#my eyes are such a gorgeous dark dark brown and the texture and thickness and fullness of my hair is so awesome and

[mellotronmkll]

My hair and my eyes definitely my two best features if everything about me was different I would think I was sooooooo beautiful cos my hair and eyes are both very beautiful

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Forever

Pairings: Syverson x OFC (Adele), Sy x OFC

Warnings: Fluff. Just pure fluff

Word Count: 1,356

A/N; So I wrote this story for a creative writing college class. I was listing to my country music playlist while I was thinking about what to write and “Traveling Soldier” by The (Dixie) Chicks came on and this story just popped into my head. So after 8 weeks of critiques, editing, rewriting, and all but pulling my hair out, here it is. @just-chirpin I told you I would tag you when I finally posted this. Class is over and I got an A on this so I am super proud of this!

~~~~~~~~~

Fear. It was a feeling that felt so foreign to Army Captain Jack Syverson but as he sat in the Charlotte airport, impatiently tapping his foot while waiting for his final connecting flight to Savannah, Georgia, it was the only feeling that he was aware of. A gold ring felt like lead in the pocket of his dark blue jeans. The light grey Henley he had on over his muscular chest and arms felt a half size too small. He wondered if she would even recognize him after eight years.

Without thinking he nervously scratched at the short, thick brown beard on his chin before his hand moved up and brushed across the buzz cut he had done after washing years of sand and bad memories off in the shower. The smooth textures beneath his fingertips changed as his hand moved down to the brace on his knee to adjust it subconsciously. He resisted reaching into his tour stained desert brown backpack to pull out the stack of letters he had long since memorized; the ink was starting to fade and the pages had become fragile along the creases from folding and unfolding them, he didn’t want to risk them falling apart like her very first letter had. Those two pages were safely tucked in their envelope, taped together as carefully as his thick fingers could possibly manage.

“Now boarding flight 1721 to Dallas/ Fort Worth at gate D5.” Sy glanced up at his gate number, D2, at the mention of his hometown airport and the fleeting thought of if he was doing the right thing crossed his mind. When he had booked his flight, the only thing he could think about was the gorgeous smile of the stranger he had been writing to for years. The young girl with a bow in her hair didn’t know him from Adam when he sat down in her section at Clary’s Cafe in Savannah the day before he shipped out to California for boot camp. A tour book had recommended the quaint landmark where he was oblivious to the Formica tables and historic prints on the walls and enthralled by his waitress instead.

Her sparkling brown eyes were forever burned in his memory when she agreed to him writing to her while he was deployed. Her French braided, waist length, light brown hair swished freely across her tanned back as she casually led him through the historic squares of her hometown. Etched in his mind forever was the cute, purple with white polka dots bandana wrapped around her head in an impossible attempt to keep the tiny fly aways that framed her face tamed. It was tied in a bow just above her left eye, complimenting her vibrant eye color. The memory of her smile was what kept him going in the desert though. He was forever grateful that he allowed an extra day in Savannah before the last leg of his bus trip to Fort Bragg in North Carolina.

Sy saw that smile every night in his dreams and recalled it during tough times when he sent a fallen or injured soldier home. His thoughts would drift to it during chow, and he could picture it across her pretty face when he would read the detailed letters she sent twice a month. He reread these same letters whenever he needed a pick-me-up when the war got to be just too much for even him to handle. He had long ago memorized the line she had written, “I was never lonely on my walks through the squares until you left,” until it was ingrained on his soul. 

Her smile was the reason he got through officers training. Her freedom was what he was fighting for. That is, it was what he was fighting for until he blew out his left knee breaking up a fight between two blow hard privates that let the desert heat get to their heads. The weeks he spent in the hospital were something he had zero intention of mentioning to her. She had worried enough about him these past eight years to bother her with something so trivial. In his last letter to her he had casually lied and said he was going home to Decatur, Texas in two weeks instead of admitting he was going to surprise her in Savannah.

There went that fear again. Fear that she wouldn’t recognize him when he sat down in what hopefully was still her section at Clary’s. Fear that if it wasn’t, that she would be walking the same route through the squares every Sunday morning like she used to. Fear that he would never be able to find the pen pal that he had fallen in love with. He recalled her comment in a later letter that she “feared the instant connection they had shared many years ago would be gone”, which only added to his anxiety. He hoped to get his feelings in check before his last connecting flight from Charlotte to Savannah. 

Sy’s hands made another pass through his beard, over his head, before scrubbing his tired blue eyes that were most likely blood shot from the sleep he had lost worrying about this trip he was making. The trip where he would finally come face to face with the woman that he loved and yearned to hold. The woman who referred to their one and only day together as the best day she had ever had. In her letters she had claimed she felt like she had always known him.

“Final boarding call for flight 1721 to Dallas/ Fort Worth at gate D5.”

“Wait! Please wait!” a woman cried, catching Sy’s attention. He looked to his right to watch her sprinting through the crowded Charlotte terminal, her long, curly brown hair tied up in a loose bun on the top of her head, and a purple with white polka dot bandana tied as a headband at the front, trying to keep those little fly aways back.

“Adele?” he asked himself as he carefully stood up and grabbed the strap of his backpack. His heart pounding, he limped as fast as he could as she breezed past, dodging an elderly couple that were walking just a bit too slow. “Adele!” She came to a screeching halt, her black Converse sneakers squeaking loudly on the white linoleum floor. She found him instantly in the crowd and all the fears he had been stressing over simply melted away.

“Sy?” she breathed, but they both knew what she was questioning. How was the scrawny boy she met in Savannah now the six foot one, muscular man before her? With the slightest bob of his head in confirmation, she bolted back into his direction and took a flying leap of faith into his arms.

“You’re here,” she whispered with tears in her eyes as they clung tightly together, shocked to find each other in the chaos of Charlotte’s connecting flights. 

“I love you,” was the only thing he could say as he gently leaned back to see her gorgeous smile. He searched her tear-filled eyes as he carefully set her down on the ground and reached into his pocket for the ring that now felt like a brick. “And I will never leave you again. Will you…”

“Yes,” she gasped with a violent nod of her head as she wiped the tears from her eyes as quickly as she could. “I love you, too. I have for years…”

“Me too,” he replied as he slid the band onto her finger. She caressed his scruff covered cheek in her small hand and confirmed her feelings with a gentle kiss. The sights and sounds around them slipped away as they held on to their whole world in that moment. 

“Come home with me.” She whispered when she pulled away to search the sweet blue eyes that she had seen nightly in her dreams. “Please tell me you are coming home. I can’t bear another minute…”

“I’m coming home.” He confirmed with a smile that made her feel whole again. “I’m coming home with you forever.”

[akumaalert]

Medical Log Sixty-nine

Karl Heisenberg x AFAB Reader (Uses She/Her); Explicit Content, 18+ ONLY

CW: Medicplay, medical kink, medical examination, voice kink, roleplay, consensual voyeurism

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802593 

"Medical log...this is my...sixty-ninth attempt."

You rolled your eyes. Of course he would go for a sex joke the second the recording snapped on.

Staying still was a difficult task. The steel table was chilling your back and your muscles screamed at you to purse away from the cold.

The warmth between your legs, however, demanded that you stayed.

Heisenberg began exactly as he said he would - listing off your name and age with that ever lilting voice that made your cunt clench in delight.

"Body is in...fuck...the most gorgeous condition..."

Playing dead was so hard when he was out of view. Heisenberg was so expressive and you were missing all the nuances you so adored. You could only picture him studying you - licking those delectably thick lips that you loved to nip. The fact that he was fully clothed and hovering over your naked body was as thrilling as it was nerve wracking.

Part of you willed stillness on the sheer fear that if you moved, the spell would be broken and Heisenberg’s role of doctor would be traded for actual work. Convincing him of doing this had not been the simplest task. The first time he caught you listening to one of his medical logs, he had raised a quizzical eyebrow and chuckled lightly at your blush. When you laid in his arms after making love one morning, you had shyly admitted the desires that had been ignited simply by listening to his voice.

"I think they umm...I think it's technically called medical play..."

The swiftness with which he cut you off still made you feel shame. "I'm not experimenting on you."

It took all the strength you could muster to look at him despite your cheeks absolutely burning. You placed a hand on his own cheek to rub the pad of your finger over one of his scars. "No. No...that's not what I meant. It's pretend. For fun. Roleplaying basically..."

You loved when his glasses were missing from his face. Green eyes flickered - studying you intently - before his lips stretched into an attractive smirk. "Would that turn you on, buttercup?"

And so the two of you had planned. It was convenient that the toys you needed were inconspicuous medical equipment. Most you already had and the others were obtained from the Duke without suspicion. At least you hoped. He was always a jovial fellow and at least didn't question the use for the pinwheel. Where the rest came from, you did not question. It wouldn't do to dwell on the purpose or origin when living in the shadow of Miranda's clutches.

When Heisenberg's hand ghosted near your head in the present, you repressed the want to moan.

"Proceeding with inspection..."

One leather clad hand cupped a cheek while a bare, calloused fingertip lined your lips. You could not entirely make him out like this, but you could see his green undershirt in delightful detail if you rolled your eyes high enough. His trench coat and his outer shirt had been discarded and the thought made your skin prickle. The spirals of his chest hair peeking from his shirt made your fingers tent with a want to touch him.

But cadavers couldn't move. So you swallowed and resisted the temptation to dart your tongue to meet his caress.

"Subject has the softest lips...prettiest damn thing I've ever studied."

Heat and the ever lingering static that was Heisenberg radiated just a breath behind you. If you had any courage to move just so, you imagined that his crotch sat just above your line of sight.

Would he already be hard? Heisenberg had held his typical swagger when you had mapped out your wants and respected his limitations. But you could tell that hesitancy still sat not so lightly on his shoulders. Perhaps he would need to drag things out - let his pleasure build as yours boiled in every limb.

Eyes half lidded, you nearly missed the scalpel floating gingerly through the air. As Heisenberg had insisted, only the handle touched your skin. Beginning at the curve of your jaw, it traced ever so slowly down your throat like a breath. Despite the lack of danger, the sensitive skin pimpled and your throat constricted.

"It's as if I built her myself...everything I could ever fucking want. Absolute damn perfection," he muttered. Feeling drunk off his words, you struggled to keep up with them all. After all, you were not sure how sensitive the recording would be. Heisenberg was a loud man - a grand man - and so rarely whispered as he did now. "A lovely neck...if only I had found her sooner...might have given her a necklace of teeth marks to wear."

When the scalpel slipped to your chest, your gasp could not be stifled. But instead of stopping, Heisenberg simply removed his fingers from your face to set both hands in a frame on either side of your head. He was adjusting and leaning and soon his eyes met with yours. Though you could not see anything below the rugged slope of his nose, you imagined his mouth as slightly parted.

His eyes were normally flecked with golds and browns, but the darkness there now was not an uncommon sight. You saw it when he was angry - returning from family meetings or trips to the Dimitrescu castle. Whenever his facade had been tested for too long with his "mother" and the walls came crashing down the moment the doors to the factory were closed.

You also saw it when he was lost to lust - when he used arms as steady as steel to hold you to him until you were both limp messes on the floor or the desk or the shower or the bed.

It was a color you so treasured - especially when the hints of softness clouded them as they did now.

Heisenberg's voice careened and curled just like the scalpel's handle around your breast. So light but so heavy.

"I don't need any damn notes for these tits...have them fucking memorized. Fuck what I wouldn't give to put my mouth on them. What a damn waste. Body is so cold and those nipples are perked up so nicely. Inspecting..." He audibly swallowed, clearing his throat. "Inspecting chest in detail now."

While the scalpel handle swirled against one of your nipples, Heisenberg's gloved hand went to your ignored breast in a firm squeeze. You were already so worked up by the mere prospect of your play. To have it as a reality with Heisenberg towering over you and switching his attention from your breasts to your eyes to your lips and back again was absolute torture. The leather on his fingers did nothing to help you. The gloves were old and worn into a fibrous texture that made every hair on your neck stand on end.

Your lover was a cruel man, but not a patient one. With his pointer finger and thumb, he twisted your nipple. Eyes clapping shut, you shook when you realized a tremble in the scalpel. A telltale sign of his passions rising and his powers thrumming along with them.

"Color?" he asked in a voice of gravel.

It took you a moment to understand his inquiry. Your stoplight system. That Heisenberg was already checking in with you filled you with a whole new type of warmth. Nodding with flushed cheeks, you ran your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Green," you muttered.

So he continued.

"Nipples are extremely responsive." The scalpel and his hand pulled away but for a moment before the sides were switched. But with them came the feeling of his bare hand on your equally bare chest. "I could stand here all day just admiring the view. Not a damn thing to say to do it justice."

He flitted between a tender touch and a rolling, twinging pinch. The scalpel rolled along with it all, though there were intervals when it remained still against your skin. As if his mind could not keep up with it all. It would start back again with a lurch and small grunts of frustration from its master.

"Moving to the lower torso..."

Your body arched when he moved and broke contact with your skin. The scalpel's trail became steadier as it looped around your breast to slide so terribly slow down the middle of your chest. Down it slipped and once again your fingers were fidgety. The skin of your stomach felt particularly sensitive, especially when the scalpel began to dance in patterns too quick and too slow for your mind to process.

"These hips of hers...the legs...hard not to get too ahead of myself..."

Though you could not see him at all now with your head locked in its position, it made the situation all the more welcome to your growing need. In your mind he studied you - watched your body with all the appreciation he was so fond of giving it. He might pay attention to your stomach - to the invisible designs he was tracing there. But his eyes would inevitably flicker to look between your legs. There was no gown or sheet to protect you from his hungry gaze. There was nothing at all preventing him from doing the myriad of things that you longed for him to do.

By the sound of his breathing, you knew Heisenberg was not left unaffected.

"Subject...is gonna fucking pay for making part of my work part of her play," he growled. "Do you have any idea how distracted I'm going to be every time I go in for an actual log? But you don't care, do you? It's all about you."

Tension hung in the air and one of your legs stretched upward, suddenly aching.

Heisenberg's hand came down fast to push it back into place.

"Didn't say I wasn't gonna indulge you," he said, playfulness in his voice. He gripped your knee still held in his hand with a soft touch. "Just that you'll pay for this later."

Lightly nodding, you felt his hand leave you. Your entire body tensed when the scalpel - ever streaming down your skin - began a descent that told you just how impatient Heisenberg had become.

It didn't help that a series of items - familiar and agreed upon in advance - floated over you on a glinting silver tray. You could not tell if they moved slowly due to his powers flitting with his emotions or if he simply was intent on you seeing them.

A bottle of lube. A bullet vibrator and its controller. The Wartenberg pinwheel. Another scalpel for the hell of it.

If the scalpel on your skin ran near your aching cunt, you never felt it. The next thing you knew, it was landing on your thigh and stalling.

As if he could not help himself, his hands were on you again. This time instead of pushing a leg onto the table, he pried both of your legs open with a prodding touch.

Though it broke your play, you took a large inhale of air. You could not recall ever being so wet or so ready.

Heisenberg let out a low whistle.

"You're soaked, buttercup." A pause. The telltale sound of buckles being clicked and dropped to the floor.

You could not take it and spoke with a whine.

"Not fair...I can't see you."

The chuckle he gave was dark. "A shame. It's like someone asked for this. Ironic. You're such a whore that your little game is preventing you from watching me. And I know how you love to watch."

The asshole took his time to slowly unzip his pants. The heat in your body was palpable and painful. A small gratified groan told you all you needed to know about where his hands had gone.

"Pretty, pretty girl..." he cooed. "Show isn't over yet. You had some requests and what kind of a lord would I be if I was to ignore one of my subject's pleas?"

The knowledge that he was stroking himself - languid even as your longing screamed through your very soul - made the pit of your stomach pulse with delayed pleasure.

Trying to even your breathing, you focused on the ceiling laid brown and bare above you. Or at least you tried. Heisenberg chose the absolute worst moment to bring both the second scalpel's handle and the brand new pinwheel onto the scene.

Huffing heatedly, you scrunched your face into a grimace. What a sight you must be - a scalpel on each thigh and a pinwheel hanging dangerously close to your cunt. You pushed the thought aside, unable to bear the image in your head.

"To the main event," he announced, voice returned to a rumbling purr. "Planting the 'control device.' Inserting now."

When he had added lube to the bullet, you did not know. Probably somewhere between your embarrassment and the blood pounding in your ears. Small and sleek, it entered your folds gently but awkwardly. Heisenberg's powers going on the fritz would never cease to endear you. He was so strong - so normally loud and wearing whatever mask that a situation called for. But in these moments with you, he was raw and his powers were unhinged in the most intimate of ways. It made you feel powerful - the ability to bring this lord of metal to timid movements when he could likely destroy the whole village with enough metal and mental will.

Rounding its way deeper and deeper inside of you, the bullet suddenly stilled. The sensations of the scalpels skating up and down your legs combined with the threat of the pinwheel overwhelmed you. If you had wanted to speak in that moment, it would have been quite out of your ability to remember how.

"Insertion complete."

Babbling during sex was another staple of Heisenberg's. But he was eerily quiet and controlled in the seconds that followed right up to the click of the controller.

The jolt to your core was immediate and you gasped in hurried breaths against the most exquisite pleasure you had ever felt. The fight to keep your fingers extended was lost as all ten fisted. You were so wet that the lube had been a moot point. The bullet buzzed inside of you and your hips shook with the herculean effort of staying still.

Heisenberg exhaled, voice faraway and dreamy.

"Ausgezeichnet...excellent. Progressing faster than expected."

You choked on air. Beyond your control, your body flinched against the hum of the bullet.

"Fuck," bit out Heisenberg. "Have a proposition for you...since you're going to be punished for making me work, I'm going to go back to the recording-"

"Oh God!"

"I'm going to go back to the recording," he repeated gruffly, ever incensed at being spoken over. "And I'm going to count the seconds that it takes for you to come. And however many seconds that is...that's how many spanks you'll be getting. Right on that luscious fucking ass of yours."

Another click of the bullet's controller made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fingernails bit into your palm with the want to hold onto something - anything. How could you be so stimulated yet so far from release at the same time?

"I can see everything from where I'm standing," he continued. "Can you feel that wetness of yours? Dripping into your ass...pussy such a pretty pink shade. It'll go so nice with a red ass. One, two, three...you're building up to quite the spanking. Might want to hurry it along."

He was indeed a cruel man.

But not a patient one.

The pinwheel's weight was noticeable, but not deep. It pinched and rolled its way directly down and over your clit and the sensitive flesh splayed and shaking from sensation.

How you hated the gargle that you let out. It was ugly and incoherent.

"Too much!" you cried.

"Scheisse!" The pinwheel flew to the floor as the scalpels stopped. Even the bullet seemed to rumble ever lighter. "Color?"

It took you several breaths to gather the ability to nod. When Heisenberg remained quiet, you grunted. "Green...green...fucking green. Floor it."

Heisenberg laughed - all throat and no breath. "Floor it. Gotcha."

Making a strange sound - somewhere between a groan and a grunt - Heisenberg returned his hands to your body.

The hand free from leather stroked your thigh. The leather, however, fondled your mound and found your clit with practiced speed.

Barely able to keep up with the bullet and the scalpels and the trembles and the sound of Heisenberg's guttural encouragements, you closed your eyes and focused on the circles he made against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

You could not open your eyes or close your mouth. You could not do anything but chase a high approaching as sure as any sunrise.

Apparently taking pity on the mess you had become, Heisenberg only took one swift last round on your clit before speaking.

"Now to pass a current...through the body...using six volts..."

The words had no time to settle in before the action was done with his gentle hand on your quivering thigh.

Screaming, too, was beyond your control.

"Come on," he said through the return to your clit and the massage in your cunt and the swirls of scalpel handles on your legs. "Come on, come on, come on."

"KAR...k...kah..."

Your orgasm knocked the very air from your lungs. Pins of light erupted as your eyes squeezed with every furious flutter of pleasure. Your cunt was actually twitching and the glove on Heisenberg's hand felt so exquisite as it barely pressed down on your clit.

"Yes! Yes!" Egging you on with a happy laugh, Heisenberg uttered praises that registered in a haze. "At last...wonderful...what a good girl."

As the absolutely mind-numbing orgasm faded into your very bones, you lay there exhausted and beyond satisfied. Breathing became a chore that your throat seemed unused to performing.

Heisenberg moved as efficiently as ever to complete his work. The bullet was removed with care by his own fingers. When it had turned off, you had no recollection. The scalpels clattered to the table with a metallic hiss.

Sweat built on your brow and dragging down your temple, you swallowed and swallowed again. The sound of rushing water perked your tired body. You were slow to rise, testing fingers and a palm burning with indents of your nails. Soon, however, you had sat up. A swirl of satisfaction still sat low in your belly.

As satiated as you were, you could not help but enjoy the sight of Heisenberg standing before you. In one hand was a glass of water begging to be brought to your parched lips. In the other he held the recorder. You watched with hooded eyes as he clutched at the recorder before dropping his hand to adjust his pants.

Pants that hung low on his hips with the zipper pulled wide. The adorable swell of his lower belly was visible underneath his shirt. His cock was curved at such a beautiful angle above silver hair. It was blushed a dark pink with veins reaching up to a head that was nearly purple with need.

Bringing the recorder back to his mouth, Heisenberg eyed you before huffing.

"...ending recording."

[nationalharryleague]

Work of Art

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Artist!Harry, fluff, angst if you squint

Word count: 4K

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my entry for @hsogolden​ ’s AU writing challenge! Check out their blog they are incredibly talented!!! ALSO, a MASSIVE thank you and shoutout to the lovely Miss Lu, @harrysgucciloafers​!!! I could have never done it without her!! Thank you so much for reading and remember, feedback is so so so appreciated!!! You can also send requests to my ask anytime!! I hope you enjoy :) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist :) 

***

Sleep was fleeting and you remained staring at your popcorn ceiling in your shitty apartment for longer than you would have liked. It was later than you would have liked when your phone buzzed and lit up the ceiling of your bedroom. Knowing sleep was still far off, you rolled over and examined the text from an unknown number, the bright screen blinding you in the process.

Hi, I was thinking of you today. I thought I would show you this piece that I made of you. Hope you’re doing well. Hx, attached was a slightly blurry photo of a beautiful painting of a woman.

The woman in the painting was made up of beautiful bright colors, her skin a mix of green, blue, and purple tones. Her eyes were a bright and captivating cerulean, standing out behind wide framed glasses, and she wore an intriguing and knowing smirk on her lips. Her hair fell down in blunt bangs over her forehead and framed her heart shaped face. She was young, looking to be only a little bit older than you.

The painting was captivating. It was crafted with such bright tones, using color blocking that blended the abstract with some elements of realism. It felt like someone poured all of their emotion and adoration or hurt (you couldn’t decide which) into it. You couldn’t decide if the artist loved or hated this figure staring back at you. One thing you knew was that whoever texted you was incredibly talented and had obviously dedicated so much time to this piece. You felt awful that it hadn’t reached its intended destination.

Um… Wrong number, you typed out, feeling a pang of sympathy for whoever ‘H’ was.

Oh… okay. Sorry to bother you., your phone screen lit up again.

Your art is beautiful, you quickly sent back, attempting to offer some sort of consolation to the mystery artist. Sorry I’m not who you wanted to talk to.

Don’t worry about it. Just looking for someone from a lifetime ago.

That last part kept you up for most of the night. You couldn’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Old friend? Estranged relative? Another artist? You let your mind dream up Oscar-worthy scenarios until you finally fell asleep.

***

“Please come to Scott’s art show with me,” Grace whined from across the table at your favorite coffee shop. Grace was your best friend from college and hadn’t figured out to get rid of you yet.

“You know how I feel about your shitty boyfriend and his shitty art,” you fired back. Scott was a pretentious “artist” who made “ironic” misogynistic sculptures and frequently “forgot” to pay Grace back for his share of rent. You hated his guts.

“I promise I’m going to break up with him soon. I just need to get to the end of the month so I get my money’s worth for rent,” she assured you. “By the way, I’m going to need some help moving out at the end of the month,” she mentioned nonchalantly. You let out a chuckle at her and playfully rolled your eyes.

“I will go to the show with you on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll hold my hand.”

A few hours later you walked into the modern and cold art show space, holding onto Grace’s hand for dear life, feeling unwelcome in this environment. Grace blended in easily, her bright blue hair and arms of tattoos suiting her well.  The edgiest thing you had ever done was getting your nose pierced… until your grandma threw a fit and your mom made you take it out. You were not an artist and you did not feel welcome in the art community, or at least the type of artists that hang out with Scott. You worked in an office, you dressed plainly and simply, and you didn’t think there was anything special about yourself. You were strikingly ordinary, a sharp contrast from most other people in the gallery. You felt like an outsider because you were one.

Walking around the gallery, you hung onto Grace while examining and appreciating the artwork. You took careful steps, as if to not take attention away from the paintings on the walls and spent time examining each piece as you moved through the room. As you moved from wall to wall, your eyes fell on a strikingly familiar painting. The same girl with the bright blue eyes and the bangs stared back at you, the devilish smirk still playing upon her lips like she knew you had met before.

Releasing Grace’s hand, you all but ran up to the painting in question, trying to take in all the details that didn’t translate over the slightly grainy photo on your phone. The painting took on a life of its own up close. The paint itself was layered thick and thin across the canvas creating a rough texture that made the girl come alive. You were half waiting for her to make eye contact with her captivating baby blues and start staring back at you. You felt like you could reach inside the canvas and hold the beautiful woman’s face in your hands.

“Do you like it?” a deep British voice asked after clearing their throat behind you.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” you murmured, still staring at the green and purple woman. It took you a moment to rip yourself away from her piercing eyes and look towards the voice, only to turn around and find an even more captivating set.

They were bright green and belonged to a tall, dark haired man that was breathtaking. He had chocolate brown curls that seemed to be sticking in every direction, like a purposefully perfect bedhead, and stubble that moved up his jaw and down his neck. He had plushy pink lips framing his bright smile and his two front teeth came down the tiniest bit too far. He was wearing a white tshirt that was painted to his fit body as it was a size too small for him, showing off his arms of tattoos, and a pair of orange corduroy flares. His ensemble was topped off with a pearl necklace. He arched a brow when your mouth hung open slightly, trying to take all of him in.

“The painting is gorgeous,” you eventually were able to spit out. “I feel like I know her.”

“I’m glad that I was able to create something so captivating,” he smiled at you. So he was the one that painted it, meaning he was the one who had texted it to you. After getting over the initial shock, you gave yourself an internal high five for having this guy’s number. “Harry,” he introduced himself, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand to shake yours. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Y/N,” you smiled back, debating if you should tell him that you had kind of met before. It felt creepy to tell him, like you were some sort of voyer on an intimate part of his life. “I love her. Can you tell me a little bit more about it?” you asked. You had to figure out if it was worth being creepy about.

“So did I,” he said with a light chuckle. “She’s someone that I used to know,” he elaborated looking over your shoulder, surely making eye contact with the woman. Maybe you were reading into it too closely, but you thought a flash of hurt passed across his features.

“Do you always paint mysterious people from your past?” you teased, wanting to break the slightly awkward silence and also willing to do anything to talk to him further.

“Actually, I’m mainly a landscape painter,” he smiled at the ground, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Looking back at Harry’s wall of paintings you realized that the girl was the only person on the wall, flanked by beautiful landscape paintings depicting all different areas of the world. You quickly picked your favorite, a monochromatic green scene of the Eiffel tower.

After you asked if he traveled a lot to paint, the conversation began to flow. You strolled around the mainly empty studio space, footsteps falling in sync, him teaching you about his paintings and you asking questions, desperate to learn anything you could from him and just wanting to hear that beautiful accent. You learned he grew up in Cheshire and moved to New York for school and never left, but he travelled to Europe often to see his family and to paint. He told you about how his ultimate goals in life were to have one of his pieces in the Museum of Modern Art and to find his soulmate. He was a hopeless yet hopeful romantic. He also had two cats, Evie and Stevie (the latter was obviously named after Stevie Nicks).

He was so beautiful. He had this magical twinkle in his eye that you just couldn’t get over. He looked like he was one of the sculptors’ in the room’s life work. He was just as much of a piece of art as anything on display in the studio.

When the crowd started to thin, Grace came and found you, still rolling her eyes from something stupid Scott had said, him trailing not far behind. “Hi my love,” she greeted you, kissing your cheek casually as always. “We were getting ready to head out but I can see you’ve made a friend.”

“Harry is the artist behind all these amazing paintings,” gesturing to the long wall displaying his artwork. “This is my best friend Grace,” you said, turning back to him. “And that’s her soon to be ex-boyfriend, Scott,” you laughed and pointed to him staring at a blank white canvas in the corner that was obviously not part of the exhibition.

“Wait,” he began, shaking his head and laughing, pointing accusingly between the two of you. “You two aren’t together?”

“What? No!”

“It’s just that you were holding hands for a while when you came in and then she called you ‘love,’ and then kissed your cheek,” he continued laughing, his cheeks a bright red. It was adorable. You felt your cheeks heat up just as bright red as his.

“Oh my god, no.” You broke out into a fit of giggles of your own.

“Well, in that case, would you like to grab a drink or something sometime?”

***

You decided to order a martini when you got to the bar the next night. You thought it would make you look fancy and you hoped it would impress your worldly date. You had put on your favorite red dress (the one that hugged you in all the right spots and hid the wrong ones), praying he would dress up like you did, and slid carefully onto the barstool. Bouncing your knee nervously, you sipped your drink slowly until you saw his well dressed figure enter the bar, making your heart skip a beat.

He was dressed in high-waisted wide-legged tan pants and a bright red cardigan printed with small white hearts that was held together in the front by a single button, leaving his chest and signature pearl necklace on display. His chest tattoos were now slightly visible, the faces of two swallows looking back at you, as well as what you thought might be some sort of antennae peeking up from his stomach. He also wore an award winning smile and shot you a wink when he spotted you from the entrance of the bar. Once again, he took your breath away.

“Hello darling,” he greeted you as he made his way over. You began to panic when he started leaning into you, relieved when his lips found their way to your cheek and quickly moved to the other. When he kissed your cheeks, it sent sparks through your body. Oh my god, he is so British, you squealed inside your head, unable to suppress your American excitement. “I like your color choice,” he smirked looking between your outfits of almost the exact same red. You could only hope your cheeks didn’t match as well.

“Great minds dress alike,” you remarked, earning a laugh from the gorgeous man in front of you. Turns out, your joke was enough to break the ice. Soon the conversation began to flow freely, without anxiety or trepidation, like you were a pair of souls reunited after lifetimes apart. You were two martinis in when you decided to break the news that the art gallery was not the first time you had spoken.

“I think I have to break something to you,” you giggled, everything seeming a little funny after a few drinks, “the art show was not the first time we met.” His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion so you decided to elaborate. “The night before the show you sent a picture of that painting to a wrong number, and that wrong number was me. I promise it was all a coincidence and I am not stalking you.” You held your breath while you waited a moment with bated breath for a reaction from him, but released the stress that had found its way into your shoulders when his smile returned to his lips.

“I knew you had more interest in Amelia than most people,” he chuckled. Amelia, you repeated to yourself, now having a name for the face of your mystery woman.

“When Grace dragged me to that studio and I saw her again, I just had to know more. But then I met you and got a little distracted,” you flirted, “accidentally” nudging his leg with the point of your stiletto.

“I’m glad I’m just a distraction to you,” he feigned offense, clutching his pearl necklace with the hand that wasn’t hanging onto his neat tequila.

“Meeting you tonight was actually just an elaborate ruse to learn more about your Amelia,” you sarcastically confessed, sending him back one of the winks he had been shooting you all night. Your wink wasn’t met with his typical laugh, but a slightly pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You worried you had hit a nerve.

“She’s not my Amelia anymore. Actually, I don’t think she ever was,” he spoke gently, taking a sip of his drink and breaking eye contact for what felt like the first time tonight. Oh no oh no oh no, you began to panic in your head. What did this woman do to him?  

“I once had an ex tell me they had cancer so I wouldn’t break up with them,” you offered, forcing a laugh and praying you could brighten up his mood again. Thankfully, it worked, bringing back the crinkles by his eyes that appeared whenever he smiled or laughed.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the rest of the night went smoothly. It was better than smooth actually, it felt easy and exciting. Harry made your heart sing and your stomach flutter. He was a perfect gentleman, walking you all the way home (even when he lived on the other side of the city) and even up to your apartment, insisting he needed to make sure you made it inside safe.

The pair of you were standing in front of your front door when he leaned in and pressed his blushed lips to yours. He tasted like the lime that sat on the rim of his drunk and smelled like shampoo and vanilla. Every hair on your body stood up on point and everywhere he touched you felt like your skin lit on fire; you never wanted this moment to end. He gently held your face and you could feel his lips turn into a smile as he pulled away, his beautiful green eyes meeting yours once again.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he breathed, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“I think we should do this again,” you said, still catching the breath that he took away.

“I promise you’ll be hearing from me soon. I already have your number,” he chuckled, still beaming. You watched as he walked down the hallway away from you, winking and blowing you a kiss before turning the corner. As soon as you entered the apartment, you slid down your front door, dizzy from the haze he had created in your head. You couldn’t wait to see him again.

***

After that night, you couldn’t believe someone like him kept coming back to someone like you. You insisted you were too boring for someone who had such an incredible personality and background. Yet three months later, he was yours and you were his.

You spent almost all your nights together, crammed into one of your small New York City apartments, wrapped in each other’s arms and hypothetically solving the world’s problems. You had learned in this time that Harry was incredibly intelligent and well spoken, no matter how long it took him to get his words out due to his slow cadence. In your conversations, you had come to the agreement that most of the world’s problems could be solved with a little empathy and that green was definitely the best color.

Tonight you laid naked in his bed, your head resting just above your favorite butterfly, and played with his fingers as you listened to him speak about postmodernism and how it rocked the art world. You didn’t understand a thing he was going on about but you loved to hear him speak, his voice vibrating through his chest and how he pulled on his bottom lip when he was thinking. You scanned the studio apartment from his bed, trying to pay attention but losing that battle. The floor was littered with finished and unfinished paintings leaning up against the walls and you noticed one familiar face you had grown fond of was missing.

“Where did your painting of Amelia go?” you asked when he took a second to breathe during his diatribe.

“I sold it,” he said curtly.  You hadn’t talked much more about Amelia after that first night, the woman obviously being a sore spot, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened.

“Oh, okay. I liked that painting a lot,” you spoke cautiously, trying not to hit whatever nerve you had previously.

“It was nice, but I think she should haunt someone else now,” he said with a sigh. Haunt?, you thought to yourself.

“H,” you began, rolling yourself off him to look him in the eye, “can I ask what happened with her?” You held your breath, afraid you might lose him to the heartbreak again.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s long gone.”

“Harry,” you lightly scolded him by using his full name which you rarely did, thinking back to when you agreed not to keep anything for each other. With a sigh, he began to speak.

“I was with her for a couple months last year and when I look back at it, it was really messy. We fought all the time and kept a lot from each other. But I had my rose colored glasses on and I would go as far as saying I was probably in love with her. I was even looking for engagement rings.” You felt a pang of jealousy within you at the idea of Harry loving anyone else. “That was until I found out that she already had a husband.”

Your heart broke for him after your initial shock, resting your hand on his warm cheek in an attempt to soothe him. He didn’t seem sad recounting the story or at the mention of her like he was before; he was now dealing with the remaining hurt of rejection.

“I painted her while I was still really mad,” he continued. “My original plan was to send it to her husband and tell him what had happened. But I decided that three lives didn’t need to be ruined instead of one. And then I was just kinda stuck with the painting. I thought selling it was a good way to get her out of my life and it’s more productive than lighting it on fire,” he finally said with a light chuckle.

A lot made sense all of a sudden. You now understood why Harry always got a little jealous when he saw other guys looking at you. He would loop an arm around your waist and press a kiss to your cheek while he stared them down. He thought you didn’t notice but you always did. You also understood why he was so open with you about how much he cared about you. It was a good thing you were equally as obsessed with him.

“I’m sorry, H. You didn’t deserve to go through all of that,” you said softly after a moment, unsure of what else you could offer.

“It’s okay. We grow from our past,” he shrugged. “And if I hadn’t painted her, I wouldn’t have found you,” he smiled sweetly, pulling you back into him and pressing his lips onto yours.

***

“Oh my goodness, what are you doing?” you giggled when Harry asked you to close your eyes.

“I have something to show you. Please close your eyes,” he asked again.

“What if I don’t want to close my eyes?” you teased, poking the dimple in his cheek caused by his cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes and began his plea again.

“Close your eyes, please. Do it.”

You gave in this time, closing your eyes and letting your heart flutter in anticipation. Harry knew you loved surprises and often took advantage of that fact. You felt him gently rest his cupped hands over your eyes, obviously not trusting you to not peak (he probably shouldn’t). He pressed himself to your back, urging you to make your way further into his apartment.

“Styles, if you let me walk into something, I swear to god,” you continued your giggling, overcome with excitement. Harry mumbled an ‘Oh, hush,’ in your ear before he stopped you both and lifted his hands away.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it in. The painting was in Harry’s signature style, layered bright colors and varied textures across the canvas. Staring back was your own face, painted in a bright red monochrome with the exception of the color of your eyes that remained the same. You were posed with a bright smile that crinkled the skin by your eyes and you were wearing the red dress that you had worn that first night at the bar.

“Harry, oh my god. It’s so beautiful,” you managed to get out, still in shock.

“I know you don’t think you are, but are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world to be my muse.” You felt as if you could explode or melt with the amount of love you had for this man. You held him up on such a pedestal, and now you knew he did the same for you. “From the moment I saw you, I thought you were a work of art. So, I thought I’d actually make you into one.”

Your cheeks burned from the smile you couldn’t shake if you wanted to and you felt yourself get a little teary eyed. You felt as if you had spent the majority of your life thinking you were nothing special and just another person walking down the street. Harry made you feel like you were the center of the universe. You wanted to love yourself like Harry loved you; like you loved him.

“I love you,” you blurted, small tears rolling down your face, wiped away by Harry’s talented hands.

“I love you too,” he murmured softly, pulling your body to his. “I’ll always have your face hung up high in my gallery.”

There she is!! I hope you enjoyed it!! You can let me know what you think here!! :) 

[creativeashproductions]

Magician Behind the Music // Owen Joyner

sagSummary: Being in a studio recording songs is an intimidating experience for anyone regardless of age. Wanting the best in the business for his soundtrack Kenny Ortega brings his cast to the best in the business. Heading the production is no ever than Y/N with a certain sparkle when it comes to the tall blonde.

Warning: Swearing, insecurity, oblivious!reader and fluff

Words: 2.1k

A/N: I know nothing about producing songs so I ended up winging it. About time I make a fic for Owen

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The studio had the sound of music as a group of people walk down the hall of the building that housed world-renowned recording studio. The office chair was leaning back as a figure sat listening to the nearly finished album. Forest green Sanuk slip-on shoes on the feet of the individual the door opening wasn’t heard.

“Girls you wanna hear the finished product?” You questioned from your seat behind the large control panel. The four girls on the video chat excited responded enthusiastic band members.

Not needing anymore push the song replaced the one that had been playing as background noise. Sliding the volume up the music, you had both produced and featured played through the speakers. As the pre-chorus and the chorus came, you couldn’t help but start singing.

 I find peace in every story you told

 I think of you, I’ll never be alone

 It’s true, true, true

 You know I do, do, do

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

 Oh, you save me in ways that I can’t explain

 Always been there for me, now I’ll do the same

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

All five that poured themselves on the song couldn’t help but bop along with the catchy words and beat. By far, one of your most favourite songs you ever co-wrote, feature and produce. You and little Mix had been desiring to co-work on something for years now.

“That pre-chorus and chorus are the favourites of my career!” You excitedly announced glancing up the glass separating the booth from the control room. Your face found a handful of young adults and Kenny in the reflection.

“It’s gonna be a bop to sing!” Perrie agreed with her hair in messy space buns sitting at her computer desk in comfy clothes.

Jesy, Leigh-Anne and Jade wore similar loungewear in the safety of their homes after travelling out of LA back to England. An entire week spent solely on writing music and recording with a few sleepover nostalgic of the teen years.

“I gotta go. My next clients are here.” You told the excited British girl group before your cursor ended the video chat.

Pushing off with your toe on the floor, you faced the group seated taking in the awed expressions from the song. Part of you is annoyed at the blatant disregard of professionalism and the potential of the song being leaked.

“Charlie, Owen, Jeremy, and Madison this is my friend Y/N. She’s a musician, songwriter and a producer.” Kenny spoke, waving towards your seat position at the forefront of the control panel.

Your eyes gleamed brighter with the teal blue cable knit sweater paired with a pair of fitted blue jeans. The pros of being a producer in a recording studio meant the work attire was relaxed compared to desk jobs. It appeared this group was similar.

“Hello.” You spoke standing up to be closer to the group, “I believe you have a soundtrack needed? I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’d like to ask that the song you overheard not be spoken about again.”

“I’m Charlie.” The brunette with a white hat put on backwards immediately shook your hand. Even with the hat, you could tell his hair was a gorgeous brown that contrasted his pretty eyes hazel green eyes.

“Hi Charlie.” You smiled at the male before stepping around him to the other three people in the room. The only other girl in the room was most definitely the lead of whatever show Kenny was currently doing.

“You’re Madison.” You spoke, taking in her youthful appearance and the quiet wisdom flowing within her eyes, the colour of dark coffee grounds. Her hair was down in her natural texture, resting on the shoulders of her muted olive green shirt.

“Jeremy.” Came from the shorter boy with startling rich dark brown almost black hair and eyes you couldn’t discern between blue or green. His cheeks a permanent pink flush but an infectious grin, “How are you?”

“My collaborators for a song liked it, and I’m not going to explain what you’ll be doing in the booth.” You replied gesturing to the enclosed space with the microphone and a stand of instruments.

Brushing off any other details you finally came to the only nameless individual in the room with the only blonde head of hair.

“Owen.” The blonde spoke softly with his eyes nearly begging to leave your expression with the anxiety building. This was so new for Owen, and unlike anything, he had ever experienced before in his life.

“Take a seat.” You motioned towards the long couch against the wall opposite the recording booth. It was a plus that extended couch perfect for a short nap after a near all-nighter. Your studio was the only one with such a good sofa.

“I’ve worked with Kenny on his Descendants series with the cast along with strictly only musicians. I say this with respect with Kenny, but if you don’t respect me or my process, I won’t hesitate to end this. It’s in the contract.” You sternly told the young individuals, “That being said. Your voice is an instrument that needs to be cared for. You need to be careful with it.”

The vocal coach dove into a more detailed list of the items not to be ingested by actors. The same thing happened with every new client you met after the horror film of a massacre a few years previous. As they went over, you looked over the schedule.

The binder was thick with the different songs in the series with jot notes in the margins. Kenny sat in the other chair, looking at them.

“So, Jeremy is the only one with experience?” You questioned glancing up at your elder with a look of curiosity. Kenny nodded with a fond smile, “Okay so let’s get his vocals for the first song recorded. That way, the others have a first-hand look at how it happens.”

Jeremy was quick to rid himself of his jacket to slide into the booth with the headphones resting on only one ear. In two hours, you had guided Madison and Charlie through their parts of this session. Your mouth opened to invite Owen into the booth but his demeanour concerned you.

“Kenny, how about we take a break for lunch?” You subtly guided Kenny to look at Owen before he quickly agreed.

Charlie was practically skipping out of the recording studio with his hands nudging Jeremy on his way out. Madison, led by her father, left right after leaving Owen to just about exit the room.

“Hey Owen?” You spoke, bringing the tensed young man’s attention, “Can you give me a moment?”

His head of thick blonde hair hesitantly nodded as Kenny followed the other cast members out of the room. Gently nudging the door closed you guided him to sit on the couch with you stationed in the office chair.

“First time recording is a bitch of pressure. I completely understand because I’ve guided people and been guided in the booth.” You began leaning forward to meet his eyes, “I know as someone with anxiety it’s intimidating. Let me know. Whatever you tell me will stay between us.”

Owen was quiet, “I’ve done other projects. I’ve never had the opportunity to have a role as a drummer. I guess this is overwhelming.”

“How about you hop into the room, and we mess around with a song?” You questioned, “I can show you how I produce if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.” Owen’s lips curved just a fraction into a ghost of a smile with the tension in his shoulders melting.

For the next two hours, you spent time in the booth explaining the equipment’s role in the recording. After he gave a short lyric, you invited him to sit by the soundboard with you to walk him through it. All the while, you shared the pizza you had ordered for both of you.

 “I started in the business as background vocals for a few bands before I delved into my own career as a musician. I believe I was about seventeen when I got to be part of people getting the songs ready for fans. I fell in love and find it more fun behind the soundboard.” You informed the blonde listening to a recent song you had finished.

“This is insanely cool. I think I’m ready to record my parts.” Owen admitted playing with his fingers. In response, you typed out a quick message to Kenny, bringing the other people back after a long break.

As much as you would have loved creating the soundtrack, it wasn’t possible with your other commitments. Leaving the work in Alana’s capable hands, you had been packing for your visit to the UK for performing the song with Little Mix. Owen, having the day off, had found himself in your apartment as he had for the last few weeks.

“Do you really have to go?” Owen whined, staring at with his head tilted back on the couch. Lips pursed in a pout and blue eyes shining sadly.

“As much as I would adore falling for that look, we both know I have to.” You admitted dropping packing to snuggle into his side, “What’s up with you lately?”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, rolling his head on the back of the couch you look at you. From the position, he couldn’t see your face, but that didn’t stop him from staring.

“It’s hard to describe, but you get flustered when certain songs come on. You’ve been ditching the cast to spend time with me.” You listed off, staring off into the distance, “You got Charlie to drive in the opposite direction of your work to pick me up.”

“What kind of songs?” Owen inquired with one arched eyebrow high. You shifted to stare up at the soft look in his pretty blue eyes.

“It was some duet from that tv series about the High School Musical films…” Your sentence trailed off as everything clicked, “You have feelings for me.”

“Thought it was blatantly obvious. I danced with you in the rain at midnight while I sang to you. I think that’s the most obvious action.” Owen chuckled brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he took in the startled expression

Owen had walked you home after a late recording session with the cast talking each other’s ear off with different subjects. His hand had slid into yours as he tugged you into the ice cream shop on the way; a scoop each. His eyes glued to every move you made with passion behind every single word.

“-they came to me about a song. It’s a surprise for Kenny, I suppose.” Your one holding the ice cream cone nearly went flying with the motion you made. Your other clasped in Owen’s without even realizing it.

“So, it’s the last song you’ll be helping us on, right?” Owen asked halting to toss the napkin from his cone in the closest bin. You followed suit while intertwining your fingers back together.

“The girls want to do a short little radio tour to promote the single. It would be a month most likely to brainstorm new ideas for songs. We’ve all agreed to collaborate in the future.” You informed the nineteen-year-old. He was a year and a half younger than you.

“When-”

Your sudden squeal cut him off as the sky opened up to a sudden pouring of rain on the two of you. Had you not been so focused on the conversation you would have seen the cloudy sky and the light drizzle of rain.

“Whoa!” Owen laughed, tugging you into his arms in a complete act of spontaneity. His voice softly singing one of your favourite songs.

As he twirled you around in the rain, he serenaded you with Edwin McCain’s song ‘I’ll Be’ unapologetically sharing a piece of himself. It seemed the universe took pity on the male by allowing him to dance smoothly with his friend.

“This is my favourite song.” You giggled as he dipped you with one of your legs in the air. The joy in your features melting the actor’s heart.

“You’ve been playing it every day for the last week.” Owen beamed, leaning his forehead on yours as he trailed off the end of the song, “I’ve memorized every lyric in it.”

With rainwater dripping down your nose the words settled in your mind cementing something you had been only slightly aware of. Playing that song often meant one thing: you had deep feelings for someone.

The someone being Owen Joyner.

“I’m kind of stupid.” You snorted turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I’ve got no doubts I fell in love with you in that dance.”

Owen’s grin preceded a toe-curling kiss that was the first of many that would happen.

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[dramionedaydream]

More of "Soulmate Prophecy" for Jilytober.

by diamonddaydream

Read the rest on ao3 or ffn or wattpad

@jilytoberfest

“Un-human -- you’re animagi?” Lily said, her eyes wide. “All of you? That’s what’s behind all the rat jokes about Peter? He is actually a rat?”

Peter grinned, proud of his power in spite of his nerves. “A Norway rat, to be exact. Call me Wormtail.”

Lily looked at each of them in turn. “And you, Sirius, named for the dog star. You are literally -- “

“A dog, yes,” he said. “A dog of no purebreeding anyone could name. Something to scandalize my mother if she ever found out about my life as Padfoot, the big, black, gorgeous mutt.”

“But you can call him Snuffles,” James said. “Now go on and guess my transformation.”

Lily looked him over, from his dark tousled hair to his long legs stretched out in front of where he sat beside her. She hummed. “I reckon the need for glasses would rule out anything known for its piercing eyesight. No birds.”

Sirius was snickering. “James the blind mole, keeping Peter company down in the dirt.”

James shook his head. “No birds. No moles. Guess again.”

Lily hummed. “No birds, but you do have a knack for flying. Is it a bat?”

Peter made a hooting sound. “Spooky, like Moony.”

“Enough with the tiny creatures,” James said. “Try something bigger.”

“Oh, here he goes about size again -- “

“Alright fine then,” Lily went on. “Something bigger, and maybe related to your name, like Sirius’s dog. Potter, pot, pot-bellied pig?”

They were all laughing now -- all of them but James.

“It’s not a pig?” Lily said. “They can get quite big -- “

“No, of course it’s not a pig. You’ll never guess. Just stand back,” James said.

It sounded too grand to be taken seriously, but the boys were giving him space. “You’re really going to do it? Right in front of her?” Peter said. He turned to Lily. “Might get racy. Sometimes the clothes don’t quite make it through the transformation process. I’ve lost more socks that way -- “

“Shut it, Pete,” Sirius said. “None of us has had a mishap with nudity in years -- in months, anyway.”

Remus slapped Peter on the back. “No worries, mate. I’ll cover her eyes if there’s any glimpse of a -- “

“You’re all stalling,” Lily interjected. “Let’s see it, whatever it is.”

James pocketed his wand and his glasses. He surveyed the space around him, and closed his eyes. Lily couldn’t tell if he’d started or not. There was no stretching or struggling, no shouting or contorting, or clothes ripping at the seams. His transformation happened in much the same way as their Professor McGonagall changed in and out of her cat form. He lunged forward, springing from his heels and landing on the ground on his hands and feet.

And somewhere in the movement, he changed. James Potter no longer looked like a seventeen year old human, but like a large deer covered in a thick coat of brown winter hair. He was a stag with a rack of long, branching antlers. The eyes in his head were still big and brown, but different. James, but not James.

Lily didn’t know where to look, trying to see all of him -- the four long, thin legs, the bowed back, the bushy tufts on his neck and shoulders. She blinked at him. “By the stars,” was all she said.

Sirius smirked at her dumbfoundedness. “That’s our Prongs. Quite the eyeful, isn’t he? If he could talk, he’d be bragging about how he’s the largest native land animal in Britain.”

James bent his long neck to nuzzle the snow at her feet with his nose. His antlers framed her legs, as if he wanted her to notice them. Their texture seemed to be fuzzy. “Do they mind if untransformed people touch them?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the antlers.

“See for yourself,” Remus said.

Lily turned to find him scratching the ears of a great, shaggy black dog. He was a rather badly behaved animal, tossing his head between Remus’s hands, jumping up to put his wet paws on Remus’s chest, nearly knocking him over.

Sirius, look at you,” she said.

“Yes, I know, Padfoot,” Remus said to the dog. “All the hair gets itchy. Yes it does. Yes it does. Now if you’d only hold still...”

Lily looked back at the antlers Prongs still held around her feet. With one fingertip, she touched the inner curve of one of the outer branches. It was soft, velvety. Prongs lifted his head and straightened up, stamping his hooves in the snow.

There was a squeal and a streak of brown-grey running along the base of the snow wall. “Wormtail,” Lily said aloud as he rushed by.

“That’s all of them,” Remus said, pushing Sirius’s head away. “You’ll understand if I don’t change myself. The effect is rather different. Far more murder in it.”

Prongs bolted into the open, Padfoot and Wormtail chasing after him, raising a cloud of snow.

“Honestly, lads!” Remus called. “What was the point of toiling over a snow wall all morning if you’re just going to -- “ He left off, frustrated but amused. “It’s no use. Impulse control is harder to manage outside a human form. It’s not just a werewolf problem.”

Lily stood beside him, still speechless as she watched Prongs and Padfoot circling each other in the field. From a distance, Wormtail was harder to see. That they’d learned to do this so well, without any help or coaching while still so young was remarkable. James hadn’t been bragging in vain when he’d told her the night before that they were talented. Truly, they were.

It wasn’t only that James had been lucky enough to be born into a family that owned an invisibility cloak. No one had made James an animagus but himself. For all of them, it was something they’d cultivated for themselves.

From the snow fort, Remus watched them wistfully, as if he wished to join them. But his powers of transformation weren’t a talent. They were a curse. Lily still believed he was the kindest boy in school. But now she knew better why. He was kind because of the kindness shown to him by friends like these. It was touching. Lily felt it stirring her heart.

It might have been why she blurted out, “Does he really like me?”

Remus startled. “What?”

“James,” she said. “His fancy for me, at this point, is it all just a tired old joke? I mean -- look at him. Look at this place. He’s the miracle child of a wealthy, noble family. He’s not starved for affection. He’s got amazing friends who’d do anything for each other. He’s smart, and the Quidditch captain, and then this magic of his -- it’s astounding. Why would he bother to like someone who was less than mad for him?”

Remus chuckled. “He’s mad enough for both of you. That’s clear. How can you ask this? There isn’t a soul who doesn’t know how James Potter feels about you. What are you playing at, Evans?”

“There’s no playing about it,” she said. “I think maybe one of the reasons I’ve done nothing but refuse him all these years is because part of me doesn’t believe he’s in earnest. Like it’s a game for him, isn’t it? And if he actually won, if I were to accept him, that might be the end of the game.”

Remus sighed. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I am,” she agreed. “All last night, in that guest room, I laid awake asking myself if it’s really me James wants, or if he just wants to win at something he started too long ago to quit.”

Remus nodded, his eyebrows raised. “And how would that make you feel? If James quit, and stopped trotting after you? If you let him catch you and he lost interest? You’re saying you’d be disappointed?”

She wouldn’t face Remus, but continued to watch the animagi gamboling in the snowy field as the sun started its slow bend toward the horizon. “I know now that I would be,” she said. “But that’s not to say I should be disappointed. My feelings -- they’re all wrong. So don’t tell him I’ve been thinking about it. Everything’s too confusing. I’m not sure what any of it means.”

He palmed the top of her head. “It’s not that complicated, Lily. Doesn’t it just mean that you must like James back, at least a little?”

She sighed heavily, bowing her head under Remus’s hand. “Of course I like him a little. We’re partnered as Head Boy and Girl at school. We have to get along now. And we do.“

“That is not what we’re talking about, and you know it -- “

“Actually, I have no idea what we’re talking about,” Lily said, turning her face up to smile wanly at him. “No idea at all.”

Something in James’s deer-brain remembered her and he came springing back toward where Lily and Remus waited. In his last bound toward them, he came out of the movement as human James again, rumpled but fully clothed, his hair and face wet, reaching into his coat for his glasses.

For a second time, Sirius transformed so swiftly Lily didn’t see it happening. The black dog was gone and Sirius was back, fluffing his damp hair, sniffing it to make sure the scent of wet dog had transformed away with the rest of Padfoot. Wormtail darted behind the snow wall to change, stepping back into view slightly flustered, looking for a scarf he’d mislaid.

“So that’s us,” James said, blinking behind his glasses. “Are you alright with that, Evans?”

She nodded, her voice coming solemnly, as if in awe. “It’s brilliant. You’re all brilliant.”

James already knew that, but he was so unaccustomed to compliments from Lily, he blushed behind his cold reddened cheeks.

“And you say you’ve got more secrets yet to come?” she said.

“None so fine as this,” Remus answered. “What do say, lads, should we go inside and show her -- “

“No,” James said, far too loudly. “She gets to learn one secret a day. If we spill them all at once, she won’t have any more reason to stay.”

It was the kind of thing he said all the time -- the little, low-key confessions Lily had learned to take with a smirk, a roll of her eyes, maybe a groan. But this afternoon, it felt different. As he’d spoken about not wanting her to leave, her stomach had dropped and her heart had skipped, like she was flying a broom that had slipped out of control for a moment.

She stood in the snow, watching James rub condensation from his glasses again. As he worked, his neck was bent, the way it had been last night, underneath the invisibility cloak when his voice had raised a shiver through her. She watched him in the low sunlight, his dark, well-formed eyebrows curving along the ridge of his forehead. Would his brows have the same velvet texture as Prongs’s antlers?

Her mouth had gone dry, her heart gathering speed -- when a snowball smashed into the side of James’s head. Sirius was cackling, packing a second snowball, raising his shoulder to fend off one hurtling at him from Remus’s direction.

“Take cover!” James yelled to Lily.

She wouldn’t, stooping instead to arm herself with snowballs, shouting out threats as she took a hit in the back. The wall was not going to waste after all. The battle was on.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 8

In which we find out what Ivar’s “long night” entails... the warnings list also spoils the surprises, but do read it if you need to. This part is over 5k words, and the next post will finish the scene with almost 5k more. Ivar takes his time!!!

Warnings for: D/s dynamics including in-scene negotiation (always talk BEFORE you play folks) bondage with ropes, fear play, knife play. if you’re not ok with those last two, you can stop reading when that part of the scene begins and skip right to the next chapter. I’ve separated the sections at just the right spot so that you won’t miss anything else.

Many thanks and credits to @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ for this GORGEOUS moodboard!!!!

Catch up:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Ivar’s room is warmer than the kitchen. Which is good, because your body has already started entering that keyed-up state that makes you shiver and tremble.

You’re ready for a night of heavy play, really you are, but as you watch Ivar settle onto his bed, setting his crutches to the side, you’re hit by a burst of softer, warmer feelings too. Ivar Lothbrok has always been a closed book. Controlled, distant, keeping everyone at arm’s reach with his sarcasm and wit even as these exact traits draw you to him like a moth to a flame. But now, he’s finally letting you in. Even if it is only a little bit at a time.

He’s been so attentive to your desires. He’s created the most amazing scenes, the most tantalizing games, to set your body and soul on fire in ways you had thought were only ever going to happen in your fantasies. And yet, is he getting what he wants? You still haven’t seen him come. He’s never even let you try. You’d hardly noticed that at first, given all the wild new experiences he’s been putting you through, but at this moment you are almost overwhelmed by your need to give something back to him now.

You approach him softly. You would kneel at his feet but then you couldn’t embrace him like you want. So you leave the games behind and sit down at his side, take his hand between your own.

His gaze is locked onto yours. Watching indulgently, waiting to see what you’ll do. Maybe he doesn’t always need to be in charge. Although there’s a weight behind those eyes as he lets you massage his hand softly, as you lay kisses on each of his knuckles, that makes you feel like all the control is still his. What’s that term that horseback riders use? Letting you have your head. His grip on the reins is loose, but they are still in his hands.

You want to show him your gratitude. That’s what this moment feels like, this almost-intolerably warm bubble that’s bursting up behind your chest. You’ve lost track of how many shimmering, mind-blowing orgasms you’ve had since this game began, and Ivar has not even once asked you to pleasure him. You have to give him that now. It’s not even guilt, it’s a craving. An imperative coming from the deepest part of yourself.

You lean in to kiss him on the lips. Still he watches, tipping his chin far enough to receive your affections, not moving enough to influence what you’re going to do next. Your lips travel to his cheekbone, his temple, his jawline. There is a part of you that can still hardly believe you are allowed to touch this perfect, angel’s face.

When your lips pluck at his again he opens to you, and when he kisses back he can’t help but do it his way, sucking at your bottom lip, meeting your tongue with his own. His hand comes up to the back of your head, fingers carding through your hair.

You lean into his body, letting your hands travel over his shoulders and chest, slipping under his arms to embrace the broad expanse of his back. You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re getting away with something, somehow, just by touching him this freely. It’s not that he’s reluctant, he’s just . . . still. Allowing himself to be caressed.

He pulls you in tighter, responding with more life the longer you two keep making out. You were almost worried you were doing something wrong, or maybe he was bored by something as simple as kissing, but now his body is writhing along with yours and you’re falling together into the sheets.

His fingers trace over your skin. The scalloped edging of the garter belt’s lace, overlapping the row of thin ribbons that form the side straps of your panties, give him plenty of textural interest to play with while you slip your hands up under his shirt.

His skin is smooth and warm, his abs springing up into your hand as he lifts his upper body high enough to pull his shirt over his head. Several locks of hair cascade down around his face in the shirt’s wake; you reach up to play with them immediately.

“Will you let your hair down?” you ask shyly. For months you’ve dreamed of what it would feel like to run your fingers along his scalp, through his long, thick hair.

He thinks about it, smiles, and tugs the elastic out of his little bun. The dark, silky strands slide between your fingers, and Ivar closes his eyes in bliss as you scratch softly along his scalp.

He finally seems to be relaxing. With your hands wrapped around his head you kiss him again, and he responds eagerly, his fingertips dancing along your ribs.

You want to be his good girl. You want to make him feel even better. Without breaking the kiss, you run your hand down over his tattooed pecs, skimming along his abs and sliding your fingertips just beneath his belt. Dipping under just a little, in a slow side-to-side; not so much teasing as asking permission. Your mouth goes dry just thinking about getting your hands on Ivar’s cock.

His abs tense. He’s pulling away. Oh no, a voice in your head says. What did you do wrong.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve planned for tonight?” There’s mischief in his eyes.

You roll your body against him. “What if I have plans, too?”

Something drops out behind his smile. That’s not what he wanted to hear you say. Still, his smile is indulgent. “Do you.”

You’re committed. You run your hand down his belly, the direction of travel obvious. “I want to make you feel . . . as good as you’ve been making me.”

Ivar leans in, smirking. “It’s a good plan.” He nips at your lip. “Mine’s better.”

And just like that, he’s rolling away from you, reaching down to tug something out from under the bed.

“Are you very familiar with shibari?”

You sit up beside him. Ivar hauls a duffle bag up onto the bed, filled with neat coils of rope. They’re in several colors: black, teal, natural hemp brown. Ivar lifts two braided twists of brilliant crimson. You reach out to touch one; it’s as smooth and silky as it looks. “I’ve seen it. Never got to experience.”

Ivar taps one bundle of rope against your hip. “Would you like to try?”

The pictures you’ve seen online mostly feature blissed-out looking women bound elaborately from head to toe, wrapped in knots and open twisting weaves that turn their bodies into works of savagely sexual art. You look at the scarlet rope in Ivar’s hands, imagine it embracing your curves, binding and supporting your limbs, serving your body up to him while taking away all of your control. You find yourself nodding, vigorously.

Ivar is nodding too, his smile thick and broad.

“I’m not sure if I’m flexible enough.” You’re thinking of some of the contortions you’ve seen the models pulling off, seemingly effortlessly.

He shakes his head, bemused. “We will start with something simple. And comfortable.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sit up here, at the edge of the bed.” He unfurls a length of rope, holding it doubled in his hand. The first loop goes over your head, loosely. “Stand in front of me,” he orders softly.

His fingers brush down the center of your body as he straightens and smooths the two cords descending from the knot at the center of your chest.

“Your job, aside from following my directions, is to tell me immediately if any part of this does not feel completely comfortable. Do you understand?”

You nod, but he waits for you to give a full vocal answer. “Yes.”

He ties a knot into the doubled rope, about a hand’s-length below the first. Unintentionally, his knuckles brush against the bottoms of your breasts. “Something that feels a little bit too tight at first can become a major problem as time goes on. So you must tell me right away if any wrap is too tight.”

“Ok.”

Another knot, even with your belly. The small, accidental touches that come with his work are maddeningly tantalizing. Probably because you’re not used to standing in full lingerie in front of a guy while he concentrates on something other than tearing you apart. Ivar’s ability to delay his gratification is truly legendary. “I don’t plan on putting you in any stressful positions tonight. But if any part of your body starts tingling or going numb, I also need to know that as soon as you even think you feel it.”

“I understand.”

His knuckles brush the fronts of your thighs as he creates the next knot. Then he reaches up to trace the scalloped black edge of your bra. “We can do this naked next time,” he suggests, “but since you have never done this before, I want us to see how you react while you feel less…exposed. It can be surprisingly intense to have your whole body bound.” He presses the rest of the rope between your legs, reaching around to pull the whole length of it through to the other side. You step your legs a little further apart to let him work, enjoying the feel of the smooth hemp dragging softly across your inner thighs. “Which is what I would like to do, if this first section feels alright.”

You nod.

“Turn around.”

You’re disappointed not to be able to keep looking at Ivar’s face, but at the same time it’s freeing to be unobserved for a time, free to go inward and just feel everything about this strange and exciting new experience. He’s pulling the long ends of the rope up through the loop behind your neck now. Stopping before it gets tight, he coaxes you to step back closer to him. You feel his breath on your shoulder as he reaches around to check the level of the first knot he placed against your upper chest.

You start to realize what he’s creating with this rope when one strand comes around either side, under your arms, and loops through the ropes hanging between each knot, separating them out to form a diamond shape. It’s that lovely interlocking pattern you’ve seen in pictures before, wrapping the body in a net-like harness.

The first pass tightens the cords above your breasts, the second below.

“Breathe for me.” Ivar takes a deep inhale behind you, demonstrating what he wants. “Too tight?”

You are certainly aware of the ropes around your ribcage, and while they constrict just a little when you take a deep breath, it’s not restrictive, or scary. “No. It’s still easy to breathe.”

“Good.”

The pattern continues around your waist, taking all the slack out of the line so that by the time he has opened up the diamond beneath your navel, the rope between your legs is cinching against your vulva. You shift on your feet a little, testing the angles your movement can get on the tantalizing pressure there.

Ivar’s fingers follow the rope down, checking exactly what you’re doing. His chuckle is dark, and your breath catches at the pleasure of even the edges of his fingers sliding across your labia, through the panties. “I have heard that a knot can be placed in the rope down here, too. An experienced Dom can determine just the right spot.”

‘H-have you done this a lot?”

Ivar makes a musing noise. “Here and there. It is not always easy to find someone to practice on. I like to think that I have mastered the basics.”

You make an appreciative noise, rolling your body against the ropes that now beautifully and snugly encase you from chest to hips. “I don’t know who would turn this down. It feels amazing.” You feel, in fact, just a little bit like you’re on drugs. Grounded in the minute sensations of your body, and yet your mood is soaring, floating and ephemeral.

Ivar’s hands envelop your waist from behind and you almost swoon. They are so large, and so warm, stroking each diamond-shaped island of skin between the ropes. “Then you would like to continue?” He’s feeling it too; his tone is deeper and lighter both at once, as ultra-focused as you are.

“Yes.”

“Can I bind your arms?”

Oh yeah. All this, and you’re not even technically tied up yet. You take a deep breath, turning to look at Ivar sitting on the edge of his bed and staring up at you with dazzled eyes. “Yes.”

His gaze slips lower, and you turn more fully to show off his completed work. “Wow, you look…so good.”

You have to agree. The knotted bands of crimson both bind and enhance your every curve, stacking onto the effect of the silver-embroidered lingerie to make you look like a stolen treasure, the richest captive prize.

“I’m glad I chose the red,” Ivar says. “This shade compliments your skin tone so well.”

You look down at yourself, just reveling in the obscene glory he’s created of you. And rock your hips against that lower rope again. The interconnected tightness of the full harness is fascinating, erotic. The cords pull across your shoulders, around your breasts, encircling your navel.

And Ivar is not even done. “Can you stack your wrists behind your back?”

You turn around, showing him that you can.

“Do you think you could stay that way for . . . twenty minutes?”

You roll your shoulders, testing your muscles. “I think so.”

You feel him start to slide the ropes around. “I can release this quickly if your arms start to ache.”

Something else starts aching as Ivar continues to restrain you. The snugness around your wrists is enticing, and oddly comforting. As are the deft movements of his fingers as he lines up the wraps around your forearms. It feels like he’s sheathing them in several rows, and you let your hands go limp. They don’t need to do anything right now. They can rest.

Ivar’s fingertips dance up your arms when he is done. He draws you to face him again, and you do so, almost feeling like he’s put you into a trance. Normally you would feel awkward with someone just looking at you, like he is, saying nothing. But all nestled up in the embrace of the ropes, you’re happy just to stare back at him. His wide eyes show you that you look just as lovely on the outside as you feel on the inside.

His hands run over your upper body, in admiration of his work. He follows a similar pattern he had traced with the pinwheel earlier. You wonder if he’s going to bring that out again, now that you are bound and cannot escape. Your nipples harden at the thought of how vulnerable you are. And yet, you feel so safe here in Ivar’s room.

“I would like to bind your legs, if you think you could lay on the bed. It may be less comfortable on your arms, though.”

“Let’s try.”

You end up sitting up against the head of the bed, propped with a few pillows while he starts at your ankles, binding them together with a little knot in between. “Do you want to leave your shoes on?” he asks. “I love the heels, but if they are distracting you I’ll take them off.”

“They look cute,” you say. Luckily, they are not the kind that pinch you anywhere. “Leave them on.”

Ivar smiles and continues wrapping the rope upwards, creating a ladder pattern of staggered twists up and over your knees. Watching the precise movements of his arms as he places the cords just so, pulling the tail ends up and between your legs with slow, controlled motions so that they never slap against your skin, you find yourself hypnotized, dissolving on the inside into a warm and cared-for goo.

In no time at all, your legs have been constricted down to a mermaid’s tail.

“How do you feel,” Ivar asks, his breath edging on a whisper.

“Mmm,” you reply. He runs his hand up the side of your leg, skimming the skin between the rectangular windows sectioned off by the rope. You watch his hand dreamily until he bends to insert his face into your line of sight.

He says your name, gently urging you to focus. His eyes are careful and curious. “Are you with me?”

You smile for him, pushing through the trance to focus on being a little bit more of yourself again. “Yes. I feel . . . spaced out, that’s all. Not scared.” You shift against your bonds, just to feel how your arms and legs can’t go anywhere. “I like it.” You feel snug, safe, and somehow calm and excited both at once.

Ivar’s answering smile is indulgent. You can see how much pride he feels, having brought you to this state. His fingers slide along the edge of the binding just below your hips, the wrap that cuts a line across your bare skin above the lace top of your stockings.

“What now?” you ask.

Ivar dips his head, looking at you from under his brows as his cheek pulls into a crooked smile. “Now, we play.” His fingers rake around the sides of your hips, just intense enough to make you squirm.

Squirming is an interesting experience in these ropes. They tighten in unexpected places, calling your attention to various sections of your body, leaving you no room for any thoughts outside of the purely sensory. Ivar’s fingers trace up your sides, and he bends his head to lavish kisses inside the diamond at the center of your abdomen.

It’s a tender spot, made more vulnerable by the fact that your arms are locked behind your back. Tingles buzz through your whole body as the instinctive, survival parts of your brain try to make sense of what is happening. Ivar’s touch is loving, however, strong yet safe, and you melt happily into the buzzing confusion he’s made of your nervous system.

The constant snugness around your limbs makes you feel free, paradoxically. The obvious, concrete reminder that you are fully controlled gives you permission to let go, to stop monitoring yourself or holding anything back. As Ivar’s hands and lips travel across your body, you tell him, in a series of gasps, little moans, and even more primal noises, exactly how he’s making you feel. There’s no way you could hold any of it back. Every inch of your skin, every muscle in your body belongs to him now, and answers to his call.

Ivar makes his own growling sort of sound. “I’m going to move you,” he warns, voice thready like he too is overcome by something deeper than normal words. His strong arms grasp you about the legs and pull you further down the bed. Then he lifts you onto your side, grasping hands eager to explore more regions of your body.

There’s not an inch of you that you don’t want to give to him. The pattern of the ropes has locked your body into something that makes you feel beautiful from head to toe, and you’re not surprised that Ivar wants to explore you from every angle. You can just feel that everything from your ankles to the breadth of your shoulders has been enhanced into an erotic offering.

And yet, you are more than just an object for his use. Ivar remembers to readjust the pillows, to make certain that you are settled into a comfortable configuration as you lay trussed-up on your side across the bed. He kisses your cheek, then his lips ghost across your own in a tantalizing almost-kiss that awakens your desire for him immediately.

But Ivar’s lips are gone before you can kiss him back and keep him there, trailing down your shoulder and the outside of your arm as he moves to admire the ropes that crisscross your back. You are reminded of your longing to take his cock into your mouth. You wonder if he really realized that was what you were offering, before he took out the ropes. Although perhaps he just wanted to get you this way first.

You want to tell him of your wish, to offer this to him again. The need inside of you to give back something, anything to this tantalizing devil of a man is growing enough to choke you. And yet, the trancelike effect of the ropes is robbing you of your ability to speak. The need to direct anything, to choose anything, fades away under the constant sensory input reminding you of Ivar’s control.

His hands across your ass are heavenly. There’s not much ropework there: two strands emerge from between your legs, lining your crack like a thong before separating out to form the diamond harness that wraps your torso. Your leg binding ends well below the swell of your butt muscles. All that sensitive flesh is open and free, aside from the thinnest satin of your panties. You try to imagine how the red rope looks where it cuts across the center of the detailed pattern of silver embroidery on black.

Ivar’s fingers find the edge of your underwear, sliding along and lifting the scalloped hem from the top of your hip along the full curve of your glutes. He pauses halfway down, and pushes the fabric back a little farther. He chuckles. “Are you aware that Ubbe left a bite mark on your ass?”

Breath rushes into your lungs, waking you up a little. “No,” you answer simply.

Ivar only sounds amused. “Sloppy.” He has only ever seemed amused by the whole arrangement, but it’s only natural that you feel just a bit apprehensive when this topic comes up. After all, the whole thing has been framed as an excuse for Ivar to threaten you with punishment. There might be one coming now.

“I am reminded,” he smirks, “that you wanted a little pain tonight.”

Your body curls in a little, your bound knees pulling up closer toward your chest. Which doesn’t do much to protect your ass. Ivar gives it a little slap; not a painful one, but it makes you jump anyway. Your senses are so heightened right now.

“While I did enjoy giving you that spanking”—his hand soothes over you bottom—“now is not the right time to do something like that again. Impact play while you’re already in the ropes… I’m not going to overwhelm you like that tonight.” His fingers lift, dragging circles in your skin lightly enough to tickle. “Rope bondage is more suited for the more subtle kinds of sensation.”

Indeed, those light tickling strokes are sending tingles through your entire backside. You relax the tightness in your abs, letting your hips swell back softly, your core awakening to Ivar’s playful exploration of your hindquarters.

Maybe it’s your imagination, but his fingers seem to return often to where he had pointed out that bite mark. It makes you wonder how Ubbe would react to seeing you now, like this. Would he treat you with as much care as Ivar has?

It’s hard to picture it. More likely he’d use the rope around your wrists as a handle, just to sink in balls-deep and fuck you harder.

Ivar’s fingertips swirl down to your inner thighs, taunting you with the idea that he might start taking advantage of your position now too. Since he has literally tied your legs together, it might take a little creativity to get at your clitoris, but with your knees bent like this it wouldn’t be too hard to slide anything up into your pussy. Just the thought makes your body tingle, swell, and open to him.

Ivar shifts toward the edge of the bed. Your eyes had been closed, enjoying every tiny sensation, but the sound of his crutches against the floor causes them to open.

He doesn’t go far, crossing the room to his computer desk. You remain completely motionless, so blissed out from the trance of the scene that you barely even have the focus to wonder what he might be getting. You could crane your neck, look up far enough to see what he’s doing, but why? Whatever he’s going to do, he’s going to do. Ivar is in complete control here, and it feels so good just to trust him to take care of you.

He opens a drawer, then closes it. It’s easy to identify that sound. You let your eyes drift shut. He comes back, sits down beside you on the bed. And then, an even more distinctive sound: the “shink” noise of his switchblade knife springing open.

“I only meant to introduce shibari tonight,” Ivar says as your eyes land on the naked blade in his hand, “but since you had such a big reaction to the knives today…” he flips it a few times and smirks down at you.

It’s hard to describe the way your body responds to that knife. Your heart starts to race, your skin breaks out in prickles. Your breathing probably stops. Your pussy, in particular, clenches up and then floods with warmth.

Ivar watches it all. You have no idea what kind of expression he can read in your face. He ceases the casual flipping and holds the knife up in the space between you. “Is looking at it enough,” he muses, “or would you like me to touch you with this?”

Every bare part of your skin tingles. Here you are now, his perfect victim. There’s nothing you can do to protect yourself from that cold blade. He leans in just a little closer, but otherwise just watches your face. And waits.

That was a serious question, it seems. He’s really going to make you ask for it. You’re not going to be able to get away with just playing the silent victim here if you want a taste of that thing. It’s a hard decision to make, though. When your survival instincts are this keyed up, can you really say yes? But you don’t want to say no either. Not when one of your secret, darkest kinks is staring you in the face. An opportunity you can’t dare to turn away from. But no words come.

Ivar seems to understand your predicament. “Shake your head if you want to say no,” he says quietly. “Nod if you’re saying yes.” With the hand that is not holding the knife, he gives your arm a reassuring pet. “It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

It takes effort to take your eyes away from the knife, to focus on Ivar’s face again. He looks patient, and totally accepting.

You nod your head.

You might call the smile that breaks over Ivar’s face “gleeful,” but it runs darker than that. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and brings the blade closer to your skin.

He pauses. “What are your safewords?”

You have lick your lips before you can answer. “Yellow if I need a break. Red to stop.”

Ivar nods. “If you say ‘red’ I will put the knife away and take your arms out of the rope immediately. If you say ‘yellow’ we’ll talk, and figure out what you need so you can keep enjoying yourself.”

You nod, and the knife moves toward you again.

You expect him to start somewhere simple, and not too threatening, like your arm. He’s been so kind all night. Building you up so gradually through all these new experiences. But that knife is coming right toward your face. A dozen different muscles tense across your body. You would plead with him with your eyes, but you can’t look away from that blade. You hold your breath as Ivar lays it flat against your cheek.

It’s cold, and unyielding. You freeze, afraid to move wrong lest it slice you accidentally, although you know that deep down you still trust him completely.

“My gorgeous, helpless thing.” The knife drags slowly, a millimeter at a time. “What have you gotten yourself into.” It’s only the flat side, nothing sharp, but your body wants to shudder anyway. “Is this what you’ve been craving?”

He lifts it away from your skin, showing you the wicked edge. A weird sob comes out of your mouth when you try to answer. What a word choice, ‘craving.’ You feel desperate and not in control, although you know that you could end the scene the second that you want to. You are, in fact, enjoying freaking out.

Ivar gives you a condescending little smile like he understands this completely. “I can give you what you need, little one.” He leans in closer, steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, and the flat of the knife comes back to your face. “You only have to tell me your every desire.”

You trust him, but it’s impossible not to flinch when that blade trails off the edge of your jaw and you can feel the scratch of the tip. Except, your reflexes are afraid that flinching will make it worse, and so you clench up instead, the extra tension coming out in a high-pitched little cry.

Ivar watches your face carefully, but when no safeword comes he moves that sharp sharp tip to the swell of your shoulder. “You’re so responsive,” he muses, and drags the point along your arm.

You gasp, you can’t help yourself. You have no idea how much pressure would leave a mark, how much more might leave little beaded drops of red in its wake. You lift your head to look more closely at what he’s done.

He hasn’t done anything, yet. It’s all in your head, and you try to loosen up a little. “No marks on your arms, I remember,” he reassures.

The knife lifts, and hovers lower.

You can’t really see the skin of your flank. Ivar turns his hand, brushing you first with the back of his knuckles, inside one of the diamond openings over your ribs. Warning you where the knife is about to come. It’s soothing and sadistic both at once, isn’t it. The blade is cold as it settles upon your skin, and when he rocks it onto one edge, your breath becomes more and more shallow. He might actually hurt you here. You had only said ‘no marks’ where someone would see.

You whine between your teeth.

Ivar tips his head so that it’s even with yours, checking in. When you don’t give him a safeword he looks back to his work.

The knife lifts, then returns in a slightly different place. He tilts it up to its point, just as he did on your arm, and drags it in a short, slow line. It doesn’t feel the same as it did on your arm. The sensation is so much sharper, setting off much louder warning bells inside your head. If you don’t stop him, will Ivar let it cut your skin? Your breath is catching in little gasps, and there’s a pressure starting to build behind your eyes.

Ivar takes the knife away. “What are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Um,” you start, struggling to control your breath well enough to give a coherent answer. “Um, I know that you won’t hurt me, but this is just scarier than I thought it would be.”

He nods, listening, and holding the knife well away from your body. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Yes, and,” you force yourself to be assertive, just as Ivar wants you to be, “I’m not sure that I’m ready to actually be cut today.”

Ivar’s smile is reassuring, his blue eyes blazing just for you. “And it’s ok if you’re never ready to go that far.” He flourishes the knife a little. “I’m enjoying every second of what your body does every time I even bring this thing near you.”

He moves down a little more, and puts his free hand on your hip. The simple touch is so reassuring, so warm, that those tears start brimming up against your eyelids.

You can tell that Ivar sees them. You remember he had said he wanted to see you cry. But he had probably meant from pain, not from tender emotion like this. You attempt to blink them back. Ivar squeezes your hip. “Breathe with me, y/n.” He takes a deep inhale, coaching you to do the same.

You pull the air deep into your lungs, expanding your ribs against his bondage. You keep your eyes locked on his.

“Good,” he exhales. “I need you to keep breathing. And don’t be afraid to tell me when you’ve had enough.”

You take one more full, deep breath. “I haven’t,” you say in a sultry voice that sounds a little more like your own. “Not yet.”

“Good.” Ivar lifts the knife again, setting it against the swell of your hip in the wake of his retreating hand.

Your breathy cry is a little closer to a moan this time. It feels much better there, a bit more sexy and a bit less terrifying. As he scratches a few slow lines across your skin, you focus on breathing deeply and watching his hand control the blade deftly upon your skin, fine-tuning the pressure to give you exactly what you asked for. The sensation of threat, without any real injury.

“If this were a movie, I would cut your panties off.” He slides the blade along their edge, setting off goosebumps everywhere and reawakening your core with fresh tingles. “But these are much too wonderful to damage.” He cocks his head the other way. “Although, I suppose that I paid for them, and I could always buy you more…”

He slips the blade underneath the lacy, scalloped edge, fingertips of the other hand sneaking under too, to hold the fabric taut. When you don’t try and stop him, you feel pressure and then a ripping noise begins.

The sudden looseness in the fabric floods your pussy with arousal. You’re exposed to him now, and his teasing fingers are quick to take advantage of that as he completes his work. It takes a second cut to free the garment from your body fully, and even the simple sensations of him sliding the remnants out from under the ropes and fully off you are distinctly turning you on.

You hear him close the knife, put it away. Then both his hands are on you, soothing over every spot his blade had threatened. He starts at your hip, bending down to press kisses into your skin, his firm hands running over the expanse of your cheeks. He drags himself up the bed behind you, until he can kiss that diamond window over your ribs where you almost lost it.

Next Part Here

Taglist:  @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved​@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg​ @rekdreams247​ @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound​ @creepshowzombae @tomarisela​ @vladsgirl@youbloodymadgenius​ @walkxthexmoon​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog​ @earl-aive​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ @ceridwenofwales​ @grungyblonde​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @hvittysmutanon​ @honestsycrets​ @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @writingfromasgard​ @tootie-fruity​ @lordsexmachine​ @uncomfortable-writers​ @sadbutatleastsassy​ @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme​ @likealostkiss @thehangedmanandthehoneybee @xxlilqueeniexx​ @thefightingdragon​

[letitrainathousandflames]

Did anyone say "no more 'Tup is a soft baby uwu', give me a rough sex tup fic"! No? Maybe that was me. Anyway, here goes:

Rough Tup

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Category: F/M

Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008)

Relationship: Reader/Tup

Characters: CT-5385 | Tup, Reader Character

Additional Tags: clone smut, cunnilingus, rough sex, hair pulling, tup has a big thick c*ck and he knows how to kriffin' use it

So many people would take one glance at Tup, his long hair tied up in a bun and his still somewhat shiny armor (which still carried the dents and scratches of his battles, and the proud painting in 501stblue) and immediately thought he was some innocent young man that could be easily dominated.

You chuckle softly to yourself at the thought, sitting next to Tup in a cloud cab home from a nice dinner on one of his few free days while he is in coruscant. After some time dating and few rather steamy nights together you arrived to the conclusion that people’s impressions of him are as far as they can be from the truth.

Tup slips a hand over your thigh, the curve of his palm moving under your skirt and his fingers reaching towards your crotch; he leans close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he whispers:

“What are you smiling about, gorgeous?”

Rather than answering, you tilt your head back to catch his lips in a soft, lazy kiss. He sighs deeply into it, leaning into your touch when you cup his face and pull back some with your lips still brushing against his.

“Thinking about getting you out of this armor already.”

Tup sucks softly on your lower lip, smiling at you and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Hmm… Such a naughty girl…” his fingers move to your nape, massaging your scalp, and he drawls your name, kissing the corner of your mouth “I’m quite eager myself.” He brushes his nose against yours, his hot breath fanning over your lips as he speaks quietly “Missed you so badly these past couple of weeks…”

-

You sure are glad you live close by the bar where you often meet up at. And “eager” is certainly a word you can use to describe the way Tup eats you out once the two of you are already in your apartment, hastily undressing you and himself as he does until both of you are completely naked on your bed.

You lie on your back, breath shallow, and Tup keeps your legs spread with a firm grip on your inner thighs, his nose bumping against your clit as he shoves his tongue deeper into your heated slit, lapping at your wetness and snarling against your skin.

His hands move up from your hips to your waist, meeting over your stomach with circular motions, massaging, kneading, before he reaches up for your breasts, fondling them, cupping them at their sides. Your eyes are rolling back in pleasure, your legs trembling as you pant out a desperate plea:

“Tup, please… I can’t wait anymore…” you look down to him, whining “I want you – need you now, please…”

Tup’s eyes - brown with specks of gold - look up at you with pure unadulterated lust, the man shifting to lap at your clit now, prying yet another moan out of you. He calmly drags the tip of his tongue over and over against the sensitive bundle of nerves, humming against your pussy and sending vibrations all over the oh-so-sensitive skin.

“But you look so good begging like this, cyare.” he croons with a playful smirk that makes the teardrop-shaped tattoo under his rise some over his sharp cheekbone; he then grazes his teeth along your inner thigh, nipping at the delicate flesh “Do it more.”

You shoot a hand over to his head, grabbing at his bun and squeezing it with a whimper.

“Please…”

You tug gently at his hair tie, working his hair out of its bun and letting it unravel down to a spiraled, curly ponytail while Tup kisses the inner side of your thigh over and over. You then drag his hair tie down his ponytail, dropping it on the bed by your side and watching Tup’s coily strands fall in a wild cloud of lush, dark brown hair. You then comb your fingers through it at the top of his head, bringing a few loose pieces away from his face, and he grins at you:

“You can do better, love… Beg for me now, do it.”

You huff in frustration, drawling out:

“Pleeeease, Tup…”

Tup laughs, laps at your pussy one, two, three times before raising up his face and biting a smirk over his lower lip. Fuck, he looks so pretty like this. His mouth and chin are glistening with your slickness and he licks his lips with a pleased hum. His hands run up and down your shins, strong fingers massaging your calves.

Tup moves over you in a fluid movement, supporting himself on his elbows and pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, then another to your neck, and one more to your chin.

You grab at the back of his head, his hair tangling a bit on your fingers; it’s so soft and it smells so good, and Tup looks beautiful with a couple of loose strands framing his handsome face as he looks down at you. The teardrop-shaped tattoo under his eye rises at his smile, his eyes hungry and eager.

“Go on.” He demands “I’m waiting.”

“Tup, stop kriffing teasing me!”

“And you call that ‘begging’?” he teases, grinning sharply as his hips lower down between your parted thighs

“Tuuup…” you whine, stealing a kiss from his lips and rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to feel more of his touch “Fuck me, please, just fuck me already, I need you so bad…”

His hard cock meets your pelvis, its head reaching right below your navel. His balls brush over your pussy when he grinds upwards against your lower stomach and he hums, the sound almost a low growl vibrating in his chest.

“Hmm… you want me to fuck you nice and hard you until you’re desperate to cum all over my cock?”

You instinctively part your legs wider at his words, nodding enthusiastically and licking your lips at him with a pleading gaze. How can this man turn you into a wanton, desperate little thing so easily every damn time?

Tup chuckles, rising up to sit on his haunches, and you shudder at the loss of his warmth. He is so beautiful, his body strong and muscular, his skin marked by scattered scars from his many battles. Your gaze trails down his broad chest, then to his chiseled stomach, and from there to his cock that is stands hard against it, a bead of precum leaking from its swollen, reddened tip. His cock twitches against his stomach, straining with his arousal.

His hands find your thighs, caressing and kneading at the trembling skin, goosebumps breaking all over you in the wake of the feather-light touch of his fingers. You roll your eyes back, staring at the ceiling above and sighing out a deep breath.

“Eyes on me, love.” Tup says as he places his right hand over your sternum, moving it slowly and lightly up to your neck as you tilt your chin down and look up at him; fuck, he has no right looking so hot, flashing his tongue between his lips “Yes… Oh look at this sweet face of yours. You’re so damn beautiful…”

He brings his right hand to your chin, fingers prodding at your lips. You obediently let your mouth hang open, and soon three of them are sliding in over your tongue. You can feel the calloused texture of his trigger finger, the rough touch of a soldier’s hand.

He slides them back and forth at the tip of your tongue, brown eyes trained on you with a sharp, watchful gaze.

“That’s right, get ‘em nice and wet for me.” you whine at his words, letting the spit collect in your mouth and coat his fingers in it to then suck at them softly, your gaze big and pleading up at him through your lashes “That’s it, good girl…”

He retrieves his fingers with a wet popping noise, still staring at you with a cocky smirk as he brings his hand to his cock, smearing it with your spit. There is a slight tremor to his upper lip as he pumps his erection a couple of times, his eyelids fluttering.

You watch him touch himself, delighted by the arousing sight and enjoying the way he still caresses your thigh with his free hand. Two could play this game of teasing, though, you think as you bring your own hands to your breasts, rolling your fingers over your nipples and biting your lip at Tup, giving him a nice view of you just as you reach down to your crotch and rub circles at your clit but Tup grabs your wrist, pushing your hand away.

“Why so eager, cyare?...” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head

“Because you keep kriffing teasing me!” you say with a frustrated whimper, body squirming in place

Tup laughs and gets up to his knees, leaning forward and supporting his free hand on the bed right by your shoulder. His bicep tightens as it holds his weight, his abdominals tensing up some as he lowers his cock to your entrance.

He rubs the head of is cock over your clit, glides it up and down the slickened slit, licking his lips lazily. He feels hot and big as usual, and you’re already bracing yourself for the pleasure with a hint of pain that will come as he enters you.

“Kriff, your dripping wet…” he mutters with a husky laugh, pressing the fat head of his cock inside you; your insides practically suck him in, and you moan out loud “So tight, clinging to me…”

“Oh, fuck.” you pant sharply as his cock glides along your folds, stretching and filling your cunt with every inch that enters you “Fuck, yes.. Aahn!”

At your sudden, loud moan, he releases his cock to then support his other hand on the bed as well, not moving another inch from where he braces himself above you. His eyes are wide and his easy demeanor gone and his voice full of worry.

“Are you alright? Did that hurt?”

You smile at him with a nod, bringing a hand to his handsome face and caressing his cheek with your thumb right underneath his tattoo. You roll your hips up to try and get him deeper inside you.

“I’m just fine, Tup… please, please, don’t stop…”

You watch as the relief that washes over his features quickly shifts back into hungry need, and he lowers himself to his elbows, hips pushing down on you and forcing you to take his thick cock all the way inside. You gasp and moan as he stretches you open. You’re already feeling him so deep inside you, and yet he squirms atop of you with a groan, pressing himself closer to you and sinking even deeper with a roll of his hips. His hips meet yours as his balls press against your entrance, Tup seating himself as deep as he can.

Fuck, you feel so full. So utterly taken and his. Tup pushes a hand under your nape with a possessive grip, leaning to kiss you deep and roughly, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, leaving no place unexplored, tasting you and moaning into your mouth. Theres a string of saliva linking your lips as he pulls back, his body shuddering and his expression melted in pleasure.

“Moons, you feel so… kriffing… good!” he plasters his lower body to yours, hot and heavy, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking hard there, surely marking your skin with a trail of hickeys up the side of your neck “Squeezing me so tight… just perfect, cyare…”

You love this so much. You love the way Tup can make you feel wanted, needed, every inch of you touched and grabbed like something precious he needs to claim as his own.

He moves over to kiss your cheek one, two, three times, licking a stripe along your jaw before he all but growls in your ear:

“M’gonna start moving, hmm?”

Your only response is to wrap your arms around his waist, gripping at his back. Tup pulls back almost to the rim of his head to then sink back inside you in one sudden, sharp thrust. You moan loudly as the air feels like it’s being punched out of your lungs. You can’t recover – Tup is already pulling back again to then stab into you just as suddenly. After merely four thrusts, he’s already finding a rhythm – one that is just on the edge of too harsh for starters, but he knows that this is exactly how you like it.

You bring a hand to his nape, the other one hugging him to then cling at his shoulder from behind. Your fingers burrow into his soft, long hair and you grab a fistful of it. Tup moans, still rolling his hips and fucking you hard and grinning against your skin.

“You know you can pull on it” he breathes hotly with a lick to the side of your neck “if you want to, right?”

You tighten your grip, pulling on his hair some, and he snaps his hips sharply with a snarl. You sink your fingers on his shoulder, holding for dear life as he pounds you hard, now turning to suck and bite at the other side of your neck.

“Fuck, yeah...” he flexes the fingers of his hand he has under your head, pulling on your hair just tight enough to be felt, but loosely enough not to hurt you “S’that feel good?”

“Mhmmm…” you plant your feet on the bed, jutting your hips forward to meet his thrusts “Harder, please…”

Tup lets out a breathy laugh, fucking you into the bed hard enough to pin your body down under his, the man’s hips slamming onto you in an unrelenting pace.

“Keep talking – hnnn - and I’ll make sure – kriff – you can’t walk tomorrow.”

The two of you don’t really talk much after that. Tup raises his upper body to then grab at the fold of your knees, spreading your thighs further apart and ramming into you, his hair framing his face beautifully, loose coils whipping back and forth at each sharp thrust. The obscene, rhythmic noise of flesh smacking against flesh echoes in your room, punctuated by Tups languid groans and your high-pitched moans.

You lock your ankles over the small of Tup’s back, rolling your hips to meet his pace just as he leans over you again. Fuck, it feels so good, his hands are all over you, on your breasts, your stomach, your face, caressing and kneading and gripping. He is a perfect blend of dominant and rough, yet somehow always managing to make you feel cherished and loved.

Your hands shoot up for his chest, seeking his wamth, his touch. You only want to feel Tup and nothing else, his skin, his scent, his cock fucking you hard and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair and his palm gliding downwards over your stomach until his fingers reach our clit-

“Oh, Tup, moons above!” you curse, throwing your head back; he’s fingering you while he stills slams into you, harder and harder with each thrust “Fuck, yes, yes, please, give it to me, yes, oh, please…“

You are babbling, desperate for release, your cunt clenching and tightening at his shaft as you feel yourself nearing that edge. Tup’s eyes are entranced, pupils blown wide. His pectorals and abdominals tighten with every sharp thrust of his, coated in a sheen of glistening sweat.

“That was some nice begging at last, cyare…” he huffs a laugh to then groan in pleasure, enjoying the way you squeeze at him “Wanna come? Hm? Is that what you want?”

“Tup, please, I’m so close-“ you are nearly sobbing with overstimulation; you want to come so badly ‘Please, please, please, please-“

Tup presses harder on you clit, rolling his finger faster at it, your juices making it easy for him to rub at it without a hitch; the trooper is rolling his hips with wild abandon, slamming into you with deep thrusts and barely pulling out at all.

“Come for me.” he grits it out, rough and demanding, using both hands to pin you down on the bed by your hips and slamming himself into you over and over again “Come all over my cock, gorgeous, come for me, now!”

You are pretty sure you scream, but you can be entirely sure. Your vision goes white, your entire body tensing and twitching sharply at the sudden spasms of pleasure that wash over your being, your mind drowning in pleasure and every inch of you trembling at the force of your orgasm. You claw at his back in a frenzy, feeling him shudder and hearing him moan at the feeling.

Your legs lose strength, collapsing open on the bed and jerking loosely at every rough thrust from Tup as he keeps pounding into you in an almost punishing pace. Your climax feels unending, all-consuming, your whole being consumed by pleasure dissolving into the helpless little noises that tumble out of your mouth.

Tup fucks you mercilessly through your orgasm, making you even more sensitive at every drag of his head along your swollen walls that clench tightly at him. His breathing is shallow, his voice husky with need as he moans your name louder and louder with each brutal thrust until you feel him bury himself to the hilt. He lets out a languid, loud moan, the sound punctuated by his sharp huffed breaths as he spilling his cum and flooding your insides with liquid heat.

His cock is throbbing hard inside you with each spurt, filling you up good and deep and extending your pleasure, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck, he’s coming inside you… it feels so good, so obscenely hot.

It feels like he’s shooting it out right against the neck of your womb, as if he means to mark you so deeply you’ll never be able to clean his release out of you. Good. You sure wouldn’t want to, either.

You stay like this for a few moments, pressed together so close you feel like a singular being, heartbeats synchronized and breathing as one. Your senses slowly come back to your hazy mind and exhausted body. You can hear both your own and Tup’s labored, shallow breaths and Tup shifts some over you, now. He pulls out slowly and gingerly with a grunt, and soon you can feel your still-throbbing pussy leaking warm semen once he is out of you.

Tup gracefully shifts to lie on his side, his hands touching and petting at every inch of you he can reach, one of his hands cupping your face.

“You are just amazing, do you know that?”

You smile, fluttering your eyes open and shifting to your side, smiling wide at your lover. More of his release seeps out of you, dripping over your inner thighs and dampening the sheets underneath you. It’s… not a pleasant sensation, but you can’t bring yourself to care. There are way too many endorphins rushing in your blood right now for you to care about anything whatsoever, to be honest.

“That felt…” you laugh, still panting “Wow. You are the amazing one.”

Tup kisses the corner of your lips with a small smile.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

You shake your head, shifting closer to him and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I am, love. It felt so good...” you smile shyly at him “What about you?”

He tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, looking beyond beautiful as he is now, his hair messy and tangled, his face still reddened from the exertion.

“Perfect. Everything about it was perfect.” Tup presses a kiss to your forehead and you can feel his smile against your skin “Hey, just one thing?”

You stare dreamily at Tup, breathing in his scent and humming contently. Moons, this afterglow looks great on him: his messy hair, his tired smile, the lazy way he blinks his lovely eyes...

“What?...”

“You could…” Tup’s cheeks become even more flushed, and he flashes his tongue over his lips “uh... pull on my hair like that again next time. If- if you want to.”

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding with a smile:

“Will do, love. Promise.”

Tup wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Mm. I love you so much.”

You cuddle up to him, your eyes heavy with sleep. You two should probably wash up and change the sheets… well, maybe after a short nap…

“I love you too, Tup.”

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 15

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~5,300

Warnings: Blood, smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13  

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Lilah knows she’s asleep. She knows it like she knows that being asleep didn’t mean she couldn’t feel fear. She was standing chest deep in a warm pool and it was so dark that she couldn’t see more than an arm’s length in front of her. Below, her feet were pressed against the smooth bottom. She took a step forward, her mouth curling at the odd texture of the water.

It was thick and stuck to her fingers as she brought them closer to her face. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the smell of copper reached her nose. It dripped down her forearm, unnaturally warm. Her stomach turned over in disgust.

Throwing her hands down, Lilah looked over both shoulders, trying to find a ladder, or stairs, out of the pit of blood. It stirred around her, clinging to the material of her dress and staining the white with red. As carefully as she could, she picked a direction and walked, her hands out in front of her to catch on any ledge that would allow her to get the fuck out.

Above the slosh, a sound caught her attention and she froze. Swallowing, she glanced carefully around, looking for the source. A moment later, it sounded again. Something was moving beneath the surface.

A kind of impotent panic welled up from her stomach, rising assuredly into her esophagus and burning at the back of her throat. She couldn’t stop the choked sound that fell out of her when the pool lurched, something creating waves at the surface. Absurdly, she backed up a few steps, before forcing herself to stop. Maybe if she didn’t move, it wouldn’t notice her.

Hands hovering above the surface, blood dripping from her fingertips, she waited. Breath held, she blinked. Waiting. It moved again, this time towards her. Her hands balled into fists and she resisted the urge to shuffle even further backwards. When she couldn’t hold her breath anymore, it came out in short pants, air barely moving in and out.

Everything went still. Even the ripples of blood at the surface flattened until the pool was nothing more than glass. She squinted into the red-tinged darkness, willing her eyes to adjust. They didn’t. Another tear fell across her cheek, and she almost moved to wipe it away, stopping when she remembered what her hands and most of her arms were covered in.

There was another moment of silence, and then the blood in front of her heaved up towards her face. Hands reached out of it and gripped her forearms, holding them still while the rest of her body arced away. Her feet slipped out from beneath her and she felt her body begin to fall. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced to sink completely below the surface.

Except—she didn’t fall. One of the hands holding her reached out and gripped the back of her neck, hauling her forward against something solid and human shaped. She kept her eyes shut, her free hand pushing against whatever she could reach and finding no purchase.

A growl rumbled against her chest and belly and she pulled her lip between her teeth to keep from screaming. And then, more quiet. There was no doubt that she was being held immobile, but the grip wasn’t hurting her. Her body was intact, though her psyche felt like it was going to crack into pieces.

When nothing more happened, Lilah peeked open an eye to look at whatever held her. A hard breath released through her nose, her arms relaxing in relief.

“Brasa,” she said, a smile spreading across her mouth. “You scared me.”

His expression was odd, his hands curling on her body as the red faded from his eyes. Lilah blinked at him, waiting for him to say something, her chest clenching as the silence continued. She said his name again, this time in question.

Blood dripped down his face, oozing in thick rivulets down his neck and chest. He looked every bit the monster she once thought he was, and far, far more dangerous. For maybe half a second, Lilah could see the warm brown of his natural eye color, and then the black of his iris flooded outwards.

Brasa said her name, pulling her closer. She went willingly, a small smile on her lips.

“Hi,” she replied lamely, her eyes dropping to look him over.

The injuries he’d had, the uncountable number bullet wounds that had riddled his body...were gone. His skin was smooth and unmarred. Lilah ran her hand over his chest, mesmerized by the way he’d healed.

“How…?”

Brasa’s head tilted to the side, his mouth quirking into a small smile, “Magic?”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. The answer was so clearly obvious that she felt embarrassed that she’d even asked the question.  He pulled her along in the near darkness, guiding her carefully up a set of stairs. Lilah stepped gingerly, glad that she managed to get out of the pool without slipping and falling.

They kept moving, a soft click in the dark, and then a light flickered on above. Lilah closed her eyes against it for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted. The tiled floor roamed upwards to become tiled walls, several shower heads jutting from the little niche. By far, it was the biggest shower she’d ever been in, and Lilah had once conned her way into the Four Seasons.

Brasa let her go to reach out and turn on the tap, water sputtering before streaming down to puddle on the floor. He held his hand beneath it, testing the temperature, occasionally turning a knob, until he was satisfied. And then he stepped under the spray, pushing his hair back and away from his face.

Lilah suddenly registered that he was naked, every sharp angle and smooth bend of his body on display. Her mouth went dry as she watched the water pour down over him, washing away the blood and leaving beautiful, tanned skin in its wake.

Shifting on her feet, she felt awkward standing outside the reach of the water, her blood soaked gown sticking to her waist and thighs. Not even the tantalizing sight of him could keep her from feeling somehow separate, on the outside looking in. She started to rub at her face, the movement aborted when she noted the blood drying on her arms and hands.

Brasa turned, fixing her with a steady gaze. Lilah stilled, unsure. He looked at her hand, inches from her face, then he looked down her body to her bloody feet. And then he was moving. Fuck, but he could move, all strong muscle and fluid grace. He approached her, hand lifting to circle her wrist. With a firm tug, he gave her no room for disagreement as he backed towards the center of the shower.

As soon as she was where he wanted her, the water soaking her from the top down, he released her wrist to bunch her gown in his hands, pulling it up and off her body. It landed with a wet splat somewhere nearby.

The water was hot, his hands washing away the blood that remained on her body. Kneeling, Brasa lifted one leg, his fingers massaging behind her knee and down to her foot, thumb digging into the arch. Satisfied, he moved onto the other, taking his time to ensure that she was clean. Her body relaxed under the onslaught of those hands. By the time he finished, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Lilah looked down at him, the top of his head bobbing as he checked his work. Hesitantly, she reached down and touched his hair. His gaze lifted, and she was startled by the reverence in his expression, though she’d seen it before in the times he’d fed from her. Her breath stopped, her mouth parting as she took in the gorgeous man at her feet.

Slowly, Brasa stood, his fingertips tracing the outside of her thighs to rest at her hips. Lilah kept her focus on his face, watching him watching her. She might have breathed his name, but she couldn’t be sure. He took up all of her attention, all her focus, even the sound of the water hitting the tile dimmed until all she could sense was him.

He applied pressure to her hips, walking her back until she hit the wall, hissing at the cold that lanced across her skin. The kiss that followed was unlike anything he’d ever given her before. Where, in the past, he might have offered a shorter, softer kiss to gain her acquiescence—now, here, Brasa kissed her hard, his tongue swiping across her lower lip with confidence.

His body was fever hot as he pressed against her, skin slick with water. Lilah could only hold onto his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, her already overwhelmed senses firing hard. She sighed into his mouth, wrapping a leg around his thigh so that she could pull him further into her body.

The answering growl was pleased, his head turning a little so that he could nip at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. Lilah tipped her head back, leaning more of her weight into the wall as he licked at her  skin. His hands cupped her breasts, thumb rolling over a puckered nipple before giving it a light tug.

He kept on his path, kissing down her neck, over her chest, one hand pushing her breast up so that he could draw the pillowy flesh into his mouth. He sucked at her, laying wet, sloppy kisses around her areola. His mouth hovered over her nipple, breath hot as he looked up at her. Lilah’s grip on his shoulders tightened, her hands shaking as she waited.

And then he opened his mouth and laid a razor sharp fang against it, her skin dipping beneath the pressure. A second later, a pinprick of pain radiated from that spot, blood dotting the wound. Brasa licked it away, eyes closing in pleasure.

She moaned, her jaw going slack as the contradiction of feelings warred inside her. Arousal burned low in her belly, swelling her flesh and seeping into her bones. She was hyper aware and yet the periphery of everything around her was soft and dreamy. Lilah couldn’t form words, much less respond as his body sank lower until he was resting on his knees.

Tongue dipping into her bellybutton, Brasa shifted his grip and pulled one leg up and over his shoulder, anchoring her between his body and the wall. He used two fingers to part her folds, his eyes watching as he rubbed the slick around, avoiding her clit entirely. Lilah rolled her hips towards him in invitation, a small pleading sound eeking out of her throat.

His eyes snapped to her, took in her heaving chest, the quivering in her muscles. He smiled. Lilah had no further warning before he was diving down and sucking firmly on her clit, his nose pressed into her pubic bone. She cried out, eyes rolling back, her nails digging in.

Brasa gave her no quarter, made no show of teasing. He worked two fingers into her, pumping hard and deep, curling them until she was seeing stars behind eyes she had no hope of opening. Mouth working, he shook his head sharply side to side, jaw opening so that he could give her a long, thorough lick from bottom to top.

Her cunt clenched hard, the orgasm building so fast that she didn’t have time to brace against it. The feeling rocketed through her, spiraling until her legs began to shake. He kept a hard suction on her all throughout, fingers stretching her even as she bore down on him.

Though her core was still fluttering, he rose, kissing her fast and hard. He hitched her leg up high on his waist, opening her up so that he could grind his cock against her. She whined, pulling at the hair at the back of his head, her hips rotating so that he could slide through her folds smoothly, the head bumping against her still sensitive clit.

With one hand, he lined himself up, pushing inside. His body stretched her, filled every bit of available space. The intrusion, welcome as it was, took her breath. Lilah’s chin fell to her chest as she tried to gain her balance.

A sound came from her right, a harsh buzz. She glanced over Brasa’s shoulder, but only saw the pool waiting silently in the distance. Her attention returned to her own body as he pulled out a little and thrust forward, hilting. She gasped, her face buried in his neck.

He held her there, sandwiched between the heat of his body and cool tile, his cock filling her completely.

The sound. It hit her again, and she jerked her head to the side, eyes frantically looking for the source.

Brasa ground out her name, the vibrations rumbling against her body, but his voice seemed to be filtered through water.

The sound.

He looked down at her, his hand pushing into her hair and pulling so that she was forced to hold his gaze, “Stay. Stay here.”

The sound.

Lilah jerked up in bed, her legs coming together to soothe the ache that pulsed between them. Breathing hard, she leaned on one arm and pushed her hand against her core, swallowing. It had felt real. Completely real. Her folds still burned with how he’d split her open. Fuck.

Reaching over, Lilah silenced the alarm on her phone and pushed the covers back, padding to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, Lilah stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was sticking out in a few places, her t shirt and shorts wrinkled. There was a slight indention in her cheek where she’d been laying against the pillow. All in all, she looked pretty much how she felt—a mess.

With a sigh, she turned from the mirror and stepped back into her room, heading for her dresser. As she walked, the air in the room...rippled. She froze, no breath. For several long heartbeats, nothing happened. Then, the air rippled again and seemed to tear apart with a sharp ‘pop’.

A body slammed into hers, forcing her back and onto the mattress of her bed. She pushed at a bare chest, her jaw clenched with the effort. Brasa grabbed her arms and pinned them down beside her head, looming over her.

“Jesus Christ,” Lilah bit out, “You have to stop scaring me like that.”

He said nothing, his mouth curled up to expose his fangs. Lilah rolled her eyes and tried to extricate her arms. Brasa’s hands tightened to near pain, a little censuring growl sounding. She glared, annoyed. Hot skin laid against her, his heat seeping through her thin clothes. He was aroused. Though, to his credit, he kept most of his weight off her for the time being.

“Let me go,” she said, wrists turning to see if she could get a little leverage. Even to her own ears, her voice was less than convincing.

Brasa looked like he was actually considering it, and then he very clearly made a decision, “No, I don’t think I will.”

He dropped down and pressed his nose into her neck, inhaling. The exhale was more of a rasping groan, his body rocking as he adjusted his stance. His knees spread, pushing her thighs apart. Lilah relaxed into it, the arousal that she had managed to suppress bubbling back to life. He had to let her go.

Lilah said his name, nudging at his cheek to gain his attention. He gave it to her reluctantly.

“Let me touch you,” she murmured, craning her neck so that she could brush her mouth against his.

Eyes glassy with need, he nodded, releasing her wrists. Lilah lifted them to get at his skin, disappointed when he rocked back onto his heels. Hooking his fingers into her shorts and underwear, he yanked them off. On the path back up her body, he gathered her shirt and similarly tugged it free.

Bare skinned, Lilah finally got to feel him as he settled into the cradle of her hips, her legs falling wide to accept him. She pulled him down for a kiss, little needy sounds escaping during the short moments where she drew in much needed breaths.

He felt so good against her, his powerful body pushing her into the mattress and holding her steady while he kissed every inch of exposed skin that he could reach. Brawny arms sunk beneath her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Lilah dug her feet into the bed, shimmying against the cock she very much wanted to feel inside her again.

Brasa gasped, a shiver wracking him. He grabbed at her hair, rocking against her in a slow, measured thrust that belied the tight grip he had on her.

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips, his mouth moving against her as he said, “You’re going to come to me. Now.”

Coyly, she replied, “I’d rather come on you.”

Though her tone was teasing, Brasa did not look amused. He stared down at her, determined.

“That, too,” he asserted, his hips rolling to give her another confident thrust, “But, you’re going to come to me. Now. Immediately.”

Lilah tried to think, her brain groggy with the way his cock caught the edge of her opening, the pressure enough to make her contract with nothing to ease the feeling.

“I can,” she groaned, lifting one leg to open her body further in invitation, “There’s a meeting at eleven. I can come after.”

Brasa was already shaking his head, his hand grabbing at her thigh and pulling it up and over the crook of his arm, “No. Now.”

The emphasize his point, he shoved inside her, one movement that seated him deeply. Lilah cried out, her face scrunching as she tried desperately to adjust. He stayed right there, unmoving, his gaze focused on the place where their flesh met.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, unsure if she meant that she couldn’t meet him at that very moment or that she couldn’t take anymore of what he was giving her.

Eyes flashing, Brasa dropped to an elbow and got nose to nose with her, “You will. Or, I will keep you right here all day. I’ll keep you wet and wanting until you can’t fucking stand it.”

She was there, already, needing to come like she needed to draw her next breath. It burrowed down into her, demanding that she relent. Wriggling beneath his weight, Lilah tried to gain traction, tried to get the little bit of friction.

He growled, falling upon her, nearly crushing her. Lilah struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to do anything but submit. Her nails scratched at whatever skin she could reach, wanting to punish him for making her need it so damn badly.

The growl turned into a soft moan, his eyes shutting briefly, “I want more than dreams, Lilah.”

The whispered admission stopped her. Lilah looked up at his earnest face, her heart melting. She suddenly wanted to give him exactly what he’d asked for, as much as she was able, “I can...I can pack before the meeting. I can stay with you for a few days.”

His eyes widened, hopeful, “You’ll stay.”

She nodded, “For a few days.”

Something in his expression hardened, and he flexed his hips forward, seating himself even deeper, if possible, “A week, Lilah. You’ll stay for a week. To start.”

In any other moment, she might have argued on principle. But, right now, with the feeling of him filling her up to the brim, she readily agreed with an eager nod.

His smile was triumphant, but fleeting. Brasa rose up on both palms, his hips picking up a hard and fast pace. Then, seemingly unsatisfied, he spread his legs and grabbed her hips, pulling her into the motion. Lilah’s hands scrambled against the comforter beneath her with a low wail. The sharp incline of her building orgasm left her breathless and panting, sweat on her temples.

Above her, Brasa’s body strained, the muscles of his chest and arms cutting strong lines across her vision. His hands dug into her hips. Mouth open, his black eyes lingered on her breasts as they bounced. Lunging forward, he arched over her and licked a path between them, head turning to draw a bit of skin into his mouth. He sucked hard enough that she yelped in pain, his tongue soothing.

She was close, getting closer with every passing second, his cock driving into a spot inside her that sent fire through her veins. Head tilted back, Lilah gave a high pitched moan.

“I want it, Lilah,” he rumbled, his forehead pressed to her sternum, “Give it to me.”

Nimble fingers circled her clit a few times, sending her right over the edge and into the deepest, hardest orgasm she’d ever had. Her body locked down tight, ripping a grunt from the man above her, his hips grinding.

He kept the hard grind going until the contractions stopped, “Good?”

“Yes,” she said airily, “Good.”

Brasa drew in a deep breath, watching as he pulled out slowly. His cock was covered in her come, glistening in the morning light. He looked at her, pleased. Embarrassed, she covered her eyes and gave a nervous laugh.

Pulling her hand away, Brasa kissed it, then kissed her. Lilah could taste the venom in the kiss, could feel him tremble as he tried to stay still. Deliberately, she ran her tongue over his fang, wincing at the flash of pain.

The sound he made was feral. He sucked on her tongue even as he began to fuck up into her with hard, firm thrusts that moved her bodily across the bed. Hand grabbing her by the neck, Brasa snarled as he pulled away from the kiss, eyes closed in concentration.

Wet, slick sounds filled the room, the slap of skin picking up a determined rhythm. Brasa’s movements went fluid, the arm holding him up collapsing as he came. Lilah felt him pulse inside her, felt how he shook with the power of it.

When he could focus again, Brasa took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at her firmly, “A week. And, I will come to you.”

Weakly, Lilah nodded, taking another kiss from him, the sweetness of it so different from the ones before.

He nuzzled her throat, moving to lay on his side next to her, his hands skimming her cooling skin. Lilah drifted out of consciousness briefly. When she awoke again she was alone.

A glance at the clock told her that she needed to get up, get showered, and get to her meeting—which she did. All the while, she could feel Brasa prowling in the back of her mind, could feel his impatience even as the time for him to come to her drew nearer. She actually felt it when he made the decision to get in the car and begin the two hour drive to Jackknife Jed’s.

Lilah hoped that this would be a short meeting. She’d already packed her bags, knew that she had plenty of time to make whatever excuse she needed to make. Still, Brasa’s impatience was her impatience, the feeling echoing between them in a feedback loop of anxiety.

She fully expected the staff to be sitting in their usual positions near the bar, some of the talking, most of them on their phones. Except, when she stepped out onto the floor of the barroom, it was empty. Confused, she walked slowly towards the stage.

Seth was sitting on the raised platform, a half empty bottle of liquor in his hand. He was staring at the floor, jaw visibly clenched. Richie was leaning against a stand up piano that sat stage right. He shot her a glance that she had only seen during jobs that had gone spectacularly wrong—a mix of ire and sympathy.

“What’s going on?” she asked, coming to a stop a few feet away.

Seth looked up at her with a sneer, “Why don’t you tell us?”

Her eyes narrowed, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Pushing to standing, Seth gestured at her with the bottle, “You and Brasa. What’s going on with that?”

Lilah flinched, a chill running up her spine, “What. The fuck. Are you talking about?”

From his spot at the piano, Richie flicked his zippo, an unlit cigarette in his hand. He fiddled with it, rolling the stick between his first two fingers. He gave a subtle shake of his head. Lilah knew it was over, knew she she’d have to come clean now. And still, she hesitated.

Seth took a long pull, “Don’t lie to me. You were awfully cozy with him yesterday.”

“You mean when he was bleeding to death in the back seat of your car? After he saved my life?” The acid in her tone could not be concealed, nor could the hurt she felt at how angry he was, how angry he was going to be in the next few minutes.

“Didn’t keep you from feeding him.”

She sucked her teeth, “No. It didn’t. He was injured and he needed to feed. Even you should know that.”

He scoffed, “He’s like a thousand years old, he would have survived. You didn’t have to sacrifice yourself like that.”

Lilah paused, her brain stumbling a little bit. He didn’t know, or he was, at least, in denial. He was looking for a way to make her a martyr, a way to make Brasa the villain. It exhausted her to think that she could keep this up, could lie a little more and put this off for a while longer.

The warmth of her bondmate was steady, a comfort as he continued on the path towards her. She could still smell him on her skin, could still feel the strength of his hands as he held her. Resigned, Lilah made her decision.

“It wasn’t a sacrifice, Seth,” she said, taking a step towards him. “It was what I wanted to do.”

His brows dropped low, mouth pursing as he processed what she’d said, “Listen, I know you’ve been working with him on this treaty, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be friends with him.”

Lilah sighed, trying to find the words, “We’re not friends.” Her heart broke a little bit when his expression lifted, knowing that what she was going to say next would shatter any relationship that they had built, “We’re bondmates.”

“Finally,” Richie intoned as he lit the cigarette he’d been playing with.

Seth whipped around, “You knew?”

With a shrug, Richie took a drag, smoke wafting out as he spoke, “Hard to miss that kind of thing.”

Echoing his brother’s statement in a tone of incredulity, Seth threw up his hands. Liquor sloshed in the bottle audibly as he turned in a circle, “How am I the last to know shit around here?”

She felt Brasa’s presence grow, taking her full attention momentarily. He was close, closer than she anticipated, only a few minutes out. How fast had he been driving? She shook her head and tried to keep her mind on the conversation at hand.

Lilah lifted a shoulder, “Pretty sure there are others that don’t know.”

Glaring at his brother, Seth asked, “Does Kate know?”

Richie rolled his eyes and nodded, “You know I don’t keep shit from her.”

Seth held up his hands, gesticulating with fervor, “See? Last to know.”

Lilah crossed her arm across her belly, grasping the elbow of the opposite arm, “What do you want me to say?”

His attention turned to her, a banked rage in his eyes, “I don’t want you to say anything. This isn’t happening. I forbid it.”

Lilah’s expression closed all the way off, fire igniting. They might be friends, she might trust him, but she would not be told what would or would not take place. Not by anyone.

What is happening? Brasa’s voice sounded in her mind. Lilah widened her stance and dropped her arms, telegraphing her ire as she relayed the last thirty seconds or so to him. Cool fire rocketed through her, his anger fueling her own.

“You forbid it?” She asked, stepping into his space. “What makes you think you can dictate my life to me.”

Seth worked his jaw, a kind of self confident swagger in his body language. She’d seen this before, when he was intimidating their competition. Lilah was not so easily swayed.

“Yes,” he answered, “You live in my bar. You work on my crew. I. Forbid. It.”

The way he said it, the way he jabbed his finger in her face, the utter insanity that was his assertion that she would do things his way—it solidified the rightness of her decision. The coming pain was necessary. One day, they might see their way through it. Her lip curled in distaste as she considered her response.

“Fuck you,” she growled.

The door to the bar opened, and Lilah didn’t have to turn around to know who was walking through it.

Perfect timing, she said to Brasa as she spun in place and locked eyes with him.

He was wearing the coat he favored, gold rimmed glasses perched on his nose. She could feel the warmth of his pride as he neared her, could feel the need to publicly claim her thrumming beneath the surface of the calm exterior. He’d been hiding it successfully for so long that she was blinded by the ferocity of the thing.

Spurred by the feeling, Lilah stepped up to him and rose up onto her toes. She kissed him partly because of ricochet of pleasure zinging between them and partly to give Seth the metaphorical finger. In any case, the way he accepted her readily, the way he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, was deeply satisfying.

Dropping down, Lilah smiled at Brasa, saying, “I’m gonna go get my bags.”

And then, without another word to anyone, she turned and headed for her room. She didn’t stop to think about what she was doing, what she might be leaving behind. If anything, she could get Kate or Richie to let her in to gather the last of her things, should Seth put a moratorium on her being on the premises. She just grabbed the suitcase she’d packed and left.

When she got back, the air had gone out of the room. It was freezing despite the heat of the day, the surfaces fairly frosting over. Lilah came to a stop next to Brasa. He took her suitcase from her, his free hand resting at the small of her back.

It was this unspoken support that gave Lilah the courage to look at her friend one more time, “I’m gonna take a few days off. You think about what you want to do. I’ll be in touch.”

Seth wouldn’t look at her, the bottle in his hands nearly empty now.

She sighed and looked up to the stage, “See you around, Richie.”

He gave her a silent salute, his expression tinged with regret.

Brasa walked with her out to the SUV, Javier at the wheel. He helped her into the back seat, pulling her to sit next to him as they headed away from the only place Lilah might have been able to call home in the many years since she’d reached adulthood.

It should not have surprised her that she was crying. But, here she was, crying. Brasa folded her into his embrace, kissing her temple lightly. He didn’t shush her. He didn’t try to offer words of comfort. He just let her lean on him, a solid place to rest.

[thelostandforgottenangel]

I'm in need of help from my Tumblr Family!

So I have to make some big decisions and it would mean the world to me if the people who have gotten me through so much these last few years help me pick out stuff 🥰 Namely the carpet, paint, and tile that will be put down in my home after we get the walls up and because I know everyone has different taste in this kinda stuff I narrowed it down to the few that will work inside the house

First up is the Sheet Vinyl

(sorry these are much darker then the pictures look)

#1 The darker set

Natural Paver - a dark gray with black accents and light gray grout that really makes it pop out. I picked this due to the realistic stone look just captured my eyes and would look great for the bathroom (Going to be Mermaid/Ocean/Sea Turtle themed)

Scorched Walnut Gray - a beautiful deep gray with lighter grays blending into the wood like look. It not only looks like real wood but feels like it too

Personally this set was my favorite just for the simple fact that I love dark colors; it relaxes me, but these are bright enough in the small areas to lighten up the room and give it character. Big plus is its thick enough to give just a bit of cushion to the wood floors

#2 The *can work in either area* set

Coffee Diagonal - you really can not see the detail well in the light but it is a beautiful stone look blended with a few colors that bring it out nicely and given my kitchen has that *coffee shop* air thankz to Donnie so it would add to the room. But I say this could work in the bathroom because - it kinda looks a bit like sand

Light Walnut - even though the name suggests a lighter color this actually looks like a darker Walnut to me except for that one little line you can see in the photo. This one look like real wood and it does have the smoother texture

[There is one downside to these two 😭] My mom has the same/similar Diagonal stone tile in her kitchen and although both are thicker then hers meaning it will be stronger both feel a bit brittle to me, my son is in a wheel chair and she's in a scooter her floors are torn up only after two years from the wheels of her cart. Both of the tiles are harder and not as flexible and the ones in #1 so I really have to wonder and worry about not only them breaking if my daughter trips or is playing but tearing if his equipment gets drug across them. So where as I like them there are concerns

Next is Paint Splotches for Bathroom / possibly accent wall

We had to order all brown panels for the walls of the whole house so I will be doing an accent wall in my bathroom and with the current theme I was thinking of a sea foam or lighter greenish blue

🖤 - Pillow Mint

❤ - Glistening Teal 🥰

💜 - Jacob's Jade 🥰

💛 - Soft Schooner Green (My younger sister's pick not one of my faves lol)

(🥰) I'm in love with the top two colors on both middle squares so thinking of using one in my bedroom

Carpet Samples

I'm so never going to be able to pick but honestly all three are beautiful and great for high traffic areas where people might walk in dirt

Dovetail / Coffee Bean

Both are short fibers with a soft feel Dovetail has a

Dreamcatcher Dolphin

Floofy long fibers and soooooo silky soft

Kitchen counter tops

Unfortunately I haven't gotten to look at more counters but I did find this beautiful color that I'm in love with but probably won't be able to get

Again terrible picture but it's a gorgeous black with gray marbled into it. I'm indeed in love with the bits of glitter mixed into the colors

(I will be going shopping at some point and will add to this post 😌🥰)

[sneezysmonsterlovin]

Alien Boyfriend: Yunko  Part 1

Not edited because yawn

Warnings?: Uh brief mention of death? Blood, but like really minor. I think that’s it.

Summary: You and your crew were shot down after returning from a rescue mission, and crash on an unknown planet. You find yourself waking from homeostasis, and are taken in by a pair of strange scavengers. 

Word Count: 2,519

The faint smell of something burning wakes you. Slowly opening your eyes, you feel something tight strapped your face. Something shatters not far from where you lay, muffled by the leathery belts wrapped around your head. You startle, sitting up quickly. Or, you would if your bones hadn’t felt like complete jelly. Your arms barely twitch, and you don’t think you can feel your legs.

Squinting in the dark room, you searched for the source of the noise. It was difficult, laid across an unknown slimy substance in a dimly lit room. The room was small, and you could see four giant glass containers, a dark black smoke slowly curling out the side of the one to your right. The air felt thick, and the more you breathed in the dizzier you felt. Struggling to turn your head, you felt a sharp pain in the back of your neck and you winced, freezing. A sharp piece of, what you assumed to be, glass dug into the back of your skull, the wet ooze below you seeping into the cut. “Oh no!” The high pitched shrill was somewhere behind you, accompanied by the click clacking of nails against the floor. A pair of hands clutched your shoulders, nails- no they were much to large, they were more like talons- dug into the cotton fabric clinging to your body. A second pair cradled your head, lifting it off the sludge and glass, and you gasped at the sight in front of you.

One of the glass containers, the one in front of you, had burst open. The one beside it had similar cracks in the surface, save for a single blackened hand hanging out of the largest breach, dripping in blood. The similar ooze that had stuck your legs and arms like glue as you were lifted was filling the other two containers that had not yet busted.

“Are you alive? Wait, that’s a dumb question, I meant are you okay?” The voice was closer now, beside your ear. You watched in silent horror, not able to move anymore than you were before, as a hand left your shoulder and reached towards your face. It was white, with two long curved talons and a smaller talon centered perfectly in the center of the hand. A black wristband strapped around it’s arm, covered slightly by a blue fluff that bellowed out into giant black feathers, shaping a gorgeous wing. The talons wrapped delicately around your mask and tugged, the leather straps loosening easily and dropping from your face. An oxygen mask, you noted briefly, before the hand tossed it away like trash and turned you gently.

You held your breath, stomach lurching as you were turned to face the alien creature whom cradled you in it’s arms like a fragile doll. It was smaller than you, not by much but it was noticeable. It’s head was round, lips hardened and black in what resembled a beak. Skin just as white as it’s hands, the blue fluff had trailed its way up the creatures arms and covered its body, it’s face clear reminding you vaguely of a monkey, with a few flecks of what you realized to be scales outlining it’s cheeks. The side of it’s head was shaved, a single black line-Tattoo?- sliding around the side of it’s head, curving around it’s cheek and stopping at the chin. In place of ears were small, bean shaped holes, and as your head drooped to the side you noticed it’s loose white collared tank, a second pair of arms sprouting closer to it’s stomach. The pair that had once cradled your head, you realized as the aforementioned hands trailed down your shoulders to wrap around your torso and thighs, the larger pair of arms supporting your neck and knees. “Right, I’ll get you to the med room. I can’t believe you survived so long, this ship must’ve been abandoned for a while if the rust is any indication.” You picked up a faint masculine tone to it’s voice, with a more apparent tone of muscles that pressed against your side as it lifted you easily. You were left with no other choice but to watch your surroundings as the creature carried you out of the room.

The ship was familiar, and as the alien practically skipped through the halls, you faintly recalled boarding it. You and your crew had just returned from transferring a group of refugees to a safe-zone when something had shot you down. In a rush to try and preserve yourselves, your crew had went into homeostasis. Tears pricked at your eyes following another rush of nausea as you realized who that hand from before had belonged to, and you tried your best to blink them away with a shaky breath. The woman had been like a second mother to you, having taken several bullets for you and you had trusted her completely. Your heart clenched, the blood rushing your cheeks as you choked a single, quiet sob. It had sounded horrid, voice croaky and broken, and the vibrations against your throat felt foreign. The creature- it seemed rude to just refer to it like that but you really had no clue what species it was, humans had only encountered two other intelligent alien species and neither had resembled this one. His feathers bristled at the noise you had made, and its tight grasp faltered. You noticed it staring at you out of the corner of your eye, but as the airlock opened and revealed the planet you had crashed on, you really could care less. Well, that’s not true, it was slightly unnerving to have those bright golden eyes, three of them, fixated entirely on your being. But as you stared out at the cold desert that seemed to stretch on forever, the horizon only breaking upon reaching a smaller ship then the one you had just been on,one that was sleek and black, with green lights and a curious logo stamped on the side of three eyes and tiny square just below it.

The wind seemed to be colder than the air itself though, and the warm fluff that was so tightly tugging you against it distracted you. The creatures pace picked up, and you reached the space ship in no time, door opening automatically at your-well, the aliens-presence. You noticed it smelt strongly of something familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it. And as the alien stepped farther up the stares, you noticed the creature smelled just the same, albeit a bit stronger.

The creature continued into the ship, the door slowly shutting itself behind it, and a voice echoed throughout the metal structure. It was clearly robotic, and spoke in a tongue that was just as strange as this whole incident. The alien cooed at you, seeming to find your expression shift into one of confusion amusing, and kept up his fast-paced skip walk. The ships insides were very open, a table centered in room with several stools nailed to the ground around it, twice as many doors lining the wall. A brief glance to the left of the table revealed the ships control room, but you only got a small glimpse of the many flashing buttons and lights before the alien had brought you through on of the doors on the far side of the room, one that was filled with several black beds, iron bars lifted just so slightly to keep patients from rolling off. There were plenty of cabinets and jars of different liquids with a language that you assumed was the one that the ships voice had used stamped onto the white tags taped to their sides.

“My name is Yunko, I’m a scavenger. You’re pretty lucky, you know.” The alien gently rested you on the bed nearest to the far wall, propping you up on a pillow that held the same texture and consistency as a bean bag, molding to your back like jello but stiff enough to hold you up. Yunko turned, resting one of his lower hands on the wall that faded from its plain silver metal into a sort of window, the gray sand and soft brown sky catching your eyes once again. “Your life pods were about to blow. Actually, they did, the liquid that was in yours just seemed to manage to protect you from most of the blow. Pretty cool. You’re pretty cool too, I’ve never seen something like you.” Yunko turned, and you watched in surprise as the scales that lined his eyes, cheeks, and nose turned a beautiful shade of orange. “I mean, someone. I think. My translator is active, so I’m assuming you’re capable of speech.” The orange lightened. and shifted back to the previous snowy color, and you almost wished he’d stayed the breathtaking color forever. You assumed it was a he, at least. It seemed rather masculine, although it is an alien so who was to tell.

“You should get some rest, I’ll be in the other ship, doing my job.” Yunko shrieked, and you concluded that it was in amusement. “As soon as you can move, you just come find me and we’ll run some tests to see if I have anything for you to eat.” With that, Yunk swiftly turned, skipping out of the room happily. Your gaze flickered down and realized that he wore a tight pair of silky pants that tightly hugged his bird-like legs, and peaking out of the bottom of his shirt was a pair of long black tail feathers. Gaze trailing even lower, you caught a glimpse of his strange feet, and realized that his skip-walk was due to a slight limp he had in his right leg, caused most likely due to a lack of talon on the inside of his clawed feet, throwing off his balance. You mused briefly that he looked kind of cute in the baby animal kind of way, before closing your eyes to ponder all that has happened.

You didn’t see Yunko again until what felt like hours later, spending your time mourning your lost friends and past life, very much aware of the fact that you might never see any of it again now that you’ve been stranded for who knows how long, and picked up by some random alien scavenger, that admittedly wasn’t as bad as you first feared. You were still a little worried he might turn out to just want to eat you- it wouldn’t be the first time you met an alien that saw humans as another food source rather than a fellow intelligence, but he was really your only hope. Your ship, if the gaping holes and smell of death were anything to go by, was in no condition to fly, and Yunko seemed nice enough. The thought that he might eat you was quieted when you realized if he wanted to do such a thing, he needn’t get you back to full health to do so, unless it was a weird alien ritual.

You weren’t tired, and felt restless to get out of bed, so as soon as you got feeling back in your legs you pulled yourself over the cold iron, only to regret it afterwards as you tumbled to the ground, your muscles not used to being used in such a long time. The sound of something clattering to the ground in the other room surprised you, and you looked up just in time to watch as the doors flew open and a new creature stormed in. This one was much larger than Yunko, and by extension, you. It had only one arm though, the spot the other would be covered in plenty of scars. He was completely scaly. except for a metal jaw and long red hair pulled back into a bun. He wore a tight sleeveless black suit, a gold belt hung loosely from his thin hips. He didn’t wear shoes either, his feet ending in a pair of hooves. His ears were pointed and droopy, a lighter shade of lavender than the rest of his body.

For a brief while, you simply stared wide eyed at the alien as he seemed to speak to you in the language from before, and he only paused when he seemed to realize you couldn’t understand him. His shoulders slumped and he raised a hand to his jaw, and you watched as he spoke once again. “She’s awake? Oh! Just stay right there! I’m just about finished, and then we can take off!” You realized the alien had called Yunko, as the bird man prattled on through the speaker, loud clashes of metal softly made its way through the speaker-er, the aliens jaw.

Said creature seemed to look exhausted as it made it’s way towards you, towering over you with such an intimidating presence you didn’t bother fighting as he plucked you up by your waist and made his way out of the room. The alien surprised you as he gently turned you over in his grasp, gently placing you onto one of the stools instead of dropping you like you had expected. He then turned without a second glance at you and made his way towards the control room.

You sat in silence, kicking your legs and every so often pressing your weight onto them, waiting for Yunko to arrive and break the uncomfortable silence that hovered like a storm cloud throughout the room. You could still see the other aliens muscly arm as it moved about the controls, and wondered quietly if every scavenger was as strong as these two.

Yunko didn’t take much longer to return, speeding through the archway that led to the common room with several bags tossed over his shoulders. Upon seeing you, he placed them down by the door, and rushed over like an excited child.

“You’re up! How are you feeling?” He trilled, talons clicking together when he leaned over the table to peer at your face.

“Okay...” You croaked, scrunching your nose once more at the uncomfortable feeling talking had caused. Yunko didn’t seem to notice, and simply tilted his head in interest at your expression. You briefly realized neither he nor the other alien made any real facial reactions, Yunko’s face stoic other than the occasional squinting, and the scarred alien having a literal jaw of steel, leaving not much room for any expressions in the first place.  

“You sound horrid.” Yunko stated simply. “But I guess I can’t imagine every alien to sound as darling as I.” He straightened, before looking over at the alien in the control room. “That’s Ciks. He looks plenty scarier than he actually is, don’t worry.” Yunko turned to look at you once again, eyes squinting as another birdlike shriek tore through his throat. The noise surprised you, as it did the first, and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly at the sudden noise. Yunko stared at you wide eyed, mouth slack before he straightened and nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

“This way, dear! Let’s go see what we can do.”

[welcome-to-the-whumpfest]

The Meeting Room

Prologue   /   Part 1   /   Part 2   /   Part 3

__________________________________

How long has it been? One, two months? Angel doesn’t know. He hasn’t been outside the attic in God knows how long! He’s desperate for a hint of light, but not desperate enough that he would beg for it. No. He has stayed strong, stronger than they expected. He hasn’t broke and has no plan to. Other than Sir and Mistress, Angel hasn’t seen another soul since his arrival at this disgusting house. He’s so utterly sick of this place, he’d do anything to get out.

Well, almost anything.

The world shifts a tad when Sir enters the attic. He has that usual gleam in his eye, like he knows something Angel doesn’t. Sir loves feeling like he’s in control. It excites him. He feels powerful. However, it’s times like these that he’s at his weakness. His mind isn’t focusing on his proximity to Angel or the fact that he’s left a certain part of his body too close to Angel, completely unprotected. Unfortunately for Sir, Angel’s never one to pass up on an opportunity to take a shot at his captor.

Sir is too careless with his movements as he reaches towards Angel’s wrists – which are manacled above his head while he sits on the ground. A surprised and pained groan escapes Sir as Angel grips his chains lifting himself off the floor with enough momentum to kick his captor directly between his legs. Frustratingly, he’s lost so much strength, it doesn’t have the desired effect. No severe damage is done, but that doesn’t mean it is painless. 

Retaliating ragefully, Sir grips his firefly by his hair, yanking his neck back, exposing it. Then he shoots some magic into his prisoner’s collar, tightening it. Angel doesn’t care. It was bound to happen anyway. Good behavior doesn’t get rewarded; only bad behavior gets a reaction. Angel had tested it out. After getting bored, the crafty prisoner decided to see if being good – not attacking Sir when he put his guard down – would end up with a positive aftermath. He was wrong. Sir only seemed to enjoy hurting his firefly.

Angel doesn’t know why he expected anything different from a psychopath.

As his brain starts short-circuiting due to lack of air, Angel closes his eyes. He has been choked and strangled so many times after Sir discovered his dislike of neck touching. It is getting old. Angel is more fed up with his captor then the other way around, which he can’t seem to understand. It is the same thing every day: beat, choke, retaliate, beat. What was so exciting about that? Angel couldn’t understand it.

Angel’s eyes suddenly open. This isn’t right! He’s never been strangled this long before. Is-is Sir going to- to kill him? His face is turning blue due to lack of oxygen. Wait, when did he get out of the manacles? There’s something pressing into him. Oh, he’s being carried. The attic’s entrance… ‘s getting… clos… er…

*****

When Angel wakes up, he’s muzzled. Muzzled for crying out loud! The first thing he registers other than the harsh straps of the muzzle squeezing against his skin, is the muffled voices. Unfamiliar voices. A sliver of hope arises in his chest. Maybe, he can get out! The wish instantly vanishes when he makes out the chains around his wrists that are connected to a table where Sir is sitting in a chair above him. Ignoring the rattling of chains above him as he rubs his eyes, Angel blinks a few times before his blurry vision returns to normal. The room is vast with expensive furniture, a chandelier, and divine pictures. There are candles littered everywhere giving the room a dreamlike illumination. Still, it’s uncomfortable. It’s clear this is not Sir and Mistress’s house. Angel presses a palm to the ground to push himself up but stops abruptly when he feels the texture underneath his hand.

It’s a rug!

He hasn’t felt anything soft in so long. When the muffled voices start transforming into words, Angel knows his senses are finally coming back. That means it’s time to fight. Time to form a plan. Time to escape, and if that’s not possible, make Sir as miserable as possible.

It’s time to work.

“Sir you really must see the Collector’s toy. It’s the most gorgeous little thing I’ve ever seen!” A woman with a lavish, scarlet gown speaks with a pleasant air to Sir.

“So, I’ve heard.” Sir smiles that smile Angel knows all too well. “One moment.” Once the woman walks to the opposite side of the room (which is cluttered with important looking men in suits and women in gowns) Sir focuses his attention on his firefly, who is finally awake, looking as perfect as ever on the gorgeous rug beneath him. “Aren’t you a beauty.” Sir says under his breath, mostly to himself. Then his voice reaches his usual tone, “Now, little firefly, I’m going to leave momentarily, so don’t cause any harm until I come back.”

Angel makes sure not to give away any emotion or idea lingering in his eyes at this news. He doesn’t nod; he just stares at his captor expectantly. Every fiber of his being hates this muzzle, these chains, and sitting on the floor. It’s humiliating, especially in front of all these people who think they are worth so much more than he is.

He doesn’t think like a slave, pet, or whatever these revolting people think he should be. The only thought on his mind is escape. If he has to take down everyone in this room with him, he will in a heartbeat.

When Sir leaves, Angel remains chained to the table above him. Unsure if he should stand up or continue to observe the room from here, Angel notices something appalling. He’s not the only one in chains.

There are other individuals in muzzles, chained to their captors or tables above them. Angel isn’t having any of this, but he must be patient and careful in escaping. Suddenly, all of the people in formal attire, gather to the far end of the room. They seem to be looking at something. A large, burly man (a bit round in Angel’s opinion) appears to be the center of attention. His voice sounds like a king’s, able to control a room with a single word.

The man seems to be enjoying the attention; he wears a blue, velvet suit with a dark navy bowtie. He reeks of wealth. Everyone is gossiping about the man, and Angel is able to pick out his name, or at least what he’s called: The Collector. Nothing good can come of a title like that.

Sneakily, Angel slowly raises an arm to his muzzle. There’s a buckle he can undo easily enough. What? Did Sir expect him to obediently keep it on? That man is duller than he thought, but if he took it off, he’d still have the chains to deal with. More importantly, the collar around his neck. That’s when Angel sees it – on the floor just a little ways ahead of him – a bobby pin.

For once in his life, Angel is grateful for growing up on the street. He could pick the lock on his collar in his sleep. Easy! The chains may not be so easy; it would be too noisy. He’d have to come up with another idea for that.

As he crawls forward, at an agonizingly slow pace to reach the pin, he glances up making out what the Collector is showing off. Angel wants to throw up! Cornered in the room is a boy around his own age. He has thick, brown hair, which he is purposely pushing over his face in a pathetic attempt to hide. Angel can see him shivering from the opposite side of the room. Everything about this is so wrong!

Snatching the bobby pin, Angel leans back to hear the Collector’s voice over the whispering crowd. He’s talking to the boy. “Look up. Let them see your pretty face.” Of course, Angel can’t see his face from where he’s sitting on the ground, but he can already imagine the fearful look the poor boy must be giving. He’s never seen anyone shake that badly.

That means the boy… he’s broken.

Angel is really going to throw up! Trying to rip his thought away from the unfortunate boy, he starts fiddling with the pin as unassumingly as possible. The collar will have to be the first thing to go.

As the crowd packs together a bit tighter to get a better look, some of the audience members glance around at the other muzzled individuals. Now that there is no line to look around, a few of the wealthy stray and begin walking around. One man in particular with dark skin and nearly black eyes is coming far too close to Angel’s location. A tighter grip of uneasiness sickens his stomach. Angel looks down at the ground, slowly drawing nearer to the table and hiding the collar behind him - hoping that no one will notice its absence. If he can pick lock the chains from the table, he might have a chance.

But he’s running out of time!

The man is gradually nearing him, Angel quickly works on the chains attached to the table. A faint “clinking” sounds from the right one. Now for the left –

“Well aren’t you a mischievous one?” The dark man is now directly before Angel; he’s crouching down to get a better look. Stealthily holding the right chain to the table, he hopes the man won’t notice that it’s no longer attached. Slim chance of that. “You’re certainly a beautiful little thing, aren’t ya? Too bad Sir isn’t selling ya. I’d pay a pretty price for your stunning eyes alone.” Angel keeps his eyes away from the man – since that’s what the other muzzled ones do – and uses his muscle memory to try and unlock the left chain. He almost has it; he just needs to keep this man’s attention long enough. That isn’t a terribly difficult task seeing as though the man hasn’t stopped talking and is assumed to be a chatterbox. Wealthy people always are. “Who am I kidding, even me with all my money, couldn’t afford ya.” Reaching an arm out, the man pets Angel’s black waves with a heavy hand. Angel has to hold his breath to keep his hate out of his expression.

The Collector has stopped talking in the distance and the crowd has grown louder. As their volume rises, a sense of urgency sinks into Angel’s forcedly calm hands. The man is growing closer and closer to him. He can feel his warm breath tickle his eyelashes; he stinks of wine and expensive cologne.

The next events happen in the blink of an eye. Swiftly and in one motion, Angel frees his left wrist, wraps both the chains around the man’s neck, and brings them against his head – attempting to unbuckle his muzzle. He can only hope that no one notices the choking noises that the man is making; luckily for him, the man is far too surprised to fight being put in this hold, and now he’s securely tied still. Now, if only Angel’s can get his Advances to work – they have been suppressed for so long that it is a struggle to reawaken them – escaping would be so much simpler.

Standing up now, Angel eyes the nearest door. He can reach it! Taking a few steps forward, he feels the man before him start to grow heavy and more frantic. Thrashing about, the man’s long arm manages to snag the side of the table making a loud sound. At this, a few audience members turn.

Then. The room explodes with noise.

[shining-red-diamond]

She’s Perfect

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Minsung x Kelly (OC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of blood; childbirth scene

February 6, 2019. 11:25PM

Kelly eased herself onto the loveseat at the foot of the bed and set her water bottle next to her as Minsung scrolled through Netflix to find something to watch before turning in for the night. Her parents were downstairs watching some late show, and Curtis had been asleep in his bedroom since nine o’clock. Pearl was lying down on the bed and beginning to drift to sleep. Kelly reached out and stroked her brown, furry ears.

Her eyes wandered around what used to be her bedroom. Her trophy case from her cheer and choir competitions was still there, but the awards had been stored in her closet. Old pictures of her were now sitting on the shelves. Most of her decorations were either packed away in the attic or Kelly had taken them to Seoul with her after she moved there when she married Minsung, some of her clothes were still hanging in her closet or were folded in the armoire where her TV stood on top. The hospital bag sat on her old desk, packed and ready for when Marianne was ready to see the world.

Memories from growing up there flooded into her head. Sleepovers with friends from elementary up until high school, getting dolled up for homecoming dances and proms in front of her white vanity that still stood against the wall between her bed and her closet, and the one time Curtis accidentally punched her in the nose while she was playing “Transformers” with him when he was seven and she was sixteen.

Kelly giggled at the memory.

“What’s so funny?” Minsung asked.

“Just a funny moment from high school,” she replied as she turned back around in her seat.

“Ah.”

“Find anything?” she changed the subject.

“Stranger Things good?”

“Sure.” Whenever they couldn’t find anything that peaked their interest on Netflix, Minsung and Kelly always went back to Stranger Things.

He pressed play and sat down next to his wife. He kissed her temple and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Contractions have been on and off all day?” she admitted as the show’s theme song began to play. “But I’m pretty sure they’re Braxton Hicks, since I’m able to talk through them, and they’re not that close together.”

“If we need to go to the hospital, tell me.”

Kelly nodded. She was only thirty-eight weeks along and confidant that she would deliver on her due date.

However, fifteen minutes into the show, she felt a pop. Then she felt as if she was sitting in a puddle, and she knew she wouldn’t have peed on herself.

She gasped as she felt a contraction hit, this one severely more painful than the ones she had been feeling all day.

Minsung paused the show. “What happened?” he asked in a panic as Pearl popped her head up in wonder as to what was happening.

“I think my water just broke,” she managed to say after the contraction stopped.

Her husband immediately jumped up, helped Kelly stand to her feet, and she instructed him to get her mom. Minsung disappeared into the dark hallway as Kelly called the hospital.

-

February 7, 2019. 1:45AM

Lying still, Kelly could feel the epidural kick in. Her pain began to ease up, but she couldn’t feel her lower half anymore. She could still feel pressure, but the feeling of knives stabbing her subsided. The drug did make her a little gigglier, and she laughed at the most mundane things as she busied herself with applying her makeup. Minsung couldn’t help but laugh with her. He loved it when she was smiling and laughing, even if it was an anesthetic running through her veins.

Mrs. Wainwright was at the hospital with them. Mr. Wainwright had stayed at the house, so he would take Curtis to school in the morning and bring him by after school when Marianne was born.

“How much do you think she’ll weigh?” Kelly asked.

Her mother thought for a second before answering, “Maybe 6 pounds and 4 ounces.”

“What about you, babe?”

Minsung shrugged. “Maybe 6 pounds, 5 ounces.”

“I mean considering I have a smaller stomach,” Kelly agreed. “I think she will be a smaller baby.”

“But a cute one.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it, because she has very handsome appa.” Minsung smiled and kissed her.

“And she has a gorgeous mother,” Mrs. Wainwright spoke up.

“Mom, stop,” Kelly laughed in embarrassment.

-

2:17AM

Kelly tried to her hardest to get some sleep, but was only able to doze in and out. Her nurse had come in and checked to see how far she had dilated, and she was at a seven and a half. Two and a half more centimeters and she’ll be ready to deliver. The excitement was making her restless.

She wanted to get up and walk over to her sleeping husband to hug him. Kiss him. Cuddle him. But she was still numb from the waist down and hooked up to monitors.

Her eyes stayed glued on Minsung until she drifted off to sleep.

-

3:55AM

The nurse came back in shortly after Kelly and Minsung woke up from their naps. She checked Kelly one more time, and she was at a ten.

“About time,” she muttered, making everyone else laugh.

-

4:13AM

“Hang on, Kelly,” the doctor instructed.

“What for?” she whimpered. She had been pushing for the past fifteen minutes, and her body was screaming at her to push another time.

“Her head’s out,” her nurse explained, “but the cord is around her neck. It needs to be unwrapped.”

Kelly said nothing but waited until the doctor gave his okay for her to push again. With all of the energy she could muster up, she pushed once more but let out a small squeal of agony. She hadn’t screamed while pushing despite the epidural wearing off right before pushing, but now she couldn’t bear it anymore. Thankfully, it was the last push, because she immediately felt the pressure release and relief washing over her.

“There’s your baby,” the nurses cooed as the doctor placed the tiny girl on Kelly’s chest and quickly began drying the newborn off. “Happy Birthday.”

The second Kelly laid her eyes on her daughter and held her she couldn’t hold back her tears of joy anymore. All of the pain she had just endured was worth it. The skin-to-skin contact made her heart flutter. She was a mother now. Minsung was a father. They were parents, and they both were in love. Minsung was beginning to tear up as Marianne’s first cries were heard around the room. Mrs. Wainwright was already sobbing as she was taking pictures of mother and child.

Little Marianne had inherited Kelly’s thick hair texture, but the color matched her father’s. She did have a bit of a cone head, but it wasn’t severe. Her face had most of Minsung’s features, but she definitely had Kelly’s ears.

After about a minute, Minsung was able to cut the cord.

“She’s perfect,” Minsung smiled as he stroked his wife’s head.

-

A/N: Should I make a part 2?

[a-concerning-toad]

This is something I wrote last year. Still needs some work though.

So there’s this curse… My family has harbored it for generations back and now it will fall upon me. On my 20th birthday, this Saturday, I will die. Well I won’t exactly. I first will be plagued with a horrible illness that will mutate me until I am so sick I can’t go on. Sounds fun, right? Yeah no, I’ve been dreading it since I was told as a twelve year old. If you’re looking for something cool to tell your kid this is definitely not the idea of perfection.

My parents have only survived the curse because they had me. Basically if you have a kid it will be passed onto them somehow. Thanks for the great gift dad! I refused to have one of those demons so young and really I don’t think I’d want to pass this crap onto them so this is the result. So I decided I will at least have a last meal. I finished making my lunch and sat down. An egg and cheese toast sandwich with some apple juice. My one bedroom apartment wasn’t the best thing but it was cheap. 

The living room’s light blue walls were empty and the couch stood lonely in the room. I just started taking my first bite as Jack almost broke my door down.

“ Could you not destroy my house? I pay good money for it… well some money at least.”

“ Sorry but I found this great snow cone place and they are amazeballs,” He said basically jumping off the walls. He did not handle sugar well. “ You should really try them.” “ You know how I am with sweets,” I said lifting an eyebrow annoyedly. 

“ Come on Mal you never have any of them,” He complained.

“ Shut up, you know I don’t like them. Plus they give me stomach aches,” I scowled.

“ Fine,” He surrendered slumping down on the couch like a stuffed animal. I finished off my sandwich, quickly washed it, and sat back down.

“ Hey how's Bronwyn doing? I haven’t seen her for like…. A week.”

“ She’s been working on a school essay, something about how incest creates problems in the family line, I don’t know its weird.”

“ Thats our Bronwyn,” He smiled goofily with it going across his whole face and showing off his strangely white teeth. Bronwyn has been my best friend since we were 12. It was a nice break from having no friends and tons of anxiety, you know the usual. Thunder rippled outside as a knock banged against the door, or what was left of a door.

Looking at you Jack. I got up and stuck my eye through the peephole. The girl that stood outside, now soaked, was Bronwyn. I quickly unlocked the door Jack that had locked, his agitation is to be blamed, and she walked in, taking the rainstorm with her.

“ Jack get her a towel.” He was already jumping up when he yelled,” ON IT!”

“ Thanks,” She shivered hugging herself. I led her over to the couch and I know what you’re thinking don’t let her sit on the couch she’ll get it wet! Well I’m gonna die tonight so whatever. Jack ran back in and squished her in the towel his dirty brown-red hair flopping around. I sat next to her and picked at my nails.

“ Why are you here? I thought you had an essay due tomorrow,” I questioned.

“ Well I couldn’t miss my best friends birthday,” She shivered her teeth clacking together. Appearance wise we were almost opposite. Her with long blonde hair, light fair skin, a bit of acne on top her forehead (which she hid under her bangs), cute chubby cheeks, dark hazel eyes, a pair of thick black glasses, shortest of us all, and was chubbier than me and Jack. Least to say she was gorgeous. I on the other hand had dark skin, black frizzy hair, thin cheeks along with a thin body and practically no curves, short nails because of my nail biting problem, am tall, and have light toned blue eyes. The only similarity between us was that we both had long hair and even then it was different textures. She smiled and handed me a slightly crumpled up package saying,” Here, I know it's not much but I thought you would like it.” I ripped open the gift and inspected the necklace inside. It was simple, a light marble arrow head hung on some black string. 

I placed it around my neck and clutched it in my hand.

“ Thank you,” I smiled at her. She smiled back at me and scooted closer trying to warm up then a thought occurred to me. “ Hold on you can change into something I have.”

She bit her lip worried and said,” Well, your clothes are kinda small for me.”

“ Don’t worry I have some stuff.” I picked out something simple: dark green baggy jeans and a red t-shirt that said chill on it, also big on me. Newly dried, she came out of the bathroom in the clothes. Not her usual clothes as she mostly rocked but cute. She pushed her long, wet hair to one side, reapplied the chap stick she always wore, and thanked me for the clothes, pulling at the shirt. Jack laid out on the couch, taking the whole thing of it, and opened his mouth to catch a piece of popcorn when the window set and door blew open. The wind almost threw us back and rain hit us like boulders.

I looked over to Bronwyn to see her sprawled out on the ground, knocked out. Rage poured out of me, somehow channeling into energy. I pushed through the wind’s force and slammed shut the windows and door then ran over to her. I put my fingers to her neck and felt for a heart beat. Weak and faint. She, luckily, was strong and hopefully was only knocked out.

I turned around and yelled at Jack, who was just getting his head back,” What time is it?!”

Disoriented, he whimpered back,” 9:47.” I had two minutes until I was 20. Two minutes until my death. I couldn’t let them get hurt by this but there was no time left. I looked at Jack and suddenly knew what to do. 

“ Jack give me your hands I have to tell you something important,” I commanded. He lifted his arms out towards me and I grabbed him by the wrists. Immediately the visions flooded through me and into him, showing him what my curse was. Or what I thought it would be. 

___

Side note if anyone has ever possibly read this far, all body types are beautiful Mallory just has a bad mindset of herself. <3

[shimmerjjang]

CLC Seunghee Inspired Makeup Look feat. Althea Makeup (Video, Swatches, Review)

To be honest, I don’t listen to K-Pop girl groups that much and I have never gotten very much into any other girl group songs after 2NE1. But late last month, I stumbled upon this MV on YouTube and it got me hooked! CLC’s newest song ‘No’ is a mood! For days after watching that MV and listening to that song, I’ve been subconsciously answering everybody’s questions with ‘Naaaaaaw’ lol

The ladies of CLC were oozing with fierceness and beauty in their latest video but one of the members, Seunghee, got me bewitched. I’m totally living for her makeup look and I thought it’s something I’d love to wear! 

So, two days ago, I uploaded a new video on my YouTube channel sporting this makeup look using Althea’s latest makeup collection. The shades from their newest palette is PERFECT for the look so I went on with it!

Here’s how I came up with the makeup look! I took inspiration from Seunghee’s makeup in the MV as well as her look in their teaser photos (the one in the thumbnail) for their new album “No. 1″.

If you’re kind enough to head onto my YouTube channel, please let me know how I did in the comments! kkkk~ ^^

ALTHEA PRODUCTS I USED

Skin Relief Spot Film Gel - 240php

I use pimple patches a lot to heal and protect my active acne from the bad environmental stuff like pollution, dust, etc. The only downside of pimple patches is that they are usually very noticeable and they don’t work so well with makeup. I find this spot film gel from Althea pretty cool because it dries up as a film that resembles the skin! It doesn’t budge over foundation, too so I have to say I prefer this more than the usual pimple patches out there.

BCL x Althea Sunrise & Moonrise Eyeshadow Palette - 1,780php

I love how versatile the shades are! They are immensely pigmented and the fallout is minimal thanks to its creamy formula. I find the matte brown perfect for nose contouring especially if you have paler skin like myself. Sometimes, contour powders available on the market today are too dark for me.

I’m personally a huge fan of burgundy eyeshadows and I prefer shimmers and glitters over mattes so I find this palette really perfect for me. In Seunghee’s look, she dons a mix of brown and burgundy hues on her lids so I went with those colors from this palette.

Spotlight Eye Glitter - 300php

My all-time favorite glitter eyeliner is 3CE’s Eye Switch and it’s pretty difficult to find something that performs as amazingly as that. Most glitter eyeliners are either too chunky or too dry. I’ve had some from other brands that dry up in nasty flakes! Ha! But now I found a more affordable alternative to my favorite! 

As may of you know, I’m insanely addicted to shimmers and sparkles so when I got my makeup box from Althea, I made sure to try their Spotlight Eye Glitter first. Very impressive! At its price point (300php) compared to 3CE’s ($16/around 900php), Althea’s Spotlight Eye Glitter succeeds in giving me all the glitter glory I’m looking for. I’m really hoping they release more shades (wishing for mermaid colors)!! For now they have:

#01 Gold Light - clear white base, iridescent gold shimmers

#02 Pink Light - clear pink base, iridescent purple shimmers

Flawless Creamy Concealer - 200php

The concealer didn’t disappoint! Their shade variation is on point for Asian complexion. My shade is Ginger (Warm Ivory), while I use Vanilla (Pink Beige) for my under eyes.

Its very creamy and thick texture provides the full coverage you’d like your concealer to have. It’s very easy to blend as well. A little goes a very long way so if you’re not really looking into covering major discolorations or blemishes, 1 to 2 dots should suffice.

Water Color Cream Tint - 260php

I’m thinking that this tint is somewhat a lip gloss >> lip stain crossover. It has this very beautiful sheen similar to a lip gloss but its texture isn’t sticky at all. Its texture and lasting power is very similar to a lip stain. My favorite shade is #1 Plum Cream and I use this almost everyday, not just because of its gorgeous red shade, but also because of its superb lasting power! The stain of these tints lasts for more than 12 hours on me. If I want to retouch, I just dab a little onto the center if I want a bit of more gloss.

FINISHED LOOK: 

This is the best CLC Seunghee I can do for now! haha! I know my blending skills need more work. lol Nevertheless, I really enjoyed playing with my new makeup this time. Really hoping to have the luxury of time again so I can come up with more K-Beauty videos for you guys in the future. Filming and editing is just too tasking for me! lol 

That’s it! For now, let me get CLC and ITZY on repeat! kkkk~ What’s your current K-Pop bop nowadays?

[phantomrose96]

A Breach of Trust: Chapter 24

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10-18 )

(Act 3: Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23)

Content warning for somewhat graphic horror. Very lengthy chapter under the cut!

When Ritsu bore his wrist, he swore he’d grown used to it.

When the first spirit lunged, Ritsu was proven wrong.

The tearing out of power was still something alien, like gauze yanked from a stuffed wound. It was something unphysical scraping against tissue and muscle and bone, and it came with a pang, a shock of light-headedness. Ritsu showed none of it on his face, because he swore he’d be used to it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Teru. Teru stood bored, scrutinizing, leaning against the brick wall of the alley. His expression suggested thinning patience, and Ritsu couldn’t pin point why. Maybe it was the amount of time Ritsu took with the feeding. Maybe it was the clumsy way he handled it. Maybe it was anger left over from the last mission, when Ritsu had panicked and nearly fired the shot at the office worker who’d—

Ritsu’s breath stuttered. A harsh pull and snap from the feeding spirit seemed to rock Ritsu’s whole body. His balance faltered, legs squaring, breath deepening as he fought the sudden pricks of starlight in his vision.

A quick stumble. That was it. Sweat trickled down Ritsu’s neck but, he was handling it. The sun rimmed high over the soccer field above, casting the spirits into pale amalgams of dust, writhing between beams. They seemed less real like this in the warm light. So Ritsu could stand his ground against each prick and pull and shock of unreal teeth against his skin. Normal. Routine. He wouldn’t falter in front of Teru.

When the last spirit pulled away, Ritsu’s heart rate had quickened. A quiet ringing had entered his ears, and a shivering numbness pulsed through his body. But he remained aware, and upright, and alert. He was getting better at this.

Ritsu grabbed his bag from the concrete, and stepped with forced steadiness to Teru’s side. Ritsu holstered the bag over his shoulder, willing the numbness to fade.

“Ready?” Ritsu asked, offering a scowl a bit too performative.

Teru grimaced. He raised his index finger beneath his nose and mimed a wiping gesture.

Ritsu stared, perplexed. There was nothing on Teru’s face. After a moment, an icy thought hit him. Ritsu opened his mouth and touched his tongue to his upper lip. Coppery wetness spread through his mouth. Ritsu moved a hand to his nose and rubbed. Something wet trailed from the left nostril, and he pulled his hand away to examine the crimson stain webbing along the creases of his palm.

Behind Ritsu’s outstretched hand, Teru’s wrist flicked. Ritsu blinked back to attention and found Teru holding a pack of travel tissues, one tissue snagged between two fingers and extended. Ritsu took it silently.

“Don’t get any on me,” Teru said, turning on his heel, moving ahead of Ritsu to the front of the school.

Ritsu wiped the blood from his nose, and tested with a tap of his finger to see if he was still bleeding. Nothing. He stashed the tissue into his pocket, and spun to catch up with Teru.

It was a dry day. Ritsu refused to consider anything past that.

…

Gimcrack acted as guide, unnoticed and unseen as he led Ritsu and Teru far from the Salt Mid alleyway.  They wound down residential streets, buildings and concrete thinning as trees appeared in greater number. The streets were peppered with small wooden shops nearly mistakable for townhouses and small abodes with lawns larger than Ritsu was used to seeing. They cut through yards where Gimcrack seemed inclined to phase through buildings, crunching leaves beneath their heels and vaulting a fence to a house old and decrepit and dark. They kept walking, leaving behind the heart of Seasoning City and settling on a small street of shops lined wall to wall. Gimcrack halted in front of a thin and tall building, paneled with wood, warmly lit from the inside.

“Is this it?” Teru tilted his head up to Gimcrack, who floated intentionally too high, outside grabbing range. Teru had become openly hostile with Gimcrack since his abandonment of them in the office building, and he made the tension know. The hair on Ritsu’s neck bristled.

“Yup.” Gimcrack gestured to the storefront. “Energy’s spilling outta this place. Give it a feel.”

Teru placed a palm against the entrance. “Why don’t you scope it out first, Gimcrack?”

“Nuh-uh.” Gimcrack crossed his bony arms over his body in an X shape. “I don’t want to get eaten up by whatever’s in there.”

“Would you rather I exorcise you?”

“Hey, Kageyama!” Gimcrack swooped down to Ritsu’s level, tugging loosely on his collar and hiding a fraction behind Ritsu’s frame. “Think you can control your friend a little? You’re the one leading this mission, aint ya?”

Teru let out a bark of a laugh. Ritsu shoved the door in without comment.

Chimes clanked above them. Warm light washed over Ritsu’s face, the dense smell of cinnamon and cloves. Ritsu blinked. Color in the form of tightly wound bundles tucked into endless bins assaulted him.

Teru shoved ahead of Ritsu, beaming.

“Oh it’s a yarn shop!” Teru dropped his bag at the entrance and sauntered in, stooping at each display to feel out the texture of the different wools. He picked up something gaudy, fluffy, and pink and held it to the light. “I’ve been meaning to make another sweater.”

Ritsu held the side display, lips pursed in irritation. His eyes scanned the store. Wooden paneling dominated the walls and floor, almost cabin-like in its beveling. Dozens of wooden bins lined the walls, organized by thickness and texture, colors splashed in almost haphazardly. A grouped display of 6 bins sat at the center of the room, thick bundles of saturated blues, oranges, pinks, and yellows. Construction paper signs lined the display, advertising discounts.

Teru practically floated between displays, amassing a bundle in his arms of yarn offensively bright and frilly.

Reluctantly, Ritsu’s eyes trailed to Teru, taking note of the bins that Teru dug through and the bundles he grabbed. The first was a yarn deeply orange and scratchy-looking to the touch, the color of an old and bitter cat. From the neighboring bin, Teru snagged a bundle thin and turquoise, yarn winding in defined streaks along the surface. The next was a bin of pinks with feather nubs along the length of string. Then another ball, red velvety and thick.

Ritsu’s attention shifted to the rack of guide books, the starter kits, the sewing needles tucked to the side with spindles of thread stacked up in plastic displays like candy. Grated shelves lined the top of each wall, bearing specialty bundles of yarn, metallic needles arranged by ascending size, as well as an odd display of small hooked needles.

Soft light trickled through the ceiling window, floating dust catching in the shine, baking the interior with a noxious cocktail of Christmas spices. Ritsu was uncomfortably warm.

“My last sweater was pink, like this kind here.” Teru lifted the pink yarn, unreasonably fluffy, like a small Pomeranian. “One of my favorites. But I’ve been dying for something turquoise. That’ll bring out the color of my eyes hmm? Or do you think something a bit dimmer, more of an aqua? I’ve heard lavender suits me wonderfully.”

Ritsu’s eyes flickered to Teru’s uniform. Then away. Thinking about it was bad for his blood pressure.

“Focus,” Ritsu muttered. He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Gimcrack hadn’t followed them inside. So Ritsu gave the display area another glance. Nothing stood out. He looked deeper; the store stretched further back, a single doorway propped open in the back-right corner. Stairs led up to the left. Ritsu chewed his tongue, and then set his sights on the stairs.

“I’m going to check upstairs. You get the back,” Ritsu said.

“Good plan. I don’t want you down here destroying any yarn.”

Ritsu considered replying and thought better of it. He set one experimental foot to the first step.

“Can I help you boys?”

Ritsu froze. He dropped his hand from the railing and glanced sideways. A woman with graying hair and spectacles stood at the threshold between the front of the store and the backroom. She watched him with a smile as warm as the store, eyes small, cheeks plump. Her cardigan bore the design of deer and trees, clearly hand-knit.

She stepped closer, navigating around yarn bins and tilting her head around to better see Ritsu.

“Oh, Dearie no, the door up there is locked. There’s nothing for sale up there. Are you looking for something a little extra?”

Slowly, Ritsu removed his foot from the stair. “Um…”

“Ah!” Teru answered, and even Ritsu startled a bit at the grandiose in his voice. Teru shoved his gathered-up yarn into the crook of his right arm. He moved with wide, swaying steps to the woman, smile open and friendly, and took her by the shoulder with his free hand. “My dear my dear I am having the hardest time my dear.” Teru spun her around, guiding her back where she came. “See my sister just adores my handknit crafts, and her 16th birthday is coming up soon. I have this new ribbed pattern I want to try out—a simple knit-3 purl-3, ribbing about yay-big—and I am just beside myself finding a color and texture to my liking—“

Ritsu watched with an expression of contempt for every word he couldn’t understand.

“—I was thinking something cocoa colored. She has these gorgeous chocolate brown eyes—oh, quite like yours—that I think would sparkle marvelously with—oh now don’t be bashful! Your eyes are glimmering love. Anyway, a chalky cocoa, but not too dense hmm? I want the rib pattern to show through, and if the yarn is too frilly it hides the pattern. And I considered larger needle size but who needs a loosely-knit sweater my dear am I right?”

Ritsu filtered out Teru’s rambling. His leg bounced, jaw biting down tight to keep him from snapping at Teru. It wouldn’t be worth drawing suspicion. He could only wait, seething quietly at Teru’s utter lack of concern.

For a split second, Ritsu and Teru locked eyes. A quick twitch of Teru’s head, a split second of piercing eye-contact, explosive in its silence. Teru’s eyes jerked to the stairway leading up, and Ritsu understood with a rush of shame what was happening.

Ritsu mounted the stairs again, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to creak the wood beneath his feet while Teru kept the shop owner distracted. Teru’s rambling continued unimpeded, words like “gauge” and “crochet” and “casting” assaulting Ritsu’s ears, along with overly saccharine compliments to the shopkeeper who only giggled in response. She responded, voice drawing away into the backroom with her and Teru’s footsteps. Ritsu kept climbing.

The air grew mustier and warmer as he ascended, the staircase leading up to an attic tucked into the wooden paneling. At the top was a single door, its white-painted face chipped, top corner shaven and jammed in the doorframe. Ritsu tested the knob, and it held firm under his grip.

He tightened his hand, a small shock of purple energy mangling the metal with a pop. When he twisted again, the lock gave, loose metal pieces tinkering down as he eased the door open. It swung in, giving way to a small bedroom tucked into the attic, triangular in shape. The bed took up most space, covered with a quilt sewn of patches long-faded. A wooden night stand sat beside it, red-blinking clock and a lamp adorning its top. Natural light flooded in from the panel of windows across from the bed, paling the carpeting. A small dusty tv sat perched in front of it, its front consumed in shadow. Sweat trickled down Ritsu’s neck, and the warm and dense smell of lavender flowed over him.

Ritsu noticed the laundry basket to his left, and for a moment was swamped with guilt for wearing his shoes in this woman’s house.

The thought vanished instantly, consumed by a new twanging of his heart as he gave a second look to the laundry basket. The air above it shifted, schismed, as though above a hot tar road in summer. Ritsu approached it steadily, palm buzzing with a hint of energy. He screwed his eyes to focus, a small headache building behind his skull.

He saw it. Small and curled and wispy green, a cat dozed on the folded linen sheets. It let out a small fluttering purr, and the tension left Ritsu’s body. He backed away from it, chewing his tongue, letting his shoulders sag. It wasn’t anything. Not his brother. Not a dangerous spirit. Just a ghost cat, asleep on some laundry.

He wiped his sleeve along his brow and stood still, heart rate calming. He watched the cat for longer, the muffled sing-song sound of Teru’s conversation bubbling through the carpeting. It was curled in the sun, its body scarcely visible in the beam that floated dust through the room. Ritsu’s hand twitched. He considered his options, but he only came up empty. There was no use in doing anything to the cat. No use in him and Teru being here.

Nothing that would lead him any closer to Mob.

“Sorry, cat,” Ritsu offered quietly. He turned on his heel.

And he screamed when something ghastly stared back.

Ritsu stumbled back, just as the creature shoved a bony arm out and jammed something sharp into the socket of Ritsu’s left shoulder. Ritsu let out a muffled cry and clamped his arm to his shoulder. He forced his eyes to focus. A man of sorts, dressed in a faded apron, his eyes pits of black that seemed to have melted. The holes where his eyes should have been had wept down his face dripping over hollow cheek bones. His skin was waxy, greasy, peeled and glistening as thought severely burned, right to the stub of ashen hair left at the top of his head.

Ritsu’s eyes shot to the spirit’s hand, bearing the wispy, immaterial form of a knife. He unclamped his hand from his shoulder, seeing the faintest trickle of blood ooze from the wound.

“You can see Mitzy…” the spirit rasped. It inched closer. “Are you a ghost? Are you a ghost too? Here to steal her from me?”

Ritsu stumbled back, hands up. “No! No I don’t want your stupid cat!”

“Not the cat… My food. Her…”

Confusion twisted Ritsu’s face. His breathing hitched in his throat.

“…That lady downstairs!?”

“She’s mine…”

The spirit lunged again, and Ritsu dodged, knocking into the nightstand. He fell, back slamming against the drawer. The lamp wobbled and crashed beside him. Ritsu startled, and then shoved himself to his feet and scrambled before another lunge of the knife could slice him.

He backed away from the spirit, trying to keep the distance between them, though he only managed to back himself into a corner. Ritsu glanced behind him, bug-eyed, finger tips feeling out the corner of the paneled walling. The spirit closed the gap in slow hobbling steps. Energy coiled around the knife, and Ritsu squeezed his eyes shut, breath shaking.

Not again. Not this again.

He needed to do better. He needed to be better if he ever wanted to measure up to Teru. If he ever wanted to take down the thing that took his brother.

He needed to stop shaking. He needed to stop panicking. He needed to stop shutting down every time the danger inched too close.

He needed to be steady. Deliberate. Focused.

He needed to be like Teru.

His eyes snapped open as the spirit lunged, and Ritsu released a tendril of energy from his palm. It wrapped around the offending ghost, snagging tight at his midsection and pinning his arms to his side. The spirit came crashing forward, smashing to the floor and oozing against the rope that grated him. It screeched, teeth gnashing, and all the while its restrained arm swung the knife in arcs wherever he could slash it.

Mitzy woke up, blinked, let out a displeased yowl and hopped off the laundry pile. Her tail flicked as she sauntered out the open attic door.

Ritsu didn’t pay the ghost cat any mind. He only tested his grip on the rope. He had meant for chains, something like Teru had used to restrain the spirits of his horde. What Ritsu managed to create was formless, but still strong enough to hold the writhing spirit.

He took a step closer, breath steadying, momentarily eyeing the smashed lamp and the open door. Nothing appeared there, no sound except for the muffled conversation that carried on below, and the noises of the spirit at his mercy. Ritsu refocused, attentive to the spirit that snapped its teeth at him and hissed. Its wilting weepy eyes melted further down its face as it howled, seeming to lose vigor the more its greasy burnt body decayed. Ritsu extended his hand once more, letting off a twist of glowing purple energy to wrapped around the spirits mouth, muzzling it.

Ritsu closed the gap between them, and the expression on the spirit’s face shifted. Lashing anger melted to something meeker, something more sober, its wide dripping eyes seeming to come to an understanding. Ritsu’s hand paused. He didn’t exorcise the spirit just yet. Something about the expression halted him. Something familiar in it.

Ritsu, bearing down on the spirit, recognized the fear of something hunted. Trapped and cornered and at the mercy of something more powerful. He recognized it as the mangled, twisted emotion in his own chest at every feeding of the spirit.

He stretched his hand out and set it against the spirit’s throat. The spirit whimpered through its gag, and Ritsu gave an experimental tug. It wasn’t a physical motion. It was something in his core, like inhaling, like swallowing, but something purely routed through the channels where his psychic power flowed.

Ritsu watched the energy leech out of the spirit’s face, and soak into his own hand.

If the spirits could feed off of him, that meant he could feed off of them…

Ritsu strained his hand harder. The muffled cries of the spirit lessened as it withered, curdling inward, losing shape and form as its ether drained away. Ritsu looked away, just a bit unsettled by the destruction unfolding before his eyes.

The throbbing behind his eyes lessened. The ache in his chest eased. The scattered numbness vanished from his limbs almost instantly, as though he’d never even fed the spirits that afternoon. When Ritsu finally looked, nothing of the spirit remained, and the lack of pain coursing through his body was almost euphoric.

Slowly, Ritsu set his left thumb to his wrist. He rubbed, searching for the aching torn wound the spirits fed themselves from. Nothing of the sort appeared. The wound had healed, stained only with a shimmering bit of purple residue.

A shivering brushed through his leg, and Ritsu startled. He stepped back, eyes swinging down. Mitzy trailed between his feet, nudging her head against Ritsu’s pant leg. Ritsu eased. He crouched down, and put out a hand for Mitzy to investigate. She sniffed it, then rubbed her hand against it, then stretched further to examine Ritsu’s wrist. Ritsu let this happen. He held his wrist exposed. Mitzy licked at the violet residue smeared along his healed skin, and licked until not a single stain remained.

Her tongue tickled, cold.

…

Iciness clung to the interior of the bus, soaking through the windows with a chill almost wet to the touch. Ritsu leaned against the black glass, jostling slightly, arms folded in, coat unbuttoned. He watched passing streetlights, blips of light along a stretch of road massive and vacant and dark. The scenery had thinned to almost nothing, buildings and trees growing sparse until the outskirts of the city loomed, liminal and far-removed. The bus’s light washed fluorescent and sterile against the glass, so that Ritsu’s own stiff expression stared back at him. He felt far away from it all, Seasoning City drawing away behind him, consumed into dark nothing.

Teru sat beside Ritsu, immersed in his phone, fingers twitching and silent except for the occasional jangle of phone charms. He hunched forward, uninterested in the thinning scenery outside. Ritsu caught the flipped image of hearts and kissy emojis in the window’s reflection. Everything reflected at a slant, brighter and clearer than the sparse and empty inky blackness beyond. Ritsu exhaled, and his breath fogged the window.

Empty seats surrounded them, the last two people on the bus.

“It’s this next one,” Ritsu said. He tapped the button to signal the driver.

Teru only nodded, and chuckled secretively at his phone before slipping it back in his pocket. He hopped from his seat into the walkway and moved toward the front of the bus before it even began to slow. Ritsu followed in silence.

The huff of brakes, swing of doors, clawing cold of air curling into the bus. Teru whipped out a bus pass to wave in front of the sensor, and he gave the driver a cordial smile before descending the steps to the concrete below. Ritsu dug around in his coat pockets for the change he’d scrounged from his room, and dropped the coins into the till with fingers a bit numb from the cold. He didn’t acknowledge the driver as he descended the steps to the pale concrete below. He wanted no one seeing his face.

The bus door shivered shut, and its engine kicked back in with a heavy sigh. It left behind the faint acid smell of gasoline as it tugged along, consumed in the street that carried on straight and narrow and nondescript. Then it vanished entirely, leaving Ritsu in the pallid lighting of the lone glass bus stop. Wind tore between Ritsu’s ankles. He shivered, hunched into the jacket, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets.

Ritsu stared at the bus stop. Teru had seated himself on the provided bench, legs crossed, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. The blue light lit his smirk, warm feathery jacket hunched up by his shoulders. Moonlight struck the left side of him, silvery and ghostly. Ritsu assumed he must have looked the same. He didn’t check, merely staring until Teru looked up and they locked eyes.

“Which way?” Ritsu asked.

Teru shrugged, and he pocketed his phone again. “How should I know? Aren’t you the mission leader?”

“The address. Your phone has a GPS. I sent you the address.”

“My hands’ll get cold. Use Gimcrack.”

“He’s meeting us there. Ghosts can’t ride the bus.”

“Oh. Hmm. Yeah. Of course.” Teru stood and stretched, his breath puffing silver beneath the moon. “I trust him. He’s a trustworthy guy.”

“Just use your phone!”

“I’m conserving the battery.”

“Hanazawa!” Ritsu barked. His breath curled crisp. A lone car streaked past, passing and leaving them in ringing silence. Ritsu let his shoulders relax, tension bleeding out of him. He was tired. “Please? We’re just wasting time. This bus only runs once an hour, and the route shuts down at midnight.” Ritsu snagged his flip phone from his pocket and opened it. “And it’s 9:15 now.”

Teru shrugged. “Well.” He pulled out his own smart phone, flicking through apps and settling on the map icon. He gave it a moment to adjust, then motioned his head down the far sloping end of the road. He spun on his heels and walked forward. “Then let’s not dawdle. It’s ten minutes this way.”

Ritsu followed in silence, hunched in against the wind that whipped his ears.

Only two turns lay on their route. Ritsu made sure to memorize each of them as they passed in case Teru’s phone died during the raid. He struggled each time for a landmark. Every turn looked the same, sparse of trees and houses, only deep-stretching roads linking one town to the next. After ten minutes, the trees grew denser, taller and more woods-like. The road became gravel, and the GPS brought them down a beaten-in dirt road, burrowing down and away and leading to a warehouse massive and metal. An equally impressive parking lot sat beside it, lined with trucks resting beneath flood-lights. Trees rung the lot, tall and mangled in the moonlight. Ritsu followed down the road. Gravel crunching beneath his feet. He felt around inside the coat pocket, hand settling on the flashlight tucked inside.

“Gimcrack!”

Ritsu called to the blob of dark violet energy he spotted hovering pallid beneath one of the lights stretching over the warehouse roof. Gimcrack waved in response, and Ritsu picked up his pace.

“Is anyone around?” Ritsu asked, eyes shooting periodically to the monolith trucks, skeleton like, beneath the lights. Gimcrack shook his head.

“Nah.” Gimcrack’s attention shifted behind Ritsu, and Ritsu heard Teru’s steps approaching slow and even. Gimcrack hovered a few inches further away. “Last guy left about an hour ago.”

Ritsu turned, investigating the warehouse. Massive steel garage doors lined one side, a loading dock. Beside them, a short set of concrete stairs led to a door. Ritsu stepped to them, climbing. He wrapped his hand around the handle, long thin and metallic, cold to the touch. He tested it. It didn’t budge. He twisted harder. Locked.

Ritsu let go and turned to Gimcrack. “How do we get in?”

“I get you in,” Gimcrack answered. He drifted closer, gauging Ritsu’s reaction. “You gotta let me help though.”

Ritsu felt a hand, clammy and spider-like, settle on his shoulder. He jerked, but Gimcrack’s grip remained firm.

“What—“

“Just relax a second okay? Drop your guard.”

Ritsu only stared. His eyes shifted to Teru, who made no attempt to hide the suspicion on his face.

“What are you doing?” Ritsu asked, tense.

“If you relax for just like, two seconds here kid, I can show you. Unscrew your face would you?”

Reluctantly, Ritsu eased his shoulders. He breathed deep, and he felt Gimcrack’s hand phase deeper. An iciness washed through his whole core, a sensation like being dunked in ice water.

“Touch the door again,” Gimcrack said.

Ritsu did, tentatively. His eyes widened as his hand slipped right through the metal.

“I get you in, I get you out, maybe with an extra brother huh?”

Ritsu retracted his hand from the door. “Is this safe?”

“Is any of this safe?” Gimcrack asked.

“Yeah, no,” Teru answered, cold and firm. He stepped up beside Ritsu, eyes sharp and aura leaking with aggression. Gimcrack hopped away from the two of them. “We’ll just blast a door in. You can leave.”

“And trigger all their alarms? You sure you want that kiddo?” Gimcrack asked. He paused, reading Teru’s icy expression, and a smile crawled over his lips. “I’m just offering a generous service here.”

“It’s fine, probably,” Ritsu answered. He eyed his hand, flexing the numb joints. Feeling had begun to trickle back into his tingling fingers. His heart thrummed. “Do it again, Gimcrack.”  

“Atta boy.”

Gimcrack wrapped his fingers around Ritsu’s shoulder once more, washing Ritsu with a chill so thorough that feeling vanished from his body. Ritsu gasped, unbalanced and unfeeling.

“Go on. Walk kid.”

Ritsu held his breath, trying to orient himself, or at the very least stay upright. Vertigo washed cold through his stomach, but he forced his feet forward. The wall passed through him as though it weren’t there. Or, Ritsu supposed, as though he weren’t there.

On the other side, Ritsu dropped to his knees for a moment to catch his breath. Tingling feeling returned in waves, but it was as though his core had been wrapped in ice. His body shivered, mind recovering.

Silently, a second figure walked in beside him. Teru remained standing, squaring his hips, feet pointed decidedly forward. “Hmmm. Maybe I should have brought a thicker coat.”

Ritsu stared down at his hands, pressed to the ground. Sensation seeped back into his body, but his palms and fingers had grown colder, pressed to a floor colder than ice. The shivering wasn’t just from Gimcrack’s powers, it was from the room itself. His wits returned to him, and slowly, Ritsu remembered where they were.

He looked up. Blackness met his vision, massive and endless. He pushed himself from the floor, fished a hand around in his coat pocket, and grabbed the flashlight from within. He shot it out, and ran his thumb along the surface until the switch beveled under his touch. Ritsu flicked the beam on.

The light sliced through a cone of black, throwing clawing, climbing, stark shadows and empty hollows along every surface. Ritsu took in the scene around him.

Row upon row of carved pig carcasses hung from the ceiling, slit at the stomach and strung from hooks digging through their back hooves. They were sliced in half and gutted, ridges of milky white rib cages reflecting the light and beveling the flesh that clung to them. The chains hung in tight rows, bodies slung from the ceiling like coats at the dry cleaner. All heads had been removed.

Ritsu swung the beam. By the walls, palettes were stacked high with unprocessed carcasses. They were tied down, stiff limbs jutting out, faces wrapped in cellophane. Ritsu blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark, so that his peripheral vision filled with the hung and tethered form of pig corpses.

A second beam of light joined him from Teru’s phone, swinging around the display with flippancy. Teru walked forward in investigation, speaking casually, his words lost on Ritsu. Ritsu stayed rooted. The wind howled loud and percussive against the warehouse, warbling the walls, clanking the ceiling chains. Ritsu swallowed and exhaled, his breath frozen in front of him. His stomach squirmed.

“He’s not here, Hanazawa,” Ritsu said.

Teru stopped and turned, his light momentarily blinding Ritsu. “Hmm?”

“My brother’s not here. He can’t be. It’s a freezer. He’s not.”

Teru spun again, lighting up another ghastly display of pigs whose hollowed-out innards drank up the shadows. “He could be.”

“He’s not,” Ritsu insisted. “It’s freezing.”

“Well that’s not a problem. Any psychic worth his salt can regulate his own temperature.” Teru paused, eyes drilling into Ritsu, mouth quirked into a smile. Teru seemed perfectly comfortable. Ritsu’s body wouldn’t stop shivering.

Ritsu glowered. He turned and banged on the wall behind him. “Gimcrack! My brother’s not in here. Get us out.”

Silence met him,

“Gimcrack!”

“You know, Kageyama, I remember an old horror story I’ve heard about a place like this.”

“Hey.” Ritsu banged his palm against the icy wall once more. The sound reverberated. “Gimcrack.”

“A meat-packer had spent 30 years of his life working in a warehouse like this one. Carving up carcasses all day. Miserable work for miserable pay. And finally one day, he had enough. He pushed a few of those palettes together, and climbed to the tallest meat hook, and hung himself from it.”

Teru’s phone flashlight meandered behind Ritsu, throwing gruesome shadows against the wall Ritsu faced, the forms of bodies hung, stretched and beveled, taut on chains. Ritsu shut his eyes, bowed his head, and banged on the wall. “Gimcrack! Get us out!”

“He cursed the warehouse when he died so that no one could ever get his corpse down. It stayed there, hanging, never rotting in the cold, watching the workers until they were driven insane.”

“I’m not listening.” Ritsu opened his eyes to darkness, stars dancing in his vision. His breath fogged, though sweat dripped from his hairline. “Help me call Gimcrack.”

“His skin became desiccated. His clothes tattered. His eyes froze over, so that the liquid inside formed crystals and tore through his corneas, making them a bright, blind, milky blue. Some workers claimed he moved in the night. Others said he watched you. When he was in the very best of moods, the corpse smiled.”

“Dammit. God dammit Gimcrack. I won’t pay you! Hanazawa, help.”

“And then the warehouse closed down, and he was left there in the darkness and emptiness, finally allowed to rot. But he was lonely. So he was happy, very happy, one day when a group of curious kids broke into the warehouse and visited him. They couldn’t see him in the dark, so he had to wait for their flashlights. He prepared his best grin, his flesh all rotted. And finally, they—“

“Hanazawa.”

“—swung their light just a bit higher—“

Ritsu turned, eyes to Teru. “Shut up okay? I’m trying t—“

“Until they could… greet… his… happy… face…”

Teru snapped his phone to the top corner of the warehouse, light yanked with it, and Ritsu’s eyes followed too.

Someone stared down from the ceiling.

Piercing eyes, a wide grin stretching desiccated skin, cheeks carved out in deep shadows, body slung beneath it. The body jerked. Its head snapped to Ritsu. Its grin widened.

Ritsu gave a hollow gasp. He stumbled back, stomach bottoming out, back slamming into the wall which he crumpled down. His eyes locked to the grin that—

Teru was laughing.

Teru was howling, in fact.

Ritsu shined his own flashlight to the corner, illuminating a pig body coated in yellow aura. The aura vanished, and the pig flopped down, falling back with a sickening smack against the other pigs stacked high. Teru’s laughter echoed, mirthful to tears, from the far walls.

“Seriously?!” Ritsu swung his light to Teru.

“You should see your face,” Teru said, doubled over and wheezing with his hands to his knees. His phone light jittered with his wheezing chuckles, eating at the shadows on the floor. “Hang on hang on hang on.” He rose tall, held the phone up, grin wide and sickeningly satisfied. The light flashed. “Okay okay I took a picture. Hang on I’m sending it to you it’s great!”

“Hanazawa!”

“I got you. You shoulda seen—you—Aah!—and then back—smashed right into the wall! Oh I should have been recording!”

Ritsu’s anger iced over. His eyes shot behind Teru.

“Hanazawa.”

“I thought you—oh this picture! Oh I love this picture! Wallpaper, definitely. You just—Ahh!! Your face is like—“

“Idiot, duck!”

“—Oh, spooky! You--! Huh?”

“Duck,” Ritsu shouted.

A moment of pained confusion passed, until a low grumble shook Ritsu’s bones. Understanding snapped, and Teru threw himself to the floor, just before a creature, squealing and massive and bulbously tumored raked through the air Teru’s head had occupied. It careened forward, a globby filthy dripping monster five times as massive as the carcasses in the warehouse, and yet distinctly swine-like in its form. It dove next for Ritsu, who jumped from its path with far more grace.

“You idiot!” Ritsu shouted, head snapping to Teru, finger pointing to the rampaging beast. “You pissed it off!”

Teru watched from the floor, stunned. He patted at the ground, then his pocket, then the ground again. “Where’d my phone go?”

“I don’t know!” Ritsu yelled. He flattened himself against the wall as the swine dove again, and then Ritsu chased after it, feet pumping, flashlight bouncing out the path ahead of him. He leapt onto a palette, hurdling corpses as he raced to catch up with the creature.

Ritsu readied a lash of energy in his free hand and shot it out. It arced like a sickle, violet and razor sharp. It nicked the monster’s hind leg and then kept spinning, slashing through hung carcasses, slicing flesh and bone that rained to the ground.

Ritsu did not let up. He unleashed another shot, and another, near deaf to the squelch of flesh shredded and shorn. Only about a third of his shots hit the massive bulbous oozing green monster, the rest flung wild into chains and wall, palettes and flesh. It was enough to earn the pig’s ire. It reared back. Its eyes were replaced by tumorous growths, but its massive snout twitched, gnashing molars bared, and it shot dead center for Ritsu.

Ritsu steadied his ground. Heart pounding, he readied a burst of energy in his palm, dense and spring-coiled tight. He waited out the seconds, heart-pounding, until the creature lunged. And Ritsu released the shot from his palm.

The recoil knocked Ritsu off balance, snapping awake the old injury of his dislocated shoulder. He hissed, but kept his eyes focused, trained to the shot that exploded, and connected, and carved out a hole through the center of the beast. It let out a ghastly squeal, loud enough to shake the walls, rattle the chains into a symphony of disquiet as it crashed into the ground. Ritsu readied a coil of rope, eyes alight. His body moved naturally. The energy soaking through him was like nothing he knew before.

He knelt over the creature, which writhed and snapped but did not get up, and Ritsu coiled the rope around its snout, rendering it defenseless. He set his palm to the thing’s throat, and he felt it again, that sickly honey-sweet fear that pulsed off the creature as a form of energy. It was dense as it filled Ritsu, cold as the locker. He breathed in deeper as the thing beneath his palm withered dry. Its tumorous skin pruned like leather, until its form decayed down to bones, and then nothing but wispy tendrils that passed through Ritsu’s fingers. Ritsu exhaled, mind clearer, body thrumming with absorbed energy. He relaxed, and stood, and swung his light to Teru.

Teru stood a few feet back, watching with sharp eyes. When the beam struck his face, he gave a quick expression of disgust, tongue out and lip curled.

“You’re welcome,” Ritsu said as he walked past. He set his eyes again to the wall.

“Hey, this is your freak show. I’m here for the entertainment.” Teru came up beside Ritsu, leaning casually against the wall Ritsu banged against. “And apparently you’re here for the snacks.”

“Gimcrack! It was a spirit. We killed it.” Ritsu banged again, listening for a response. “Should I just blast us out of here?”

“I’ve never been a huge fan of pork. How’d it taste? Chewy?”

“Do you ever absorb the spirits?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Does a healthy person need blood transfusions?” Teru ran a hand through his hair, snagging on a few iced-over locks.

“…It’s a good source of energy. Try it.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And Gimcrack’s a good ally.”

Ritsu slammed his fist once more and then lowered his hand. “Where’d he go…?”

“We could always call up your mommy and daddy to come pick us up.”

“You’re hilarious,” Ritsu answered. He stepped away from the wall and swung his flashlight in search of another exit. “And of course we can’t, because they don’t know I’m gone, because that’s the point.”

“Great parents.”

“What about yours huh? They just—what—let you get away with all this shit? Or do they just so sincerely not give a shit about you that there’s no point in you hiding anything?”

“Ha.” Teru crossed his arms and leaned his back entirely against the freezer wall. “I don’t live with them, so I’m in no rush to get out of here. You seem stressed though.”

“Where do they live?”

“Around.”

Ritsu moved to the adjacent wall, side-stepping palettes to run his beam along the metal in search of a different door. “Why don’t you live with them? Did they get sick of you?”

“How long do you think you have until your parents notice you missing, Kageyama? Hopefully they’d be a bit quicker to the draw than they were with your brother.”

“No.” Ritsu made it to the far wall. His skimmed his fingers along the surface. “They’d never notice, in fact. I didn’t want to risk them realizing I snuck out, so I left Makeshift and Slipshod behind with orders to possess them if they came to check on me.”

“…You what?”

“Gimcrack did it once before, possessing my mom. It works.”

The wall in front of Ritsu beveled, shifting to an ashy violet. Gimcrack’s face oozed out of it. “Did I hear my name?”

“God fuck—there you are!” Ritsu threw his arms out, flashlight arcing wide across the ceiling.

“Ooh, spooky place.”

“I’ve been calling you!”

“Hey hey hey chill huh? I’m here. Just wanted to make sure you dealt with that porker beast before I showed my face, you dig?” Gimcrack gestured to himself. “Can’t risk hurting the merchandise.”

Ritsu fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He flicked it open, time glowing bright along its blue screen. The next bus was in 15 minutes. “Just get us out of here.”

“Roger,” Gimcrack replied, grabbing Ritsu’s shoulder and drenching him with that same icy nothing. Ritsu felt as though the floor had dropped from under him, but he steeled himself, breath held, and moved forward. He stepped through the wall, appearing on the other side of the warehouse which was hidden deeper in shadow than the parking lot side.

“Hey, Hanazawa, you coming?” Gimcrack’s voice came muffled through the wall. Ritsu coughed out a breath, and once again dropped to his knees, too numb to stand. His fingers curled in the dewy grass, and he willed sensation to return.  “Heyo, you, Blondie. What? Giving me the cold shoulder now? That’s my job, heh. Get it?”

Ritsu got one foot beneath him. He tested his weight against it. His knee shook, but he was able to rise slowly, shivering the sting of ice out of his body. He hobbled forward a step, then another into the grass, ankles brushing cold through the dew.

“Hanazawa!” Ritsu called over his shoulder, eyes set to the warehouse. His fingers trailed over the phone in his pocket, feeling the seconds tick away, the bus coming nearer. “Come on. What are you doing?”

“Well then ease up your shoulders or something then, okay? I can’t phase you if you don’t let me. Just relax your face. Come on, give me a smile.”

The wall blew.

An explosion of light and power clapped against Ritsu’s ears. He let out a yell, stumbling back, hands over his ears as he squinted, staring at the fading rush of yellow aura that had blasted through the metal siding. Alarms shrieked overhead, and Teru appeared like a ghost, pale once more under the moonlight as he stepped through the settling rubble. Ritsu stared, dumbfounded, at the hole. Gimcrack floated out, visibly shaken.

Teru walked past Ritsu, brushing himself off. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it on before burying his face in the blue light.

“What the hell was that?” Ritsu asked, stumbling slightly to catch up.

“We’re finished here. The alarms don’t matter anymore. I could have blasted us out at any time.” Teru refused to face Ritsu. He quickened his pace, and Ritsu fell into quiet step behind him. Ritsu looked behind him, watching the warehouse fade away, the sirens drop off, until only a ringing in his ear remained. He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the buzz of newly collected energy beneath them.

“Piece of work, that kid…” Gimcrack muttered from Ritsu’s side. His eyes shifted to Ritsu, and he nudged his shoulder. “Anyway, payment for tonight.”

Ritsu conjured a crystal above his palm, now tainted green, murky in the darkness. He flicked it unceremoniously in Gimcrack’s direction, and then quickened his pace to keep up with Teru.

Five minutes of their walk passed in silence. Only then, when Ritsu looked around and saw himself, Teru, and no one else—only then did it occur to Ritsu that this mission had been a failure.

…

Mob woke up alone.

And it was an absence he could feel trickling to his core. He lay in bed, eyes open, suffocating in the nothingness around him, deafened in its silence. He stared blind at the ceiling. His body was tucked beneath the covers of his bed. A small hint of moonlight filtered in. He waited frozen, afraid to leave the bed, because he was afraid of being alone.

Slowly, with dread weighing heavy on his chest, Mob sat up. The covers pooled in his lap, and he buried his hands in the warmth. He listened, a quiet ringing nothingness settling on his ears. No snoring from the next room, no hushed babbling on the phone, no tinny television noise filtering through the door. It was an empty house. A dead house.

“Reigen…?”

Mob rose, shuffling out of the blankets. He set a ginger toe to the floor, soft carpeting molding beneath his feet. He worried the end of his braid, finger twisting through the lock of hair bound together at the end with Reigen’s rubber band. He waited. He breathed. Nothing answered.

He walked to the bedroom door. It creaked open under his touch, giving out to a hallway just as dim as his room. He waited. He listened.

“Reigen…?”

Nothing. Mob tugged harder on his braid, heartrate quickening. He’d known something had been wrong the moment he said Shishou’s name. No worse, he’d already known Reigen would be angry, and he said it anyway. He admitted to killing Shishou, and now Reigen was gone. Reigen had claimed nothing was wrong. He’d collected himself, and patted Mob’s head, and told Mob it had been a long day. Go get washed up for bed. Go sleep. He’d handle the mess in the kitchen.

Mob walked toward the kitchen. He tugged harder on his hair, feet tripping over the hem of the sweatpants Reigen had bought for him. He paused and flicked on the light. Brightness flooded down, too bright, that Mob had to squint and shield his eyes. When he looked through his fingers, he found the floor clean. The milk and cake put away. The dishes washed and drying.

“Reigen?”

Alone.

Mob turned and walked toward the couch. He eyed the television, and then the large bay window behind it. The light from the kitchen reflected loud and fuzzy against it, casting Mob’s dark silhouette against it. He looked, seeking out what he didn’t want to see. Mob put a hand out, stretching far, skimming through the air.

He couldn’t touch it. He never could. It always spread away, far from the tips of his fingers, so that he could never feel its cut. But it was there, dim and buzzing and swirling blue. He saw it in front of him. He saw it in the reflection, a gossamer bubble ringing his body.

Mob whimpered slightly. He pulled his hands in and hugged his arm. Reigen was gone. The barrier was back.

He didn’t want to check Reigen’s bedroom.

His feet moved anyway, even when Mob knew he didn’t want to see what lay beyond. Shishou’s withered face flashed through his mind, hanging body, hollow black eyes. Mob had done something to make Shishou hang himself, and now he. Again. Waking to the quiet. Feeling nothing. No presence. Alone. Alone again. Again he—

Mob turned the knob to Reigen’s room. Tears budded behind his eyes, his breathing harsh and fast. He opened the door. He didn’t want to see.

Mob looked anyway.

Nothing.

A rush of breath escaped from his lips, a relief so immediate his legs nearly buckled. Mob took a moment to collect himself. He dropped down onto the carpet and sat there, staring forward, looking above the bed. There was no hanging body. Just an empty room. Reigen had not killed himself.

Mob dug his fingers into the carpet, letting a few relieved breaths slip from his mouth. He collected himself, and pushed himself standing, and held on to the frame of the doorway. Mob turned where he stood, eyes set to the front door. He moved from carpet to tile, bare feet beating cold against the linoleum.

He grabbed the front door, and after a moment of hesitation he opened it. Cold air rushed over his face, the sound of passing cars in the distance, the buzz of the streetlamps surrounding the complex. Mob took a tentative step out onto the wooden stairway.

“Reigen? Please? Are you out here?”

Mob glanced down. Reigen’s car was gone. He worried his fingers together.

Still, Mob descended the steps. Still, he had to try. He made every motion conscious of his barrier. Averse to the touch of anything, paranoid eyes peeled for the slightest movement. He was dangerous again. He was deadly again. But he had to do something to help. This was his fault.

He moved down the driveway, gravel sticking between his toes, and the world felt open and hostile again. His nerve edged away quickly. The world was so huge—he’d forgotten. It wasn’t just Shishou’s house anymore. It was the whole of everything. Reigen could have gone anywhere. Mob’s paces slowed to a trickle. There was maybe nothing he could do.

He waited. He hesitated.

And something burst from the bushes.

It flashed into Mob’s field of vision, a blur of color fast and smooth. His eyes shot wide. Mob stumbled back. Couldn’t hurt—Couldn’t touch—He let out a strangled cry and folded in. He pulled, pulled away. Couldn’t touch. Couldn’t hurt. Couldn’t kill. Not anymore. Not again. No more.

Reigen had trained him.

He could at least.

The sound of shearing fur raked against his ears. Mob’s eyes shot wider, glassy, stomach dropping at the familiar noise of destruction. He dropped low onto his haunches and buried his face in his hands, too terrified for words, or even sounds. Small breathless gasps slipped through his fingers.

And with the gasps, Mob felt the texture of fur slip through his fingers as well.

He raised his head, and stared at his palms through tear-swimming eyes. He saw no blood, no mangled body, only the feathery form of hair strands streaked through his fingers. Mob moved his hands out of the way, and found snippets of hair littered across the ground, blowing in the wind.

He looked higher, and a single white cat stood across from him, tail flicking, paw swiping at its ear. It considered Mob for a moment before rising up and sauntering off down the road.

He hadn’t hit it. For the second time, he hadn’t hit something.

In wonder, Mob focused on the barrier. It was denser, swirled faster and harsher, an angry red, and it hovered only an inch or so from his nose. He’d pulled it in. Concentrated, angry and aggressive, he’d at least managed to pull it in.

Mob eased a fraction, and the barrier spread back out. But it listened. For the first time since it appeared, it listened.

His right hand rose, seeking to grab the end of the braid and finding nothing. The absence startled him, and so Mob searched further, feeling out his hair. Some locks still hung to his shoulder, others had shorn short. Uneven, scraggly, his bangs had been taken at an angle.

Mob retreated, beating back up the steps and shutting the door behind him. He moved as though possessed, feet taking him to the bathroom where he flicked the light on. Brightness caught, and Mob stared at the boy in the mirror.

Messy, mangled, awkwardly cut and uneven. His hair must have whipped around when he heard the cat, spinning wide when he yanked the barrier in. The rubber band had been taken. The braid had unraveled, leaving a shorter mess of poorly chopped hair.

He grabbed the edge of the sink and breathed. His mind hadn’t caught up yet. Too much had happened. Too close of a call. And Reigen was gone. And Shishou was dead. And his barrier was back and—

Mob looked up again at the mirror, and he was haunted there by the look of a boy he almost remembered. He reached out and touched his fingertips to the mirror. The cheeks were shallower, the eyes more hollow, but it was a face he almost remembered. He remembered this face. This one. As though he were still the same person underneath it all. And maybe he could be. Maybe he was.

Mob tightened his grip on the sink. His breathing calmed. He watched his eyes, and willed them to belong to the boy who never knew about barriers or basements or cockroaches skittering in the night.

He couldn’t do that. Those things were a part of him. But he realized, staring into his own eyes, they were becoming less a part of him…. He wasn’t there anymore. Not in the basement. Not with Shishou. Not with rats and not with soup and not with the barrier cutting every chance of touch. He was at Reigen’s house, and Reigen was different, and Reigen was making him different.

Mob’s shoulders slumped, and he eased down onto the plush shower mat beneath his feet. He held his legs in and watched the barrier dance through the air. He pulled once, experimentally, and it yielded to his touch, beveling closer.

Mob released it, and eased, and breathed. There was nothing he could do now except hope that Reigen was different. Hope that Reigen wasn’t like Shishou.

Hope that Reigen was coming back.

(Chapter 25 [AO3])