you.” He stands from the bed, taking your face into his hands. “How often do I tell you that I love you?”

“Every day.”

“And how many times have you said it back?”

You open your mouth, but the words won’t follow. It’s been a week, but you can’t recall ever saying it. Tears well up in your eyes.

As if your silence confirmed something in his mind, Fíli’s hands drop from your face. “Right, then.” He nods slowly and turns away. “I… I need to think.”

Though he hasn’t asked you to leave, he would never, you make for the door. “Happy birthday,” you whisper before heading down the hallway.

Kíli’s room? No, he probably snuck Tauriel in there. Dís? She would want to talk about it, and you’re not in the mood for solutions. What you need is quiet companionship.

So your feet carry you past the living room, down the hall, to a wooden door rimmed with gold.

“Thorin?” Your voice is small, your knock soft. For a moment, you worry he won’t hear you on the other side.

Heavy footsteps precede the door opening. Thorin looks down at you, book in hand, mildly irritated at being interrupted. He softens when he sees your expression, wide-eyed and hurt. Heaving a sigh, Thorin opens his door further. “Come in.”

You follow him inside, curling up on a plush chair by the dying fire.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not insult my intelligence. You are a worse liar than Fíli.”

“Nothing,” you insist. “He just… wants to be alone for a bit. That’s all.”

Thorin snorts and shakes his head, but there’s pity on his face as well. How can the girl curled up and shivering in the chair be the same brave woman from their quest?

Your vision is almost completely obscured by tears, but you refuse to let yourself cry in front of the king. Your king. And your uncle, now, you suppose. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

That’ll do it. That simple, kind gesture is all it takes for you to break down.

Thorin stares at you in alarm as you sob into the blanket. He hasn’t had to deal with something like this since the boys were children. After waffling back and forth on what to do, he settles on patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Stay, if you’d like,” he mumbles. He extinguishes the candles he had been reading by and crosses back over to the enormous bed in the corner of the room.

You’re swallowed in darkness, the gloom broken only by faint moonlight and dying embers. Without Fíli’s furnace of a body next to you, the mountain’s chill creeps in beneath your blanket.

It will be a long night.

“Oh come on, every lady must know how to dance!” Kíli rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You shook your head and crossed your arms, sinking further against the mossy log by the fire. “I’m not a lady.” you grumbled. The bark dug into your back, and you missed the warmth and proper beds you had in Lake-town.

“Well then, we must teach you!” Fíli jumped up and offered his hand with a cheeky smile and exaggerated bow. “Oh, most fair and lovely maiden, may I have this dance?”

You looked over to Thorin, hoping he would scold his nephews for their teasing. But he merely raised an eyebrow at you, sucking on his pipe. It was the same guarded, skeptical look he’d given you and Fíli after the escape from Mirkwood.

Fíli hardly left your side ever since—usually dragging Kíli along. He would wrap his arm around your waist, or duck his head to nuzzle your ear and whisper things that made you snicker as you half-heartedly tried to push him away.

Even Thorin, not exactly known for being perceptive, could see what was happening. He’d seen the look before on his sister’s face, many years ago. Fíli was in love, smitten, even. There was no other way to describe it.

He had found his One.

And if the glow in your eyes and blush on your cheeks whenever you met Fíli’s gaze were anything to go by, so had you.

When your silent plea to Thorin went unanswered, you sighed and accepted Fíli’s hand. “Fine. Just don’t crush my feet or anything.” Not for the first time, you marveled at how easily Fíli could pull you up.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be the one stepping on anyone’s toes tonight,” he chuckled. With one arm around your waist, he took your hand. “Just mirror what I’m doing,” he instructed. You gave your audience a nervous glance, but Fili squeezed your hand, beckoning you to look back up at him. “Just the two of us.”

As he stepped backwards, you stepped forward. When he stepped to the side, you followed.

Fíli smiled. “There you go, you’re getting it!” But he moved a bit too quickly, and your momentum sent you stumbling over a tree root rising from your makeshift dance floor. His arm shot out to catch you, his large hand splayed across your chest. You both turned scarlet when you realized what his palm was cupping. Immediately, he moved his hand lower, but that did nothing but bring his fingers dangerously close to the forbidden zone.

“Careful,” you hissed under your breath, sneaking a peek at the Company. Everyone was watching. “You’re a bit too far south.”

He turned even redder and released you. “Maybe we can practice when we have a more… suitable venue?”

“You can’t be finished yet, Fíli,” Bofur scolded with a grin. “You haven’t shown her the best part!”

“It’s not nearly as fun while she’s wearing trousers,” Fíli grumbled. “She needs a dress for it to work properly.”

Indignation stirred in your chest, and crossed your arms, glaring up at the blonde prince. Your face was still flushed red from the almost intimate moment between the pair of you. “I’m terribly sorry I’m not lady-like enough for your tastes,” you huffed.

“It’s not that!” he sputtered with wide eyes. “It’s…” You could almost see the gears in his head turning, weighing his options to salvage the moment. “It’s like this.”

Suddenly, his hands gripped your waist, and he raised you up in the air. With practiced ease, Fíli spun both of you around. Your hair fanned out around you like a halo. Just as you finished the turn, he dipped you down low, so low you were surprised he didn’t fall over himself.

Everything went still. You held your breath while he started breathing harder. You spared another look at the Company.

they’re staring they’re staring oh god have we kissed in front of thorin before i don’t think we’ve kissed in front of thorin oh no what’s he going to–

Fíli quickly reclaimed your attention as he rubbed his nose against yours, his mustache beads cool against your heated skin. And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft, driving any thoughts of self-consciousness from your mind. He ran his fingers through your hair, and you reached up to fist your hands in his own locks, both of you pulling each other closer.

“I suppose this is official now?” you whispered when he finally broke away for air.

Fíli’s only response was a lopsided smile.

Someone let out a whistle—Kíli, of course. Fíli rolled his eyes and straightened up, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you. You tensed, afraid to turn around in fear of what you might find on Thorin’s face. Fíli rubbed his hand up and down your back. Searching his face and not finding any anger or defiance as he looked at his uncle, you spared a look over your shoulder.

It wasn’t what you expected. Thorin looked tired, stern, yes, but almost relieved. As if he had carried a heavy burden for miles, and finally laid it down.

“Thorin, I–” you began.

He cut you off with a small shake of his head. “Just… be good to each other.” He put a strong hand on Fíli’s shoulder and said something in Khuzdûl. You didn’t understand the words, but Fíli’s face brightened. Other members of the Company began whispering among themselves.

“What?” You exchanged a confused look with Bilbo, the only other person not fluent in the dwarves’ native tongue. “What did he say?”

Fíli just smiled. “Nothing important,” he assured you. He sat down and pulled you into his lap, pausing to press his nose into your hair to inhale your scent. You hardly imagined you smelled good, but he let his nose linger. Then he carded his fingers through your hair, ridding it of tangles and knots until he had a soft, neat canvas for his artistry. Taking the strands into his hands, he wove an intricate braid, humming as he did so.

Fíli looked again to Thorin, then Kíli. His brother nodded, a genuine, non-teasing smile on his face.

Reassured by his family’s approval, he removed one of his own beads and fixed it at the end of your new courting braid.

As soon as he secured it, cheers rose from the rest of the Company. Small bags and pieces of gold flew across camp—were they betting on you and Fíli? Kíli wiggled his eyebrows at you as his pile of coins grew.

But as the gold stopped flying and the losers stopped grumbling, you realized that Thorin had the biggest pile of them all.

He caught your eye, face perfectly impassive, and winked.

[netherese-blorb]

Blackstaff Ball

Passage inspired by this absolutely incredible caped court suit.

Excerpt is from a larger Gale/tav story I'm stuck on, but I thought this passage made for a cute little reader POV moment on its own.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The present moment finds you with minutes to go before your departure to Blackstaff Academy's annual ball, making final adjustments to your hair. You made a point to go with the customary styling of you own upbringing, rather than the slick elven braids you had been taught to associate with class and nobility. Loose curls were piled precariously onto the crown of your head and secured in place with dozens of pins, each capped with shimmering gems made from colored glass. As you move, your hair sparkles as each new pin catches the light.

Your fiddling comes to a sudden halt as Gale enters the view of your mirror. You’d never seen him in formal dress before, and to say it suited him would be a criminal understatement. The impeccably tailored three-piece court suit had every inch of his toned form covered in deep blue velvet and golden embroidery. A swirling thigh-length cape of matching fabric made it look like he brought the night sky wherever he stepped. He wore it all effortlessly with his ever-present, well-educated poise. You had never seen anyone look so beautiful. 

“Gale, it’s-  you look-” Your sentence, already ill-formed, is lost as soon as you turn to face him. Taking him in fully, it’s as though you were getting a glimpse of him at the height of his power; before the orb, before his fall from Mystra’s grace. This is Gale the storied prodigy, the towering Archmage. You resist a sudden urge to fall to your knees in reverence. 

Gale had never been unsatisfied with your level of appreciation for his appearance, yet now he sees reflected back on him the intensity he often feels when looking at you, and suddenly understands the startled blush you sometimes give him in response. It was piercing, that look, overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating. He wanted your eyes to leave him, and he wanted them to consume him.

“I could speak no more eloquently of you, my love.” He jests, a little breathlessly, failing to thin the palpable tension between you. The moment you take a first step toward him, the floodgates open. He rushes across the room to meet you and captures your lips in a heavy, desperate kiss. You return his moves with equal intensity, taking his face in both of your hands, as if to pull him impossibly closer. 

He pulls you in by the waist until you're flush against his chest. His fingers brush against the ribbons sinching your dress closed and he can think of nothing else but pulling them undone, breaking them if he has to. 

Before he can, you’re interrupted by an alarm spell alerting you that the scheduled cabbie has arrived to take you both across the city to Blackstaff. You pull away reluctantly and erupt into a fit of giggles. 

“The illustrious Professor Dekarios is covered in my lipstick.” You say, wiping his mouth with the pad of your thumb. It was ridiculous, this life you had found yourself in; swapping sloppy schoolgirl kisses with one of the most accomplished wizards in a generation, rushing to catch a carriage that will whisk you away to a magical ball. If only your teenage self had known the fairy tale life that was in store for you.  

Gale snatches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. “The oft-sung hero, soon-to-be Mrs. Dekarios, is going to end up on that bed covered in nothing if we don’t leave right this minute.” 

As tempting a threat as it was, there would be time for that once you returned. Several times, if you had the energy for it. You grab your shawl, your gloves, his hand, and stroll dreamily out to the waiting carriage.

-

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more from me, you can find me as 'luckybottlecap' on ao3 <3

[ohlookapan]

The Edge of The Knife | Wintersberg

“You know, Winters, you've got guts. I wonder if you'd still look pretty with em’ ripped out and strung along my floor like tinsel.” Pairing: Ethan Winters/Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil: Village (2021)) Content Warning(s): Knives(?) Tagging: My lovely proofreaders, @thatsthewrongwallcraig & @dandeliongrahamlecter! A/N: Playing around with action/movement over dialogue. Definitely not an excuse to write for these beautiful dumbasses again. Enjoy below the cut!

****

If Heisenberg thought Ethan was pissed before, he was livid now.

And the bastard fucking loved it. 

Those soft, fair, snowy cheeks burning like hot coals; that golden hair all messy and ruffled like a hay bale; those hazel eyes smoldering like embers (he swore they turned red at some point, though maybe he was getting ahead of himself). 

And those lips. God, those thin, soft lips. Karl swore they'd be the death of him–the way they slimmed, pursed, and fired the most incendiary threats at him like a catapult. 

God damn those lips. God damn those eyes. God damn that hair. God damn those cheeks.

God damn Ethan Winters. 

“Give me the flask, Heisenberg. Now.”

Ethan's command wasn't just that, not even a demand. It was a warning. One that Karl was far too bored and smart to heed. 

Like a shark, he circled the father, letting his murky eyes traipse around his figure like a map, the object of his revolution being the most beautiful, bold, blonde X he'd ever seen.

“Now, now, Winters,” Heisenberg purred, tone loose and drenched in sweet velvet. “Is that any way to go about asking for things we want?”

A purr was met with a growl. No, a snarl. 

“I'm not asking, jackass.”

The lord hummed, coming to a stop right in front of Ethan. His cool eyes became freezing, piercing daggers. 

“Tsk, tsk. You speak to your mother with that dirty little mouth, Ethan? Maybe I should teach you some manners, hm? Put you in your place.”

If you looked at the two men, you couldn't tell which was the predator, and which was the prey. Especially when both seemed to lunge at each other. 

Barely, just barely, Ethan's feet moved first. He bolted toward Heisenberg, a hand out in the direction of his pocket that cradled the final piece of his daughter. 

Heisenberg almost wanted to hate him for making this so easy, but the electricity he felt shooting up his arm when his gloved hand gripped his wrist was like a drug. 

In a flash, before throwing him up against the wall, Karl swore that he could feel remnants of stitches or… Staples against the man's wrist. 

Christ, this kid's more like Frankenstein than me. He's more versatile than I thought. 

Heisenberg turned Ethan into a whip, spinning and sending him around and up against the wall with a crack (and yelp) to match. 

In all that time in keeping tabs on Papa Winters as he stormed across the village, a thundering shotgun in hand, he'd heard Ethan's pained whimpers more than enough times. He knew that the more painful something was, the more grit Ethan's whining was gripped with.

The one he heard this time nearly put him on his knees. 

Note to self. The kid can handle rough.

Ethan's calloused fingers wrapped around the grip of his gun and his muscles had begun their recoil to tug it free from the holster just as Heisenberg rushed him. 

A leather hand slammed against the wall while the other darted to the other man's belt and ripped the tucked-away knife free. It made a beeline to his neck, the edge of the blade just dancing along the slim hairs. 

“A word of advice buttercup,” Heisenberg murmured, breath rising and falling like waves against those cherry-tinted cheeks of Ethan's, a husky chuckle on its heels. “Try using knives next time. Better for close encounters, wouldn't you say?”

The blonde's chest rose and fell, barely pressing flush against the other's as it lifted. Frantic, he forced his body still like spotted, target prey; yet those eyes of his were another story entirely. They darted all over Karl's face as if trying to memorize every wrinkle, every line, every scar--God, were there a lot of scars. The patriarch's eyes trailed along each of them as if they were a road map. One that all led back to one place: Karl's eyes. 

Even as they hid behind the vaguely opaque discs of his shades, Ethan could make them out, clear as day. 

He knew Heisenberg well enough–probably too well for his liking–to know just how much he was holding under his tongue. He could only imagine all the things he wanted to say to him. Though, it should be noted that just because he could didn't mean he should–and certainly not that he would. 

In those eyes of his, Ethan could see how unwavering they were, and how they effortlessly they chased after his own. He could see the centers of them slowly expand, almost as if they wanted to suck the blonde in and never let him go. 

Almost challenging the metal lord (or maybe as a means of getting away), Ethan tilted his head up to meet the cold, cracked wall; leaving that smooth, pallid neck of his exposed to the edge of the knife. 

“You won't,” he breathed, the air between his and Heisenberg’s face feverish and volatile. “You need me.”

Damn right he fucking did.

A wolfish grin flickered on Karl's face, and the weapon's blade went from teasing to kissing the skin on the pinned man's throat. 

“You'd like to see me try, wouldn't you, peach?”

“Dying to.”

Fuck, the growl he heard. It almost matched the grin he couldn't rip away. 

“You know, Winters, you've got guts. I wonder if you'd still look pretty with em’ ripped out and strung along my floor like tinsel.”

Heisenberg could take that knife he was holding and slice the tension between them like bread. It only thickened and electrified as the seconds ticked by, and as their eyes dashed around in a game of tag. 

Finally, the kid spoke up. His voice, to Heisenberg’s surprise, was weak. It was shaky, coated in air and coarse moxie. 

“You don't scare me. You know that right?”

Heisenberg’s eyes flashed in surprise, only to melt into a sly, heated glare. His mouth shaped into a smirk. The voice that left it was nothing more than a humming rumble. So much so that Ethan could feel it against his chest, tangled with their heartbeats.

“Ethan, Ethan, Ethan," he tutted. "Is that your way of telling me to try harder?”

Heisenberg expected many things from the man he'd pinned to the wall; A punch, a bullet to the chest, to spit in his face and throw a harsh 'fuck off and die' in tow. 

What he didn't expect was for him to lean in. He didn't expect to be met with a grimace, or to feel the very edges of his golden hair teasing his forehead, or even to see Ethan's hazel eyes dilating to match his own, fighting for total control. 

He didn't expect to see his lips pulled closer to him, aching to bridge a gap. Karl Heisenberg didn't expect to feel his cheeks match Ethan's and their heavy dusting of rouge. 

He sure as hell didn't expect what he'd said to be the last thing he heard before pouncing on the father with dizzying need.

“Go on. Let's see what you're really made of, Karl Heisenberg.”