#nobody has a reaction to spike being there so it seems like he was invited?

[dyke-o-matic]

Funny: Spike crashing the wedding of a man he neither likes nor respects

Funnier: Xander inviting a man he neither likes nor respects to his wedding

Funniest: Xander inviting a man he neither likes nor respects to his wedding, AND giving him a plus one

[some-dr-writings]

SDR2 guys x intimidating looking but sweet S/O

Hajime Hinata:

·       You had been Hajime’s best friend for as long as he could remember. You were always so smart and the top in your class. Truthfully Hajime expected you to be invited to Hope’s Peak, but… you were always rambunctious. As smart as you were, you didn’t care for rules that existed outside ones of safety. You were labeled the school delinquent, getting into fights, breaking most rules for the sake of breaking them, doing whatever you could to get a reaction from others, all the while smiling and laughing away having the time of your life.

·       “Ah! Hajime! That’s amazing!” “Y/N!?” You scooped him into your arms, lifting off his feet, spinning around and around. “MY boy, going to HOPE’S PEAK ACADEMY! This is amazing!” Suddenly your spinning came to a stop, stomping a foot on the ground to do so. “Hajime. Hope’s Peak is far, so you’ll be moving right? If that’s the case, you better text me every day! Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want too, but at least keep me informed of the big stuff like how your first day was or the school festival or at least the sports day! Or, OR! If you’d like, maybe I could move with you, somewhere close to the school and I’ll just get a job in the area so you could just talk to me in person! I would visit, but even by train it’s a two-day trip and I’d probably get board at some point and get kicked off, and there’s also studying for school or work or whatever I do.” A light pink dusted Hajime’s cheeks, feeling a bit flustered at how excited you were, still effortlessly him closely, high off the ground. He swore his heart began to race seeing your absolutely beaming smile which seemed to shine brighter than the sun to him.

·       When with his friends he’d speak of you often, not to the point of annoyance, just enough for them to know he clearly missed you. From how he described you, you seemed to be the sweetest, most wholesome person in existence despite being a bit rowdy. So when Kazuichi caught Hajime holding hands and appearing to be going on a date with a person covered in scars exposed by your unbuttoned shirt, haired dyed a bright blond, scary tattoos, spiked jacket and boots, even having a mask covering you face, nobody believed him till Hajime walked in on the conversation, saying that was you. After that they insisted on meeting you, wanting to know such a seemingly contrasting person existed, and when they did meet you, they gave Hajime their approval, even if he didn’t want or need it.

   Izuru Kamakura:

·       Many things Izuru found boring, but if he had to choose one thing he found more boring than anything else, it’d have to be the baseless rumors surrounding you, his partner, all because you had a scary face. It was so ridiculous he couldn’t even entertain the idea of you secretly being the heir of a yakuza gang or something so off the wall even he couldn’t recall. Whenever he heard such rumors as he walked down Hope’s Peak’s halls, he thought he may just fall asleep from how tiring it was, thinking about the mental gymnastics people had to go through to even come to such conclusions.

·       It was another day and again he heard of your imaginary exploits of having killed a man in cold blood for money or some such and instantly he just felt exhausted. He continued to walk till he stopped before a door and knocked. “Oh, hey Izu-baby. What brings you here?” “… I just found myself here.” You chuckled, simply opening the door, taking your boyfriend’s hand and leading him in.

·       You promptly plopped him into a seat, going off to get something, Izuru had the chance to examine the many brushes, hair products and hair accessories spread out on the counter. There were even several sticky notes on the edges of the large vanity mirror, neat writing noting some appointments you had. Seems like he had come in when you were cleaning between appointments. “I found a new brush and I think it should work well with your thick long hair.” You placed your a hand on one of the back rest corners of the chair, leaning a little over him, smiling as you held said brush before him. “Then test it.”

·       You giddily collected his hair, your touch occasionally grazing across his skin. Your hands though covered in cuts, slightly dyed from all your hair styling work, and probably tired from having worked for almost six hours straight according to the sticky notes, they still were ever so gentle, making sure to not get caught on or pull any knots. Then you began to brush, starting from the bottom and working your way up. “Izuru, you have a few split ends, and it’s been a while, mind if I give you a light trim while I have you here?” “You have an appointment in forty-three minuets.” “Hmm… Yeah, I can get this done in time.” Once you reached the top you gave his hair a few extra strokes from top to bottom, making sure you got everything. “Oh, I also found a new shampoo which can help your hair. It’s still so dull, but at this point it might be because of your diet since I can’t seem to find anything that can work for you. Have you been eating? Has the staff been testing you on talents again and not feeding you?” “No.” You were going to ponder for a moment, to try figuring out what your boyfriend’s problem could be when said boyfriend placed a hand on your cheek, lightly pulling you beside him. Closing his eyes, he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek. “You’re so exhausted you forgot we spoke of this very subject yesterday.” “Huh?” Your entire face flushed a bright red, still unused to Izuru’s sparce displays of affection. Then to your confusion he pulled you onto his lap. “I-Izu-baby?” “You are taking a nap.” For some reason in that moment of seeing you so flustered he recalled the rumors. The thought of you even harming a fly was laughable, you were the absolute sweetest, kindest, caring person he had ever met. Holding you close he simply leaned into you, thinking you could both use a nap together.

   Nagito Komaeda:

·       You made your own rumors. The ones about you secretly being an assassin, you started it. The one about how you once were an international thief, you did it. The one about you selling drugs, that one was actually an accident, you were just getting a friend their pain meds, but you spread about a few more stories like it not long after. Why purposefully spread rumors many would wonder… well… there were two reasons.

·       The first, you found most people annoying and simply didn’t want to deal with them, content with your small, very close friend group. It was the perfect way to get people to back off so you wouldn’t have to deal with them in their first place. You also found some fun in seeing people run from you from your presents alone, made you feel like some cartoon super villain which you found quite amusing.

·       The second reason… You had always told your boyfriend the first one, but to his confusion, you’d always avoid telling him the other reason. Nagito knew you’d had to have your reasons for not telling him, but… well you were his partner, of course he was going to worry a little even if it seemed you knew what you were doing.

·       But he could ignore it no longer when you took the blame for him. Nagito came up with a plan to blow up a building, forcing the exams to be delayed so his classmates could have more time to prepare for them… and you took for the blame for it, being expelled for a time, but not forever. You couldn’t even stay on your dorm on campus, winding up staying in some cheap hotel paid by the school.

·       “Why did you do it?” “Eh, Nagito?” “WHY! Why did you take the blame for me!? I was trying to get you more time so you could show off in glory, but now you’re stuck here. Why did you do it?” Nagito was always so calm and composed, likely from facing disaster after disaster caused by his bad luck, but he was actually troubled, he was upset, but not even at himself like he always did thinking himself trash, no, he was legitimately upset with you. “… Normally people greet their partner with a ‘hello’ or something.” The last thing you were expected to be greeted by your first morning exiled from school was your boyfriend in such a state. “I- No. Y/N, tell me, why?” “… I…” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, this new side you had never even thought existed, yet you also couldn’t bear to look at him either so instead you looked to his feet. “I don’t want to lie to you, but… I don’t want to tell you the truth either. But! What I can tell you, is that this is fine, I chose this, I wanted this. So, you don’t have to worry about me, this just means I have even more time to develop my talent.” You tried giving him a smile, but it just ended up strained seeing that didn’t placate him. W-why? He always saw everything ultimates did was amazing and respected even the worst of decisions, yet… he was mad, and sad, and so many other things you couldn’t pinpoint not being able to bring yourself to study his expression for long.

·       “No, this is not fine. What you did is not helping you. This is only a detriment. I-I-I, I just can’t understand! I can’t understand why. How did this turn out so wrong?” “… the other reason.” “Huh?” You spoke so quietly, it was but a whisper, Nagito had just barely caught it. “The other reason… It’s why I NEED a bad reputation, not just something I want for the fun of it.” You sighed, preparing for the inevitable Nagito calling himself trash and you trying to comfort him song and dance. “You’re such a volatile wild card. I never know what you’ll do next. Nagito, you literally tried to blow up a building with people inside, I know your luck probably would have saved them or something or you assumed the ultimates inside would save the day, but… that’s not healthy! You’ve been through so much and need help. I, I want to help you, but I just don’t know what to do. So… to me, the best I can do is try to protect you.” Even as his eyes widened, realizing what happened, you continued. “With a bad reputation, rumors of all sorts, both extreme and little, it can be expected that I can do anything without it being out of character. I can take on anyone’s bad actions and call it my own and all will believe it… Even if I can’t protect you from the insanity that is our life, the very least I can do is protect you from yourself, the consequences of your actions. I can’t get you to at last see yourself as decent, I can’t stop your luck from torturing you, this… this is all I can think of for what I could ever do for you… it’s the only kind of affection I can give without you saying or thinking you’re unworthy of it… though I guess I don’t even have that now, but… I don’t know, maybe this was-”

·       …

·       He hugged you. He didn’t know what to say. He took in everything you said, yet his mind was just blank. He had so much to say, yet he just could… All he could do was just nuzzle into you, one who was just so sweet and kind, and… he needed to better for you, Nagito at least new that for sure.

   Imposter:

·       Imposter wondered how they ever were lucky enough to find a partner like you. They never thought they’d find anyone who could get them to see themselves as a person even without the disguises, let alone a whole class at one point. Yes, they still disguised themselves, but when they were just with you they felt okay to not keep the make-up, wigs and costumes. They were just… whoever they were without being someone else. Their own identity was something they still struggled with but working on it with your helped.

·       Individuals who could stay true to themselves no matter what were people they respected highly, that was probably what got them to fall for you in the first place. No matter who avoided you, the children who cried from seeing your large, buff figure, no matter the sports nuts who insisted on you joining their team, you always were the shy Super High School Level Flower Shop Keep who loved exercising.

·       When they first met you, they were masquerading as Beyakuya Togami, not exactly the most sociable of personalities, so they thought they scared you away. When first meeting a person you didn’t speak much, instead you’d gift flowers and spoke through flower language. “Oh, well… there’s a lot you can say with flowers. I’ve just always liked them. I just like being outside, so I exercise a lot! But then I got toned, and already being on the bulkier side some people find me scary… Ah, but if I give the children flowers, they usually stop crying… unless a bee comes by, then they cry again.” Even though you were so soft spoken when you did speak, it was still rather intimidating. There was just so much power in it.

·       They rather enjoyed how you’d decorate them with your beloved plants, whether it be placing them behind their ear, in their hair, or in their breast pocket. They also adored each bouquet you gave. Very quickly their whole dorm room smelled of fast-food and a light floral perfume. They pressed and kept every last flower, preserving them all even the ones from when you first met.

·       You were so open and honest, even though you tried hiding it they knew when you had a crush on them- or well Beyakuya… They had no identity outside of whoever they were impersonating, but… the thought made their heart ache. So, when you came up to them with giant bouquet filled with tulips, purple roses, red roses, alstroemerias, and baby’s breath they could easily see even as you hid it behind your back, a bright blush on your cheeks, they knew what was happening, and rejected you before you could give them the flowers and confess. You hugged the bouquet close as they explained their situation, and even after, you still held out the flowers to them. “So, your identity is more complex than I knew, but all our time together still happened. And if you change identities, it’ll be like a change in color. Definitely different, even changing the meaning, but the base is still the same, you’ll still remember our time together even as someone else.” And since that moment, no matter what came, you never left them.

   Gundham Tanaka:

·       The moment Gundham met the Super High School Level Vet, Gundham fell head over heels for them. They were an intimidating, brutish, scarred from battles past, every last feature was terrifying, their features sharp, everything about them commanded the respect of all, even getting his Dark Devas to be weary of them at first sight.

·       Caring for animals was a tricky job, it often involved getting scratches and bites, but you also needed to be patient and kind. You needed to be respected but also not appear hostile. A balance you embodied, looking fierce, yet you were so gentle and sensitive to others around you.

·       The pair of you always spent time looking after his many animals, tending to any injuries or illnesses they possibly could have gotten.

·       You also tended to Gundham Tanaka himself, much to his flustered, blushing protest. “I have no such injures of which you speak!” “Tanaka, you can’t even hold a pencil you hand is hurting so bad. Please let me at least look at it.” He kept refusing till some students came by asking if he were alright, fearing the scary looking person who kept looming around him all day. “Pathetic! Of such a low level you can’t even decern one’s true nature!” Then he stomped off till finally he found you. “My Emperor!” “Hey Tana-” “I seek thy aid, for only one of your caliber could even remotely stand a chance of resisting my poisoned skin, let alone tent to the curse that plagues this mortal form!” You just silently stared at him for a moment before you started fussing over him, clutching his jacket since you wanted to hug him. “What happened!? Did it get worse!? Tell me EVERYTHING about how you feel! Do you think it’s infected!? How does it hurt!? Does it sting or burn, or what!?” Gundham himself began to panic, unsure as to how to calm and put you at ease, never before seeing you worried to the point of tears forming in the corners of your eyes! However, you did quickly settle down, getting serious tending to his wound…

·       And even as you did so, you avoided touching him. If you needed to apply ointment, you’d use a q-tip, you’d do anything you could to not touch him… Even you tending to him sent his heart racing, showing vulnerability, he was used to giving the care, not the other way around. He felt vulnerable in a way, he showed you he was hurting, but you were so gentle with him, so aware of him, even stopping and giving him a moment to pause and collect himself.

·       Someone so attentive and understanding… He groaned, embarrassed at how giddy, and excited, and nervous even the mere thought of you made him.

   Kazuichi Soda:

·       He was terrified of you at first, even going so far as to actively avoid you. But then he met you. The moment he did so he was so confused as to how he found you scary? After actually taking to you, he found you, looks and all so adorable! He’d gush to anyone and everyone about how kind and amazing and sweet you were. He’d defend you to the death if a person even made the smallest negative comment about you, much to your complete embarrassment.

·       After becoming your boyfriend Kazuichi would always hang around you, cooing over everything that was you, shattering any intimidating precents you had with the man hugging your arm, speaking in such a sickeningly sweet tone with sparkling eyes.

·       Feeling like the world was against you, Kazuichi spent all his time with you to make up for it. No matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to he insisted on giving you all the affection you so rightly deserve!

·       When you weren’t embarrassed by the man’s antics you’d be just as affectionate in return. As he tinkered on whatever you’d hug him from behind, sighing, and nuzzling into the nape of his neck, tickling him, distracting him from his work. He’d giggle, giddy out of his mind at having someone so sweet and adorable love him almost as much as he loved you!

·       If Kazuichi caught even one person giving you a funny look, he’d just hug and snuggle you with a pout, glaring at others.

·       “Kazu, you don’t have to defend me from everyone. I know I’m not exactly the most approachable looking.” “What!? No! You are gorgeous! Adorable! Beautiful! Don’t self-deprecate yourself!” “I’m not, I just… I know you’re affectionate, but you don’t have to be so protective, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this every time. I just want you to enjoy yourself not feel like you have to be my knight in shining armor or something.” “Well, I can’t enjoy myself if others are being jerks!” Kazuichi would never admit it to you, but he felt guilty. He knew what it was like to be bullied, for others to make comments. He also felt guilty for judging you so much before meeting you. he was once scared with a person he instantly fell in love with after finally talking to them. He just wanted to make up for that, he wanted to say he was sorry… And feeling you hug him, thank him for being your knight, he was reminded all over why he loved such a sweet person so much, and he was determined to give you all the love he could to make up from being so cruel before.

   Teruteru Hanamura: part 1

·       Teru had a rather interesting relationship with the new delivery person. You weren’t mean, but your whole aura was rather intimidating with your cold demeanor and with how muscular you were. Yet of all people, you were warm and kind to him. You merrily chat about your day, or about anything. You’d get a laugh out of his flirting, even try and miserably fail at flirting back, something Teru found endlessly endearing. Whatever made Teru special he honestly didn’t care, just enjoying your company so much.

·       After your hard work, well hard for most but for you it was just seemingly light stretches, Teru would cook a hearty meal for you to keep you going for the rest of the day! It was his favorite thing to do before opening the restaurant, just that single quiet moment of enjoying a meal with you.

·       Teru could find something attractive about anyone, but with you… well you were certainly attractive, a stallion, a ten out of ten to him, but he found he so quickly grew feelings for you. True a person’s personality or voice could be sexy but there was something different about it with you. But whatever it was, didn’t matter to him, all he knew was that he just wanted to spend more time with you, and whatever you did together didn’t matter to him, as long as you were together.

·       You sighed, taking another bite. “Is something the matter?” “I’m just going to miss this.” “What?” You didn’t even glance his way, simply continuing to enjoy your meal. “Yeah, I gotta move soon. I’ve actually stayed here much longer than I should, but… I just couldn’t resist sticking around longer ‘cause of you… again.” “Ah, well… that’s too bad. It’s been rather fun having you around.” “It’ll be alright. I know you’ll be fine without me. Actually, I’d like to ask you to make a promise to forget me.” “Forget you!? How in tarn- AH I- Ahem- How could I do that!?” You simply smiled and laughed, just as you did before. You placed a hand on his cheek, gently caressing him with your thumb. “You’re the only person I can call a friend. I know you can keep this promise, that’s just the kind of person you are. Sure, you’re a bit raunchy, but you truly are kind and care for others. You could never let me feel guilty about leaving you behind.” Teru was silent for a moment, just taking in what you said. “When will you be leaving?” “Uh… I should say tomorrow, but I’m thinking a week.” A week? Teru could work with that!

·       “Please go on a date with me!” “… Huh?” In complete bafflement you just let Teruteru take your hands into his, a determined glint in his eyes. “If you’ll be leaving I want to make the most of the time we have left!” “…oh… uh… o-okay, we could do that.”

·       And so, the week was filled with date after date, going all out with no inhibitions doing anything you could think of from watching a movie to sky diving. Wherever you went Teru always had a packed meal on hand for the pair of you to enjoy. It was honestly the best week of either of your lives. And all too quickly it had already passed you by.

·       Standing on the bridge in the park you stood side by side watching the sun rise. “Well, that’s it, I better get going. I really enjoyed this, just as always. Thank you.” “Now hold on a moment, you can’t go just yet!” He held out a small plastic container to you. “You need a good meal for the road! Don’t know where you’re going, but wherever it is, it’d be a downright shame if I left you hungry along the way!” You simply stared at him for a moment before the softest, most earnest of smiles he had ever seen creased your lips. So tenderly you took the container. “… Some things never change I suppose… At least I know you can still keep that promise.” Then without so much as explaining your strange words, you disappeared as if you never even were there. It was sad for Teru, yet something in him knew he’d see you again, and that thought let him go back to his everyday life as if you never appeared, yet after that life just seemed more lively to him, just like those later years back in Hope’s Peak, though as to why that time seemed livelier he couldn’t quite remember.

  Nekomaru Nidai:

·       Being a rather intimidating looking guy with a heart of gold, Nekomaru took to understanding your situation quickly. Both of you being athletic and getting rather larger builds it just kinda naturally happened.

·       Being the exceedingly kind individual you were others often took advantage of that. Even if you knew it was bad you couldn’t bring yourself to not help others in need for even the smallest of things. This was not something Nekomaru could stand, but finding you standing out in the rain for two days straight was the last straw and the man insisted on training you! You were a bit nervous at first not wanting to take up so much of your best friend’s time, but with some reassurances Nekomaru managed to warm you up, both literally and metaphorically to the training.

·       At some point the training turned into days out, going hiking up mountains, or jogging on beaches, swimming in lakes and doing crossfit, sometimes going out for walks in the night, exploring the city looking for things to do, perhaps some karaoke, some slow dancing by moon light, and yeah you two just ended up dating without meaning too.

·       The pair of you always came up with excuses like the slow dancing was training in balance, no you totally did not want to dance because it was a beautiful night and you could hear ballroom music not far in the distance, no that was totally not it, that’d be dumb… or so you kept telling yourself in these moments so you would not confess to the man fearing he really did only see these outings as training and nothing else.

·       That was till you overheard Nekomaru chatting with his classmates, one of them asking how his ‘date’ with you went and he spoke of your beautiful hike up the mountains, not even batting an eye at their wording. Did… did he not notice, or just not care? Did this mean he liked you too? Or did you mishear? Quickly getting frustrated with this line of thinking you decided to just settle this!

·       “There you are-” “I have something to tell you!” The man silently stood there, just waiting. Okay, this was it, and you took a deep breath. “I… I REALLY LIKE YOU!” “I REALLY LIKE YOU TOO! YOU ARE A CHERISHED FRIEND OF MINE!” “NO, I MEAN- I-I-I LOVE YOU, I THINK!? I DON’T KNOW!” “I LOVE YOU TOO, A LOT IN FACT!” “N-NOT AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOU!” “OH YEAH!?” “YES! SO MUCH!”

·       Screaming your feelings for one another was a very common occurrence in the relationship. Even if one of you simply caught sight of the other off in the distance you’d yell ‘I love you’s, which more often than not scared or startled the people around you hearing such loud, booming voices out of nowhere.

·       Life with Nekomaru could be a bit much at times, but it was well worth it for such an amazing guy.

   Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu:

·       You were perfect for him.

·       You didn’t have any reputation really, but wherever you went people knew not to mess with you. Your mere presents not much but if one got close, they could feel this unsettling air about you making them go away. You, being the Super High School Level Street Fighter knew how to defend yourself from most attackers so Fuyuhiko didn’t have to worry about your safety like he’d have to with most others like the majority of his old classmates like Hajime.

·       You were also the most kind and sweet person he had met. Behind closed doors you’d always have you arms open for Fuyuhiko. You’d hold him close, just let him listen to your steady heartbeat and make him feel so safe and secure. His favorite thing was to just cuddle with you.

·       He also liked you being by his side, it served a dual purpose. One: if somehow when meeting some rival gang his reputation didn’t precede him, you were enough to intimidate them at a glance, despite his own baby face. The second and much more important to him, just being with you. True you were well equipped to handle yourself, but you were still human can had come back home to him plenty of times with new scars not from your usual fights, so by your side he and Peko could protect you.

·       He also liked how you were with his subordinates. You were strict, showing no signs of weakness, more than willing to put them in their place should it be needed, yet that didn’t stop you from being kind. You’d do research for days on end trying to find the perfect birthday gift them. You’d train their kids by hand in all ways of fighting, but not for attacking but self-defense, their parents were in a dangerous job so your ‘day job’ of being a children’s fighting instructor helped to place their minds at ease a little.

·       If he could he’d go on for hours singing your praises. You were perfect for him in every single way without a single doubt.

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: prince xiao x servant gn reader

req: no | wc: 1.62k | royal au

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (you are here) | part 5

taglist: @hanniejji

a/n: low graphic pic

The following days at the palace are tense. Nobody wants to speak about Rex Lapis’s death, in fear that it will spike a new argument. Servants that rush and bustle around the halls can barely even stare at each other, for the siblings’ fights are so harsh and loud that their horrible words still ring in their ears.

Before, as the servants dined together, they spread hearsay. Now the dining hall is silent, with the only sound being cutlery and plates. Each loud clunk of cutlery against porcelain is piercing in their ears.

Rex Lapis upheld a certain peace. With his death, there was anticipation around the corner of every action. Would the kingdom collapse? Who would take the spot of monarch?

The Adepti’s meeting with the Liyue Qixing was only in a few days. If the reunion failed to find a new ruler, doom would surely initiate.

But that was not a servant’s burden. For now, as one of the most trusted, you were to speak with the funeral parlor to begin preparations for the Rite of Parting.

It had been many years since the last Rite of Parting took place, a parting wish for one of the Adepti. Each one was directed and prepared by the Wangsheng Funeral parlor, the only funeral parlor in the kingdom. Their current director was infamous for her humorous spirit, rare for solemn occasions, but however they may behave, the Rite of Parting will not be a matter to be laughed at.

Their consultant was also famous, even in his short term of work. He was known to be calm, reserved, polite, and extremely knowledgeable. Though his reputation did not prepare you to see your supposedly dead king again.

He smiles politely at you from his office chair while you gape at him. Gathering your manners, you greet him with a bow, “Pleasure to be doing business with you, mr. Zhongli. I’m-”

“(y/n), yes I know. Take a seat.”

He may not look like Rex Lapis and he may not have the exact same mannerisms, but this was your king. You were sure of it.

“Rex-”

“Zhongli.” He corrects. “Not many people have seen through my disguise, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

You gulp, nodding. “I’m here to discuss the Rite of Parting.”

He cuts you off for the last time, “I know, and that is taken care of. Here is the contract, it has all the information you need. All you need is to take it to the Adepti and they will discuss it, but I have a feeling there’s information that you want.”

“I… yes, there is.” You gulp back the shock. This man in front of you is your dead king, but he’s going by the name of Zhongli. “Wha… why?”

“I’ve always been disconnected from my citizens. Despite this, they depend on me far too much.” He speaks of conflicting matters, yet he speaks of them so calmly and simply, even busying himself with paperwork as he does. “They create a false image of me, and they praise those ideologies. There are many things that they say I do, many ways that they say I behave, and amplified many qualities that I have always shown to be something greater. I was flawed, yet they thought of me as perfect. The people no longer followed a king, instead, they followed the pseudo-god of their imaginations.”

A frown paints his lips, and with a sip of tea, he smiles once more. “I am a regular man just like any other. I have desires and I have flaws and I deserve to take action on them. Do you understand now?”

“Yes.” It was true that the king was not perfect, just as Yuheng Keqing proposed. No person was perfect, and the same went for every monarch of each kingdom.

“You have more questions?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Who should be the new monarch?”

He smiles, in a cheeky way that you’d never seen on the king, “That’s making it too easy for you. Nevertheless, a question is a question. Who has governed Liyue for just as long as I have? Who upholds law and who helps the citizens? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the royal family.”

“The Liyue Qixing?”

“Precisely.” He clears his throat, “But like I said. I’m a regular man. All prophecies of mine are meant to be seen as suggestions, rather than definitive word.”

“Now, you must have something for me in return. I have given plenty of answers, so it’s time you give me some too. Why do you stay with the royal family? I formed this contract with you to become our servant. Now that Rex Lapis is dead, there’s no need to stay. Why are you still serving them?” That was a question you did not have a prepared response to, but one answer shone brightly in your mind.

“Xiao. He… I care for him, and he does for me.” It was simple, yet complicated. Simple, yet it showed all the feelings you had towards the prince.

“He was always attached to you.” Zhongli states as a matter of factly, in a way that brings warmth to your cheeks. “Just as the citizens of Liyue depended on me, he depended on you.” He chuckles, “Minus the fake ideologies part, of course.”

“Well,” He nudges the Rite of Parting documents your way, “I believe that is all. Good day, (y/n).”

“Good day, your majes-” He smiles, eyes crinkling as if he’s seeing an old friend.

“Have a nice day, Zhongli.”

“Welcome home.” Another thing you didn’t expect that day was Xiao waiting for you at the door of the palace, not to mention that he considered the place to be your home. “Where have you been?”

Ever since you comforted him, he was warmer with you. The loner prince who you knew nothing about suddenly became the person you knew the most about. You hadn’t noticed just how much he liked you until your meeting with Zhongli. “Gathering Rite of Parting documents. Where are the Adepti?”

Xiao griances, most likely remembering the horrible arguments from a few days prior. “Doing their own things. Can the meeting… wait for later? I don’t want to have a reenactment of what happened the other day at the moment.”

“Sure.” You nod. “I just need to drop off these papers with another servant. Is there anything you need afterwards?”

“I… have something to show you.” He looks at anything from you, arms behind his back. He seems nervous yet excited at the same time.

“Okay, I’ll be at your room as soon as I can.”

It seemed Xiao had a lot to show you. You had no idea what he had to show off, and you did not think it entailed leaving the city.

The prince walked ahead of you, leading the way. He didn’t dare look you in the eyes, and anything he said was short and to the point. Nevertheless, he did not seem to have a rude intention. He was merely nervous, and you know that because he’s showing the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express.

Xiao stops and sits on a rock platform once you reach your destination, the hill just about overlooking the kingdom’s harbor. “I sneak off to this place sometimes to look at the view. It clears my head.”

“Even after I tuck you into bed?” You ask, taking a seat next to him.

“I- yes.” He seems ashamed to admit it. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?” You give up on seeking his gaze, taking in the sight of the harbor instead. “I can see why you come here, the view is beautiful.”

It’s lucky that you’re no longer looking at him, because if you locked eyes while he glanced your way, the prince would’ve flushed red. “This wasn’t the only thing I wanted to bring you up here for.” Your beauty under the slowly setting sky of Liyue was magnificent, it almost made him trip over his words.

“Well, what do you have to say?” As the blue sky turns into hues of warm colors -reds, oranges, yellows- it blends in with the warmth of Liyue. The beauty of it has you captured, but Xiao has seen it plenty of times.

“I like you.”

You turn to him to speak, which makes him immediately snap his head away from you. “Xiao, I-” Before you can assure him that you reciprocate his feelings, he cuts you off.

“I know a relationship would only burden you and distract you from your duties. I know that perhaps you wouldn’t have time for me. But… could we at least try?”

The warmth on his cheeks is forgotten when you laugh, which makes Xiao snap his head at you. Clearly he wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction from you. “Xiao, I was going to say I liked you back.”

“Oh.” He claps a hand over the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide his hot blush. Color stands out between and above his fingers.

Your laugh almost humiliates him more. “You won’t burden me, Xiao! You’d cause more joy than anything.”

He nods slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay.” You repeat. “Do you.. want to kiss?”

Xiao moves his hand just a bit, uncovering one of his cheeks, an invitation to kiss him there. He’s most likely never kissed anybody on the lips, so you’d have to save that for later.

Though a mere kiss on the cheek seems to overwhelm him. As much as you want to, you don’t tease him about it.

“Come on, let’s head back, my prince. It’s getting dark.”

My prince… no more ‘your highness’ from now on.

[prose-for-hire]

The vampire that came to tea

Pairing: Spike x fem!reader

Request: Could I request a Spike x fem reader where you’ve secretly been dating for a while but then your parents find out so you arrange to introduce Spike to your family and he acts like a gentleman and is really shy because he is trying to make a good impression? Thank you :)

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Tiny blood mention, no injury.

You were Spike’s girlfriend. But nobody knew. You had kept it secret, on your request. You loved him to death and beyond but you wanted something lowkey. Personal and romantic.

Once you explained that was the reason why and not because you were ashamed of him, he agreed to keep your relationship a secret. For the time being.

It wasn’t what people expected when they saw you, and it definitely wasn’t what they expected when they saw him. He was the bad boy type and you were sort of shy and soft with others.

Opposites on the outside. But, you know what they say about opposites.

You didn’t know why, but your relationship just worked. You never even questioned your love for each other. It just felt so right. So honest. You fit together so perfectly.

You had met by perfect chance. Some may have called it fate or even destiny. Spike would have just called that bollocks, but you liked to believe that the universe wanted you to be together. It was cosmic.

You had been a receptionist at an underground military base right here in Sunnydale. You had taken the job because it paid surprisingly well for a front desk job, not realising why until much later on.

You were part of a military unit, The Initiative they called it. They tested and tortured various demons and monsters that they found on the Hellmouth you lived on. Of course, at the time you didn’t know you were living on a Hellmouth.

You had been employed for a few months until you were asked to bring some files down to one of the testing areas. What you had seen had shocked you. And then angered you. Testing on animals upset you, and some of these demons looked really human too. So you didn’t know what to do.

Until one evening, you managed to swipe a key card and free as many demons as you could. Most were understanding and made for the exit whereas one tried to attack you.

Luckily, the last person you had let out – he looked human – managed to throw the demon away and use you as a human shield to get you out of the building and away from the military force that was coming towards you.

Spike had then taken you as a hostage, allowing him to get out of the Initiative. He had actually let you go, a sort of thank you for helping him out (you realised a lot later that he could have actually tried to do worse. But he felt it like you had, that spark. You had been so sure of it).

He stalked away but you had followed him, trying to keep up with him and babbling away about how you had just lost your job and probably your house. He raised an eyebrow at you, at how friendly you were despite him having changed and held his fangs so close to your neck as if he would bite. Eventually he tried to shake you off, he needed to find somewhere to hide. You just nodded at each other and ran your separate ways.

Luckily, on account of being held hostage and all, you weren’t fired from your job. It actually came in very useful after you made friends with Buffy and the others and could help get them into the building undetected.

You and Spike had grown fond of each other, eventually he professed his love for you in his usual way. If he could have taken his own heart from his chest and presented it to you he would have. You had near-wept telling him that you loved him too, that being his girlfriend would be a dream come true.

You adored each other and cherished every second you spent together. Which was a lot. He brought you flowers, sometimes they were even alive. He never left a day without telling you how much he loved you. And he always treated you as if you were the only person fit to be living in this world.

You disagreed on things, sure. And you could argue like anything sometimes. But no matter what, you never went to sleep angry. You just adored each other too much. Wanted the best for each other.

He would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and knew you would do the same in return. Life was bliss.

So, one evening you broached the idea of sharing your love with those closest to you. With the world.

He jumped at the chance. He wanted to show you off. Wanted to rub it in Xander’s face seeing as he knew the boy had been crushing on you since he met you (unknown to you). Then you explained, slightly apprehensively that your father had seen him dropping you off at your parents house and they had asked about him. You had decided it might be time you introduced them.

He hesitated more at this request. Not because he didn’t want to take this step, he would want you to meet his mother if you could (before she was turned, obviously). He paused for a moment and then nodded, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you against him. He pressed so many kisses against your skin that evening, there wasn’t a single stretch of skin that hadn’t been caressed by his lips.

He was nervous but determined. That quiet courage he always held against his chest. The sweet nature you knew was hidden under his bad boy image was sure to shine through. You were sure of it.

He had even dressed up – he was wearing the leather jacket with the least amount of blood and rips on it. He had even brought your mother some flowers (He had ‘borrowed’ them from some unsuspecting guy down the street – but if the man will just stand there with such a loose grip on them). You had frowned, but, I guess the thought was there. Plus, your Mum would probably like the flowers. They looked pretty.

“Just, be yourself – they’ll love you” You insisted in a hushed tone, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

You knocked on the door as Spike read the card that said ‘in sympathy’ on it. He pulled it from the bouquet and pocketed it quickly before thrusting it at your mother before she had finished the last syllable of her greeting.

“Come in, come in!”

He made sure that you entered the home before him and your father saw the gesture and nodded at him. Shaking his hand in greeting. Your mother put the flowers away and you all stood in the hall, taking your jackets off.

There was some small talk and Spike was uncharacteristically quiet despite your parents’ friendly nature. If he didn’t have you by his side he probably would have turned and ran. He was nervous, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

He had expected more suspicion and interrogation but they appeared to be happy to invite him into their home. He was still expecting them to snap, turn around and throw him out at any moment though.

You were eventually ushered to the dining room where your parents began to broach something with Spike.

“We, uh, asked y/n if you had any dietary requirements”

“Oh uh, no-” He started, he really didn’t want to be a bother.

“So, would you like your blood reheated or just cold?”

“Love!” He said incredulously looking at you. You had told them.

“It’s okay, they’re not stupid. Dad’s work colleague has a half-cousin who’s a vampire” You shrugged and Spike nodded, interested at this acceptance. He smiled at you, nodding and you smiled back.

“It’s normal here, we wouldn’t dream of judging you, son” Spike had gasped at the term. Eyes wide as he tried to play it off as cool.

There had been many figure in his life, and unlife, that he had wanted approval from and never received it. And here, where it had meant something a little extra, he had it without having to mould himself to be what the other wanted.

You smiled softly at his reaction, taking his hand in yours. He squeezed your hand tight, taking his strength from you. He really was completely in love you.

Spike had always been one for chivalry. He held doors and treated you with the ingrained ideas from his past. You adored it though, it was special. The meaning behind it and the fact that no matter how bad he acted you would always receive this care. This thoughtful gesture, even with the entire world watching.

But today, it was only your parents. They smiled as Spike just automatically pulled your chair out from the dining table before he went to sit in his own. He did it without even registering it most of the time.

After you sat down, Spike seemed to grow more confident. To be himself more than he had been before. He was beginning to feel more comfortable, despite still trying to stay in your parent’s good graces. He was becoming more animated as he spoke and he could tell that your parents were warming to him which made him practically glow.

You had warned him to keep topics such as torture, slayers and killing people to a minimum. And he obliged. He wanted them to like him after all. There were a few close-calls where he had to rein in what he was about to say. Change the endings to some of his anecdotes. But it was all going so well.

The thing about Spike was that it could be effortless. When he wanted people to like him and wanted to make that effort, he would. It was just in situations and people that he didn’t care for he could snap and be rude.

Luckily, chivalry and the idea of parental approval were still values he held to his heart despite denying it to anyone that wasn’t you. So, he was really making sure that he made the right impression.

His accent even switched in and out, he was pronouncing his words more his accent appearing to become standard register at times. More William. He couldn’t stop it, it happened of its own accord.

He listened intently, laughed in all the right places at what your parents said and adapted to their sense of humour easily. He slipped his hand under the table, reaching for you as the conversation continued. He just wanted to know you were there by his side.

“Blood’s the good stuff” Spike spoke approvingly, “Compliments to the chef” He was pacing himself, holding himself back from chugging the liquid licking the cup clean. He hadn’t tasted blood as good as this in a while.

Both of your parents smiled, they had made dinner together and sourced the blood too. They were very pleased with themselves.

“Yes, it’s human” Your mother nodded, without explanation.

“Mum!” You said, your eyes raised.

“What? He’s our guest. We couldn’t just give him some off-cuts” She insisted, “It would have been rude” She confirmed, nodding to herself.

Later on, after the meal had ended, you showed him the bedroom you had grown up in. He smiled, trying to imagine you living here. Looking through old pictures and trinkets.

He had the sudden pang of loss that he would never get to do this for you. Show you his childhood or the way he grew up. To introduce you to his mother. To the places he had hidden away when he grew up.

You soothed him, sensing a change in his mood. He looked sad but you didn’t press him for information, you knew he would probably confess it tonight. A shared bed, the safety to confess fears and honesty in a way that you only had with each other.

You leant against each other, a show of comfort, before returning back downstairs. This was so the guest of honour could take another victory lap. Your parents really did adore him. They saw how in love you both were. How much you completely unashamedly cared for the other. It was no act, anybody could see.

As the evening came to an end, you said your goodbyes. Your parents were already inviting you over for another meal in the near-future.

Despite how well it had gone, you were both able to relax more no that it was just the two of you. You sat in the car for a moment just gazing at the other softly under the dim light. It was relieving that you were in each other’s company. Both of you were pleased with how it had went but you adored time with each other. Where you could truly relax and be comfortable.

Spike had immediately launched into an enthusiastic review of the evening that made you smile softly towards him. He adored that smile of yours but he was too caught up in his excitement to remind you how much he loved it.

“You hear the way your Mum gushed about me on the phone to your relative? Right in the middle of dinner she just told them what for - that I’m probably the best in law they’ll ever meet”

“I’m glad you’re over your nerves at least” You giggled softly as his bravado returned.

He continued to gush the entire drive back home, where Spike was of course staying over. You couldn’t help smiling, he had slid his hand to rest on your thigh as he spoke. His eye was on the road but he was squeezing ever so lightly every time he got excited about retelling something that had just happened.

You glanced to the side as he spoke animatedly. Your sigh of contentment almost inaudible. You loved this man. You would never stop.

[jaskiersvalley]

I dont know why, but I didn't realise you had an ao3 account and I've just read "Write it better" it was so lovely. Oh gosh it made me well up. I love all your work and always read any post you make as soon as I see it. I'm so excited to make my way through your ao3 account!

There’s quite a few things coming to the AO3 account soon that won’t be posted on here :D I had signed up for a couple of events - the Geralt/Jaskier Big Bang posted last week and there are a couple of Reverse Big Bangs that will be posting soon too which I’m super excited about. While the posting date comes around for those, I can offer you a short fic on here as thanks for your kind words. <3

Heart to the Arrow

A witcher’s heart was protected under so many layers that Jaskier was certain nothing could ever get through it. Prickly, grumpy and smelly, witchers really had the whole shtick of ‘hurt others before they hurt you’ down to a tee. At first Jaskier had thought it was just Geralt who was like that. But then he met Lambert and Eskel. With Lambert the technique was so much more obvious, he snapped and snarled, lashing out at the smallest of perceived slights. Really, if Jaskier hadn’t known the technique from Geralt, he would have told Aiden to back away, that loving Lambert was a lost cause. Except for the hope that it wasn’t. Because if Aiden could convince Lambert he was loved then Jaskier would have a chance with Geralt too. And Cahir had hope with Eskel. That was a whole different kind of armour to break through. Rather than anger and indifference, Eskel shrouded himself in kindness, in helpful softness. As he travelled and Cahir followed, they went to safe cities where Cahir could start anew, met Eskel’s contacts who were or knew someone who was single and looking for a partner, and it just so happened Cahir fit their requirements. Eskel led them to safer areas where contracts were fewer but it was easier for Cahir to settle down, to leave Eskel.

The only good to come out of the Wolves being such stubborn idiots was that they invited their guests to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It made for an interesting little club, Jaskier, Aiden and Cahir together, lamenting how their Wolves were idiots.

“It’s all sharp armour. Nobody would be foolish enough to approach a fortress armed to the teeth,” Jaskier bemoaned.

“Except us. We’re like badgers with hedgehogs. Except with less murderous intent.” Aiden added. “Most of the time.”

Cahir nodded along. “If we can’t fire Cupid’s arrow at their hearts, we’re left to throw our own hearts at their arrows.”

“And maybe if we bleed enough, they’ll pull us in behind their walls and then we can strike.” Ever the poet, Jaskier sighed as he imagined it all. “But how much of our blood do they want?”

Their little meetings hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Wolves often gathered when the other were huddled in a room and they tried to fathom what on earth they could be talking about.

“Probably trading survival tips for the Path,” Eskel suggested. “I’ve tried to give Cahir so many outs, taken him to so many places he could have settled, introduced him to so many potential partners and allies. Yet none meet his standards.”

“Tell me about it. Jaskier’s turned down some court offers. Says he needs his inspiration and muse by his side.” Much more softly, Geralt added, “I know Roach is great but this is a bit ridiculous. Even for Jaskier.”

All through it Lambert had been quiet, mulling it all over. “Aiden’s probably teaching them how to stay safe alongside a witcher.” Which was a terrifying concept. “Fuck, they need someone more sensible to teach them!”

“Or they could be nursing broken hearts,” Vesemir gave his pups a firm stare as he looked up from the book he’d been reading.

As one, the Wolves shook their heads. “Nah, not possible. They’re learning survival tips.”

Lambert took it upon himself to crash the survival course, letting himself into the room. Three sets of eyes turned to him and he could hear the spike of heartbeats like a chorus of startled chicken.

“Broken hearts survival club?” He asked as a joke, wanting to mock Vesemir even if the old witcher wasn’t around to hear.

What he didn’t expect was for Jaskier’s face to soften and for Aiden’s heart to skip a beat. “You too? Who has ensnared your precious heart?”

Not at all what Lambert was expecting and he swallowed, eyes wide. He wanted to ask if this was serious, that the three really were there to lament broken hearts. His own heart lurched, knowing it was already bruised and barely held together. To know that Aiden held a torch for someone and didn’t trust him enough to say hurt worse than anticipated.

“Someone,” he said, shrugging. “It’s not important. He’s got his claws sunk into another heart.”

Diligently, Lambert didn’t look towards Aiden at all. He didn’t miss the shifting around though as Jaskier got up and approached him.

“Claws? Lambert-”

“It was just a stupid turn of phrase,” Lambert snapped. “Thought the poet in you would appreciate some flower language.”

He was steered towards the little huddle and sat down next to Aiden. Jaskier gently pressed a bottle in his hand and gave him an encouraging look. “Tell us more about who broke your heart.”

This was not a situation Lambert had ever intended to get into. He’d honestly thought he’d be helping Lambert teach the humans survival skills. Now, he needed help getting out of this mess without wrecking everything.

“Nobody’s broken my heart.” Three pairs of sad eyes stared at him. “It’s not big enough to break.”

“It’s plenty big enough,” Aiden cut in. “I know you too well to be fooled by that lie.”

Yet Aiden couldn’t see that Lambert’s heart was his for the reaping. He didn’t know Lambert well enough to see that all he had to do was ask and Lambert was his. Or maybe Lambert his his heart too well. It was all a little too confusing and poor Lambert felt like his head was going to explode.

“You don’t know me at all,” he spat and a pained silence blanketed the room.

Aiden’s harsh “don’t touch me!” broke the stillness as Cahir tried to put a soothing hand on his shoulder. There weren’t any tears but Aiden’s voice was still thick and tight.

“Maybe you don’t know me either. Maybe it’s time we went our separate ways. I’ll keep out of your way for the rest of winter.”

Lambert’s head was spinning. He had no idea what was going on anymore. Over the course of the years he and Aiden had said so much worse things to each other and hadn’t taken true offence. As Aiden tried to walk past him, he snagged his wrist and spun him, eyes pleading in place of the words he didn’t have. Begging for forgiveness, for Aiden to see what he couldn’t say.

“I think you’ve bled enough,” Cahir piped up out of the blue, watching the staring contest. A foot kicked him in the ankle and he cleared his throat with an apology. “Sorry Jaskier, what I mean is: and now kiss.”

That, at least, had the two witchers recoiling from their staring contest. Instead though, they were now looking at everything except each other.

“Did those claws do more damage?” Aiden asked softly, barely daring to hope. He gasped a little when Lambert nodded. He pulled at his wolf, urging him to stand. Turning to the other two, he offered a disbelieving smile. “I need to talk to Lambert. In private. Please excuse me.”

They left in a rush and Jaskier looked to Cahir. Now where were two of them left. Which was, of course, the moment Geralt stepped into the room.

“Don’t go into the corridor,” he grumbled. “Aiden and Lambert have finally pulled their heads out of their asses.”

“About time too.” There was only a hint of jealousy in Cahir’s voice. Lambert had come for Aiden. And now Geralt was there, looking at Jaskier. “Are all Wolves born with their heads up their ass? Or is one of the trials called The Great Stuffing?”

Giving them a confused look, Geralt’s brows pulled into a frown. “Have you been spurned by a witcher?” Realisation dawned on him. “Eskel?”

“Why do you think this is the Broken Hearts Club? Or rather, what’s left of it.”

Eyes turned from Cahir to Jaskier and Geralt was obviously doing mental gymnastics to figure it all out. A conclusion was reached when his jaw ticked and his pupils widened before narrowing as he fought to control his reactions.

“Come tend to Roach with me,” he offered Jaskier who bounced up and was almost out the door before remembering that his friend was still there and was about to be very much alone.

“I’m so sorry,” he said and Cahir nodded. This was fine. His friends deserved happiness. Little did he realise Jaskier wasn’t apologising for that. Instead, he threw his head back and, on the top of his lungs yelled, “Eskel!” then scurried away after Geralt.

The sound of rushing footsteps alerted Cahir to Eskel’s imminent arrival. He braced himself and put on a pleasant, if a little strained mask of being just fine.

“Did you call?” Eskel asked, hopeful as he stuck his head around the door.

“Jaskier. He and Geralt are in the stables. Lambert and Aiden hopefully in a bedroom.”

Sitting down heavily next to Cahir, Eskel huffed. “They finally got brave?”

Cahir didn’t want to think about what that really meant. Because then his heart would squeeze. The Wolves seemed to know about their affections and, it seemed, Geralt and Lambert even returned the feelings.

“Yeah. They did.” He turned to look at Eskel’s profile. This was fine. He could love from afar. Make sure Eskel didn’t travel alone, that someone had his back. A faithful friend. That was going to be enough for Cahir. He didn’t expect Eskel to turn to look at him, eyes dipping down to his lips.

“Do you think-” a tongue darted out to wet dry lips before Eskel continued, “-I could be brave too?”

They were already leaning towards each other, heads tipped to their noses wouldn’t bump painfully. Pausing just shy of Eskel’s mouth, Cahir whispered, “yes please” and they finally kissed.

[ircnkingdom-a]

➤  DRABBLE.  >>>  THE MESS WE MADE.

1762. St. Petersburg -- Russia.

❛ Are you absolutely sure you do not want me to accompany you ? ❜

❛ How many times are you planning to ask me that before you realize that my answer is going to remain unchanged ?  No, Gilbert --- I do not wish for you to tire yourself by accompanying me. I would much rather you stay right where you are, in bed where you should be, ❜

Gilbert felt his face scrunch up into a frown and was about to open his mouth to protest, but eventually decided that he did not have the energy to put up with Frederick’s stubborn nature at the moment. So he did the only thing he could do : he gave a long sigh, ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back in the process as he slumped back down onto the pillows waiting for him ; watching his lover be attended to by manservants as he got dressed for tonight’s event. It was no secret that Prussia always thought that his king was a handsome man, but something about seeing the latter dressed in something a little fancier than his uniform made him seem even more attractive. He smile coyly at the thought, taking note of all the little details like the way the light seemed to glint off of the silver trim lining the front of the coat, or the way the garment just seemed to hug his shoulders just right...

From the corner of his eye, Frederick easily caught the way his nation was staring at him, which coaxed a soft, amused scoff and a smile of his own out of him.  With a discreet wave of his hand, he dismissed the servants who both promptly bowed towards their monarch and took their leave. The king glanced at his reflection in the mirror one more time, waiting for the sound of the door closing shut before finally walking over towards the bed where Gilbert was and sat at the edge ; taking hold of his lover’s hand as he did so.

❛ Besides, even if I wanted you by my side, Monsieur Siedel would not be too happy to know that you were out dancing the night away instead of resting, ❜

❛ Please, mon amour, ❜ Gilbert huffed, ❛ Siedel was not too keen on allowing me to travel with you to St. Petersburg, yet here I am, ❜

❛ Only because you would not stop incessantly asking the man, you stubborn fool, ❜ It was Frederick’s turn to sigh, giving Gilbert’s hand a reprimanding pat. As much as he disliked doctors, Georg Siedel was one of the few that he could confidently say he could trust --- At least when it came to his nation’s health, that is. And for once, he was on the doctor’s side : he was not exactly pleased when Prussia decided to come along with him to St. Petersburg, upon being invited by the Tsar himself. Even though Gilbert’s condition had started to show remarkable signs of improvement since Russia withdrew from the war ( a miracle that Frederick would never stop being grateful for, surely ), his health was still fragile and everyone but Gilbert himself had agreed that he was in no condition to travel such a long way.

In the end, there was little he, Siedel --- Hell, not even Reiner could do to dissuade Prussia from going with his king to Russia at Tsar Peter’s invitation. He could be as stubborn as a rock when he wanted to be. Perhaps that is why they made such a good pair together.

❛ What can I say ? ❜ Gilbert grinned cheekily, shoulders bouncing in a light shrug as he squeezed his love’s hand right back, ❛ I learned from the best, ❜

The king scoffed in reply, rolling his eyes sarcastically before giving his head a light shake. Contrary to what most people would think, Frederick was well aware of just how headstrong he could be. These past seven years spent in wartime had proven to him that the trait could be both his greatest strength and his most tragic flaw. Unaware of the frown that was starting to form on his face, he felt his gaze shift discreetly towards Gilbert’s side, knowing full well the scar that lay hidden beneath the shirt he was wearing ; a brutal reminder of where letting hubris get to his head could lead to.

Gilbert did not fail to notice the way Frederick was looking at him and, after following the line of his gaze, knew exactly what his lover was thinking about. He shifted uncomfortably in place, which seemed to snap Fritz out of his reverie, ❛ Frederick --- ❜

❛ Are you feeling alright ? ❜

Pale brows furrowed at being interrupted and at failing to dodge the hand that had reached out to feel his forehead and pat his cheek, searching for signs of a fever. Honestly, Fritz did not have to look very far --- His flushed face, sweat drenched hair, and pink tinged cheeks said it all, ❛ You feel warmer than you were earlier, Gilbert. Your temperature might have spiked higher in the last hour --- Should I call for Siedel before I go ? ❜

❛ Fritz, mon cher, I have been running a fever since we left camp and believe me when I say it is the absolute least of my worries. I have been through worse, I will be fine, ❜ Gilbert said in the most reassuring tone he could muster, adding a firm nod to punctuate his point. In any case, there was little anyone could do about the perpetual fever plaguing him, apart from keeping him comfortable. As long as the economic situation of the kingdom was in shambles, his health was going to mirror that state too. ❛ I will send for Siedel if I need him, I promise, ❜ A pause, ❛ Please promise me you will not spend the rest of the evening thinking about me and whether or not I am alright, ❜

❛ And what sort of a foolish request is that ? ❜ Frederick wrinkled his nose and frowned, ❛ You might as well ask me to cease breathing, ❜

❛ Then will you promise to at least try ? ❜ Gilbert pleaded ; the sheets rustling as he moved to close the distance between him and the other, ignoring the stern look being directed at him. ❛ I would hate to think of you appearing so distracted when you are supposed to be celebrating this new alliance of ours, ❜

❛ I am your king, Prussia. It is my job to worry about you, ❜ Especially when I am the reason why you are like this, Frederick wanted to add, but decided to keep that tidbit to himself for now. A smile ghosted over his lips when he felt his lover press his forehead against his own, blue eyes blinking open to stare directly into a pair of golden ones, more beautiful than the finest pieces of amber on earth, ❛ Why ? Are you concerned that the Russians would take offense at my seemingly perpetually displeased expression ? ❜

They both had to chuckle at that little quip, ❛ Not as concerned as I am over the fact that poor Peter might break his back bending backward trying to remedy what makes you look so upset, ❜ Gilbert mumbled discreetly, which got him a laugh in return.

❛ Now, mon cher, is that any way to speak of our most important ally ? ❜

❛ As I said before, mein liebling, I learned from the best, ❜

Prussia giggled back, looking around to make sure nobody was around before he leaned forward and caught his monarch’s lips in a tender kiss, which was eagerly returned. Gilbert allowed his hand to trail up Frederick’s arm until it eventually settled on the man’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze as they parted from their kiss. ❛ Alright --- Last chance to change your mind. Are you sure you do not want me to go --- ❜

❛ For the absolute last time, no ! ❜

Gilbert knew Frederick was trying to be stern, but he could not help the bout of laughter that erupted from his lips as he was gently shoved away and back down to the pile of pillows. It was more or less the reaction he was expecting, anyway. ❛ Do not make me order you to stay down in that bed, Prussia. As much as I hate to pull that card on you, I will --- ❜

❛ Okay, okay, ❜ He said, raising his hands defensively only to wince at the pain all his laughing had brought on. It was damn near impossible to miss the way his monarch’s expression shifted from being annoyed at his insistence to one of alarm, ❛ I am fine, ❜ Gilbert cut him off before he could say anything, waving a dismissive hand, ❛ It is alright, just a little twinge but I... I will be fine, ❜

It did not take long for Frederick’s brows to knit together into a frown. Honestly, did Gilbert really expect him to believe that flimsy excuse---

❛ Your Majesty, Baron von der Goltz has arrived, ❜

Gilbert almost thanked the aide for his perfect timing,  trying not to smile too wide at his love’s annoyance at having the chance to fuss over him snatched out from right under his nose.

❛ Very well, ❜ Frederick sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to just trust his nation’s word for now. Rising from his spot on the bed, he looked over his shoulder to address the aide, ❛ Tell him to wait outside and that I shall be with him shortly, ❜

❛ Yes, Your Majesty, ❜

The sound of boots pacing the floor retreated as the soldier left to go relay his monarch’s message until the king and his nation were left alone once more. ❛ It seems it is time for you to go, ❜ Gilbert smiled, although he was unable to keep the hint of sadness out of his tone now that he knew he had to part with his beloved. But he quickly shook that off, hoping that Fritz did not pick up on it, ❛ Well go on ! I do not want to be the reason why you are late ! ❜

❛ Oh quit your fussing, I am leaving already !  ❜

The Prussian nation pouted, only to have that expression shift into a more pleasant one when he felt his love quickly press his lips against his own, ❛ Enjoy yourself, my love, ❜ Gilbert whispered.

❛ Mm. I will try, ❜ Fritz replied, ❛ I will most likely be back late. Do not stay up waiting for me --- I mean it, ❜

❛ I know, mein liebling, ❜ He had to fight not to openly roll his eyes, ❛ Now quit your fussing and just leave. You are going to be late ! ❜

❛ Fine, I am leaving ! ❜ The other said, turning on his heel to make his way out of the bedroom suite, pausing as he reached the doors when Gilbert called out to him.

❛ Send my regards and apologies to the Tsar for not being able to attend, ❜

❛ I will, ❜ Frederick nodded, stealing another lingering gaze at Prussia before finally turning his gaze back towards the door as the servants on the other side swung it open for him. If he did not stop glancing at Gilbert when he did, he feared he would never leave, ❛ I will see you later, Monsieur von Beilschmidt, ❜

❛ Until then, Your Majesty, ❜ Gilbert responded with a small, respectful nod ; dropping most of the romantic affection in his tone now that he was aware that there were others listening in to their conversation. It was a well-rehearsed act between them, to be able to go from acting like a pair of lovers to assuming the professional, vaguely friendly relationship that most people would expect from between a monarch and his country. And while it did make Gilbert’s heart pang with sadness to know that they had to hide the true nature of their relationship from anyone who simply could not understand that yes, two men can fall in love the way that they did, it also filled him with a sense of excitement. It was their little secret, something that was shared between the two of them and nothing could ever take that away.

He watched as Frederick disappeared through the double doors, allowing his gaze to drop down to his lap when they were closed shut again ; and for the first time, he let the act drop and practically sank into his covers, staring up at the ornately decorated ceiling. Calling the previous Tsarina’s death and Tsar Peter’s ascension to the throne a ‘Miracle’ was not an exaggeration --- God only knew what would have become of him and his country if not for that extremely fortunate turn of events. But he knew there was still a long road ahead of them before they could finally secure Silesia, win the war, and finally begin the grueling road to recovery.

Gilbert breathed out a long sigh and closed his eyes. One step at a time, he told himself. He had faith that Frederick was going to be able to see them through this mess --- A mess that he was partly responsible for, but that hardly mattered to Gilbert --- Not when he could see his love trying hard to make up for it all.

Turning over to his non-injured side, he pulled the covers over him and tried to drift off into sleep. He would write back to his brother about how he was doing when he awoke. For now, he figured he should at least attempt to get some proper rest, ‘lest he wanted to find himself at the end of a lecture later on.

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute oneshot in which Mute meets someone close to Smoke - or: Witness Two Boners Die In Slow Motion. (Rating M/E, sexual content + humour, fluff, ~5k words)

.

“You’re what he came for.”

Mute’s eyes slide over in suspicion and despite the unexpected statement, he leans back to maintain an aura of nonchalance. His interest is piqued, however, directed at the handsome features made more attractive by a genuine smile. Even more by the fact that his curious stare is reciprocated with quick glances now and then, like someone wanting to dance but too shy, like seeking reassurance. Like checking availability. Mute knows better than to display a large neon sign saying VACANT and yet he refuses to do the opposite. “That so?”

“Aye.” Sledge takes a sip, not letting the object of Mute’s attention out of his eyes either. “Dressed up for ya, he did.”

It’s one of Rainbow’s first outings and meant to strengthen the so far loose bonds between the international operators – as of now, country ties bind them together more closely than interests and Six astutely remarked on having to change this if they’re meant to form a coherent unit. Therefore, they spent the day suffering team-building exercises and are now out drinking together. Invitations were polite but firm and so most of them came, some earlier, some later, some left already. Mute was punctual and delighted to see Sledge, a Scotsman with whom he’s worked together in the past, if briefly. They maintain a professional friendship which runs deep enough for Mute to consider meeting up with him off duty.

Smoke was late. Possibly on purpose, seeing as the first two whisky and coke noticeably impeded Mute’s judgement; inhibitions and standards have lowered. Nonetheless, he’s noticed the man’s cat-like movements favourably before and would be lying if he claimed his gaze didn’t linger where it should’ve brushed over. Now especially, watching the tight t-shirt cling to Smoke for dear life, the loose boots and well-fitting jeans flattering his legs, hair messily combed back like he already rolled in the hay before coming here and honestly, that wouldn’t make it any less hot. The opposite, if anything. A sated Smoke still hungering for him, not able to help himself? Hell yes.

Mute is occupying a booth, long legs stretched out into empty space and not yet ready to embark on his third journey of peaty pop, so he merely wipes the condensation off his glass and wonders whether he should try to approach this the classy way, and if so, what that would look like. Or whether it really matters in the grand scheme of things – if either of them remembers this night in a few years, they definitely won’t focus on their first interaction that day. Time moves at a sluggish pace yet Mute is filled with an increasing impatience. He knows he’s not meant to be right here, right now, not when there’s a perfectly good bed both in his and in Smoke’s room.

“Why for me?”, he asks and it’s vanity speaking. He’s not wondering whether he’s Smoke’s target, not when it’s made abundantly clear by absent-minded lip biting and fiddling with hair and almost dropping the phone and maybe he’s making Smoke nervous by staring at him. He enjoys the thought. Smoke is older and with a much bigger gob, plus he’s a vain bastard with too much confidence. Mute doesn’t know how he caught his eye, but he wants to hear why Sledge thinks he did.

“‘S just his modus operandi. He thinks breaking in the newbies in the SAS is gonna earn him a merit badge in the long run.”

Smoke looks over and offers a smile, a small, tentative thing, and Mute is too slow – his heartbeat reacts faster than he does, spikes in anticipation, but his facial muscles need a moment. He allows his enjoyment to bleed into his expression once he’s overcome the shock of just how fucking good Smoke looks and when their gazes meet once more, they’re both smiling. Just then, the group around the other man breaks out into laughter and Smoke joins, too late, obviously missed the punchline and fuck. That’s – Mute takes a big gulp to cool down a little.

“That’s what he does? Go after the young ones?” Not a deal breaker, but leaving behind an unpleasant taste on his tongue. Imagining them old and still gunning for a few decades below their own age isn’t part of Mute’s definition of sexy.

“No. The new ones. Nothing to do with age.” Tearing his eyes off the topic of their conversation is harder than he thought. Sledge doesn’t seem to be sugar coating, not with how earnest he looks. “If they’ve been with us for less than two, three years, he’ll pursue. No clue why. Blackmail material, maybe, or some warped sense of accomplishment. You won’t find a single troop where nobody has let him have a go.”

Interesting. Sledge’s tone of voice conveys exactly what he thinks of this achievement but to Mute, it makes Smoke all the more alluring. “Is he any good?”

The scandalised reply almost makes him laugh: “You’re not gonna fuck him, lad. You barely know him.”

While correct, it’s hardly a reason not to fuck Smoke. “That’s the point”, Mute explains despite the outrage in Sledge’s face, “less likely to get attached, the both of us. Early on is the best time to fuck anyone – later on it’s all ‘don’t sleep with his ex’, ‘don’t sleep with my best friend’, and maybe I wouldn’t ever wanna fuck anyone if I knew them enough. No chance of knowing it better when I’m lacking all the details.”

“That’s a horrendous point of view”, Sledge states, not even causing Mute’s grin to waver. “And what if he turns out to be a tosser?”

“I don’t plan on making a habit out of this anyway. He wants a quick shag, I want a quick shag. Besides, I do hope he’s a tosser, then I won’t have to worry about getting him off.”

Giving up, fortunately, seems to be the only course of action Sledge still sees. “Alright. Go on then, lad. Hope you’ll have no regrets.” He leaves behind an empty bench perfect for a tight little arse to squeeze in instead.

And Mute doesn’t have to wait long.

You’re what he came for, echo the words through his mind, prompting a giddy recklessness flaring up once he’s joined in the booth. The sizzling is audible and his drink forgotten in favour of attentive eyes drilling into his skull. I’m not calling back after tonight, Mute decides and remains unsure whether it’s out of self-preservation or vindictiveness. He’s too pretty, fingers curling around a glass, black strands falling into his forehead, body language open and inviting and provocative.

“I heard you’re the prodigy around here”, Smoke addresses him, still fully in control over his tongue. He can’t have had much yet.

“I heard you’re fucking your way through the Blades”, Mute responds politely, and the smile grows.

“Only the good ones.”

Cheeky. The hand on his knee goes uncommented and his silence is taken as the very encouragement it was intended. “How do you tell them apart?”

“What colour shirt did I wear yesterday?”

His palm burns and Mute wishes he could show Sledge how he feels in this moment, alight under a smouldering, watchful gaze, the idea of doing the deed almost more enticing than the actual thing. He figures the Scotsman would still judge him, albeit less harshly. Mute begins wondering what would need to happen for him to consider calling Smoke back. “You wore a black hoodie”, he drawls and parts his lips at the sudden squeeze of his thigh. Smoke looks delighted.

“The bad ones don’t pay attention to detail”, he explains and the next thing Mute knows is the taste of stale cigarettes and beer on his tongue.

.

~*~

.

“Babe, come on. Please, babe.” The whispered plea sends a crackling shudder down his spine, translating into a twitch of his fingers, grip on solid hipbones wavering, and the following breath right into his ear makes him consider spilling all of the imagery contained in his mind.

Mute lost count a while ago. They’re in the double digits for sure, both of them pretending they really want to try out this new game, really want to visit this restaurant again, really just want to hang out; and amidst good-natured laughs and sharp quips, their fingers brush during an exchange of bottles, one of them sits a little too close, and a compliment during banter comes out too genuine. They’re terrified, but fortunately they get off on danger. They’ve become addicted: outlets, catalysts. Wildfires.

Nothing ties them together and by all logic, they should’ve left it at that one night – and the next morning, really, and Smoke delayed leaving without overstaying his welcome. The times after that were so coincidental, telling themselves it wasn’t deliberate was deceptively easy, and these days Mute comes over with Smoke’s favourite takeout, bursting with trivia, tidbits and gossip to share and knowing there’ll be a second toothbrush. When he first saw it, he nearly faltered. It was lying there so innocuously as if it really was just a toothbrush, and after a moment Mute convinced himself that’s all it was. A mere toothbrush. Nothing more.

And now Smoke is riding his cock like his life depended on it, and maybe it does; the way he holds on to Mute reminds him of a drowning man but the ecstatic grin disrupts the image. He’s glowing from the inside, or maybe it’s the dying light of the sun painting him golden, or maybe it’s Mute’s mind which casually notes that they end their evenings earlier each time, give in faster, allow the tug around their midsections to make them collide.

“Just a bit”, Smoke continues and he’s so fucking overwhelming Mute wishes he could come in him ten times just to watch his reaction. Or make him come ten times just to watch him. Either is good. “It’d be so fucking hot, babe, please, I’ll do you any favour, you know I’m good for it.”

Is he ever. Mute vividly remembers the last time he was given a blank cheque like this. “I don’t know what to say”, he shoots back a big fat lie, mostly because he enjoys being difficult and a frustrated Smoke makes for fantastic memories. They’ve slowed down and every grind seems to go marrow deep, making it impossible not to grin. Mute fucking loves this, loves doing this and especially with Smoke, loves that they always end up here, inside each other in some way, loves the mutual respect and attraction and the fact that both of them play along. No egos getting stroked, only their dicks.

“You ever listen to me run my mouth?”

Often, and gladly. Mute’s grin widens. “I might need another demonstration.”

“No dice, babe. Just imitate all the porn you’ve undoubtedly watched while thinking of me.”

“Thinking of you is usually enough.”

He really went there. A heated gaze darkens and there’s no doubt Smoke is picturing it, judging by the slightly absent expression Mute switches to an appreciative one with a hard thrust. “That’s a good start.”

“Sorry, that was all the material I had.” In his mind, he’s mapping out his game plan: proper filth at the end, all the graphic details need to be staggered or else he risks a verbal premature ejaculation leaving them both dissatisfied. Compliments here and there – his stupid fucking luscious hair still growing like from a shampoo commercial despite having been burnt off several times; he’s proud of it so Mute will have to include it. Then his fingers, God, his fingers, producing the worst chicken scratch Mute has ever encountered and yet able to stroke him into another dimension nonetheless, not only over his dick or prostate but also his scalp. He’s not telling him he’s never felt so comfortable and refreshed like the time Smoke petted him to sleep. He is, however, telling him about the day he spent half hard over Smoke winning against the entirety of the GIGN in hand to hand, the boxer in him clearly visible in his fearless stance and the way he either fully dodges or simply absorbs the hit.

Mute is perceptive and thorough. Once he’s done talking, Smoke will be on his second orgasm and begging for more personalised compliments and spot-on dirty talk.

“Honestly, just throw out a few ‘fuck’s and describe what you’re doing and I’m happy.”

The urges to laugh and to interrupt their lovemaking for a reproachful, deadpan stare compete viciously. Smoke is taking him seriously, genuinely believes him to be inept and it shows in his lack of exasperation – if he knew Mute was deliberately being a little shite, he’d roll his eyes or sigh or try to make him cream himself by twisting his nipples, but instead he’s being gently supportive.

He knows enough about Mute’s history, so it’s more of an intentional insult than a faux pas.

Neither of them are faltering through the entire exchange, which is impressive in its own right. Mute still possesses the presence of mind to nail Smoke’s sweet spot often enough to keep the dopey look in his expression, and yet he’s got the brain capacity left to vow revenge.

Repeat after porn, he said? “Oh fuck, you’re so big”, he moans, earning an odd look almost shattering his composure already. None of his body parts are purposefully touching Smoke’s cock and still he takes the comment in stride.

And then he goes in for the kill: “Fuck yes daddy. Oh, fuck me daddy.”

The effect is as instant as it is hilarious and Mute has his iron composure to thank that he doesn’t break out into hysterical laughter immediately. Slowly, like a tree falling over, desire turns into disbelief turns into shock turns into thinly-veiled disgust – and Mute already outlines more horrific statements like his previous to frustrate Smoke. A displeased Smoke is a dominant Smoke and it’s oh so enjoyable to hold him down.

Instead of completing the full circuit and circling back to helpless amusement, Smoke simply stares him down, unmoving, unresponsive to the slight nudges from Mute’s hips, and says: “Dude.”

He sounds serious.

“Too far?”, Mute asks. It might be a prank – he hopes it is, hopes Smoke’s suddenly sober attitude is based in well-hidden mirth instead of genuine dismay, because the consequences would be far too dire. Maybe something happened to a friend of his, a sister, a cousin, maybe even to him, leading to a knee-jerk aversion of this particular kink and dear Lord, he’s flagging now, and so is Mute due to the uncomfortable twist in his guts. The concern that he overstepped an invisible line by straying from well-lit paths without asking permission. The fear that he might not be invited back.

“It’s just -”

Avoiding eye contact. Fuck. Mute’s in the shite now. Last time Smoke looked this uncomfortable was when he turned down an old flame, out of earshot and yet in full sight of Mute who sipped his beer and tried not to show his inordinate pleasure. Though he did lean closer once Smoke returned, looking away when Sledge’s gaze met his.

He doesn’t want this to be over.

An apology forces his lips apart, pride and ego violently shoved aside by an odd sense of self preservation, as if Smoke was food or sleep instead of an irritating fucker with an atrocious gag reflex who’s infuriatingly beaten Mute in every single one of his favourite video games and then stole the blanket all night afterwards, and he can’t fucking lose this. He went too far, he made a dumb joke which might’ve hit too close to home and he’ll be damned if -

“I have a daughter.”

Mute’s brain freezes.

“And, well, she called me that, so it’s a bit – you know.”

“You’re fucking kidding me”, Mute breathes softly.

“She’s almost done with school now, but just don’t go there, alright?”

She’s fucking what.

The following is the most awkward of silences, considering Mute is still halfway inside Smoke yet neither of them display any motivation to keep going, and when they eventually separate, Smoke sitting next to him with an uncertain aura of anticipation, Mute’s mind still hasn’t caught up. “Is this – I mean -”

Is this a deal breaker, he isn’t saying, much to Mute’s benefit as he wouldn’t have an answer. What kind of deal do they even have?

“Do you like kids?”

And it’s not about that, fucking hell, it’s about the omission thing. Lack of trust. “I don’t know. I kinda still am one”, he replies and is fairly certain it’s not the response Smoke wanted as he pulls a face and mutters something like well we’re done here and Mute doesn’t dare ask what exactly he means.

.

~*~

.

Society generally expects an answer where a question was posed, that much Mute knows, but attempting to take in all these shocking turns of events simultaneously occupies his entire mental capacity and thus he leaves the vaguely annoyed can I help you echo uselessly between them as he stares at the personified nightmare right before him.

He’s terrifyingly bad with children and worse with teenagers, swinging between trying so desperately to be the ‘cool uncle’ by teaching them easy explosions achievable with common household items and treating them like adults, meaning he ignores them for the large part unless they have anything genuinely interesting to say. Which happens rarely enough, in his experience.

It’s worse when the child belongs to someone close to him. Being stuck at a friend’s birthday party where the predominant topics were family friendly vacation places and shortcomings in the kindergarten system has happened to him more than once. He’s slept with a guy a few times who was adamant on having a family later in life and watched him try to convince his best friend to be his surrogate mother, and it took no longer than another week for Mute to break off all contact.

Now he’s faced not only with a kid with an attitude, no, she’s also Smoke’s daughter. And as if this wasn’t alarming enough already, her hair is blue.

“I, uh”, he introduces himself elaborately.

A brown eyebrow lifts. This seems to be her natural hair colour, though her mane is dyed a vibrant aqua and looks like she hasn’t brushed it today.

He realises belatedly that a strange man appearing on her doorstep and proceeding to gape at her idiotically isn’t the best way to gain her trust. “James sent me, I’m Mark. You’re – you’re Charlie?”

She nods curtly and makes no move to let him in. Just a typical girl, Smoke had said with a smile and a shrug, smart, but otherwise normal. Charlie looks like she attended a three-day punk festival and hadn’t gotten a chance to shower yet. At least Mute can’t detect any smell of cigarettes – or worse. He begins wondering how Smoke describes him to anyone if he considers his daughter to be wholly generic. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not here to babysit. He said you’re running low on a few things and to help clean a bit.”

“Ah. Bitchwork.”

“That’s what I usually say to your dad.”

One of the many reasons Mute prefers not being alone with anyone ten years younger than him: having been surrounded by older people instead of peers for most of his life gave him a skewed view of what’s appropriate and, uh, what’s most definitely not.

Fortunately for him, disgust and disbelief aren’t the only emotions fighting on Charlotte Porter’s face – delight and amusement are among them. “Wow. Well. Come in then.”

If he’d known that one fateful night in the early days of Rainbow was such a slippery slope leading to him being Smoke’s confidante to check on the most important person in his life while he sits on his arse all day in Colombia waiting for something to happen, Mute might’ve made a wide berth around him. If he’d known that sticking with him and waiting for a half-arsed apology about the omission of offspring eventually delivered between very wet and malty kisses would result in him having to spend half a day with this punk of a teenager, he might’ve ended it after learning of Charlie’s existence.

He tells himself this, exasperated, and ignores his own voice calling him hypocritical. There’s a star next to Smoke’s name in his phone, in every app that allows it, and it facilitated checking the address ten times. It’s not the fucking tuna or a sudden weather change why he’s nauseous. It’s because he doesn’t want to fuck this up.

The house is more spacious than he’d thought but the area also more rural. Posters line the walls, a lot of the floor is naked and there’s a casual air of neglect Mute immediately finds charming: paperwork crammed into shelves, a few dust bunnies peeking out of cracks, more jackets than one person could ever need draped over various pieces of furniture. It’s neither cramped nor ultimately untidy or dirty, but it has a rugged lived-in look he can’t imagine to be popular with most girls of that age. Fifteen, he remembers Smoke saying. Finishing school next year.

“You’re not allowed in my room”, Charlie tells him and closes a door right before he gets to it. He catches a glimpse of a bright pink wall, fairy lights and what looks like a janbiya, an Arabic dagger. Maybe Smoke brought it home as a souvenir.

Endless questions are on his mind: how is he as a dad? What’s the stupidest thing you heard him do or say? What was he like five years ago?

And then, inevitably: does he bring other guys here often?

“Are you alone a lot?”

Only teenagers have perfected this utterly indifferent shrug when asked a personal question, Mute has never witnessed anyone over twenty perform it this flawlessly. “I’m usually out, you’re lucky you caught me.”

She’s on break – hence the hair, he figures – and Smoke mentioned some difficulties in her friends group. Charlie doesn’t strike him as someone who’s left the house for a few days and the state of most horizontal surfaces supports his suspicion. “No parties happening here? Even when dad’s away?”

“We don’t just invite people over. This is our place.” She’s scrutinising him again. Smart, Smoke called her and Mute is inclined to agree, her eyes certainly are attentive and flit about like they’re trying to catch him doing something unsavoury, thus warranting a ban for life.

.

“What do you do?”, Charlie asks in between tossing some pasta and rice into the cart. She cooks, surprisingly, and Mute can’t help the image of a small ten-year-old Charlotte with brown pigtails fixing dinner for them both and chastising Smoke for his unhealthy eating habits. Over time, she’s thawed – as has he. Putting her seatbelt on is second nature, she asks first before changing CDs and doesn’t put her dirtied boots on the dashboard. Smoke could learn a lot from her. It seems she chose this hair colour out of personal preference and not as an act of inconsequential rebellion and who is Mute to judge anyone’s taste in fashion.

“Same thing as your dad.” He snatches some off-brand cereal off the shelf as Charlie mentioned wanting some and watches in amusement as she rolls her eyes and exchanges them for the much pricier branded version.

“You save people and blow things up?”

He couldn’t have described Smoke’s actual function on the battlefield more concisely. “Mostly I prevent things from blowing up, but the premise is the same.”

“Are you the smart one? Did you attend Oxford?”

“Cambridge. Yes.” He’s momentarily caught up in witnessing his ego grow a few sizes at the thought of Smoke talking about him to his daughter, so he forgives her for the gaffe. Most people who mistake one prestigious university for the other aren’t so lucky and invite a lengthy lecture over the age-old rivalry between the two. Charlie gets a pass.

“Same thing.”

Alright. Okay.

All bets are off.

“I’ll have you know that they’re extremely -”, and this round goes to Charlie with her unbearably smug grin making it impossible to think she’s not a blood relative of Smoke’s. He looks exactly like this whenever he’s managed to rile Mute up as well. He deflates and manages to catch himself before he rolls his eyes. “Brat. That won’t work again.”

“Wanna bet?” She’s laughing now yet there’s no malice behind it. Growing up with half a parent left an impact on her, Mute can tell: trying to stay positive and find joy in everything, but her level of independence reminds him of his own at her age. There’s a few aspects of a typical childhood he didn’t get to experience. Regardless, she’s fiercely loyal and her love for Smoke obvious. “Are you better at maths than him?”

“Easily.” He fondly recalls the look on Smoke’s face the one time he gave in and actually explained the calculations he was doing.

“I got a ton of homework over the break and my maths teacher is a hardass.”

“Need my help with anything?”

“Well, I’m done with all of it. But maybe you could just check it for mistakes.”

At this point, he wonders how Smoke managed to raise such an angel. She’s distant in a friendly way and he assumes she takes time warming up to anyone, just like he’s sure there’s a bubbly, excitable and emotional girl hidden under the nonchalant façade. “Sure.”

“And you need to teach me how to defend myself. Dad still refuses.”

Finding it a little odd Smoke would neglect to train his own daughter, he agrees once more and forgets two very crucial details in the process: Charlie already baited him before. And Smoke boxed for a long, long time.

.

His fight response kicks in the moment the mattress dips and it takes several it’s me, it’s me until he stops struggling against the grip around his wrists, loosening as soon as he sinks back into the unfamiliar sheets. Smoke’s wearing a grin that’s entirely too handsome and yet not pretty enough for Mute not to take a swing at him when a sharp jolt of pain shoots through him at the welcoming kiss.

“Ow, fuck”, Smoke hisses and glides under the covers to drape himself over Mute like a second blanket. His clothes are cold, he must’ve returned home not long ago. “We got sent home early, otherwise I would’ve stayed another week. What happened to your nose?”

They’re keeping their voices down and together with the dulled lamp in the corner, the room is filled with softness: velvet shadows, kind whispers, gentle touches. Mute relaxes again and wraps his arms around the familiar body the way he couldn’t the past two weeks. “Charlie”, he says.

He missed this ungraceful snort. Missed all of him, really; now that he’s back it’s clear as day. “Your fault for falling for it.”

“She do this often?”

“Only with me. But then she doesn’t hold back. ‘Dad, I think I forgot everything you taught me’. ‘Dad, can you show me that one kick again’. ‘Dad, I’m not gonna embarrass you again, I promise’.” Their giggles echo in between the rustling of clothes. Mute is undressing him without motive, but when Smoke starts moving against him with purpose, his fingers become more insistent. “I didn’t expect you to stay overnight. I only asked you to make sure she’s got everything she needs.”

“It was her idea. She destroyed me in Mario Kart, I dominated her in Smash Bros., and then it was late already.”

“You didn’t even clean. The place still looks like shite.”

“Listen. We went shopping, I taught her scary-sounding maths words to intimidate you, she almost broke my nose, then we watched some cartoons and played video games. There was no time.”

Smoke is beaming at him and he can’t take it. He looks fucking stoked, as if Mute offered to take his brat off his hands or to cook for him for the rest of their lives, and somehow it’s scarier than coming here, facing such a significant part of Smoke’s life all on his own. There’s devotion in these eyes, and adoration, something far bigger than simple gratitude. They both know Mute’s visit here isn’t a courtesy. It may be a test of some kind, and he seems to have passed with flying colours if Smoke’s maniacal grin is anything to go by.

He’s terrified of what’s gonna come out of Smoke’s mouth next.

Because he -

He just doesn’t know -

“God you’re fucking hot”, Smoke breathes and thank Christ, this is familiar territory.

His fist is enough for Smoke to push into while sucking deep purple bruises onto his shoulder to stop himself from anything more than a mewl, and though Mute is too tired to get off himself, his toes curl the moment it splatters warm on his stomach. There’s nothing new to their touches, nothing remarkable about the way they instinctively wrap around each other as they drift off, and yet it’s Smoke’s bed in Smoke’s house and therefore it’s all foreign somehow.

The love bites thrum in gentle pain, the flat creaks like any strange place when his ears haven’t started filtering out the usual yet, and none of it matters because Smoke is drooling on his arm. Small steps. Mute can do small steps.

He has a feeling one of them is coming up with an excuse for him to spend some more time here soon.

No guys, Charlie said. He only sent babysitters over. No friends, nobody from work. No one like you.

And then the young woman who probably upended Smoke’s life the day she stepped into it, the grown-up girl for whom Smoke grew up himself more than ten years ago, the blue-haired student who’s earned so much of Smoke’s love and time gave him a meaningful look. Added: He doesn’t get attached.

Me neither, Mute replied. And was already looking forward to watching her and Smoke interact.

[kaibuntsu]

The Dragon of No Words - #1

Word count: 6102

A/N: Still just an introduction of Emrys and Avi. This series may or may not be slow burn-y, so I hope y’all have patience.

Also available on: My website | Wattpad

Divider credit: Freepik

     Give contacts, get contacted. Offer deals, haggle, make profit.

     Rinse and repeat…. For the next ten years….

     Emrys was eighteen when he took over the arms dealing department of his father’s large illegal sales empire. It was the most sought after of all the departments; firearms is and always will be popular, especially among people hungry for power. The buyers were hardly ever vary, but the goods he got his hands on and had the pleasure to sell, in the last three years at least, was always changing. The traditional firearms were starting to lose demands as the market’s interest shifted to a new, more mysterious weapons not of this world, or of the galaxy, for that matter.

     This day was an especially intriguing day. For the first time since the rise of its existence over a decade ago, his father finally got his hands on one of the latest weapon trends. He wasn’t even sure if calling it a weapon was appropriate. He had told Emrys to raise the price, “make them bid,” he’d told him. Emrys could only obey.

     His father brought the weapon himself, carrying it with one of his less distinct ships, but one of his fastest. The old coot was a modern pirate; his swashbuckling includes a lot of shooting rather than the more fantasized swordplay as depicted in films, but the loss of the fantasy charm made him more formidable in the eyes of both criminal syndicates and authorities alike. Emrys chose to stay away from sea life, claiming not having the strength to withstand seasickness, that’s why he stayed with the on-land arms dealing.

     “So where did you get it this time?” he asked his father, a ragged seventy-year-old that somehow was still standing straight. Despite being a foot shorter, the old man was more stocked than the lean musculature Emrys has.

     “An American cargo ship, authorized by the government!” he chortled, eyes gleaming as he watched the stolen cargo picked up by the crane. “But that’s not the best part! Look at this log.” He shoved a clear folder to his son’s chest with enough strength to make him grunt at the blunt impact to his chest.

     Emrys studied the folder briefly; it was almost filled to the brim, save for five empty slots. While waiting for the crane to lower the steel cargo, he scanned the files page by page. The first few pages were just permission slips and the like. The rest were the same: shipment logs with multiple entries, meaning whatever the weapon is had been shipped to multiple places before. Immediately, on the first file, he was dumbstruck. The first entry of shipment was almost eight years ago! Not only that, but the origin was not even from Earth!

     “Ainon Deis?! That’s—that’s not even from the same star system! Dad, how the fuck did you get your hands on this?”

     “Not easy, but I was just really lucky I got someone from the inside to help me.” Then he wrapped his wrinkly but muscled arm around his son. “My informant told me, boy, that this is apparently one of the special cases. And by ‘special’, I mean it’s wild, stubborn, hard to control, but the strength is promising. That’s why it keeps moving to different hands. ‘Cuz nobody wants it!”

     “Then why do you?” Emrys asked, now stricken with worry.

     “Because this guy can save my business. Look, kid,” this time he turned to look Emrys in the face, “I’ve lost millions of Euros because of these damn monsters keep popping up wherever my ‘shop’ is! You lost hundreds of thousands because your customers got eaten alive by those motherfuckers, didn’t you? We need a safety measure, kid! And this is it!”

     The cargo landed with a heavy metallic thud, sending violent rattles to Emrys’ bones. It was a regular-sized cargo, but judging from how it sounded when landed, it seemed like less than half of it was filled. The odd sound only increased his curiosity; he had only heard about it, he never expected it to be legit. He had never seen one before, not even his richest business rivals got their hands on one of these. At least, not that he was aware of.

     The subordinates unlocked and heaved the door open wide, the darkness inviting them to step inside. It was not completely dark inside, one lonely blue light shimmered in the middle of the cargo, coming through the glass of a smaller container. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be bolted tight to the bottom of the cargo. Emrys, his father—Eamon—and a few armed guards inched closer to the glowing container. The armed guards walked in first, flashlight pointed ahead, while the boss and his son followed closely behind. The older looked more excited than the younger.

     “Look at that, Emrys!” he wheezed, bubbling with glee. Eamon zoomed in on the glowing container, nodding to an unarmed subordinate who hurried to the console next to it. Emrys hesitantly followed his father’s footsteps, but his eyes could not help to marvel at the spectacle in front of him.

     The container was at least nine feet tall, standing upright. Tubes of some chemicals locked securely behind it with small hoses connected to the glowing container, presumably pumping the chemicals into mist sprays that occasionally spritzed out inside the tube every other few minutes. The most curious thing was what inside. It looked like a dragon—a dragon that was covered in black armor plating, with four swirling horn attachments on its head. Emrys wasn’t sure if that was just a really ornate helmet or actually a head. The teeth that slipped between the crevices on the long snout-like part of the head looked quite real. Even more questions rolling inside Emrys’ curly head; why hire a monster to fight off more monsters? That sounds very counterproductive.

     “Dad, I’m not so sure about this…” Emrys muttered. He wasn’t sure if giving him a monster would be such a great idea.

     “Psh, you’re worrying too much!” He then turned to the operator at the console. “Wake the thing up. Let’s welcome him to our company.”

      Emrys knew there was no arguing with his father. His best move was to step back as far away as possible from the glowing container as it creaked, squeaked, and hissed from the pressure loosening from its tight locks. The dragon-like creature started to stir and move its head, and the operator injected another chemical compound from a different tube into the container. He didn’t know what the other chemical was, but whatever it was, he could see that it made the monster even more awake. 

     “Dad, you do know how to contain this thing back, don’t you?” he called over, his concerned look growing worse and worse with every movement the monster made inside.

     “You’re gonna be fine!” Eamon shrugged off the blatant fear from his son, clearly he was more excited to see the monster awaken. He heard the rumbling growl emanating from inside the container, followed by loud metallic banging. The container started to dent, much to Emrys’ growing concern, and it soon was tore open by a pair of clawed hands. The dragon emerged out of its captivity.

     The all black creature panted, it had been sealed inside that blasted metal cage for god knows how long. Now that it was out of its captive, Eamon and his men inched closer surrounding it, and realized that the container wasn’t just huge for the sake of being huge; the creature it contained itself was massive too. Despite its glossy armor-like scales, big horns, long snout, spike-riddled back, and a long, wide tail that almost looked like that of a lobster, the figure of this creature was near humanoid from the way it stood upright on two strong legs. Its hands had four fingers instead of five and its tips were sharp and pointy, the polish quality on them slightly more doff than the glossy rest of the body.

     Eamon approached the monster closer, eyes continued to gleam over the majesty of its intimidating dark figure. “Emrys! What are you doing over there? Come and take a closer—” his sentence was cut as a large black hand gripped around his neck, its sharp claws digging dangerously deep into his skin, but not enough to suffocate the seventy-year-old modern pirate. Tension spiked high inside the cargo, Emrys took out a hand gun and the other men pointed their rifles at the monster choking their boss. Eamon himself fought in his captor’s hand, pulling a knife from the back of his belt and stabbed it right to the dragon’s face, only for the knife to break upon impact with its skin. While the knife did no harm to the dragon, it still agitated the creature, as bright, thin white lights flashed around the edges of its body and on its face, forming somewhat like a pair of ethereal unblinking eyes.

     “Let him go!” Emrys warned the monster, even though he saw no point in doing so. This beast probably had no idea of the human language. “Let him go, and I promise, we will not harm you!”

     “Just shoot already!” Eamon yelled, stirring startled reactions from his men.

     “No! It took your knife like it was nothing, bullets will just ricochet!”

     The dragon’s growling subdued to a quieter level than it was before, seemingly contemplating what Emrys had said, but still held Eamon on the neck with an iron grip. Whatever was running inside its head, Emrys certainly no longer felt a killing intent wafting off of its aura. In fact, it never seemed to feel like it wanted to kill. Just threaten and stir panic.

     This was a crazy idea, but the young arms dealer put his hand gun down on the floor and raised his hands next to his head. “Look, there, I won’t attack you.” He quickly motioned to the guardsmen surrounding the monster. “Guys, you too! Come on!”

      The others hesitated, but with more urging glare from Emrys, they finally obeyed. They slowly knelt down and put their rifles down, albeit apprehensively. However, their actions were interrupted with the sound of the sea gushing and crashing the harbor, even though this particular section of the harbor was protected from the sea current. Whatever made the waters wave could have only been a boat. It would have been an awfully quiet boat.

     The metal doors of the cargo groaned deafeningly as it was pulled and snapped apart from the body. Huge, slick, salamander-like bodies climbed out of the water and huddled around the cargo like flies to a carcass. They climbed and gnawed at the metal walls, trying to make new openings, until they noticed there was an easy entrance on the front. The people and the dragon were cornered.

     The first monster pulled itself forward and with its wet and slick body, it easily slid on the metal surface, making its way straight towards Emrys, its mouth opened wide to swallow him whole. Emrys bolted to the only way he could go, counting on his best survival assets: his legs. But even his speed could not outmatch a waterborne monster sliding on metallic surface. He didn’t want to look behind him. He didn’t want to look at how death appears before him.

      The dragon tossed its captive to the closest human in its throwing direction and long jumped towards Emrys and the monster chasing him, claws bared and ready to latch onto its next prey. It headed straight towards Emrys, he thought even the odd monster they freed wanted him dead, but his survival instinct still kicked in and forced him to slide underneath the black dragon. He watched the dragon pass above him, seeing its glowing edges becoming brighter as it opened its terrifying mouth. With a heavy screech, the dragon blew a long breath of cold air as if it kept dry ice in the back of its throat, causing the salamander monster to shriek and tried to slap away the cold. Closing its mouth, the dragon gave its opponent a roundhouse kick that sent it backwards, out of the cargo container. It took a deep breath and once more sprayed its opponent in intense cold air, freezing the water layers that coated the salamander monster instantly before freezing the skin and its insides.

     The opponent frozen solid, the dragon grabbed its mouth with both hands. It roared, unleashing its full arm power to rip the opponent monster into two uneven halves. One down, still a few more to go. The dragon looked around and roared and snapped its jaws at them, taunting them to come at it. The salamanders looked at it with confusion in their beady eyes and wide gaping mouth, but the more vicious ones soon avenged their largest one, hauling their bodies onto the dragon to squash and overwhelm it. The dragon was quick to move, however, catching one and then wrestle-throw the slimy monster onto its friends. He delivered boulder-breaking punches and kicks, sprayed ice breath, and other defensive moves without moving from his position. Soon, the salamanders realized that they could not win against this smaller but stronger dragon. It has elemental attack when they do not. One by one, they retreated into the sea from whence they came. The dragon huffed, cold misty breath puffed from the edge of its mouth. Good to see that these beasts know who’s the boss.

      With the threats gone, the tall black creature was finally able to let down its guard. Then, it realized, its knees wobbled, its muscles felt like rubber, and it collapsed to its knees. It panted heavily; the glowing around its edges disappeared, including its ethereal misty eyes, giving its face the blank eyeless look again. Watching it collapse in exhaustion, Emrys found himself courage to approach the creature. No longer did he feel threatened by its presence, and he was quite confident it will understand him.

     Emrys offered the black dragon a hand. “I owe you one,” he said, a wry smile on his face.

     The dragon took his arm, its claws retracted, becoming very similar to human hands except that they only had four fingers. It tried to push itself standing, but was interrupted with a loud, grumbling sound coming from its stomach. Both it and Emrys froze, the latter stared dumbfounded. The dragon whimpered as it stood upright, its other hand rubbed its toned stomach, trying to comfort the inner dragon in agony. Emrys found it hilarious, but he refrained from laughing.

     “If there’s a particular thing you want to eat, I can probably make it,” he said with a smirk on his face, his arms crossed.

     “What are you doing, cozying up with the thing? It doesn’t eat human food, does it?” Eamon groaned. He held the small punctures made when the dragon choked him earlier with a handkerchief. Behind him, the guardsmen followed with their rifles pointed once again towards the dragon. He yelped when he earned a snarl from the dragon, his hands quickly covering his neck to protect it, but he was saved by Emrys who stepped between his father and the dragon.

     “How do you know? This is the first time we’ve seen one of this guy’s kind,” Emrys argued. While he defended the dragon, his eyes studied its behavior.

     “These fucking monsters always eat people! The other one wanted to eat you, didn’t it? The only difference with this thing is that it listens to orders!”

     Eamon received another vicious snarl from the dragon, this time Emrys made less effort to intervene as he was more interested in studying the dragon. “Don’t think he appreciates being called a ‘thing’ or an ‘it’, Dad. You know, if the difference between this guy and the ones that almost ate me is that his kind can listen to orders, that means he’s intelligent. Which means, there’s a likelihood he won’t obey every order given to him.”

     The dragon pointed at Emrys and nodded. He said everything he wanted to say. Emrys understood him.

     And Eamon couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?! I need someone who will listen and do what they’re told, no matter what. I don’t need a thing that thinks just like people!”

     Hearing the word ‘thing’ again, the dragon growled louder and loomed menacingly before the senior modern pirate, not afraid to bare his sharp teeth to emphasize the point that he could bite his head off as easily as biting cake pops. Once again, Emrys stepped between them, placing an assertive hand on the dragon’s shoulder. His look to his father was that of sass, his other hand tucked inside the pocket of his jeans.

     “See? He doesn’t like the word ‘thing’. Besides, what do you have to moan about? You said I needed a bodyguard, since I lost profits from losing my clients to monster buffet. Hell, you even stole him from an American government-owned ship for little ol’ me! This is the first time you’ve ever given me a present that’s actually pretty thoughtful.”

     Emrys glanced to his father, whose face was growing annoyed the longer he talked, and he relished it. He couldn’t help but continue grating his father’s ego, so he continued, “You know what? I actually owe you an apology, Dad. I thought having a monster as a bodyguard was a terrible idea, but now? It’s not that bad.” Emrys’ smirk continued to grow, much to his father’s further annoyance. He turned to look back at the dragon, whose face was unreadable due to his lack of normal eyes. “I said all that, but I forgot to even ask how you feel about it. What do you say? Work for me and I’ll take care of you.”

     The dragon crossed his arms and walked a few steps back to contemplate. Nobody could tell what sort of expression he might be putting, they can only guess from his gestures and the way his tail flapped and swished as he was thinking. Emrys thought maybe he needed to be more detailed with his proposal.

     “You’ll get paid handsomely,” he added. He meant to joke—because there is no way a monster needs money—but to everybody’s surprise, the dragon’s head perked up and he zipped back to shake Emrys’ hands in gratitude. The hand shake was no joke either; it was firm and full of energy, and his large maw was opened, displaying his terrifying rows of teeth, in what appeared like a gleeful smile. Old Irish tales his grandmother told him as a child spoke about dragons hoarding treasures, he never thought it would apply to real life humanoid dragons. “Well, looks like we have a deal.”

     “And then what are you going to do with…him?” Eamon spoke the pronoun with difficulty, as if swallowing an urchin whole, but it earned no hostility from the dragon, to his relief. “He’s homeless. He’s a, I don’t know, two-meter-tall ice-breathing dragon, how will you get him back?”

     Emrys scoffed. “I’ve smuggled a rocket launcher into my apartment before! I had to carry it alone! This guy can carry himself. It’s gonna be fine!”

     The elderly man could only sigh heavily and pinched his nose bridge. He groaned, “Keep him if you want. Just keep up with your work. And don’t pamper him too much.”

     “Oh, Pappy, you worry too much.” Emrys wrapped his arm around his father’s stocky shoulders, a shit-eating grin on his face.

     He probably shouldn’t have sassed his father.

     True, the dragon was able to have the awareness that he needed to sneak, but the problem lied outside of that. The creature was too damn big. Emrys’ apartment building was not the shabby, poor sort—quite the opposite, in fact—but it was an old building refurbished. The ceilings were still below eight feet high, so the dragon had to crouch slightly to accommodate his massive stature. It was like bringing a Clydesdale horse into the apartment. They were lucky it was nighttime and the street where this building was situated was still the old school district where shops close at seven, so the two could use the elevator without getting spotted. Emrys couldn’t do this during the day; the hall to the elevator faced the main entrance of the building. Next time, Emrys made a mental note, they should take the fire exit stairs on the back.

     Once arrived in his flat, the dragon finally could stretch to his full height. He sighed, the sound came out like a big dog’s whimper, relieved that he could finally relax in a safer environment. He walked around, mindful of his tail, exploring the new environment he will be spending his days in while Emrys was doing some housekeeping. The demanding rumble of the dragon’s stomach returned, interrupting his exploration. The dragon whimpered a little once more; if he didn’t eat soon, his body could cannibalize itself.

     Emrys chuckled and beckoned the dragon to follow him to the kitchen, where he proceeded to open the refrigerator. “I don’t know what you like, but I’m currently defrosting this ground beef. Do you eat raw?” he asked, rummaging through the refrigerator.

     The dragon shook his head and grunted an “uh-uh” in his growly dragon voice. He bent down slightly behind Emrys, he wanted to see for himself what the lord of the house has. Surprisingly, his fridge was brimming with ingredients, both meat and plant-based.

     “Alright, great. I was worried I will have to do a lot of cleaning to get the smell of raw meat off.” He poked the ground beef he had left to see if it had thawed enough, then took it out, along with some vegetables. “I’m planning to make meatloaf tonight, but it might take another hour.”

     The dragon grumbled; he couldn’t wait that long! He squatted next to Emrys, a bit too close as the human had to move aside slightly so as not to get poked by the spikes on his shoulder. He scanned the contents of the fridge, his nose helping as well, and he spotted a carton box in the back. It smelled like meat too. He pointed at the box, silently asking if Emrys could tell him what it was.

     “Oh, this?” he grabbed the box and opened it for the dragon to see. It was a bunch of fried chicken leftovers. Emrys paused to think; he didn’t remember ever making this—or buying this, for that matter. He never needed to buy this many fried chicken. “Yeah, you can have ’em if you want. I don’t even remember who put these in my fridge.” He handed the box to the dragon, who licked his rows of sharp teeth in anticipation. The dragon immediately picked one piece and stuff it into his mouth, loud crunching of bones being shattered and meat being ground echoing from inside his long black maw. “Probably from one of the guys…”

     The dragon ignored the host’s mumbling and continued to chow down the fried chicken. They were a bit hard from the days it was forgotten in the back of the fridge, but the dragon had a method. His biolights pulsed red, starting from his chest and dissipating in a wave, ending on his snout. Soft puff of steam misted through his teeth before he started to chew and crunch. The heat culminating in his mouth warmed up the stale chicken to a soft and easy to munch consistency, like a mini oven toaster. Emrys watched the continuous process with interest. It clicked to him.

     “Oh, so you can breathe fire!” he exclaimed. He found a new appreciation to this creature he just hired.

     While the dragon ate standing near the dining table, Emrys used the time to prepare for his meatloaf. He was immersed in his cooking, not even once paying attention to the dragon who was watching him. Two cutting boards were set, one for the meat and the other for the onion and herbs. Emrys worked on the onion quickly, demonstrating his knife play by chopping one big onion in mere seconds, fast enough that he was unaffected by the plant’s tear-inducing properties. The dragon finished his appetizer and could now watch Emrys preparing his meal like a professional chef. He walked over to him as the man slid the tin of meatloaf into the oven, spooking him in the process. Emrys had been so caught up with his meal preparation he failed to notice the eight feet tall monster looming next to him.

     “Y-you done with your food?” he asked, pretending like he wasn’t embarrassed at all to be spooked so easily. He was a professional illegal dealer, he should have more sense of caution. What would his father think of him, seeing him not noticing someone so large? He looked to the fast food container in the dragon’s hands and then pointed to the trash bin next to the sink. “Throw it over there. No littering in my home.”

      The dragon nodded and followed the host’s instruction, disposing the container to its final home. While he was preoccupied with bending half of his body down to crush the trash to the bottom of the bin, Emrys had the time to compose himself and think of other things to say to him. He was never the starter of a conversation; he normally relied on other people to start it for him. And while the dragon was able to understand what he says, he couldn’t exactly speak to hold a conversation with him. Yet, if this large being was to live in his apartment and work as his bodyguard, he needed to be able to establish a way to communicate with him.

     Speaking of which, he didn’t even have a way to address him. He didn’t intend to call him ‘dragon’ all the time. “Hey,” he called, turning to face him, “I don’t want to keep calling you ‘You’ or ‘Dragon’, so I’m wondering if you have a name I can call you or should I start browsing all of my novels for a good name to give you?”

     The spikes on the dragon’s back fluttered when Emrys asked for his name and his body language started to shuffle. His hands then started moving in a series of patterns, and it took a few seconds for Emrys to realize that the dragon was signing to him. Immediately, Emrys held his hands out.

     “Whoa! Hold on! You—you know sign language?”

     The dragon nodded and then gestured towards the human. Emrys quickly shook his head.

     “N-no, I can’t do that at all. Uh…try something else?” he suggested. Now he felt stupid; this creature—seemingly originated from outer space—could use sign language when he could not.

     The dragon turned around, like he was looking for something. He made a gesture with his hand, folding his fingers a certain way that was almost a closed fist except the tip of his thumb pressed against the next two fingers—just like how people would hold a pen or pencil. Understanding what he wanted, Emrys scrambled along, rushing next to his home phone to grab a piece of scrap paper and a pencil. The dragon took the items from Emrys and set them on the kitchen counter nearest to him.

     He took a moment to hold the pencil properly, he seemed to be marveling at how small and thin the pencil was, probably. With that eyeless face of his, Emrys could not be sure. His hand was shaking very slightly, but Emrys’ observant eyes were able to notice it. He looked from his hand and up to the dragon’s eyeless face. “Are you…okay?” he asked.

     It appeared like the dragon felt Emrys was getting concerned for him, so he nodded. He had been locked inside a small container, neither awake nor asleep, and unable to do anything but see blurry images outside the glass and hear muffled noises. Holding a pencil was the last thing his body remembered how to do without breaking the wood and graphite into pieces. Fighting his shaky hand, he lowered the pencil and started awkwardly scribbling letters.

     At first, Emrys was in awe that this ice-and-fire-breathing monster knew the Latin alphabet as he watched him scribbling a letter A. He refrained from commenting, waiting for him to finish writing. But with each letter written, it became less and less discernible. Even following his hand movement Emrys still couldn’t figure out the fourth letter and onward. It took him a solid ten minutes just trying to decipher the ancient runes given to him, which confused the dragon.

     “I’m sorry, but I don’t know any other foreign alphabets except those used in writing English, Gaelic, French, and German,” he sighed. The dragon huffed and put his hands on his hips, somewhat offended by the implication that he didn’t know how to write in Latin alphabets despite the the first three letters being clear enough for Emrys to understand. “Look, your handwriting is shitty, okay? I’m sorry. All I can read is Avi, and the rest is like Mandarin to me. I can tell you have a long name, but for the love of St. Patrick, I can’t decipher them.”

     The dragon, or Avi, according to the first three letters Emrys could read, grumbled and folded his arms. He didn’t stay grumpy long; he was aware of his initial problems when he held that pencil. He was just a little annoyed that he now had to find other ways to spell his full name. He left to the living room, looking for said other method, leaving Emrys free to make his salad while the meatloaf was cooking. A few minutes later, Avi returned with an old magazine and a paper glue that he found lying around on the coffee table in the living room. He made a V with his index and the odd middle-and-maybe-also-ring finger, then moved them in a snipping-like motion. Emrys simply paused from cutting a carrot and grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer near him.

     By the time Avi was done with his arts and craft, Emrys had already finished dressing his salad and sat down on the chair next to the hulking dragon monster. He was impressed with his precision using the scissors; so much better than his use of pencil. He handed the same paper that he wrote his name on over to Emrys, showing him the new and more readable spelling of his name. During the time Emrys was busy preparing dinner, Avi had been cutting letters from different headlines in the magazine he took and arranged the letters to make his name. He set them in two rows: the first row was a long eight-lettered word ‘Avinashi’, while the second row was shorter—six letters—saying ‘Shirmi’.

     Emrys’ memory juggled back to the harbor, when Eamon handed him a shipment log for Avi’s container. The first entry was dated almost eight years ago, and its point of origin was from a planet called Ainon Deis. He met one or two people from that planet and none looked remotely close to his new bodyguard here. Unfortunately, his extraterrestrial knowledge was poor; he hardly ever had non-human clients, and those he saw were assistants or underlings of his clients. He didn’t even know if the people of Ainon Deis has a name for their species, like how Earth has humans.

     “So…Avinashi…Shirmi?” he pronounced the name carefully, looking up to its bearer for confirmation. “Did I say it right?”

     The dragon now identified as Avinashi gestured for him to say it one more time and quite satisfied with the man’s effort, Avinashi nodded, his wide tail flapped against the wooden flooring. His posture loosened, he slouched slightly, he looked more relieved. Maybe hearing someone saying his name after so long locked in that container made him happy.

     “It’s still quite a mouthful, though. Can I just call you ‘Avi’?” Emrys asked. Avinashi took a moment to reply, instead he just sat, seemingly frozen, while his eyeless face directed straight at Emrys’. He didn’t know if he will ever get used to this unreadable face. “Uh…is that too familiar? Are you the type who says everyone’s first name completely in your first year at work? I mean, nothing wrong with your name, it’s just…since we’ll be spending our time together a lot—what with you being my bodyguard—I prefer to have something short and quick to say. Y’know, in case of emergencies and I need to call you in a split second, all that jazz? You get it?”

     Avinashi exhaled, a low hum coming along with his breath. At last, he nodded and shrugged. It’s better than constantly being called ‘the thing’ all the time. Plus, his reasoning made sense. He was willing to accept his work condition.

     “Great! Looking forward to work with you, Avi.” The oven dinged just as he placed a welcoming pat on a scale plating on his shoulder, calling Emrys that the meatloaf was ready to serve. The smell of freshly cooked beef wafted throughout the kitchen and on to the dining room, making Avi’s mouth water. Watching Avi’s restrained excitement for a big meal made Emrys’ face glow, he couldn’t help but let his giddy smile get through his restraints a little. “Take this as your down payment until I strike a deal with my next client, alright?”

     “I hope you’re not allergic to dust, I didn’t have time to prepare and clean up the guest bedroom. I didn’t expect to have a roommate today, you see.” Emrys unlocked an ivory-colored door, leading into a room with a single bed, a desk, and small wardrobe. Avi entered while Emrys stayed by the door, watching the black-scaled monster studying his new living space. There was a decent sized window, with a simple white blinds currently rolled up.

     Avi turned to his new employer and nodded approvingly. Emrys placed the key of his room on the desk, entrusting it to his new flatmate. “My room is just across yours. My room has its own bathroom, but yours is at the end of the hallway. Hopefully, you’re not a scaredy cat who’s afraid of dark long hallways, because I turn every light off before I go to bed.”

     Avi nodded again, not minding the rules of his new home. He personally likes it dark, anyway, but he could not express that through words. Pleased that Avi had no qualms against his rules, Emrys departed for his own bedroom, leaving the dragon monster to his own devices and thoughts. He turned around to once again marvel at his new living space.

     His first room in years. A spacious place where he could easily spread his arms and legs. Even the bed looked decent, with sturdy iron frames. A light kick on the steely foot convinced Avi it was strong enough to carry his weight for about six hours or so every day. He finally could have a real sleep, not the limbo-like situation he was trapped in for almost eight years. However, before he lay down, he wanted to do one last thing he did not have a chance to do before.

     He inhaled deeply, relaxing himself, and then started to concentrate…really hard. So hard that his head throbbed, his body hunched, his bones tremble, and his growl crescendoed in intensity. The intense concentrated nerve pushing went on for a long five minutes. Tired of pushing out, he dropped to his knees, panting. He quickly brought his hands to his view. How was it?

     His hands were still the same black and scaly ones, complete with the retractable claws. With a snarl, he punched the floor, but not hard enough to break a plank. There were more pent up frustration in his chest, but in respect of his new home provided by his employer, he struggled not to vocalize said frustration. He let it flow slightly from the way the spikes on his back drooped and staring at the ceiling.

     At least, he got himself somewhere safe to sleep…

     At least, he can eat again…

     At least, he is free…

[shall-we-imagine]

Scaredy Cat. (Badboy!SigurdxReader)

Bet you weren't expecting this, huh.

Requested: 26. "All due respect, but that's a bunch of crap." From the prompt list.

A/N: Badboy!Klaus was quite popular so why not try this? 🤷‍♀️idk how to write proper bad boys so spare me I'm trying 😂 this is also a bit of an idol AU? 😂 you can call me artist; you can call me idol sorry I'm actually loving the BTS comeback even though a lot of people don't...aannd that's not the right place to discuss this I'll shut up. Moving on.

Genre: Fluff.

(Second Person Point of View)

Being friends with an idol had its pros and cons. On one hand, it led to you being friends with all his group mates, and it also scored you dates with other idols. On the other hand, you barely get to even see your friend; it's always video calls, and even those aren't as often as you'd like. But what can you do? As long as he's following his dream, you're happy for him.

Sometimes, however, you wish you could just have him around whenever you need him. He's always very caring towards you, but he can't help it that he's busy. So, sometimes you just have to suck it up and deal with your own problems yourself. Or do you?

Pacing around the living room, you contemplate calling Serge. If he was sleeping, you really didn't wanna disturb the tiny bit of sleep he gets. What if he was busy doing something else? He usually calls when he's free anyway..

"It's okay; I'll be fine." You whisper to yourself reassuringly, even though your voice came out filled with uncertainty. As you approach the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, you flick on as much light switches as possible. There ain't no demon attacking you tonight, nope.

You down the refreshing glass of water. "There. That's not so bad. I can do thi-" your sentence was cut off by your own squeal. What was that noise?

You hesitantly inch closer to your open kitchen window. As you were scolding yourself for leaving that window open, you peek into the back yard of your house. There it was. The source of the noise.

You could see the bushes shaking violently, indicating something or someone was in there. Trembling hands reach to quietly shut the window and blinds, as you tip toe away from the window. Maybe it was the fact that you were home alone getting the best of you, but you were terrified to the core. Someone might be lurking around in your backyard, and that would explain the odd noises you'd been hearing for the past hour or so.

You rush back into the living room. What in the world were you supposed to do?

Call your parents? They're thousands of miles away; they can't particularly help.

Call the police? Okay, you're not actually sure someone is out there, and you don't wanna just call for nothing..

The only person left to call was Serge..

You promised yourself that you'd call one time; if he doesn't pick up, you have to try to ignore the noises.

Please, for the love of everything good, pick u-

"Hello?" A voice deeper and more calm than Serge's booms through the phone.

You frown. "Um, isn't that Serge's phone?"

"Yes, darling, but Serge is shooting for his up coming drama right now, so he can't respond to the phone he forgot at the dorms." Darling? Oh, it's him. "Figured you might need some company, though, so I replied." You could almost see him smirk.

Now, when you say you're friends with the group Serge belongs to, well, there's an exception, and that's the one and only Sigurd Curtis. Fans love him for his 'mysterious charms', but all you could see is an irritating jerk. And now was really not the time for him.

"So? What did you call for?" His question reminds you that you hadn't replied to him earlier.

You sigh. "I called for Serge, but he's not here, so I'm hanging up."

"Oh, come on, am I not good enou-" you hang up before hearing the rest of his teasing and whining.

You couldn't really understand him much. He was generally quiet, but somehow, when it comes to you, he becomes the most talkative person on the planet. Which would've been fine if he didn't use all his power to tease you and flirt with you for no reason.

Well, there's no other choice but to deal with the unreasonable fear yourself.

#####

"This is not working." You huff, unable to stop thinking someone might break in. Your house didn't have a single light bulb turned off, which was probably going to be a pain when your parents receive the electricity bill, but you didn't have any plans of turning any of them off for now.

You stare at your phone, as if silently willing it to start ringing and showing Serge's picture. Of course, that didn't happen even after you stared for a full minute.

"Should I try calling again?" You sigh.

You took your heart thumping in fear as a yes. You prayed with all your power the idiot would respond, but once again, you were greeted with the flirtatious tone you feared hearing.

"Missed me already?"

A loud groan sounds across the empty room. "When is Serge coming back?"

"I don't know, cupcake." Knowing he specifically uses this to make you uncomfortable, you try your best not to cringe. "I've just been informed you're home alone. Is that why you want Serge? You're scared?"

Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "Usually..when my parents go on trips for work, Serge spends his time talking to me to get my mind off of the fact that I'm home alone." You admit sheepishly. "Sometimes he even sings me to sleep." You add in a quieter voice, part of you hoping he didn't hear it. You didn't even know why you were telling him this; maybe sleep-deprived you was extra friendly and liked over sharing.

"Oh." A pause was followed by a confident statement, "I could do that!"

"W-what?" However, there was no response. "He hung up? What in the world is wrong with that guy?!"

No longer than 2 minutes later, you were jumpscared by the doorbell. You silently approach the door, unsure who would be at the door. Of course, there was a face that popped into your head, but you somehow still couldn't be sure if it was really him.

"Sigurd?" You eye the taller male. His hair was freshly dyed black; he was even given an undercut while the hair on the top of his head was styled in a messy quiff. His attire was black as usual. Of course, as an idol, he had to switch colours, but when he got to wear what he wants, he'd almost always dress in black, to add to his 'mysterious' aura- you assume. He wore a black tank top with random scribbles on the front, matched with black skinny jeans that had some chains hanging from them; you never really understood that odd choice of clothing, but you didn't question it. What you did question, however, was the choker he wore.

"Sharing closets with your dog or something?" You point at the strange accessory. It was adorned with spikes and a few silver chains intertwining with each other; the best way to describe it was that it looked like a dog's collar.

"Ha ha very funny. It's called fashion, pancake, you wouldn't understand." Wearing a sympathetic smile, he pats your shoulder, allowing himself inside.

"Are you hungry or something? Wasn't it cupcake at first? Now it's pancake? What's with that?" You roll your eyes. Nice sleep-deprived you was nowhere to be seen, apparently.

He glances at your chest before looking back into your eyes and giving an innocent smile. "Nothing." He walks further into the house, not waiting for a reaction from you.

"You little-" you bite back an insult, knowing he just enjoys pushing your buttons. You had to stay calm. "Why are you here? I didn't even invite you. Plus don't you have work or something?!"

"You implicitly invited me." He points out, "And, no, we're on a break, remember?"

A sudden knocking noise makes you jump before you could even respond to the dork that made himself comfortable on your couch.

He stares at you with a raised eyebrow, "that was a branch hitting the window.."

"I knew that." His intense stare doesn't waver. "Okay, fine. It scared me..a little! I'm scared of being home alone, and there's a person lurking outside the house and-"

"There's a person lurking outside the house?!" He hops off the couch, his expression -for once- not smug or playful but concerned. It somehow made your heart skip a few beats. Surely, you were overreacting, though; there's no way he just looked attractive because he seemed concerned. There's no way you suddenly noticed how well black contrasts his skin tone, making it suit him beautifully. Nope.

"Well, I'm not very sure it's a person.." you explain shyly, "I just heard some noises and saw the bushes moving.."

"Man, you freaked me out for nothing." He runs a hand through his visibly soft hair. "Where was it you saw the bushes move?"

"Okay, stay here and keep the door locked; I'll take a look outside to ensure nobody's out there." He instructs, after you show him to the back door.

"Sigurd, you don't need to do this. What if someone dangerous was out there?" You attempt to reason with him.

He chuckles, "you worried about me, cupcake?"

You pretend to gag. "You might as well find yourself a ride home cuz I'm not gonna be opening that door again."

After a few moments, you hear Sigurd call out for you, claiming you should come out. He has teamed up with the serial killer outside and plans to trick you into getting murdered?

"Oh my god stop panicking; just come out! It's a puppy for God's sake!" He shouts, even though he really couldn't see you or your desire to ignore his request to leave the safety of your house.

"Fine!" You shout back, as you reluctantly pull open the door. The view beyond the door certainly made you glad you complied with his request, though.

Sigurd was crouching on the grass rubbing a small Pit bull's belly. It wiggled its tail happily, as he continued to shower it with affection. You almost let out a small awwhh. You almost forgot that this was the same guy you threatened to not let back into your house.

"I think that's my neighbour's puppy." You muse, as you approach Sigurd and the pit bull. You check the red, spike-filled collar. "Look. It's matching with you." You tease.

"Hey! How many times do I have to explain-"

You cut him off to add in a mocking tone, "it's fashion!!"

He merely glares, to which you laugh. It was your turn to tease him for once. "Anyway, we need to take it back to its owner." You state.

"Can't we keep it for a bit longer, please?" He pouts, catching you off guard.

"U-uh, um, we can't!" You begin to object, but all you could think of was how cute that was. Looking at this guy, with at least 2 sets of ear piercings and a hair cut to display a rebellious aura, just sit there pouting at you because you told him to take the puppy back to its owner- it was so strange yet so adorable.

You do your best to ignore the red adorning your cheeks, as you stand your point and demand he takes it back.

"No fun." He grumbles, as he lifts the puppy and holds it to his chest. "Fine; where's the house? At least come with." He gets off the ground. That's when you first notice some minor details of his tank top. The sides were sort of see-through, allowing you glimpses of his toned body underneath.

"Whatchu starin' at?" Your eyes meet with the smug male's. His smirk just never left his lips, as he continuously wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"Nothing!" You push past him, giving yourself a way to hide your burning cheeks. "That's the house; just follow me." You announce, mainly to change the topic.

After doing your duty as a noble neighbour and returning the puppy to its owner, you head back to your house, Sigurd following behind- obviously.

"I'm so tired." You yawn.

The dark haired male gives an excited grin. "Time to sing you to sleep!" He claps happily. Mysterious charms they say. That guy is the biggest dork you've ever seen. You are friends with Serge, though, so maybe second biggest dork.

"You really don't have to-"

He cuts you off, "All due respect, but that's a bunch of crap. I want to do it, and you want me to do it too." Well, he wasn't wrong. Sigurd's voice is really unique; it's one you really enjoy listening to. This would pretty much be like a private show..how can you say no?

"Well, get comfortable cuz I'm not gonna strain my precious vocals just for you to not fall asleep." He informs, earning an eye roll from you.

Once you place yourself in relaxing position and pull the covers up to your chest, Sigurd begins singing quietly and soothingly. His voice was so calming and gentle, urging you to throw away your worries and let the sweet melody carry you to the land of dreams. Which you inevitably did. Your eyelids had already gotten too heavy for you to keep them open; therefore, it took no time for you to drift into deep sleep.

######

An annoyingly loud ringtone disturbs your comfortable sleep, and you force your eyes open.

You hear a groan coming from the edge of the bed, almost giving you a heart attack before you remember last night's events.

"Hello?" Sigurd grumbles into his phone. As it was a video call, you could see the caller- Serge.

"Sigurd, wher- wait a minute; is that (Y/N)?! Why are you in bed with (Y/N)?? (Y/N), why are you in bed with your least favourite member of the group??" Serge cuts off his own speech to begin yelling about the situation he misunderstood.

"Wait; what do you mean least favourite member?? Why am I your least favourite?! Who's your bias then??" Sigurd complains. What made it funnier and cuter was the fact that you could tell he was genuinely offended by him not being your bias.

"Guy." You confess, "or Joel."

"I spent the night here and sang you to bed; don't I at least get an upgrade??" He whines.

"Hey, why am I not your bias?" Serge joins in, also visibly offended.

"You're my friend. it's weird to have you as a bias." You defend.

"Joel and Guy are your friends too!" Serge just isn't having it, clearly.

"Oh my god, Serge, just let it go, please?" You plead. It was too early in the morning for this.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll discuss this later." He states. "Anyway, Sigurd, where did you leave my phone? I don't wanna keep using Guy's! Well, not that he would let me, but yeah."

"Your pho- oh." Sigurd's confused expression switches to an embarrassed one. "I might've taken it with me?" He pulls a second phone from his pocket.

"Sigurd, I've been calling since morning! You better bring it back right now! I can't believe you-" Sigurd cuts off Serge's rant by hanging up. "Well, I guess I have to go. Man, I'll never hear the end of it!" He groans, to which you giggle lightly. "I mean it is your fault for taking his phone." You point out.

"I was comforting you!" He defends. He looked so hurt you didn't appreciate his 'efforts', which made you want to pinch his cheeks or something. His hair had gotten messier, somehow making him even more attractive, yet you wanted to pinch his cheeks. Well, in your defense, he was acting like a child.

"Anyway, I'm gonna get going now." He pushes himself off the bed. "If you ever need someone to spend the night again, always call me." He winks. "You're an idiot." You shake your head.

"Goodbye, (Y/N)." He smiles. (Y/N). This was the first time he calls you with your real name ever since you met.

"You just called me (Y/N)." You grin victoriously.

"No, I didn't, cupcake." He yells, disappearing into the hallway. You throw your head back in frustration. He just won't stop being his annoying self, huh? Sadly, you felt yourself liking it and waiting for another meeting with him.

"I'm getting bias wrecked, aren't I?" You sigh.

[koolcatkenma]

For the fic request...how bout holding hands for the first time for kyouhaba?

��kindaaaa got carried away with this. i love them so much my heart

**

Kyoutani, Yahaba has decided, is the actually devil.

The whole practice, the boy wouldn’t stop glaring over at him, growling whenever he hit a spike and yelling after every serve. The whole team was on edge around him; nobody knew what to do. He wasn’t messing up, per say. But he was scary.

Yahaba tried to ignore him, wondering if Kyoutani would even wait for him after practice today. They usually walked home together, stopping to get food sometimes.

Watari approached Yahaba. “So, have you given any thought to that letter?” He took a drink before answering.

“Nah. She’s a first year I’ve never met. I don’t like her back.” He shrugged. This wasn’t his first confession, and he was sure it wasn’t his last. He never felt the same about any of the girls who had spoken to him; he used to not know why. But he did now.

He glanced at the court, where Oikawa was chatting with Kyoutani, probably telling him he had to chill out, and save the energy for the next match. It didn’t seem like he was listening, his arms crossed and face in a permanent scowl. But he nodded his head every so often, indicating that he hadn’t gone completely deaf.

Practice ended and the team completed their clean up procedures. They were gathered in the locker room, changing before heading home. Only a few first and second years were left, Yahaba and Kyoutani being two of them.

“Hey, Yahaba, are you going to reply to that girl’s note? She’s in one of my classes, and she’s pretty hot.” The first year chuckled, looking towards his senpai. Yahaba shrugged, brushing him off. It was no first year’s business what he was or wasn’t going to do. Kyoutani slammed his locker shut, scaring the first years. Yahaba laughed and looked to his friend, but was met with a scowl.

Kyoutani did wait up for him, the two embarking on the long walk back home together. It was silent, which wasn’t unusual, but it was uncomfortable this time. Koutani radiated anger, hands buried in his pockets and head down. Yahaba peeked over to him a couple of times before stopping and sighing. The other boy went on for a few more steps before coming to a halt as well, facing forward.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Yahaba asked, crossing his arms. “Is it that note I got? You already know I’m not interested, so have her if you want.” Kyoutani whipped around.

“It’s not her I want dumbass.” He barked, his cheeks red hot. The reaction took Yahaba by surprise. But he wasn’t an idiot.

“Well, who do you want?”

“I…you know who.” His eyes stayed glued to the sidewalk.

“No, I don’t. What’s their name?” He was teasing at this point, lips curled in a smirk.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Speak up, Mad-dog, your grumbling.”

“I like you dammit!” He exclaimed, finally looking up. It was Yahaba’s turn to go pink, the blush spreading down his neck. He was expecting it, but it still took him back. Kyoutani turned on his heel and started walking away. Yahaba jerked back to reality and ran after him, grasping his arm.

“I…like you too.” He whispered. His hand slowly traveled down his friend’s arms and into the palm of his hand. Their fingers slowly intertwined, and Kyoutani squeezed, almost like he was making sure this was actually real.

Yahaba smiled, knowing he couldn’t see it. The pair started walking again, a warm feeling in both of their stomachs, butterflies running rampant. Where their skin touched was warm and comfortable, like this wasn’t their first time doing this. They stayed that way until Yahaba’s house, where, without letting go invited Kyoutani in, hands still wrapped around each other.

[sea-dukes-assistant]

Music: Phutureprimitive - “Disappear”

Notes:  Night.  In bed with Sea Duke, who is reading.

I dunno how long I'd been staring at the ceiling.  It could have only been 5 minutes, but it felt like forever.  The intrusive thoughts are loud tonight...everything Dickquerry has said, feeling as if I'm a burden, feeling not good enough and damaged, the unexplained urge I sometimes get to break things...all of that was floating in my head.  I couldn't get it to calm down, and I can feel the anxiety starting to spike.

“I can't be here,” I say quietly into space.  I ear my voice waiver and  regret it, as this no doubt will invite questions I don't want o face.  My breathing gradually becomes more rapid in spite of the immense effort to regulate it, the instinct to shut down and hide overriding rational thought.  Sea Duke looks over at me, concerned but unsure of what exactly is going on.

“You alright?”  he asks, his voice surprisingly calm.

“No,” I answer, my eyes wide and focusing on one point in the ceiling, trying to calm myself.  “I can't...I need to go...” I move to get out of bed, wanting to hide and, honestly, cry it out.  I don't make much progress in this endeavor, because in one smooth motion he rolls on top of me, his forearms resting on my biceps, pinning my arms down yet not inhibiting their use.  He calmly places his hands on each side of my face.

“Relax,” he whispers at me. Despite my lack of focus on his face, I can feel him staring at me, trying to lock eyes with me.  At this point I can't tell if it's intentional or not, but I avoid returning his gaze.  

“Relax,” he says again, “there's nobody here...nothing's here...it's alright.”

“It...it won't shut up...” I swallow hard, my face twitching, trying to hold myself together.  A tear inevitably rolls down my cheek, which mortifies me yet at the same time gives me a strange sense or relief.  Sir gently wipes it off with his thumb.

“Look at me,” he orders, his voice steady and seemingly entirely unnerved by my ridiculous display of emotion/panic.  He repeats this command until I calm down enough to do so.

“I'm sorry I'm not good enough,” I whisper.

“Don't you dare,” he tells me in his typical officer manner, “don't you dare start talking like that.  You'll make it worse.”

“I'm sorry I need so much validation.”  I can feel my focus drifting from him back to the ceiling, my right hand curling into a fist again. I'm snapped back to reality with a slight smack on my cheek, enough to get my attention but not hard enough to hurt.

“No,” he says, “don't you do that.”

After what seems like hours, I finally sort of come back into myself, calm for the most part, and able to look him in the eye.

“Listen to me.  You're not weak. You're not broken.  You're not in hospital with a tube stuck down your throat.  You are here, safe, with me.”

I take a few deep breathes and finally relax, though the muscles in my back, already sore from working out, aren't happy at due to the overload of tension.  I realize the neurons aren't quite getting to my hand either.

“Could you, uh,” I look at my right hand, then back at him.  

Sir smirks a bit as he gently pries my hand open.  “D'you know I'd hate for that to happen when you've got hold of my dick,” he says.  I can't help but snicker.

“I'll just use the left then; it'll be awkward but less risky.”

“Anyway, about this needing validation concern of yours,” he begins, freeing my arms, “I'm fairly certain you've got this idea that I have absolutely no tolerance for such things.  But you forget that I have dealt with a pregnant wife 4 fucking times.  If anyone needs validation it's a pregnant woman.   She once complained that her toes were hideous. Your issue is cake compared to that.”

“Thank you,” I say, sighing peacefully, “for...calming me down and...being there for me.”  

Most folks would have an intense reaction to being held down, but in my case having weight on me has the opposite effect.  Being under him sometimes also has, uh, some side effects though.

“See I do pay attention.”  Sir gives me a reassuring kiss.  “Now.  Since I'm here...I have a suggestion to relieve all that stress you've just built up.”

“I don't think I have enough energy that,” I muse.

“Well if you don't want the happy ending minus the massage...”  

“Oh wait you meant...I thought you wanted to fuck.”

Sir laughs at me, amused at, as he puts it, how dense I can be.  “I always want to do that to you, but  no

this time I was talking about  a wank.”

“I'd love that, actually,” I smile at him.

Sea Duke rolls off me and onto his back.  “This time you're going to lay on me, your back to my chest,” he explains.

I get in the position he wants me in, and I make sure I'm comfortable but also not making him uncomfortable.  He takes his time though, his hands running down my chest down to my thighs, back up to my chest, and down again, stopping this time to stroke me.  Almost as soon as his hands are around me, I fell my muscles relax, and the tension start to melt away.

“I don't like seeing you so upset. The only time I ever want to see you breathing like that,” he says as he nibbles my ear, “is when I'm balls deep and you can't see straight.”

That alone made me hard almost instantly, a reaction he definitely noticed.

“I see you like that idea.”  I can hear the mild amusement in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” I reply, watching him work on my equipment.

“Feel good?”

I sigh and lay my head back against his shoulder in response.  Not wanting to let me have it easy, he starts teasing me, getting me worked up to the point where I feel the need to thrust into his hand, and unable to be quiet about it.

“If you keep that up, I'll get hard and then we'll have to fuck,” he says, referring to the noises he's causing me to make.  Sir circles his thumb around the tip, knowing damn well how much that gets my blood pressure up, and on instinct I begin to thrust into his hands.  Feeling my orgasm starting to build, I grab onto his hips, my grip tightening as the pressure builds up, the right one obviously being stronger.  He takes this as an indication to finish me off, and sure enough, he does.  My knuckles go white and I feel my eyes roll back in my head as I ride it out, my stomach muscles tightening repeatedly.

I lay on him, his right hand holding mine, recovering and basking in my rush of endorphins and rainbows in my soul, knowing I need to clean up my mess but also not wanting to move.  He gives me a peck on the cheek.  When I can see again, I carefully slide off him and go into the bathroom to clean up.

“Look what you made me do!”  I holler.  I hear him laugh.  Once I'm satisfied with the cleanliness of my stomach, I get back in bed and, after a few minutes of internal deliberation, make an attempt to cuddle up to him.

“Oh good, you've got over that,” he says rather cheerfully.  He puts his arm around me, holding me close to him, and the white noise in my head is no longer there.

[michelleisinhell]

Daddy Lessons

In which Bitty comes out to his Daddy. (The mom version)

Read on Ao3

It sounded like the beginning of a joke. Two Bittles walk into a den.

Eric stood awkwardly in front of his dad’s gigantic trophy case, his body slouched and his fingers intertwined in front of him. His adrenaline was still soaring from the conversation he’d just had with his mother and he could still catch a faint hint of smoke clinging to his button-down.

The elder Bittle was sitting in his favorite navy blue recliner, the hideous and torn one that had been banned from the living room after one (or ten) too many years of service. He held his ipad aloft in front of him as he scrolled through a sports news feed with a scowl. His body language was open, but intimidating, just like always. Richard had a habit of completely filling up every room he was in without meaning to.

The easy commanding presence was great for coaching, not so much for parenting. He knew that his son found it intimidating. The boy was far too soft-hearted for his own good, never wanting to bother or upset anyone. Afraid to speak up for himself for fear of being considered a burden.

Polite to a fault that kid. Just like his mama.

It wasn’t that Eric was afraid of his father. Of course not. He was afraid of disappointing him. Of not living up to his expectations and legacy.

It was the worst kind of fear. Self-imposed and corrosive. Everpresent. A lens that had colored every interaction between the two of them for more than half of Eric’s life, starting with the disaster that was his very first football game.

He would never forget the look on Coach’s face, afterward. The tense set of his jaw as his Mama stormed the field, corralling people to help scrape him up off the turf like a burnt stuck-on pancake.

It had made Eric want to build himself a paper mache turtle shell to hide inside of for all of eternity.

Alas, that solution was neither practical nor cost effective.

Instead, he chose to focus all of his time and energy on things that he loved. Figure skating. Baking. Vlogging. Things he was actually good at, because if he couldn’t be a huge masculine football player like his Daddy wanted, he could at least be the very best at everything else.

Still, even as an adult, Eric had never been able to outrun this intrinsic fear of not being good enough. Of not meeting his father’s expectations.

The truth, though?

Richard Bittle was not disappointed in his son at all.

He was jealous.

Jealous that Eric wanted, had always wanted, to spend all of his time with Suzanne and not with him. That the two of them had so much in common. That Junior’s relationship with her was so easy when their own was so damn hard.

He couldn’t blame his wife and son for being close; he would never begrudge them that, but it was still kind of a hard pill to swallow. Eric was their only child, and for a time it seemed like the only thing his son had inherited from him was his name.

Richard had so much more of himself that he wanted to share. So much wisdom he wanted to impart. But he couldn’t. They weren’t close enough for that. Junior didn’t tell him things, and when he did, Richard never knew the right things to say. That just wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. They communicated mostly through offhandedly whispered football stats and milkshakes on friday afternoons. Hockey terminology and quiet smiles from across the dinner table.

The fact that his son suddenly wanted to talk to him about something serious was both worrying and exciting.

Richard sat his ipad aside and cleared his throat.

Junior was still standing there, not meeting his gaze. The silence was already starting to become awkward.

“Sit down, son.” he said finally, figuring that Eric would stand there looking like he was being scolded for hours if he didn’t say something to spur him into action.

Eric sucked in a breath and pried his hands apart before walking over to the ancient oak writing desk and rolling the accompanying (and completely non-matching) chair over to his father’s side. He ran his delicate fingers over the back of the chair consideringly for a moment before gracefully lowering himself into it.

Richard smiled and did his best to make it a disarming one. It probably looked like a nervous twitch more than anything.

“What’s on your mind, Jr?”

Eric didn’t know where to start. He flashed back to his mother’s advice:

There’s no one more impressive to your father than a professional athlete. You might want to lead with that.

“You know Jack?” he began, butt on the edge of his seat, legs bouncing, fists shaking, ready to bail at any second.

Richard laughed. “You mean the man who spent a whole week under this very roof? First friend you’ve had over in a decade. How could I forget?”

Eric blushed and bristled slightly. “Well um…” he cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. “Jack and I have gotten a lot closer here lately. In fact, he’s invited me to live with him after graduation.”

Richard frowned, unsure of where this was heading. “Okay, that’s fine of course. And not my decision to make, but why are you telling me this as if its groundbreaking news?”

Eric closed his eyes. For Jack, he said in his mind. For you and Jack. He took in a breath.

“Because Daddy. We’re not moving in together as friends. Jack and I are together.”

Richard froze, his world narrowing into a tiny pinprick of perspective. “What did you just say?”

Eric’s heart was throbbing and he felt like he was gonna pass out, but he forced the words out of his lips anyway. They felt like acid and cold water on a hot day all at the same time.

“I’m gay. I’m dating Jack Zimmermann. Have been for almost a year now. And please don’t ask me to prove it to you because I doubt he’s recovered from the phone call with mama and I--”

“Your mother knows about this?” Richard cut in.

Eric put a cap on his nervous babbling and nodded. “I just told her right now. She said I better come talk to you right away, so here I am. Please don’t be upset with her.”

Richard was quiet for a moment. His son watched him with wide vulnerable terrified eyes.

Richard cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Eric opened his mouth and then shut it a few times. “Okay?”

Richard nodded. “Okay.”

A spike of irritation flashed through Eric’s body. It’s not like he wanted a big reaction out of his father, but this surprising lack of one was unnerving. Quite possibly the last thing he was expecting.

“You’re not...mad, or something?” Eric asked.

Richard turned his neck to the side until it cracked. His posture was loose and unconcerned. “Why would I be mad?”

He sounded genuinely confused in a way that made Eric’s heart pound.

“Um, because it’s not manly?”

Richard quirked a brow. “Do you really think that?”

“No!” Eric said quickly, “But I just thought...I didn’t think you’d be so...you’re really not upset?”

Richard scooted forward until he was perched on the very edge of his chair and placed a hand over his son’s knee.

“Eric. You are my son. My only son. And I’m not gonna pretend to know your world or what it’s like for you or what you had to go through growing up. But no matter what you do or who you like, I will always love you. I am so proud of you son. Always have been. It takes guts to be true to yourself in a place like this, and you’ve always tried your very best. I’m sorry if I ever made that harder for you.”

Eric was blinking away the tears in his eyes. He did not want to cry in front of his Daddy. His amazing wonderful Daddy whom he clearly hadn’t been giving enough credit.

“Did you know?” he asked softly.

“I had my suspicions,” Richard confirmed.

The tears fell. He couldn’t hold them back. “Is that why were you always so hard on me? Saying I needed to be stronger and tougher all the time?”

Richard sighed and retracted his hand. “That’s part of it. Yes. Nobody wants to see their boy get hurt, Jr. The world’s not always a nice place. You know that. Seeing what those boys at school did to you…” he clenched his fists. “I’ve never been more angry in my entire life.”

Eric let out a manic and relieved sort of laugh. “I thought you were ashamed that I hadn’t been able to protect myself.”

Richard looked appalled. “The only way I could ever be ashamed of you is if you started rooting for Auburn.”

Eric laughed. “No chance. Y’all raised me right. I still have a Bulldogs keychain on my backpack even though nobody at Samwell understands.”

“Good.”

They fell into a clearer, much more comfortable silence.

“Daddy?” Eric said finally.

“Hmm?”

“Jack has a game in Nashville over New Years. Do you think it’d be okay if he dropped in for a couple of hours. I’d like to reintroduce him to you now that you know the truth.”

“As long as I get to ask embarrassing questions about why he thinks he’s good enough to be dating my boy.”

Eric flushed. “Coach…”

Richard grinned and picked his ipad back up. “This is gonna be fun.”

[martywurst]

YEAR 2: The Worst Comedian (Part 2)

I had an encounter with former Comedy Store talent coordinator, Tommy, who was fired just months prior and was working on developing another home base where he could still play comedy godfather. The Vaucluse Lounge was a mere two blocks away from the Comedy Store and now Tommy was recruiting comics that were still loyal to him and putting on shows. They were calling this place Chaplin's House, but I don't think there was anything historic about it.

It really was an impressive bar/lounge, but management was falling apart. It was a ghost town. I ordered their onion rings and got a pile of American cheese on a couple of turd circles (psst, I'm not really a writer). I ordered something disgusting and got so much more.

"Ooh, that looks good, I'm gonna get that!" one comic said, pinching and stretching some cheese off my plate.

A couple of nights the place was locked up unannounced, black curtains drawn, even though a show was supposed to be going on. Headliners were bailing before their sets.

There were a couple of open mics going on there, too. Tommy would play some acoustic guitar for 30 minutes to get the room warmed up. He played the same three songs over and over. Or maybe it was just the same three chords, I can't remember. He was like one of those dudes that destroy a party by forcing us to listen to a cover of Hotel California. Strictly Hollywood Blvd quality. Then he would hang out for the mic and occasionally give advice to some lucky comic.

After one of my sets, he was suddenly next to me, talking into my ear like David Blaine.

"There's something that's still missing, but I don't know what it is."

"I'm not connecting with the audience?" I asked.

"There was just something missing. Try sitting on a stool and just saying your material, so it's not so (in-your-face gesture) forced. Your material is good, it had an intelligence and you have a good look. It's not about how you look on stage, it's about how you look on camera....really. But I think you just need to say what you have to say- I took it in. You'll get there, I enjoyed it."

Then he patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

Maybe if I worked hard enough I could become a Vaucluse regular! I honestly thought it was cool to get advice from Tommy, despite him being a reputed racist douchebag. I mean, he was once the apprentice of The Comedy Store owner Mitzi Shore, so his opinion has to count for something, right? A racist's opinion is still an opinion. Plus, he really wailed on the guitar!

One night at Vaucluse I waited around for 2 hours to do a 10 minute set. That's actually a good set for that kind of wait, but this night was excruciating. There was a line-up of all male comics that had plenty to say about the opposite sex: Stories varied from "This bitch was sucking my dick," to "I wanted to give her brown eye a black eye!" and so forth. I remember hearing the bartender making pained noises behind the counter, like some victim of a stabbing. left for dead. She had to just stand there and take it...every worthless comedian. Worst of all, EVERYONE got 10 minutes. When the first 30 seconds are torture, the next 9 1/2 feel like a lifetime. When they finally got to me the host said,

"Uhh, you get 2 minutes."

I've never been that pissed at an open mic before. Mother...FUCKER. They were letting the worst people host, nothing ever started on time, the food was godawful, the bartender wanted to kill herself, and no one seemed to give a shit that the place was falling apart. I was mentally trying to stay positive and tune out all the negative shit I'd been listening to, but now I wanted to douse myself in gasoline and tackle the host into the fireplace--that would be such a great closer. My stomach was turning from the onion rings, so I opted for my shitty set instead.

But hey, it's 2 minutes so I did it. I got through a joke-and-a-half. Once I left, I cursed and muttered angrily all the way to the bus, letting the "cocksuckers" and "motherfuckers" fly.

I went home and looked at their Facebook page and saw this ridiculous post,

"Chaplin's House is being called the New Comedy Store...no joke."

Nobody's laughing.

Anyway, that place folded and Tommy moved on to another space where he still occasionally gives out his comedy pointers.

Also in my second year I was doing fewer bringer shows, but I still got roped into a couple more at Flappers. I would quickly get stressed out again and moan to my girlfriend about why I put myself through this. Just reading the emails made me want to puke:

Respond to this email with a head count of how many audience you expect so that we can properly staff the room. 

It takes everyone involved to have epic shows--we do ask everyone to always aim to have at least 5 people per show.  If you are unable to get anyone out please let us know and we will re-schedule you for a date that is more convenient for you to support.

Like I said before, they only want me back when I make some fucking friends!

I decided to not show up at all and go to the Rebel Bite open mic in Long Beach instead. An open mic at a pizza joint was better than doing a bringer show, at least in my head. I wrote back:

Sorry for the delay,   I wanted to get a more accurate count of zero confirmed.    I think my friends tapped out months ago.  Let me know if you want to reschedule or give me the boot.  Or I'll audition again once I have a little fanbase I can depend on instead of wasting everybody's time. Nothing personal.  Thanks.

I shouldn't have felt bad about it anyway, since I bought 4 of my videotaped sets from them.

Then there was the Formosa Cafe. I did it because I was told it wasn't REALLY a bringer show...just sort of. Uggh. I won't mention the names. I can still hear the producer pretending to laugh at other people's sets--so forced and obvious, trying to get the crowd on our side. He'd be looking down at his phone and let out a

"BWAHAHAHAHA!"

Then I'd have to listen to some jerk-off host do his Family Guy impressions for 15 minutes. Then the producer would go up and do the most dated material--many of these bringer show people stick to their one routine. Anyway, what do I know, they're the ones cashing in, right?

I had friends show up for my first and second show, then the third time none of my friends came out and the producer stopped booking me. During past shows, he was blowing smoke up my ass and said all these nice things about my particular brand of humor, but he was only thinking about the head-count. He was a phony just like his forced laughter.

 There were some nice moments. My blues buddy, Street Slim invited me to do a set at The Rainbow Bar and Grill, a really cool rock bar on The Sunset Strip. Just to do something outside the ring of comedians that I was usually bumping heads with felt really special.

My friend Donald and I rented out a black box theater and produced a variety show. It ran 2 1/2 hours and half the audience left, but we had a great time.

I co-produced a comedy show with Jeanne Whitney and Timika Hall at Echoes Under Sunset. We only did 3 shows, but it was a fantastic experience.

I remember bombing at the new UCB on Sunset and when I was walking back to the car, a couple I've never seen before starts yelling at me from their car.

"Marty, you were funny!"

"What?"

"We were inside."

"Really? Thanks, it felt like death in there."

"We thought you were funny."

"Working on it, working on it."

That blew my mind. Who does that? And they remembered my name!

One time they moved a Comedy Store open mic into the Main Room and after we finished our sets, Bill Burr dropped in and did 15 minutes to an all-comic crowd. It was awesome.

Another time I was waiting around for Tony Bartolone's Hat Show to start and the great Rick Shapiro was outside with Rick Wood and Jeremy Bassett. Shapiro was making fun of the Oldtown Pasadena scene and he suddenly gets a glimmer in his eye and this evil grin,

"Let's go to the Mac Store and jerk off!"

It was said with such demented glee. Later we went to get him some Starbucks and he told the barista that his name was Johnny Two Chicks. He was so excited to hear the name called out, but it didn't get the reaction he wanted.

 Then there was the time that I was waiting in the green room for another possible Kill Tony episode at the Comedy Store. Dom Irrera comes in and sits down across from me. It's silent, it's uncomfortable, the guy is amazing, so I'm a little in awe. He asks me if I'm a comic and how long I've been doing it. Very friendly, but I just gave him short answers. Meanwhile, Pat Regan was on stage singing about how much he misses getting jacked off in San Francisco, and Dom and I are just sitting there while this song is in the background. Dom turns to me completely serious and says,

"This song brings back a lot of memories." I barked out a laugh.

I started making goofy set-lists and posting them online. Just a good way to vent about the shit I'd seen at open mics during the week. Here are a few of my favorites:

The usual variety of homophobic/misogynistic shit I'd hear on any given week.

 My second Kill Tony appearance went a little better, but only because I managed to get a few laughs. It was a unique situation because I brought my buddy Dakota Freeman with me, but he was under 21 and wouldn't be allowed inside the club unless he was called up to perform. So I stood outside with him, listening through the door every few minutes to see if we'd get called.

About 30 minutes into the show I got called, but I couldn't open the door from the outside. For a second, the hosts thought I had flaked, but a couple of my friends were in the audience, telling them I was behind the door because I was with a minor. They opened the door for me and at this point there was some confusion because the hosts were under the impression that I was the one underage. Then when it was cleared up Tony says,

"Oh, you're hanging out with underage boys. Ok!"

Before I've even started my set, another pedophile joke had been spiked over my head. You can probably see where this is going.

I didn't gain any Twitter followers this time--in fact, I think I lost a couple.  They probably thought I was really a pedophile.

 Gradually, I found some open mics down in Long Beach, where I had moved in with my girlfriend. There was the SOM open mic at the Rebel Bite pizzeria, The Library Coffeehouse, Blacklight District Lounge and Makai Coffee.

Now if I wasn't feeling the LA scene that week, I had the option to hit some mics in my neighborhood. Rebel Bite, Makai, and The Library were just a mile away. Long Beach was also calmer. I could do longer sets- I did my first 15 minute set at Rebel Bite. I met some nice people. It's funny how these two coffee shops were the polar opposite in terms of an audience--take a look below.

I was also hearing some positive feedback for a change. Sometimes my conceptual ideas would play well and even if they didn't, I'd still be writing the kind of stuff I wanted to try. The support I was getting from my new friends gave me the confidence to try bigger ideas. Showing up to mics and finally having a group of friends to talk to was a nice break. I was so used to being the creeper that was eavesdropping outside a circle of comedy nerds or asking Dean Delray stupid questions in the Comedy Store hallway. Complimenting comics on their podcasts, or a joke that I liked, thinking I always had to go in with a compliment or they'd hate my guts. Then I would fuck up their name anyway, which made the compliment null and void.

I'm still learning to relax, but I'm usually amped up whenever I'm in Los Angeles. I feel the cutthroat competition and that air of judgement. Mostly because I'm carrying it around with me--turn that shit off Wurst, these are your friends! I don't have to prove anything to these comics, we're all showing up to the same mic. Charles Disney was just saying how we ask questions that we want to be asked in return,

"You got any cool gigs coming up? No? NOW ASK ME IF I HAVE ANY COOL GIGS! THANK YOU, I DO! SLEEPAWAY CAMP BABY-MARGARET CHO HEADLINING! ENJOY YOUR SHOW AT P.F. CHANG'S, YA ASIAN FUSION COMIC! "

There's usually 4-5 standard questions (How you doing, got anything coming up, you hitting another mic after this, you ever go to Marty's?) and if there's no conversation beyond that, we're not really friends. It's just surface level pleasantries for insecure comics.

Then there are just genuinely great dudes like Spencer Kalendar, who's never putting on airs and makes me feel like I can just be myself. I think the very first thing he said to me was,

"I remember you from Kill Tony, you're the pedophile guy!"

[reversecxpid-blog]

In reaction to THIS post.

They have arrived to the dance, and his intention is to start dancing right away so both can have fun, so both can take a break from everything that has happened lately. Parties are meant for that. They should keep your head busy with noise and alcohol so you forget about real life. The problem is... that this place doesn’t have the music as loud, and the punch is not spiked yet. Still, he needs something to drink, and so, he looks back at Lydia. “I’ll be back in a second”, he promises, and rushes towards the table full of snacks.

He doesn’t want to have full hands, so he solves to drink the punch there and return without the cup, but when he turns his head, the vision causes his heart to skip a beat. BLAKE PALMER is there and he’s talking way too friendly to HIS DATE. How does he even dare? Get your own date, Blake; don’t try to take another person’s. Gabriel frowns and in any other occasion he would interrupt right away, but no. He is Lydia’s friend and then last thing he wants is to be labeled as a possessive douchebag with the girl that is not even his girlfriend.

AND SO HE WAITS.

He stays at the back with crossed arms, looking at the both of them as they chat. He’s watching. He won’t interrupt. It’s nothing after all. It’s just a talk, right? He cannot hear them, but Gabe can notice Blake’s stammering from where he is. A soft mocking chuckle. Poor idiot. Yet, Lydia seems so happy, and that causes a boiling sensation in his blood. Is this... JEALOUSY? No, no, impossible. He isn’t jealous. In fact, he should just turn and walk away, let them be the rest of the dance. Not like he can’t get another date. Not like he’s got something for Lydia ‘Bunny’ Asher. “You gotta be kidding me”, he scoffs at his own thoughts. He’s upset. But why?! He was perfectly fine a minute ago. Gabe tries to look away, but finds himself unable to.

He invites her to dance, and Gabriel D’Angelo puffs his chest as his lungs hold the breath inside. Wait... is she not... rejecting him?! She’s gonna dance with him? Not like he has a problem with her dancing with other guys, but this is not a simple other guy. This is Blake Palmer. The guy everybody knows has a crush on her. They are smiling and giggling, but suddenly something changes in their atmosphere. Lydia is not smiling anymore and they are not dancing. Gabe pushed himself from the wall and untangles his crossed arms, now gaining MORE interest on the scene some meters away. Did he said anything that made her upset? He better not if he wants to leave the place alive.

They get closer and closer and CLOSER. He clenches a fist without even noticing and his heart beat races at the sight. Are they... arguing? But it seems too calm and too sudden to be arguing. What are they talking about? He starts to surround the place, looking for a better angle to analyze what’s happening. He manages to get a few meters closer without being obvious. He watches as stress gathers in his chest. He s not even asking himself the reason behind all this reactions, he’s just interested on what they are talking. Gabe cannot here a thing, but his expressions are enough for him to try and decipher what’s the conversation about and-- NO, GABE. Stop. This is not good. This is not healthy. You cannot stalk your own date. IT’S SICK.

And so, he turns his head trying to think about something else, he’s trying to relax and dismiss the bubbling feeling in his chest that makes him want to step put of the place and just leave, but his feet are rooted to the floor already, and he can’t move. Okay, just one more quick look and he’ll go do something else.

He sees as Lydia’s hand goes up Blake’s neck and that’s all he needed. Time gets slow and that fraction of second seems eternal. “Lydia...?”, he calls barely in a whisper. At the distance he is, she can’t hear him. In fact, nobody can really hear him, but he still waits for an answer, for some kind of reply or change of mind, but she is approaching to Blake and Gabe doesn’t know what to do, how to react or what to think. He’s breaking. Why did he have to leave her alone? Why hasn’t he interrupted just yet? A burning sensation hits his throat and he tries to be mad about it, or even better.... to not care, but he can’t. Not right now. He’s seen too much to just let it go. He doesn’t understand. Sure, he has a crush on her, but what crush gets this bad about a kiss ( that hasn’t happened yet ) of this girl with someone else? HE FEELS BETRAYED. With a quick reflection, his hand goes to his back, but nothing there. He didn’t bring his bow and arrows. The frown get more and more notorious as his respiration agitates. ANNE-MARIE IS GOING TO CHEAT ON HIM  A G A I N  .

Anne-Marie

                 ANNE-MARIE

                                        ANNE-MARIE

What are you doing, Gabriel? This is not Anne-Marie. This is Lydia Asher. The girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly, the girl that ACCEPTED to go to the dance with you. The girl you’d let paint your nails hot pink if she wanted. This is not Anne-Marie. You can’t do to her the same thing you did to Anne-Marie. For fucks sake, Lydia is not even cheating on you BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT EVEN DATING, you moron!

                                             ...Then why do you feel so sad, D’Angelo?

His face of anger drops and is replaced by one full of realization, full of regret. What was he going to do? If he had his bow and arrows there, WHAT WOULD HE HAVE DONE? He looked down and tried to normalize his breath. Shaking, he looks up again, but the girl is burying her face in the other’s neck. No kiss. A little side smile shows up, but far from being cocky, is a smile full of relief and hope. Man, this is so wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling good about this. That’s selfish. Yeah, selfish, especially after you realize that for a split second you thought about killing your date just because she was about to kiss someone. No more smile. This time, a hand covers his mouth in horror. HE THOUGHT ABOUT KILLING HER. It doesn’t matter if it was just for a second, the idea reached his mind, and the only thing that stopped him was the fact that he didn’t bring his weapon with him.

      ‘CUPID has fallen. Today at 3:43 p.m., the killer known as Cupid has finally 

      been caught after a very young witness gave him away to the police. Gabriel

      D’Angelo, which is his real name, had just killed a man called John Samuels, 

      who was not only married and with a daughter, but was also having an affair with 

      a prostitute, or so reports D’Angelo. The killer didn’t resist to the arrest, and even

      even though his father, the mastermind, was caught months before, it is thought

      that probably he was sending mail to his son to continue this ‘mission’. It is

      important to remember that Gabriel D’Angelo is incapable of taking his own

     decisions, and is not mentally unstable to receive jail or even DEATH ROW, as

      punishments for his acts. Whichever is the decision of the trials, the MONSTER

      of Chicago has been caught, and now everybody can sleep peacefully. He won’t

     hurt anybody EVER AGAIN’.

He has to rest his back against the wall to avoid falling. He looks at his hands, and then up at the couple swaying slowly on the dance floor. This is not okay. He doesn’t deserve her. Go ahead, Blake. Kiss her. Take her with you. You are good for her, you make her happy, you didn’t try to kill her. You didn’t try to kill her. He can’t take this anymore, not for now at least. Gabe exists the place and heads to the back of the building. Manners, Gabriel, manners. He is not going to ditch her tonight, that’s obvious, but he needs fresh air and a moment to think. He is not a person who smokes, specially on a date, but he needs it. He pulls out a cigarette he was keeping for an emergency like this one and lights it up. It has mint, so neither him or his clothes smell like tobacco when he’s back. He closes his eyes and just lets the smoke get to his throat before letting it out. He hates to admit it, but hopefully, the moment he goes in, neither Lydia, nor Blake are there. Hopefully, he’ll see a pink blur in the night walking away with a schizophrenic boy and his dog. Hopefully, she’ll change rooms and they won’t be neighbors anymore. Hopefully, she’ll just stop talking to him and start dating Blake. Yeah, hopefully, she’s smarter than this.

A shaky hand goes up to wipe a tear that falls down his cheek. This is absurd, he hasn’t cried in A LONG TIME. “I’m not crying”, he mumbled with clenched teeth, “This doesn’t mean anything, I’m not crying”, he repeats, trying to convince himself. But then another tear, and another and another; and it’s not about Lydia being able to choose Blake anymore, it’s about him still being haunted by his demons, and about him mistaking Lydia Asher with Anne-Marie Béranger and attempting to kill her. HE IS NOT HEALTHY FOR HER. He is still dangerous, still unpredictable. Blindness and murder attempt in the same two weeks. Congratulations, Gabriel. You are still the same monster that killed 57 people. You are not going to change. You are wired this way and you can’t save anybody, not even yourself. “Fuck”, he mutters and lets himself fall down to the floor with both hands on his face, as tears start to stream down without any kind of control. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck”, he repeats himself.

The cigarette consumes itself and he stands up. Tears had stopped coming out, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to cry anymore. He needs to hold it. He needs to go back with the chin up and discover what happened. Gabriel fixed his hair and placed his mask properly again. He took a deep breath before pushing the ballroom doors open and as a magnet, his eyes quickly found Lydia on the dance floor. ALONE. His heart started to beat faster and faster again. Why? Why was she alone? Where’s Blake? He looked around frenetically, but no sight of the other. What did this mean? Was... was Lydia choosing HIM over Blake? Well, probably just for the dance, This didn’t mean anything. It was a simple dance, probably they were going to see each other the next day. Probably Blake just felt sick and had to leave. Whichever is the reason, he has to approach. He has to pretend nothing happened, and that he just found a couple of friends who wouldn’t stop talking. Gabriel puts a foot in front of the other, and before he knows it, he’s next to her again. He doesn’t make any sound just yet, but analyzed her. She’s nervous, still trembling. A hand extends to touch her cheek, but he stops, and instead, reaches for her hand carefully. “Sorry I took so long. Mikky started chit-chatting about Milo and I couldn’t stop her. Everything okay?”

[udayin]

The wolf of wall Street

The movie begins in medias res, with Belfort and his devoted minions blowing off steam in an office dwarf-tossing competition, before flashing back to give us a brief glimpse of the young and relatively innocent Jordan, who arrives on Wall Street in the fall of 1987 as a “connector” — basically a glorified phone dialer — for the old-money trading firm of L.F. Rothschild. It’s there that the eager rookie gets his first sense of the wild life to come when a mad-hatter senior broker (Matthew McConaughey) takes him out for a three-martini lunch that also includes enough white powder for a killer day at Big Bear. And even though he’s no longer quite boyish enough to play someone in his early 20s, DiCaprio is convincingly green here, like a wide-eyed Candide lunching with McConaughey’s debauched Dr. Pangloss.

But no sooner has Jordan settled in than Black Monday arrives and the bottom falls out, of the market and L.F. Rothschild, sending him back to the help-wanted ads at a time when nobody seems to be looking for stockbrokers. Nobody, that is, save for a storefront brokerage in a Long Island strip mall, where the slovenly staff unloads worthless penny stocks on cold-called clients for 50% commissions, and where Belfort sticks out like a Savile Row suit on a Kmart clearance rack. But the genial proprietor (an uncredited Spike Jonze) agrees to give him a shot, not quite realizing he’s just let a wolf in the door.

It isn’t long before Belfort branches out on his own, starting the tony-sounding Stratton Oakmont in a declasse former gas station, resolving to go from “selling garbage to garbagemen” to targeting the deep-pocketed one percent. He assembles a merry band of brokers comprised of petty thugs, drug dealers and high-school dropouts who, when trained in Belfort’s precision-scripted tactics, prove to be remarkably effective salesmen. Riding herd on them all is Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill), a buffoonish caricature of a Jew in WASP Land, decked out in garish bleached teeth, clear-lens horn-rims and a sweater tied ever so carefully around his neck. (Belfort’s own Jewishness and WASP aspirations, a running theme in the book, have been omitted from the film.) After offering his services to Belfort out of the blue in a local diner, Donnie becomes the Wolf’s most trusted associate, and it’s Hill who gives the movie’s most flamboyant (if slightly one-note) comic performance, unzipping his schlong, swallowing a live goldfish, and otherwise boldly exploring the gray area between mankind and our nearest relatives on the evolutionary scale.

Clocking in at 179 minutes, “Wolf” sets a record as Scorsese’s longest fiction film (one minute longer than “Casino”), but that doesn’t make it his most ambitious or deeply felt. It lacks the dynamic emotional range of a “Mean Streets” or “Goodfellas,” or the intricate plotting of a “Casino,” and for all its amusing guest stars (Rob Reiner as Belfort’s combustible dad, Jean Dujardin as a pompous Swiss banker) and caper-like episodes, almost everything unfolds in the same manic register. Even when the movie is really cooking (which is often), there’s a feeling that scenes are being held for a few beats too many, that Scorsese and his ace editor Thelma Schoonmaker simply didn’t have enough time to do the elegant fine-tuning they’re accustomed to (an impression reinforced by several conspicuous continuity gaffes and badly matched cuts throughout the film).

Still, considering how familiar this milieu of fast-talking, hard-selling hucksters is from the likes of “Wall Street,” “American Psycho,” “Boiler Room” (which was also inspired by the Belfort case) and “Glengarry Glen Ross,” it’s surprising how lively Scorsese manages to keep things throughout. In terms of style, the movie is almost self-consciously Scorsesean — even more than “The Departed” — with d.p. Rodrigo Prieto’s camera tracking elaborately, freeze-framing, dollying in fast and whip-panning even faster, while a quadruple album’s worth of classic rock and blues fill up the soundtrack (veteran Scorsese collaborator Robbie Robertson more than earns his “executive music producer” credit) alongside DiCaprio’s running first-person narration. This is very much iconic, old-school Scorsese in full bloom, but what’s missing is the marvelous empathy the filmmaker managed to conjure for even those films’ most reprehensible characters — the sense that this former seminarian could see the good and ill in the souls of troubled men, even finding some kind of tormented nobility in the psychopath Travis Bickle.

In “Wolf,” that empathy has been replaced by an overarching cynicism — cynicism for the swindlers who do the swindling and the schmucks who get snookered, cynicism for the empty allure of the good life, and cynicism for a system that allows for so many clean getaways. (Belfort’s nominal downfall notwithstanding, those wishing to see the character get his real comeuppance will still be waiting after the end credits have rolled and the lights have come back up.) Make no mistake: “Wolf” is as much a gangster movie as any Scorsese has made, with Belfort as a Bill the Butcher who slices and dices people’s bank accounts, a Nicky Santoro who puts your savings in a vise. But on some basic level, he’s a cipher whose drug-fueled binges regularly put others (including, in one harrowing scene, his own young daughter) in harm’s way, and who thinks nothing of recruiting his wife’s British aunt (an excellent Joanna Lumley) as a front — or, in the movie’s distinctive patois, “rathole” — for his offshore accounts. As dramatis personae go, Belfort lacks a tragic dimension: This latter-day Gatsby stares out from his own extravagant Long Island enclave and sees only a blinking green dollar sign.

But a talented performer can do much to camouflage such shortcomings, and that’s precisely what DiCaprio does here. A reliably good actor who too often shows you all the hard, technical work he’s put into creating a character, the DiCaprio of “Wolf” seems loose and uninhibited and freed of premeditated mannerisms. In his fifth collaboration with Scorsese, he’s a constant joy to watch, whether crawling across the floor like a baby while his bombshell second wife (appealing Australian newcomer Margot Robbie, who deserves more screen time) engages in a particularly cruel form of cock-blocking, or rallying his disciples with an impassioned variation on Gekko’s “Greed Is Good” speech. DiCaprio doesn’t just play this part; he inhales it, along with everything else that goes up Belfort’s nose and into his bloodstream.

For anything resembling gravitas, though, one must instead look to the dogged FBI agent Patrick Denham (Kyle Chandler), who sets Belfort in his sights early on and gradually closes in. In one of the movie’s best scenes, a cocksure Jordan goes so far as to invite the G-man on to his yacht and comes within a hairsbreadth of bribing him. And Chandler, who projects the effortless, middle-class virtue of a 1950s leading man (a Robert Stack type), plays the scene with a wonderfully sly poker face, leading Belfort the egomaniac to believe he’s actually buying what he’s selling. But the sting of “Wolf” comes in Denham’s realization that, while he may have gotten his man, it’s Belfort who may well have the last laugh.

Moments like those keep “Wolf” buoyant and lithe in spite of its redundancies and excesses. But if there’s one scene here that is sure to end up in future Scorsese career-achievement montages, it’s the epic drugged-out setpiece in which Jordan and Donnie experience a delayed reaction to decades-old Quaaludes, obliterating their motor skills and culminating in an explosively funny battle for control of a kitchen telephone. This live-action variation on the old Looney Tunes cartoon in which Bugs Bunny and the mad scientist get high on ether fumes reveals heretofore unknown reserves of physical comedy in DiCaprio. But more than being just a great gag, it’s a representative image: Call it infantile capitalism.

Despite its high price tag, the pic’s physical production is more modestly scaled than the likes of “The Aviator,” “Gangs of New York” and “Hugo,” save for one elaborate, CG-intensive sequence in which Belfort’s yacht nearly capsizes in a violent Mediterranean storm. Otherwise, most of the movie is confined to trading floors, boardrooms and suburban McMansions, rendered by Prieto and production designer Bob Shaw (“Boardwalk Empire,” “The Sopranos”) with the bright, Windexed sheen of strip-mall, office-park America. The redoubtable costume designer Sandy Powell has everyone looking suitably snazzy, in keeping with Stratton Oakmont’s policy of inhouse custom tailoring for its employees.