#red wood banister

[zaynsource]

Vinyl - Exterior

[lomlhwa]

bite me (l.hs)

pairing: vampire bf!heeseung x human gf!reader

preview: heeseung loves to scare you. so tonight, you've agreed to a sick game of hide and seek. better pray he can't smell you.

tags/warnings: fem reader, lots of biting, blood drinking, marking, kinda cnc, edging, chasing through the woods, "if i catch you, i fuck you" type shit, pet names (whore, slut, cockslut, baby), impact play, monster cock heeseung, heeseung is MEAN, degrading, color system, masochism, fingering, kinda public sex but it's late at night in a forest, fear play, kinda predator/prey, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, sweet aftercare

trigger warnings: kinda cnc

wc: 2.2k

song recs for this fic: bite me by enhypen

a/n: little late from halloween to be posting a vamp fic but here we are

you open your front door, finding that your house is pitch black and empty. you feel around for the light next to the door and flip the switch. you’re met with a sticky note stuck to the banister of the stairs. you walk over and pick it up. ‘hide. if i find you, you’re fucking mine.’ cold sweat drips down your forehead. you love when heeseung plays this game. you crumple up the note and book it. you head for the bathroom just as you hear the front door open, indicating that your hunter is here. 

you scramble to try and find a hiding spot, opting to jump in the bathtub and shut the curtain. you plop yourself down in one end of the tub and put your hand over your mouth to stifle how hard you’re breathing. you hear heeseung climb his way up the stairs, humming to himself. “where are you, my pretty whore?” he says in a sing-songy voice. “i know your pussy is dripping for me right now.” you clench your thighs together, hating how well he knows your body. you can hear him wander into your shared bedroom, clicking his tongue when he doesn’t find you in there. 

you hear him walk towards the bathroom and stop in the doorway. “i know your pretty cunt can’t wait to be filled, isn’t that right…” he trails off as he walks over to the bathtub and throws the curtain open. “gotcha.” his eyes flash bright red and you can’t help but scream. you’re frozen for a moment before you clamber out of the tub. you manage to sprint past heeseung, down the stairs and out the front door. you head for the forest behind your house, despite it being late at night. you look over your shoulder and spot heeseung walking very confidently after you. you swerve and try to get yourself out of his line of sight. 

you take a corner too fast and catch your foot on a branch. you come crashing down to the ground, catching yourself on your elbows. the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through you pushes you to get up and walk it off. you run for a while more until your legs and lungs are positively aching. you come across a fairly large tree and decide to hide behind it to catch your breath. you peek around the tree and can’t spot heeseung, so you start to relax. 

that is until a hand wraps around your neck and slams your back against the tree, knocking the wind out of you. “you fucking thought you could outrun me?” you wrap your hands around his wrist and do your best to shake your head. your eyes fill with pure fear as he bares his fangs at you. you dig your nails into the skin of his wrist, desperate to get him to release you. “color?” he asks, loosening his grip on your throat. “g-green,” you respond, gasping for air while you can. with this confirmation, he tightens his grip once again, lifting you up and dropping you to the forest floor. 

he gets on his knees at your feet, grabbing your ankles and forcing your legs open. he’s quick to slot himself between your legs, right at your core. he traps your head between his arms, slamming his palms down onto the ground by your head. “i didn’t expect you to run out of the house, baby. i guess you just really wanted everyone to listen to me fuck you, huh?” he taunts you, grinding his hips against you, earning him a whimper from you. “get off me,” you demand, trying to roll away. he catches you, shaking his head. “the little brat doesn’t know when to give up, does she?” he grabs your wrists with his hands and pins you down. his irises flash bright red again as he leans down to connect his fangs with your throat. you cry out, kicking your legs to try and escape his hold on you.

he lets your hands go and trails them down your body. he finds your skirt and flips it up, grabbing at the waistband of your underwear and tugging them off you. he discards them somewhere in the woods before connecting his fingers to your cunt. he circles your clit as he begins sucking on your neck, relishing in the iron taste of your blood. the mix of pain and pleasure has your mind spinning, your whole body trembling. “h-heeseung,” you croak, pushing at his head to try and get him to stop draining you. “y-yellow,” you add and he immediately pulls his teeth away. 

you cough and wipe the extra blood away from your neck as heeseung inserts a finger into your hole. your back arches at his attempt to distract you from the pulsing pain in your neck. you look up at him, his face illuminated in the moonlight. his mouth is covered in your blood and he can’t help but smile at you. “you’re always so fucking delicious, slut.” he emphasizes his words by adding another finger and prodding at the spot where you need him most. your back arches off the ground, a strangled moan leaving your throat. heeseung forces your shirt up and over your breasts, his free hand coming up to pinch at your sensitive nipples. “i think you need a punishment for being so fucking disobedient,” he feigns pity, raising his hand and landing a hard slap to your face. “answer me,” he demands. “yes, i d-deserve a punishment,” you answer. 

he lands hard smacks across your torso, leaving bright red and pink handprints all over you. he thrusts and wiggles his fingers around inside you, the pleasure between your legs growing. you reach up and dig your nails into his shoulders, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. “c-close, heeseung,” you mutter, the chord in your stomach tightening. a sinister look spreads over his face as he gets you closer and closer, before pulling his fingers out of you completely. “you really think dirty, disobedient whores deserve to cum? let alone without asking?” he removes himself from between your legs, flipping your skirt back down. “run some more, i like hunting my prey. and if you wanna cum, beg me to fuck you while you run,” he stands up, gesturing to the expanse of the forest. 

you’re quick to get to your feet and run, your speed significantly diminished. overcome by heightened emotions, you begin to cry. “seung, please,” you cry out, ducking and dodging branches. “please fuck me, i’ll behave!” you scream, wiping your eyes of their tears. you pause and look around, finding that heeseung is nowhere near you. “heeseung! please!” you take off running again, having no idea where you are or where you’re going. you’re overwhelmed and scared in the thickly wooded forest. you’re crying so hard your chest hurts and you can barely see. you collapse to the ground, holding your head in your hands.

“heeseung stop hiding, i know you’re out there,” you mumble, wiping your eyes for what feels like the millionth time. you know that if you say the word, he’ll put an end to the game. but under all your very real terror, you still want him to fuck you. you feel a presence behind you and you turn your head to find your boyfriend towering over you. “is my prey sacrificing herself to her predator?” he asks, crouching down and examining your face. you nod, pouting at him. you no longer had the energy to run from him. 

he grabs you by the hair on the back of your head and forces your neck to bend at a weird angle. “tell me you want me to fuck you. beg for my cock like a good whore,” he demands of you, despite having you run and beg just moments prior. with the angle your head is bent at, you have the perfect view of how hard his cock is straining against his pants. you've never made him this hard before. “heeseung please, i need you to fuck me. i’ve done everything you’ve asked of me,” you sob, your whole body aching. he almost takes pity on you for a moment before returning to his mean headspace. “good girl, lay down on your back,” he gestures to the ground with his eyes. you’re quick to follow orders, wanting to be on your absolute best behavior from here on out. 

you dig out a couple of sticks from under your spine before fully settling onto the forest floor. heeseung is quick to get between your legs, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing against your exposed clit. you gasp, throwing your head back. heeseung reaches down between you to undo his pants. he doesn’t bother removing them all the way, opting to slide his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh, just enough to let his pink and swollen cock free. he drags the tip of his cock up and down your slit, gathering your arousal to make getting inside you easier. he leans down to kiss you, his tongue swirling with yours. he nips at your bottom lip as he sheathes himself into you. your body shudders, the relief of finally being filled sends a new wave of desire through you.

heeseung wastes no time in drawing his hips back and slamming into you. his tip slams into the gummy spot deep inside you, making you see stars. you can tell that despite his demeanor, he wants you just as bad as you want him. he groans against your mouth, your pussy clenching around him in the most delicious way. you suck him in perfectly, your cunt begging for more. “what a slut. d-desperate for cock even deep in the forest. fucking pathetic,” heeseung can’t help but let out a sinister chuckle at the way you clench with the way he talks to you. “just so cock drunk and i’ve barely done anything.” heeseung fucks into you with so much force that your whole body is jerking on the floor. your back arches and you dig your head into the forest floor. you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the pleasure. this displeases heeseung and his grips your face with one of his hands. “open your eyes and fucking look at me. i wanna see how fucking good i make you feel,” he demands and your eyelids flutter open.

you hold eye contact with heeseung as he loses himself in the sensation of your soaked heat. you breathe heavily as you feel your orgasm approaching, your body becoming desperate for release. “seungie…” you whine, gripping his forearm and digging your nails into his soft skin. you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him as close to you as possible. “f-fuck baby, if you do that i won’t be able to pull out,” he whines, his own orgasm approaching him swiftly. “d-don’t pull out, give me cum,” you blabber, your thoughts getting fuzzier by the second. “please let me cum,” you beg, your eyes welling with tears. you move your hands from his forearms to wrap around his neck and pull his lips to yours. “cum for me, baby,” he says between kisses. he thrusts into you at the perfect rhythm, drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re twitching uncontrollably. “oh fuck-” he stutters as he releases into you soon after. his hips stutter as he rides out his orgasm, relishing in the way your walls milk him dry.

he stops moving and for a moment just remains inside you, catching his breath. he admires your tear stained face in the moonlight, finding you the most beautiful in moments like these. he pulls out of your slowly, a small whimper erupting from you at the emptiness. heeseung pulls his pants back up and scoops you into his arms. he carries you all the way back to your house, all the way up to your bathroom where he had found you just a while ago. he places you on the counter before turning around to run a hot shower for the two of you. as the water heats up, he helps you out of your clothes before removing his own. he lifts you again and holds you up under the warm water. you hum at the comforting warmth of his body heat mixed with the water. “hi baby,” he finally speaks, tucking your hair behind your ear. “hi seungie,” you respond, looking up at him with a giddy look. “i love you,” he adds, a stupid smile spreading across his face. “i love you too,” you rise to your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. 

“you’re so pretty. you’re perfect and i wouldn’t trade you for the world. you know that, right?” he stares at you as you nod. “i know.” heeseung spins you around and lathers shampoo in your hair, aiming to remove the leaves and sticks that remained in your hair. “did you have fun?” he asks after rinsing your hair carefully. you nod, smiling. “i was genuinely scared at some points but honestly i think it made it more fun,” you giggle. heeseung sighs in relief. “well, i’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” he embraces you tightly, wanting as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. he takes you out of the shower, drying you off and running to your room to get some comfy pajamas. 

he holds you tightly as you settle into bed together, whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves you and how he would never want to actually hurt you. his soft, honey voice slowly lulls you to sleep, your muscles finally relaxing for the first time since before you got home. 

© lomlhwa 2024

[sen-jou]

Loft-Style Family Room (Dallas)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Mercy, Devil — Part 3

Poly-vampire!Batboys x reader

a/n: so much classical music was listened to while writing this

warnings: vampirism, blood drinking, poly batboys 

word count: 5,250

-Part 2-

If you had been somewhere brighter, somewhere happier, you might have risen more promptly. Surprisingly the threat of three supernatural beasts you imagine are currently either stalking the halls of the labyrinthine castle or dining on the blood of a naked virgin isn’t enough to goad you into leaving the sweet warmth of bed. You’ve never slept on a mattress so comfortable, and it’s been years since the last time you woke feeling heated and soft. 

But sweet things rarely last, and a bolt of lightening outside your window has your heart jumping in your chest. Surely it’s dangerous for one to strike so close—it had been right outside. Thunder rumbles in the distance, the sound of a stomach growling in the far North, a hunger so deep it can be heard throughout the land. You imagine the creature to who the stomach belongs to would have to be mighty, stronger than all three of the beasts in this castle combined—a dragon of some kind. After all, if they exist, why not anything else? 

Slippers warm your feet as you make your way to the door of your bedroom. The last time you had woken in here it had been one of them to find you; you’d much rather go to them than have them come to you, covered in the bedroom you’ve been put in. To your relief the wardrobe hadn’t been filled with useless scraps of lace, pale strings to sweep across your hips or decorative pearls to clasp over your front. You’d found actual dresses. Only in blacks and whites as far as you could see, with the exception of a few grey pieces but they had each seemed all too cold for a castle as frigid as this one. Ultimately the gown you’d settled on had been cream-coloured and almost shapeless with a high collar. Its sleeves cover the unbitten skin of your arms and faintly cinch around your wrists. The skirts of the dress rest just shy of your feet, long enough they will have to be clutched higher should you encounter any staircases, but once again, blessedly concealing. You tie the pale ribbons at your back to pull the dress to fit your waist, briefly sitting before the vanity to sort out your hair, before daring to venture out into the red-washed hallway. 

The statues of armour now seem far more puerile than they had the last time you’d seen them. Do the beasts keep them around as entertainment? Shells of former humans. 

A scent catches your attention and you pause at the height of the large staircase, palm resting against the cool, balmy wood of the banister. Fingers squeezing the width as you cast your eyes throughout the interior of the great entrance hall, the chandelier above still twinkling diamonds like crystallised teardrops. The tension of your stomach grumbles through your bones, hunger having your feet softly tipping over the first stair, then flowing in a decisive decent, lured down into the ground of the hall as that warm, fluffy scent beckons you further. Something sweet, like sugar and pastries with sliced fruits baked atop them, jams and clotted cream, the warm heat of freshly made tea held within a thin ceramic mug making your fingertips tingle. 

In the back of your mind you can recognise the pathway your feet are leading you on, continuing with your trail until you’re pausing to the side of a door, just the other side of the threshold. The crisp notes of music string along to soothe your pricked ears, violins gentle tumbling down through arpeggios as they’re wrung out across their strings. Lilting melodies harmonise with one another, three or four blending seamlessly into one beautiful tune, the tinkling of a few spare notes of a piano trilling. You hope it’s loud enough to muffle any of your own noises from their hearing. 

With your breath held firm, you lean yourself into the wall, front pressed flush to the patterned paper as you slowly peer round the corner into the spacious dining room. 

The table stretches straight down the middle, silver trays laden heavy with pastries and tarts and fresh bread and heated wine and hot tea and ripe fruit and delicacies that make your mouth water from the sight alone. Peering further down the table however reveals two of the three beasts, leaving one stray unaccounted for. 

Rhysand is sat at the head of the table where he belongs, looking as noble and aristocratic as he had when you’d first foolishly stumbled into his bewitched castle. The cravat at his throat is the colour of fresh blood, icy spider legs skittering up your spine now you can confidently assign a name to that shade of red. To his left, your right, sits Cassian, the sheer bulk of him taking up all of his chair, muscled forearms sat heavily over the chair arm, ankle crossed lazily over his knee as he leans back into his seat. His shirt is crisp and freshly pressed, yet half the buttons aren’t even done up. 

Compared to Rhysand, he looks more like a scoundrel than a nobleman. Just as threatening, though. Just as finely bladed as the other. 

You swallow, forcing yourself to straighten. To meet them at the frontlines instead of waiting to be surrounded. Nails dig into your palms but you make yourself breathe—albeit quietly—before taking that first trembling step out into open sight. 

Eyes so blue they’re violet lazily find their way to your own set, the rougher hazel eyes of the man at his left, your right, cutting to you without the grace Rhysand had afforded, and you’re offered the distinct feeling of the tip of a blade zipping up the ridges of your spine. You stand straighter, forcing yourself to take a decadent few extra seconds to sweep the table, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. “I didn’t think your kind would like human food.” 

Rhysand’s violet eyes twinkle and Cassian shifts in his chair, jaw propped upon one hand that you’re certain is large enough to cover your face entirely. “You’d be correct,” Rhysand muses, those cruelly soft lips curving themselves into an invitation as he nods to the empty chair at his right—your left. “It’s for you.” 

That startles the fear out of you. 

“For-…me?” You can’t keep the surprise out of your tone, nor hide the way your muscles spin loose ounces of their tension. Your stomach at least seems to be delighted with the opportunity, reminding you of its needs and hunger. But your sense remains intact and you incline your chin by a singular degree, “Why?”

Rhysand smiles a closed-lipped smile. “You’re my guest, and you shall be treated as one.” 

“If that’s what you want,” Cassian adds, with a sharp flash of teeth that has pain flickering in pin-pricks in your neck. You clear your throat, ignoring Cassian’s comment, though your skin isn’t immune, heating in response to his sonorous drawl that was dripping with lewd suggestion. You make your clarification, “What benefit does it serve you?” 

Both their smiles stretch at that, the silence answering for them. Come sit, and you’ll find out. 

They’ve locked onto you now—you no longer have the choice of running, or attempting to escape. Steeling your spine, you cross the threshold, knowingly putting yourself into their territory and you send a silent prayer than your knees won’t buckle as they walk you over to the chair that sits, open, at Rhysand’s side. Opposite Cassian. Hazel eyes catch on your own from across the table, his smirk widening into something indolent and you flinch away as his leg brushes your calf beneath the tablecloth. Fangs glint beneath the light with pleasure. 

You consider repeating your question, but if Rhysand had refused to do so, it would be a submission of sorts to afford him the respect you’d been denied. 

His lips quirk, the unsettling feel of his approval shivering across your skin. But with an incline of your chin the words come across easily enough. Tell me. 

“We have an offer to make you,” Rhysand declares, forearms gracefully bracing themselves atop the table, long, silver-hooped fingers interleaving with one another. Your head tilts at the seemingly diplomatic approach, glancing from Rhysand to Cassian, before cautiously asking, “‘We’?” 

“All three of us,” a rasping voice clarifies from the shadows, the third man appearing in the doorway you’d emerged from. Had he been following you? To make sure you hadn’t tried to escape? You hadn’t even felt a pair of eyes on you. 

You swallow, trying to keep your shifting to a minimum as the third man silently steps into the room, pulling out the chair to your right, and seating himself with no more noise than the soft stretch of fabric. Azriel. Utterly soundless, without even the beat of a heart to detect. “…Your offer…?” You ask Rhysand, though your attention lingers on the man to your right. Cassian’s leg again brushes your calf, and a frown slips between your brows, sitting yourself straighter, tighter, in your seat. 

“You should eat first,” Rhysand muses, his violet eyes flicking over the feast. “We wouldn’t want you feeling faint.” You make to protest, but movement catches your attention and you turn to see Azriel taking your plate, lifting a thick, flaky pastry with a silver serving knife, along with a few narrow, fresh slices of dripping nectarine. He sets the plate down before you, cutting hazel eyes feeling like a stab wound as they pierce the sheer veil of your soul. “Eat,” he tells you in a voice that’s shadowy and fallen, soft enough to register as intimate. “It will help you recover strength, to have food in your system again.” 

“So you can feed off of me again?” You whisper. 

The smile he gives you is cold and deadly, but non-threatening. Like he means well but cannot or will not muster up the warmth of the living. 

He reaches out, his thumb like ice wrapped in leather as it pushes gently across your cheekbone. Once, then twice. His hand falls away, the lifeless smile remaining. “Eat.” 

It’s not confirmation that you’re correct, but it’s not denial either. That they’ll pounce as soon as you’re ready. Rip you to shreds in the blink of an eye, if it will satisfy their wicked desires. 

“Hear our offer out before you assume the worst of us,” Rhysand drawls, eyes openly displaying his amusement, resting his face on his thumb and index finger, thumb pressed beneath his jaw while his second finger rests against the strong bone of his brow. A beasts’ entertainment. 

You swallow, trying to sit straighter as you pick the silver cutlery from the table, slicing off an edge of the pastry, “You’ve mentioned this offer a few times now, but I’m yet to hear a single detail.” You bite the pastry from your fork, chew, and swallow. Set the cutlery back down. One of Rhysand’s brows raise but he makes no comment, instead lifting himself from the lazy sprawl he had previously settled on, shifting into a position of severity. “Very well,” he drawls. “Should you at any point feel the need to flee from our presence and run screaming through my halls to relieve your agitation, you are welcome to do so.” 

Discomfort slithers through your gut, unease wrapping itself around your bones. But you wait for him to progress. 

His cruel mouth quirks, forearms returning to their brace over the table top, fingers interleaving. 

“Your offer is this: you will remain in my castle, keep the bed you now occupy, never hunger beneath my roof, and never again fear a chill or fever in your flesh.” Rhysand’s smile stretches into something alluring. Goading you to answer before he’s even finished spilling the terms of the agreement. “In return for all your needs being met, for living a life of absolute luxury, and protection, we ask that you allow us to take our fill, also.” 

Your eyes widen in your skull, staring at him. “You-… All three of you?” You gasp. “At once?” Your hand subconsciously lifts from the table, palm cupping the faint trace of pin-pricking pain that’s echoing through your skin.

“We’d spread ourselves out,” Cassian drawls, grabbing you attention as he leans forward in his seat, foot brushing yours but this time you’re too startled to even register the teasing caress. “Unless, you wanted to take us all at once?” He asks. Where Azriel’s voice had been rasping shadow, Cassian’s is rough and gravel-like. Heavy and husky, drenched in whisky and then jaggedly hewn from the mahogany wood that should have caged his long dead body. “That way you could get it all out of the way, without being bothered for a while?” 

His suggestion is lewd in a way you don’t understand, heat spreading up through your chest despite the confusion. Your instincts know well enough to recognise a wolf when it’s watching you. Something far more threatening than anything vulpine. 

“You’d kill me,” you force out in a panicked exhale. “You’ve almost killed me twice already. Why would I agree to your proposal?” 

“You would be taken care of,” Rhysand promises easily, ice cold fingers slipping beneath your own, sliding his thumb over your knuckles. Luring you deeper into his web of desire. “We’d make sure you wouldn’t be hurt,” Azriel murmurs from your other side, icy breath zipping up the length of your throat. You turn, drawn by his voice only to find those cutting hazel eyes mere inches from your own and your lungs lock. 

Your heart is pounding. Beating hard enough for all three of them to hear. 

“I don’t…” What were you going to say? 

You don’t even notice that his arm has found its way behind your back, fingers smoothly tracing up the final notches of your spine, using the lightest pressure to encourage you forward, your body curving to fit his pleasure as his digits span the back of your neck. A presence without constraint. “If you stay with us, we can make sure you’re taken care of,” Azriel murmurs, practically able to feel his mouth shape the words, so close together. Where did the space disappear to? 

In the back of your mind you hear a chair scrape across the floor, followed by an absence of presence along your calf, then a broad, calloused palm is cupping your throat. Cassian looms behind your chair, pulling your gaze away from Azriel and obscuring Rhysand from view. “It can feel good, too,” he drawls, fingers flexing their grip. “It wouldn’t be like last time. We were too rough with you then.” 

Cassian leans down and your thoughts float away, a pulsing suction latching onto your attention and feeding, his hazel eyes filling your world with new colours and excitement. Waves of emotion beginning to hazily dance through your vision as you keep staring up at him. His lips part in a smile, but this time the flash of razor sharp fangs hardly registers as anything other in your mind. His smile is promising pleasure, and your bones are aching. Lethargy so tightly wrapped around your muscles, squeezing them tight and tense. 

“So? What do you say?” 

You blink, head swaying on your shoulders as you land back in reality, a heavy breath gushing from your lungs and fear flutters through your stomach, hastily dipping your head to free yourself from Cassian’s hold, Azriel’s touch disappearing along with it. You could swear Cassian shoots a glare Rhysand’s way. 

“How-…,” you fumble, shifting in your seat, all too aware of their presences surrounding you. “How is this any better than the last deal you offered me?” 

Something shifts through the room, noticeable enough to have you tensing as an unnatural silence passes over the table. 

“Bastard,” Cassian grits through a feral smile, glaring at Rhysand. “You were going to keep her to yourself weren’t you. Leaving us out of it.” A muscle tics in Rhysand’s jaw, calculation passing through his cool, violet eyes. “I would have invited you for a glass,” he relents, gaze turning reluctant as he yields the information. A huff of icy breath ghosts along your neck, caressing the shell of your ear. “A glass,” you hear Azriel murmur under his breath, a whisper of amusement in his tone. 

Your brows narrow, focusing again on Rhysand, “So this time, I’m being offered the same as before, while you all get more from it than I do.” 

“You’re forgetting your place,” Rhysand hisses, and you’re frozen to your seat from the unearthly darkness in his eyes. You’re reminded of the glittering eruption of shadow just before you’d lost consciousness. That rumbling strength that had thrummed through the castle like thunder. 

The other two men don’t seem the slightest bit perturbed. If anything, you feel them lean closer. 

“Wound a bit tight, Rhys?” Cassian drawls, resting his elbow on the back of your chair as he leans in, watching eagerly. “I think I’d like to hear her out here,” he says, making you stiffen when their attention falls back to you, “what else do you want? We’ll throw something extra in, if we can give it. Just for you.” 

You swallow, mind swimming. Something else to ask for? You need to take this seriously, figure out what to ask for to give yourself as big an advantage as you can. Something to level against them. 

You sit straighter in your chair, “I want three favours.” It can’t be blatant enough though, that they would realise it might put them at a disadvantage. Make it seem like a game. A beasts’ entertainment—not to be taken seriously. 

“A favour from each of us,” Azriel murmurs from your side, and you think you can hear the amusement in his voice as he grins at Rhysand. “That’s a good request to make.” 

But, “No.” You clarify. 

“Three from each of us?” Rhysand inquires, his brows narrowing. “You overestimate my generosity.” 

“No,” you repeat, hurriedly. Swallow, sitting straighter still. “I want two favours from you, for your two offers. One from Cassian, for his offer on having three of you at once. None from Azriel. For being the most welcoming.” It’s a shot in the dark, but if you can find a way to exploit even the slightest of fracture in whatever strange bond they have with one another… “That’s what I want. In return for agreeing to stay here, and letting you feed from me.” 

Are you really doing this? 

It’s your best chance. 

Now the attention has shifted back to Rhysand. His cool, violet eyes glitter, brows narrowed as he calculates. Then the faintest edges of his mouth curve. “Two favours from me, one from Cassian,  one from Azriel, sealed with a blood promise.” 

The ghost of Azriel’s laugh skitters up your neck, and Cassian whistles. 

“What’s a…blood promise?” You don’t like the sound of it. Especially not if it’s bad enough to have him adding a favour from Azriel. Rhysand smiles, a dead smile. “Something to ensure that even if you request all three of us to release you, you won’t be able to escape.” 

“Without our will,” Cassian clarifies. “If we choose for you to leave, then you’re permitted. But you will not be able to ask for us to release you as one of our favours.” 

“And since the conditions are four favours in return for your blood, neither will you be able to ask us to starve ourselves,” Azriel murmurs, cold shadow caressing the shell of your ear. You experience the exact feeling of some elegantly fluttering creature writhing around in a three-dimensional web, only binding yourself tighter and tighter with every circle of your small, lithe body, each flicker of web drawing the eight-legged beasts closer, venom dripping from their hungry fangs. 

“So- But-…then what can I ask for?” You ask, hopelessness bleeding into your voice, torso deflating into the seat. You’d thought… 

It doesn’t matter what you’d thought, though. 

Cassian’s hand drops to your shoulder, in a gesture that would have been comforting perhaps if you didn’t know he wanted to eat you. His fingers trail a stitch in the plain gown, tracing the seam of the shoulder. “Touch,” he drawls, surprisingly close to your ear. “Physical comforts.” 

“Don’t encourage her, Cass,” Azriel murmurs from your other side, both of them far too close for your liking. They seem to be finding this entertaining. “She can think for herself.” 

“Azriel.” Rhysand’s voice cuts through their amusement, hissing like steel through air. The two men pause, attention returning to the man at the head of the table, who seems to have more power than they do. The leader, of sorts? But violet eyes remain soullessly attached to you, pinning you into the padded, wooden seat. “You seal with her first. I will seal with her last, as our bond will require more due to its nature.”

“Wait! You haven’t told me how it works,” you exclaim when Azriel wraps his hand around your wrist, dragging it from your lap so his icy lips can have the pleasure of grazing your pulse. Rhysand cocks a brow, “you’ll figure it out shortly. Remember to keep your one favour in mind though, or you’ll end up with a seal and no benefit.” 

“My favour in-” You cut yourself off as you inhale sharply, Azriel’s needle-point fangs gently splitting your skin, hot tingles singing up your forearm and spreading through your fingertips. His venom is acting swiftly, though not enough to paralyse your entire body. Just enough to slow you—numb the part he’s drinking from. 

Your favour. You need to keep your favour in mind. Or you’ll come away with nothing. 

He owes you a favour. 

“Enough.” Again, Rhys’ voice slices through the room, quiet but honed, breaking Azriel from his hunger and you gasp as his fangs slide out from your wrist, his tongue swiping slowly across the narrow puncture marks, savouring the small beads of rouge. Before you’ve even managed to separate yourself from the sweet numbness that Azriel had put into you, Cassian’s taking your other arm, lifting it up above your head, calloused finger pads dragging your sleeve all the way up to your elbow. Cassian doesn’t look at you once, all his attention zeroing in on your pulse point, taking a deep inhale of your skin before running his tongue once across the expanse, his fangs sinking in swiftly after. 

Your fingers tremble, weakness flooding your body as you slump back into the chair, Azriel’s cold fingers still carefully encasing your wrist, savouring the lasting seep of blood from the wound he’d given you while Cassian drinks and oh god you need to remember the favour the favour the favour he owes you… 

Your eyes stutter, lids stammering until they give way, sliding shut as you attempt to focus, to remember, to keep one thought in mind, that he owes you your favour. 

The world changes after he’s drank. Even once the wound is sealed, you’re finding it hard to think of anything other than the favour they each owe you. Your arms pulse at your sides, tingling numbness tickling your flesh, thrumming faintly at your fingertips. 

“Azriel,” Rhysand warns, a fondness in his tone. You turn, heart leaping to your throat when you find his teeth experimentally grazing the bite marks. As if he’s considering re-penetrating your skin. Cassian’s own fangs scrape, guiding his bitemark a little wider to allow more blood into his mouth before swiftly sealing you away, taking his last lick. There’s still so much hunger in his eyes, and you’re reminded of how swiftly everything else got out of control before, when they’d tasted you for the first time. 

There’s enough tension in their bodies that there’s a moment of hesitation when Rhysand orders them to leave. But it’s overruled by discipline, hands releasing your wrists that fall back to your lap, allowing you to catch your breath as they take their departure. 

“And now you understand a blood promise,” Rhysand muses from his chair. “You remembered to recall your favours, yes?” 

“I did what you told me to,” you manage, forcing yourself to sit straighter despite the minimal feeling in your arms and the dizziness that’s gently sucking at your eyes. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t request three favours from each of us?” Rhysand laughs softly, “Imagine how drained you would be.” 

“You still owe me two favours,” you say, refusing to allow your eyes to shut for another second until you take those favours from him. The small chances you need. 

Rhysand’s lips tug upwards at their edges, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting. “Come and take them from me.” 

You grit your teeth, exhaling a heavy breath before shakily rising to your feet, taking a moment to ensure you’re going to be steady while rounding the corner to reach him. He seems to find your weakness entertaining, as he doesn’t once remove the weight of his crushing attention from you until you’re stood at his side, one of your hands needing to rest on the table for security. His chair slides across the floor as he comes to a graceful stand, making you lift your chin to meet him. 

Ice cold fingers graze the hollow of the underside of your jaw, tilting you just that little higher as he smirks down at you. Far too close for your liking, but you need those favours. “Just get it over with,” you murmur, fighting the lethargy weighing your eyes. His smirk widens, pushing hair away from your shoulder, making you tense. Hands tremble at your sides while those deft fingers slowly trail to the buttons that head downward over your front in a straight line, keeping the bodice of the dress together. The dress you’d chosen specifically because of its high neck.

“Are you scared?” Rhysand whispers, moving closer, making sure you feel every stroke and caress of his fingers as they trace your front, exposing skin to the air as he pushes the fabric away. He smiles, cold breath ghosting across your lips, close enough to consider intimate. “I know you are,” he smiles. “We can smell fear. I could hear the beat of your heart from the other side of my castle. Or seek you out on scent alone, through the forest.” 

A cold palm cups your waist, squeezing possessively. To think you had ever thought him trustworthy enough to spend the night with. Without knowing the kind of beast he was. 

“Tilt your head for me,” he instructs, a hint of arrogance in his violet eyes. Enjoying your submission as you flush, tipping your head to one side. Fangs scrape your neck, a teasing shiver skittering up your spine. “Have you thought what your first favour will be?” He asks, canines grazing your throat as he speaks. “Not yet,” you admit, panting and surprisingly hot despite the blood that’s been drained. “I look forward to hearing what you come up with,” Rhysand murmurs against your throat, his hold further tightening around your body, the hard lip of the table digging into the very tops of the backs of your thighs.

 “Don’t disappoint me,” he whispers like the devil.

You fight to give a reply, but his fingers have combed themselves into the roots of your hair, dragging it back and away from your throat, tilting your head completely to the side as his fangs slip into your flesh. A spike of excitement zips from head to toe before weakness sizzles throughout your body. 

An unpleasant curse floats through your mind for his swift-acting venom, legs like flour as it spills through your blood stream that’s warming his mouth. Your lips part, breath becoming laboured as his own lips seal around the puncture wound, sucking, drinking, thirsting. Before your hazy vision come puffs of condensation and you have to rest yourself in his hold, practically sitting atop the banquet table as your legs give out. 

Rhysand doesn’t release you. Instead his mouth becomes warm, palms heating around your waist almost enough to feel like a living man’s. A man with a pulse of his own, and blood to be beaten around his body instead of stealing it from yours. 

Two favours, you repeat over and over in your mind. Two favours. He owes me two favours.

Rhysand’s fingers curl at the nape of your neck, tucking your head back so you’re arching into his hold as he presses his body against you, curving you into the table. His fangs sink deeper, a tingling pleasure zinging from the puncture point as he widens the drinking incisions, hot tongue suctioning deeper, drinking more, and more, and more. 

Your hands push weakly at his chest, fumbling over the silver embroidered threads of his lapels, clutching desperately. “Let me go…” you breathe, breathing ragged and shallow. “I…stop…” 

You nearly slump when he pulls away, a final drag of his tongue sealing the wound. 

Rhysand’s lips are bloody, teeth and mouth filled with dark, rich red. 

“I…I need…” 

His smile looks like hell as he pulls away, your legs falling out from under you, leaving you in a crumpled heap on the floor, struggling for breath. Panting shallowly. Bastard. 

Rhysand swipes the blood from his lower lip away with the pad of his thumb, licking the remaining red up with a flick of his tongue. “Azriel will return you to your chambers,” he drawls, seating himself in his chair once more. “Rest well, little devil. And this time wait for one of us to seek you out before attempting to explore my grounds.” 

A pair of boots appears in your vision and you realise it must be Azriel. 

By a force you can’t hope to understand you’re listen from the ground to be resting in his arms, tipping into the solid wall of his chest. 

“How do I know…if my favours…?” You pant, forcing yourself to keep your eyes open just long enough to locate his own charming set. But his expression shows little besides mild amusement, and you don’t have the strength to protest as Azriel sweeps you from the room, carrying you to the top of the curved staircase and back down the stretching hallways. 

The bed is soft beneath you and warmer than you remember. 

Maybe you’re just colder. 

Azriel’s thumb grazes across Cassian’s bite marks, and your heart pounds as the man leans over your reclined body, breath hitching as he dips to your throat. 

“What are you doing?” You try to hiss, attempting to struggle beneath his dominating figure. “You’ve already taken enough-” Something cool, silky and dark wraps over the lower portion of your mouth, cutting your voice to silence. More of the darkness pushes your head to the side and you’re too exhausted to resist. 

Azriel lowers his hungry mouth to your throat but you’re surprised when he doesn’t bite. 

Instead his mouth parts over the patch of skin where Rhysand had been, his lips sealing almost tentatively around the wound. 

A shudder ghosts up your spine as he licks Rhysand’s bite mark, teasingly circling the edge of the punctures with his own needle-point canines, playing with their indentations. 

He seems to be doing it for a pleasure outside of drinking. 

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[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS (part 58)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t have been more dead wrong, except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think, MAYBE you’ll be the exception…maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x you/afab reader | gojo satoru | various jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | smut

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon, etc. | god-awful pet names | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 58 next>>

A/N: Smutty things ahead, be warned. Panels 3 to 10 at the end. 😊

Red-bottoms in hand, you slung one arm over Mai's shoulder, both of you dissolving into giggles when you started dancing barefoot on the stone steps that led to your doorstep while her twin looked on in abject annoyance. It was mostly about Mai who insisted on coming out of the car to walk you to the door and you basically encouraging it. She didn't know what was worse, this or when you guys jumped into a loud discussion about your favorite pro footballers earlier during the ride.

"What's the code to the door, Y/N?" Maki asked you as she hoisted Mai over to her other side to split the two of you up.

"Code? Code..." You swayed dangerously towards the side of the elevated step by the door, and she was only able to pull you in time before you fell on the rose bushes. You laughed at how she rolled her eyes before stumbling towards the door, almost hitting your head against the hard wood. Still, you repeated the same word over and over again, thinking long and hard about what to punch on the glowing blue buttons.

"Well?"

"Ah!" you responded, raising your index finger up. "Toru...it's..." You swallowed hard, the action coming with a little hiccup that sent Mai into another round of giggles, also triggering you.

"His birthday?" Maki supplied for you and you nodded vigorously, about to raise your arms but you hit your shoe against the door, gasping as you checked for scuffs as if you could see straight.

Shaking her head, she punched the numbers into the keypad, successfully opening it. "Get inside. I'll help you to your room."

You waved your hands at her. "No, no...'m fine, Captain." You stepped in rather unsteadily.

"You sure?"

Again, you snickered at the way her brow arched but nodded nonetheless, doing a little dance as you said goodbye to Mai whom Makit dragged away to the car just as you were closing the door.

"Toru?" you called, but got no answer, swaying towards the stairs and haphazardly holding onto the banister whilst you still held onto your heels, careful not to drop them. One wobbly step at a time, you pulled your weight up, snickering when you nearly tripped. You did that halfway up and made it the rest of the way crawling on all fours.

You blindly made your way to the second room from the stairs, slowly and quietly pushing the door, or at least as quietly as you can in your drunken state. It's more like you pushed your way in, hand faltering several times on the knob. When you finally stumbled in, it was dark. You didn’t turn on the lights, you were not confident you can find the switch anyway, so you just started stripping your clothes off until you were just in the tiny, form-fitting dress you wore to the club, your heels dropping with loud thuds on the laminate floors.

You still had the mind to think about washing the makeup off of your face, marching towards the wall you knew your dresser was at, but you didn't see it there.

"Huh," you muttered under your breath, the effort you exerted trying to walk without falling making your head spin even more. There was no way you were making it anywhere else, so you opted for the bed which was closer, and finally fell into it.

You could have sworn you heard someone groan somewhere near you, but you couldn’t care less, giggling when you felt an irregular lump on where you had fallen. You nearly slipped off the bed, but somehow, you didn't, a warm, snug feeling engulfing you as you lay face down, comfortable on the spot you've chosen. You clung to that feeling of sleep starting to devour you, afraid that if you opened your eyes, your world would start spinning again so you screwed your eyes shut, and soon, you were dead to the world with nothing but the feeling of warm hands soothing your back.

Wait...hands?

The idea seemed ridiculous to you. You kept your eyes closed, thinking it was just the alcohol and that you were probably just imagining things. Very specific ones involving a man with beautiful, long, ebony hair and the way he smelled – smoky wind in a pine forest with hints of something akin to limes and sandalwood – along with that familiar warmth that reminded you of home and everything else familiar to you.

You were still too dizzy, but not without any coherent thoughts as you seemed to lack just moments ago. How long you've been trying to get sleep in the suddenly uncomfortable position you were in, you didn't know. But you were slowly realizing that something was amiss, making your heart thud heavily in your chest. You, however, couldn't pinpoint just what it was in your state of inebriation.

Just then, you felt the "bed" you were laying on shift, and you could have sworn you felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around your shoulder and waist, gently easing you to your back.

"Kitten?" came those deep mellow notes you'd know anywhere, and something seemed to click in your brain, the dress you were wearing suddenly feeling too tight as heat flared up all over your body. Ironically, you felt like shivering.

In the seconds that followed, the cogs in your brain moved and you realized you made a bed out of someone, and when you finally came to full awareness and opened your eyes, you were confronted by the face of your older brother's best friend, mere centimeters from yours, slowly breaking into that lopsided smile, faint dimples making themselves known as he looked down at you sleepily. The action enhanced his features even in the semi-darkness, hot-wiring your already addled brain.

You wanted to bolt right out of bed, but his steady amber gaze held you there, not to mention the alcohol in your system. “Su...suguru?” You chuckled, torn between thinking your seeing the real thing or some specter of your fantasies. But at that point, who cares?

You tilted your head to the side, flashing him a sultry smile even as his brows furrowed together. "Whatchu doin' here, sexy?" you slurred.

“I slept over,” he answered, grinning cheekily at you as he got rid of some stray hairs on your cheek, his cold fingers brushing over your skin. You inched towards his touch, humming in satisfaction. “What are you doing here, kitten?”

You did a little scoff or something close to it. “This is my room.”

“No, sweetheart, this is the guest room.” His voice sounded so velvety, making you shiver visibly.

“Well shit…” You chuckled as you closed your eyes, willing the nausea away. “Give me a sec.”

You felt Suguru move closer to you, your foreheads touching as he wrapped his arms tighter around you as he laid back down, guiding you to lie on your side. “I don’t mind.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t either.” You looked at him unsteadily, seemingly unable to focus as you blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what you were currently seeing. Without thinking, you placed a hand on his cheek, running the pad of your thumb over his skin. And then you broke into a smile. "I can never seem to reach you..."

Suguru placed a hand over yours. "What do you mean? I've always been here," he whispered back. "You'll always have me, kitten. You know that."

You shook your head. "No..."

"No?"

"Not..." You breathed in, moving your fingers over the line of his nose, trying to be gentle, afraid that he will disappear. But when he didn't, you dared to touch his cupid's bow, tracing along it as you slowly released your breath a little at a time. "Not like this."

Suguru looked at you in confusion now."Not like what, hm?" At that, he started nuzzling you on the cheek until your lips were mere millimeters away. "Care to explain that?"

"Like this."

"Mhmm?" He brushed his nose against yours.

"This close..."

This can't be real, you thought, your heart sinking in your chest. In the slowness of your mind, you suddenly had so many things making themselves evident. You hated how even in your drunken moments, it was only Geto Suguru that you could think off; how your longing was conjuring images in your head so damn real, it made your yearning even stronger. You've wanted him for so long that your brain is making things up.

You sat up, easing his arms off you gently, but then, the look of disappointment on his face made you stop.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

"This whole thing – this...y-you, here, right now. This isn't right – You're not even real, why am I talking to you?"

He, too, sat up, his face inching closer towards you as if daring you to move farther from him, but you didn’t. "I am real, Y/N. I am in front of you."

You chuckled as you felt your resolve faltering, submitting to your daydreams and imagination, making you lose yourself enough to believe what this version of Suguru was telling you.

“I’m still drunk, right?”

Suguru snickered, nodding. “Pretty much.”

You leaned closer. “Good. At least I have an excuse.”

"Excuse for?"

Instead of an answer, you cupped his face as you rose to your knees, crashing your lips to his slightly parted ones, hoping and praying to every higher power that this was real, and not just happening inside your head.

**

How could you tell him he wasn't real? You weren't real. None of this was.

It's not real that you just strolled into the guest room Suguru happened to be in, drunk to your toes. It's not real that you just decided to make a bed out of him. It's not real, everything that you said to him. It's not –

Oh. But this felt real – the feeling of your skin against his, warm and flushed and so smooth under his calloused palms; your presence as you weighed down on him, hands firm at the sides of his head as you coveted him; the feel and taste of your plush lips, a cocktail of your lip gloss, alcohol and whatever you were made of, pressed against his, the air you were breathing one and the same.

This was real. It's happening. And he wanted it. Oh, how much he had longed for it...waited for it. Before he knew it, he was opening his mouth, fingers delving into your hair to hold you in place, returning every adamant movement of your lips, giving it back with his. It's been over a year since you left him with the taste of you lingering at the back of his mind and the tip of his tongue, thinking he will never have the pleasure of ever knowing it again. And yet there you were again, in his arms, him locked in yours, giving him what he's always wanted and filling that void that he tried so hard to fill when you went away without acknowledging matters between you.

"Suguru," you spoke against his mouth, almost begging, trapping him in a bewitching spell from which he never wanted to snap out of as if you were calling his very soul. He never thought his name ever sounded so good coming out of someone else's mouth, and yet you seemed to be giving it a whole new meaning.

Entranced and enchanted, he unconsciously took the initiative, recapturing your lips as he pulled you even closer to him. A nagging voice at the back of his head told him to stop, but it went unheard when you slid your tongue between his lips, the sound of your moaned out triumph rendering what's left of his capacity to reason useless. You took your fill of him, giggling when you found that piece of silver embedded on his tongue, reaching for it with yours.

With a whine, you anchored yourself on his shoulder, kneeling astride his lap and leveraging the tangle of sheets below you to push him backwards until he was lying against the pillows. You followed after him, in hot pursuit of his lips which momentarily detached from yours, eyes glazed and wild as you laughed quietly, the sound almost sounding like a purr.

Getting a bit of clarity, Suguru pushed himself up, steadying you by the waist to stop you from going even further. "Kitten," he shook his head, "Y/N, you're drunk – mmmff –!"

Huge mistake as you were having none of it, your lips immediately finding his like a homing missile that's got its target locked. And if that didn't make a hot mess out of him, you deliberately ground your hips against his, the fabric of his sweats and your underwear providing much of the friction both of you yearned for yet not enough. You gasped as the apex of your thighs rubbed precisely over his hardening length, but it didn't even take you a second to do it again, unable to get enough.

"Kitten, don't – holy shit, baby..."

"Want you," you mumbled against his lips as you continued to grind against him, your hand reaching underneath you as you grabbed fistfuls of his gray sweats, clawing at the fabric and along the skin of his iliac furrow, making him hiss as you managed to pull it off of him. He held onto your wrist in an attempt to stop you again, but to no avail.

Suguru knew you had a one-track mind, and like Satoru, if you wanted something, come hell or high water, you will get it. The means didn't matter. You were both such brats growing up that he knew as much. And it seems it didn't matter what state of mind you were in either. You sought and you took without thinking twice, the same way you saw your goals on the field and executed them. This time he was the field, and you were going to conquer him regardless.

You bent down, kissing him senseless again, your hand firm on his nape while the other one guided his hand under your dress. You smirked into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip before letting go and saying, "Take it off."

"A-are you –"

"Yes."

You didn't have to tell him twice. In the next second, your pesky underwear was out of the way and your bare, wetness was pressed down midway his cock, pinning it flat against his stomach. Your grip on his shirt was tight as you started to rock back and forth over his length, setting your rhythm.

Again, as much as he thought it wasn't really happening, that his mind was probably trapped in a perpetual oasis of dreams that were solely made of you, Suguru was much too awake to deny it, all his nerves firing within him as the realization dawned that you were there. Crazy drunk. On top of him. Chasing your pleasure and taking you with him.

His hands were all over you, not knowing where to touch until he finally found purchase on your ass, kneading your flesh as he directed your movements closer to his tip until it was repeatedly catching into your slick folds while also simultaneously stimulating your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your snagged breaths and airy moans made him want to just topple you into the bed and take over you, but Suguru kept his restraint, merely satisfying himself with the view of you dominating him, your lips parted as you threw your head back in pleasure.

This was about you, and he wouldn't have it any other way. If you wanted him, you can have him, use him to your heart's content even if it meant you will forget when you wake up.

Do you even realize what you were doing? He wondered at that, feeling a twinge on his chest at the thought that you'll slip from his grasp again when daylight comes.

No, he thought. Not this time.

He felt your movements grow erratic, your nails scratching at the skin of his chiseled abdomen.

"Fuck, baby, right there," he encouraged you, helping your movements as you evidently grew tired chasing your high. His fingers will bruise your hips with how tight he was gripping you, intensifying the heat between where you were touching until you were spasming and letting out high-pitched moans, your release fueling your movements as it dripped onto him.

"Sugu...ru..." you called his name, mostly broken parts of it as he let you ride your high, eventually leading to his own undoing.

"K-kitten – fuck!" he let out along with his stuttering breaths when he, too, came hard, staining his stomach and the inner side of your thighs.

He breathed deeply, sweat matting his skin. He let out a quiet chuckle as he watched you listing towards the side, all spent and succumbing to the exhaustion, coupled with the alcohol still in your system.

Before you could fall, Suguru got up, gently laying you down on the bed before removing his shirt and silently making his way to the bathroom, suddenly reminded that Satoru was just at the end of the hallway.

He's fucked, he knew that, but he couldn't help but smile to himself as he watched you squirm and groan in your sleep while he cleaned you up and changed your clothes, patiently removing your makeup even when you swatted at his hands irritably.

After all that, he carried you back to your room, making sure you were comfortable, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, the act seemingly chaste and out of place after all that you two have done.

He sighed, much too awake to get back to sleep, his mind on the consequences of the night's events, but he couldn't care less, not even at the thought that Satoru might hate him.

Because Geto Suguru may be damned to the deepest pits of hell, but as long as he has you, he'll gladly suffer in the flames for it.

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© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240605]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[superblysubpar]

vampire!eddie munson x somekindofslayer!you / partner!steve

2,653 words

warnings: other than kind of like, illusions to some spicy things/slight implications of dubcon, not much in this little snippet | vampire things? Idk how to tag that ya'll? like weapons, blood imagery, etc? | oh also I think modern AU but also like ST things happened but also like the party is all in the modern AU except Eddie? Idk I haven't decided, don't think too hard about it

A/N: okay, so this is a little snippet of something I started *last* October and I lost the will and love to write and I've been returning to it frequently and I think I'll be posting the full thing soonish. I hope you enjoy it (and yes, I'm cheating and counting this as 3 days)

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

It feels wrong.

There’s no better way to describe the feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders and pricks at the back of your neck as you weave in and out of the too loud crowd.

Spilled beer and red plastic cups at your feet further marking up and ruining what you’re sure was once beautiful wood floors. Spray painted images and words foul and rude against walls with chipped paint and frayed wallpaper that hold a history people have forgotten too quickly.

Your fingers glide over the banister, the tipped cup to your lips flashing red in the dingy mirror on the grand father clock as you ascend the stairs.

The celebration below softens to a dull murmur of a crowd, the low rumble of bass as you take the last step and your lungs deflate with an exhaled breath of relief. Each door you pass is open, revealing dust and cobwebbed covered furniture and art, rooms frozen in time as the world around it kept going. You were surprised to find that none of the pop culture clad couple’s costumes had made their way upstairs this evening to make use of the more private rooms.

Perhaps there were still some things here that people didn’t want to disturb.

The claims that this home held ghosts, made you see things, the history of what once happened in this town, hadn’t dissuaded the night from happening as you had hoped. The possibility of all the sinister and spooky things the home brought only served to be fuel for a Halloween night party and practically dared the teens to host it there.

Which is probably exactly what he wanted.

Your hand discards the now empty solo cup on a dark wood buffet, finger leaving a clean swipe to it’s surface as you tilt your head to listen for anything out of the ordinary while the heels of your boots slow, then stop in front of the only closed door on this level.

The knob of the door twists easily underneath your palm, and as the door creaks open, soft light flickers above from a room you can’t quite yet see. With a deep breath, you close the door behind yourself as quietly as you can, the noise of the party now almost nonexistent. The only clue to it the vibrations from below your soles as you carefully start the climb of this second staircase.

While equally stuck in the past, this attic is littered with frequent use.

Recent too.

Candle’s wicks flicker around the room, all of various heights with melted wax now solidified in drips down their sides, which tells you they’ve just been lit, but not for the first time ever.

There’s a dark line in the slat flooring, like it’s been ripped in half and then clumsily pushed and glued back together. Something inside jars glint in the moonlight shining in from the small window on the opposite side of the room.

“Nice costume,” a deep voice from the shadows calls. A flick of a zippo sounds before the flame sparks, illuminating a figure leaning against the wall. Broad shoulders long hair falls against and a cigarette dangling between plush lips just made out in its glow as he lights it. The metal clicks together, returning him to the darkness. The end of the cigarette burns red at his side as a puff of smoke floats into the air with his words, “Buffy, right?”

Your throat feels dry as you risk a glance down at the costume, as if you need to remind yourself what you’re wearing. Little black dress, emphasis on the little. Your tits shoved up and out with a cross hanging heavy between them and little left to the imagination between the short hem just covering your ass and the tall knee high boots.

“You’re just missing one thing, vampire slayer,” his voice makes you jump, an instinctual step back only to find you’re up against the banister and he’s right in front of you now.

He hadn’t made a single sound.

“Yeah?” Your voice betrays you, cracking as the weight of something inside of your boot scolds you for not having it out and ready as he leans in, eyes on the cross on your neck as you try to sound more confident than you are, “What’s that…sorry I didn’t catch your name? And who are you supposed to be?”

In a flash, he’s across the room, twirling something between his fingers you can’t quite see as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and paces.

“Wow, you don’t recognize me?” The chains against his jeans click as he spins with a dramatic sigh, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t remember me either.”

His leather and denim clad shoulders rise then fall in a shrug, the devil on his chest pulled tight as he stretches his arms out as if to say “ta-da”, and his tone sounds like he’s doing just that when he says:

“I’m Eddie Munson. The guy who made this place famous.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, tongue suddenly taking up too much space in your mouth as your stomach clenches.

“Yeah? That your name or your costume’s?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He whistles to get your attention when you look down, now acutely aware of the empty space between your calf and boot.

He waves the wood stake in the air, teeth gleaming white in his smile that brings a dimple out you can see all the way across the room.

“Looking for this, princess?”

“I’m not a vampire slayer, Mr. Munson,” you start, fingers behind your back working at the discrete silver bracelet on your wrist.

Eddie’s lips purse, amused as he leans against the windowsill, completely at ease as he watches you take a cautious step forward then another.

He grins at you when you take a third step and nods his head, encouraging you, “That’s it. Get closer. Promise I won’t bite…” he winks, “ ‘Less you want me to, of course.”

“Lotta girls take you up on that offer Mr. Munson? That what you were hoping for tonight?”

His smile grows wider, his tongue pokes at a canine that’s suddenly grown longer.

“First of all, Mr. Munson is my uncle, please,” he sticks his hand out now that you’re close enough, like he intends to shake yours, “It’s Eddie. And second, you vampire slayers…” he sighs, “Always all business, never any fun, huh?”

“Right, Eddie,” you concede, whispering, now close enough that you know he could easily do what’s in his nature. “And I thought I told you, I’m not a vampire slayer.”

His eyes flash when your hand wraps around his in a firm shake. His adam’s apple bobs with a large swallow as you take a step even closer, body between his spread legs, your neck and chest right where he’d want it. Eddie’s eyes are tinged with red, but he starts to pull away, breathing heavily.

Your eyes are on your hands still locked, and your entire body warms, heartbeat racing as his thumb swipes over the back of yours and his eyelashes flutter when you moan at the tingle the contact of his skin leaves against yours. Like the good kind of heat from a bonfire, any closer and it’ll start to burn, and any further away you’d be too cold.

Static crackles in your ear, “Um…whatcha doing, killer?”

Eddie looks directly at your left earlobe at the sound, and it all snaps you back to attention. Your silver bracelet in your other hand quickly locks around his wrist in your grasp.

Eddie blinks at you, each drop and lift of his eyelids growing heavier by the milliseconds as his hand slips from yours.

“Fuck,” he laughs, like he’s a little tipsy, head knocking against the window behind him as he looks at you from under his lashes, smiling. “You got me, slayer.”

“Not,” you swallow, taking a larger step away from him while trying to fight the urge to take off the bracelet subduing him, “Not a vampire slayer.”

He hums, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe you as footsteps creak loudly on the stairs behind you and your partner’s winded breath calls out your name.

“You smell good,” Eddie mumbles as you pull him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder, his head falling into the crook of your neck makes your entire body freeze.

His nose drags along your pulse, his lips follow, and a chill races down your spine, skin on fire where he’s pressed against it and you have to stop your teeth from biting on your bottom lip too hard or you’ll draw blood and who knows what’ll happen then. Maybe he’d lick it off your chin, maybe he’d-

“Did I just witness what I think I just witnessed? Were you gonna let him-”

“Don’t,” you gasp as Eddie sighs against your throat. “Not another word, Harrington.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you wide eyed and with his mouth hanging open as you shove Eddie’s weight to him and right yourself, fixing the hem of your dress and yanking your stake off of the ground. Doesn’t say anything while you check around corners and you pretend to be three drunk idiots stumbling to a car in case any one sees. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie’s passed out in the backseat and you’re looking in the rearview for the third time in less minutes, wheels spinning against wet black top and taking you past the: “Now Leaving Hawkins!” sign.

“What the fuck-“ he starts to hiss.

“I don’t know. Just…don’t. Okay? He touched me and…and…” your heart starts thudding harder. “I choked or something. It happens to the best of us.”

Steve licks his lip before it prods at his cheek as you grip the steering wheel tighter and he looks over his shoulder.

“Compulsion?”

“Maybe?” You shrug, though not believing it one bit.

“Imprin-“

“Don’t. That’s a myth.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds and then Steve’s lips twitch.

“Horny?”

He laughs when you groan and swat at his chest. “Shut up. You’re such an asshole.”

Steve snorts, looking out the window, mumbling, “That wasn’t a no.”

You flick his eyebrow that time.

“If that is the case, I mean, there are plenty of us who’d love to help you out. You don’t gotta stoop to being sucked on by vamps if you’re feeling-“

“You want me to use the stake on him?”

The car swerves at the sound of his voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you return to the correct lane safely and see Eddie sitting up in the backseat in your mirror.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, holding his chest and facing the back now.

Eddie visibly winces at the use of the name and Steve perks up.

“Woah. That’s real?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, “Christ, Christ, Christ, Chri-“

Eddie’s fangs sharpen and descend and he starts to growl low from his chest, eyes flashing red. Steve’s lips twitch but he raises his hands in surrender when you hiss for him to knock it off.

“Of course,” he looks at you then the backseat, “I’ll stop bothering your little toy, honey.”

Your gaze slices over to him as Steve holds his silver stake over his chest, keeping his back to the dash and eyes on the now alert vampire in your backseat.

Eddie lifts his wrist up, “What the hell is this?”

Steve smiles. “That, is a Henderson original. Powerful enough to subdue even the strongest of ghouls, goblins, vamps and any other weird ass creatures we come across - quickly and temporarily in case of emergency. A smaller version of his version of that trap thingy and that gun thingy,” he snaps his fingers and looks at you, “What are they again? In Ghostbusters?”

“The Proton Pack”, you say as Eddie asks at the same time,

“The Super Slammer Muon Trap?”

Eddie clears his throat, adjusts himself in the back seat while rubbing his neck and your eyes return to the road after making eye contact in the mirror again.

“You, uh, you like Ghostbusters?” He fiddles with the rings on his fingers.

Steve’s lips twitch when you grumble to yourself though you know they both can hear it, “Of course I like Ghostbusters, what am I, a moron?” You frown as you sarcastically add on, “And nobody’s impressed by your use of the name of the trap from the video game. It’s just a ghost trap.”

It’s like you feel his laugh inside your own chest. Warm and flowing over you like sunshine on your face after a really long, gloomy day. You tilt your head into it, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yeaah,” Steve draws out the word, clears his throat. “Those. Cause she couldn’t really go in with the big, real deal. Good thing it worked on you though, fast, too. Hepburn here was about to willingly be your human juicebox.”

“I was not-“

“Hepburn?” Eddie asks as you start to protest something you’re not even sure you can. “Is that your name, slayer?”

“Not a slayer,” you clarify again.

“And that didn’t answer my question,” Eddie raises his eyebrows in the mirror, gaze on the back of your ear, your throat. If you couldn’t glance up and see where he was looking you were sure you’d be able to feel the heat of his stare anyways.

Warmth prickles at your skin, and goosebumps rise to the surface in a trail from your ear, down your throat, across your collarbone as you imagine his mouth following that same-

“Can we,” Eddie clears his throat, he pulls at his collar, “Can we open a window or something?”

“Did you…” your breath comes sharper, words caught in your throat before you can ask him anything about the sensation on your skin. You grip the steering wheel tighter when images of his mouth moving lower break up the two lane highway in flashes.

Steve’s lips twitch when your body shivers, and you beg through gritted teeth, “Steve. Put a second bracelet on him.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing, it’s you…I won’t hurt…” Eddie puts his head between his legs and groans, like he’s in the worst pain of his life, or like he’s in the best-

“Fucking hell. Sweetheart, relax. Your pulse is…”

Steve’s lips part as your head hits the back of the seat, your neck extended as your mouth falls open and your leg flexes when you swear you feel a prick on your neck and you whine.

The bright yellow lights of a familiar restaurant break up the dark sky and road and your speedometer drops quickly from the 90 it had climbed to as you signal your exit despite no cars being around, whipping the car onto the exit ramp.

“What are you…” Steve starts, stopping when Eddie sits up again and pokes at his teeth with his tongue, wincing as he grips the edge of the seat.

“Steve? That’s your name?” He gasps, blinking rapidly, “Put the second bracelet on me, man.”

The car slams to a stop in front of the Waffle House and you toss the burner that had been in the cupholder to Steve.

“Call Hop. Tell him he needs to send someone else to drive him or pick me up. Now.”

When you step out of the car and the cool Autumn air does nothing to soothe your skin that’s slick with sweat, you slam the driver’s door. The minute it closes, it’s like a switch is flipped and when you look in the backseat, Eddie’s shoulders visibly relax at the same time yours do.

Steve’s mouth moves, and you can’t hear it, but you know he said exactly what you’re thinking.

What in the actual fuck just happened?

thank you for the original request for "ghosts" with eddie - I know it's not *technically* about ghosts and the creel house is just barely a part of this, but I promise Jason and Eddie/reader/Jason things will be a theme in the full story

[neesieiumz]

ma bellamour ⇴ ”someone as beautiful… could love someone as me” ⸻ c. kamo

Part I. Part II

synopsis ⇴ "Ooh, love is beautiful, love is wonderful!" ⸻ ma belle evangeline.

warnings ⇴ 18+. sm*t. soft-dom!choso. minors do not interact. fluff. mobster!au. (this shows up more in part ii) inn-owner!reader. takes place similar to new orleans but it's not! has lots of time skips as well. single-mom!reader. yuuji is a little kid in here. choso is the best big brother as well. black!coded reader. afab reader. female anatomy. sukuna ryomen is his own warning. however, he is only in a small part in this part. mentions of torture. there are also ocs in here, the most important one is reader's daughter, who is also named evangeline as well. choso has a huge scar on his chest, it's for the plot. descriptions of torture. no beta readers cause I need to get this out in time. choso art credit — affectbitter on twitter

writer’s notes ⇴ THIS IS SO LATE I KNOW! It was supposed to be a Valentine's Day gift for you all but I was indecisive about how to do it! y'all must know where I got inspired for this work. my favorite Disney princess movie! as you can tell it's pretty long... but I really hope you guys enjoy It!

word count ⇴ 9.9k

The air smelled of old car oil, and the rumbling sounds of the cars going up and down the cracked streets. The sidewalks were filled with people, constantly moving up and down, with all walks of life interacting with each other. He held his brother close to him, feeling his chest move up and down as he slept soundly. They were covered in dirt and grime, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. The train journey was long and tiring, and he could feel his stomach cramp up in hunger and dehydration. His clothes were heavy with sweat and dirt, adding extra weight to his already weary body. However, he still pressed on, the feeling of his little brother’s heartbeat close to him. Choso maneuvered through the crowds, pushing through until he rounded a corner. A hanging sign, deep oak colored with fancy shimmering light green words caught his attention, Marina Inn, Bed and Breakfast. There were floral designs around the sign, in the same light green sparkle color the words were in, a simple but eye-catching design. 

However, what really had his attention was the words under it, an obvious sliding sign, for those who wished to change the words under them, now said capacity: Vacancy. He could almost collapse in relief, everywhere he had gone was full. According to conversations he overheard, a huge fair was in town, attracting all kinds of people worldwide. So to see somewhere with some kind of space where they could rest their heads. He approached the door, slowly bending down to place the suitcase in his hand on the concrete ground, careful not to wake Yuuji. He then opened the door, using his foot to prop it open before bending down, and picking up his luggage back up. He stepped inside the hotel, the door slowly closing behind him. 

It was cozy, the lobby as Choso glanced around, a fireplace roaring with a flame in front of him. Dark-colored wood, matching the color and material of hanging signs outside surrounded him. The banister of the stairs led up to the upper levels of the inn. A brim-brick fireplace, roared with an orange-red flame, the heat engulfing the area. He took a deep breath, his shoulders unintentionally relaxed, this aura, this palace had a familiar sense to it. One he had not felt in a very long time. He glanced down at his sleeping brother, the tufts of his pink hair moving up as he softly snored. Beside the fireplace, was a desk, the check-in desk. It was empty currently, and his eyes landed on the sign standing on the desk, next to a bell. 

Ring for assistance!

He placed his bag down once again, shuffling Yuuji in his arms to give himself some reprieve, before pressing the bell two times. He waited for a moment, taking in his surroundings just a bit more before a sweet voice called out from the back:

“I’ll be right with you!”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just waited, resting his now free hand on the one holding his brother. Choso soon heard footsteps approaching him, getting closer and closer before the sound of heavy breathing got closer as well. 

“Sorry bout the wait, there was a grease clog in one of the stoves and my fixer ain’t coming until tomorrow,” your voice was much clearer as you came out from the back, approaching the desk. 

You had yet to look at him, but Choso had seen you. Your hair was wrapped in a white scarf, now obviously stained with dirty black-yellow grease. Tied around your neck and clothes was once a pure white apron, stained with the same color grease stains. You also wore a simple creme blouse, along with a yellow-and-white checkered skirt, flowing all around you. They were both covered in grease stains as well. Choso slowly shook his head, slightly mesmerized by your very form, despite the grease and grunge.

“It’s fine,” he finally pushed out, “I’m not in any kind of rush anyways.”

You nodded your head, and that’s when you finally looked up to see who was in front of you. Your eyes widened in concern at his state of being. 

“Oh my, you must have come a very long way, I’m assuming you’ll be needing two rooms?” You said, pulling out a book. 

Immediately, he shook his head, “just one please.”

You glanced between the two of them, “are you sure, sir?”

He took a deep breath nodding his head, “yes, one is just fine, preferably with two beds if you have it?”

You hummed,, before flipping through the large book, “we have available rooms with two beds, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Will that cost extra…?” he could help but tentatively asked.

He left with only so much money, enough for the train tickets to get all the way here and some food for Yuuji. You look at him, before peering down at Yuuji sleeping soundly in his arms. Smiling softly, you shook your head. 

“No, it won’t be extra, depending on how long you can stay of course?”

Dropping his clunky rectangular suitcase, he trudged through his pocket, before pulling out both his wallet along with a folded napkin. He tried to reach over, but with Yuuji still in his arms, he couldn’t fully open up the wallet and napkin. He grumbled, reaching over and over again but he still couldn't reach. He whispered a curse to himself, before jumping as he felt a hand gently tap him on the shoulders. He looked over and it was you, no longer standing behind the counter desk. You held your hands out, glancing down at Yuuji before looking at Choso.

“I can hold him, if you wish to get settled first?” You asked him.

Immediately, he shook his head, “oh no, I couldn’t bother—”

You shook your own head back at him, “nonsense, it is no bother to me at all. Plus, he reminds me of my daughter.”

Choso doesn’t know why that singular piece of information dampened his heart, is it the idea that you were married? He had no time to focus on that, he thought to himself as he leaned down, allowing you to slowly scoop Yuuji from his arms. The small pink-haired boy whined for a moment taking a deep breath, and with no extra beat, he relaxed in your hold, snuggling against your form and unconsciously making himself comfortable. Your sweet smile slightly reverberated in his heart as you slightly rocked him, walking back to your post behind the desk. With his newly-freed hand, he was able to open up his wallet, pulling out the last few bills in it. He placed that on the desk, before reaching towards the folded napkin, revealing the secret stack of bills. His heart slightly dropped at what he had to do to get them, the life that he had to leave behind for something better. 

He looked up at you, “how… how much would a week stay be?”

You hummed, looking away from Yuuji to look at him, “one week…?” you questioned.

You told him the amount, and he could feel himself almost fall to the floor with relief. He had enough for that, luckily, unfortunately, he’ll have to dip into the blood money he took, currently wrapped up in the dirty napkin. He pulled out a few extra bills, before putting his now empty wallet and the folded napkin back in his pocket. He then handed you the money, which you thanked him for before placing it in a drawer you must have unlocked while he was distracted. With your free hand, you handed him the log-in book, telling him where to sign his name and date. 

He handed you back the book, allowing you to look at his name, “Choso Kamo,” you tested on your tongue, elongating the “o” in his last name.

He straightened up, unconsciously as spoke his name. He watched you turn back around, picking up the key that dangled around your neck. With no warning, you pulled the key right off your neck, before sticking the keyhole in the wall. Twisting and turning the key, Choso heard something unlock before the wall split into two sides, before opening up, revealing the rows of keys. They were all the same color, rustic brown with a dangling tag hanging off the end of each of them. Maneuvering your pointed hand, you ‘tsked multiple times to yourself, figuring out which key to give them. You soon picked a key in the top right corner, the very key in the top corner. You dropped the key in your pocket before closing the hidden wall, hearing the familiar click before twisting your key, and pulling it out. 

Turning around, you stepped from behind your post once again, smiling over at Choso. 

“Follow me, and don’t forget your bag!”

With that, he was hot on your trail as you led him up the stairs, the sounds of your more dainty steps combined with his more heavy ones. The wood squeaked under him, and he almost thought he was too dense for these stairs. However, you paid the sounds no mind, continuing up the stairs, passing the second floor, the hall split into two directions, making some kind of ‘L’ shape, with the stairs being right at the corner. You continued to lead them up the stairs, heading up to the more quiet, more private third floor. It only had one hallway, looking straight ahead. The low ambiance eased the pounding headache he constantly ignored. You lead them down the hallway, passing by a few doors, before stopping two doors away from the end of the hall, in which another door stood.

You pulled the key out of your pocket, before sticking it into the keyhole in the doorknob and twisting it open, the door clicking open. An indescribable feeling ran through Choso as he looked upon the new room, where he would be laying his head for an indescribable future. It was spacious and looked as if a family was supposed to live there instead of two brothers. He said nothing as the two of you walked into the room, there was a living room and a bit towards the back, seeing the opened door leading to a bedroom with a large, readily made bed. He looked over to the right where you were heading, seeing another opened door and finding a much smaller bedroom in there. You pushed the door open further, revealing a simple room, with a bit more color than the environment in the makeshift living room. It was obviously a children’s room, which made it perfect as you slowly reached down, pulling the sheets back before placing the small child on the bed, before pulling the soft blankets over him. 

You soon turned back to Choso, pressing your index finger against your lips, he nodded slowly before the two of you tip-toeing out of the room. Once out of the room, you reached out, slowly closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

“This room is definitely more than the amount I paid, with all due respect ma’am…” he trailed off, soon realizing he didn’t know your name. 

You giggled a bit, before giving him your name, “and I don’t know what you mean Mr. Kamo, last I checked this was my inn, so I made the prices.”

The sound of your name rang through his head, as you hummed, before turning to the right, heading toward the much bigger bedroom. He couldn't help but shake his head, before following right behind you. He entered the room, and the size of it surprised him. 

“Here is your bedroom of course, please make yourself comfortable as much as possible, lunch was already served one hour ago but dinner will be at 7:30!”

You turned towards him, before dropping the key in his hands. He was still in slight shock at your amount of generosity, and how well you have treated him in so little time. 

You reached up, placing your hand on his shoulder, “get some sleep, Mr. Kamo, please.”

You waited a moment, only beginning to leave the moment he nodded his head. He heard your heels clicking against the wooden floors, before hearing the door squeak open. The door soon closed shut, and now Choso was left alone, nothing but his thoughts supposedly running rampant. However, he couldn't find the amount of worry and fear he had been so used to the moment he left his old life. Dropping the suitcase, the loud bang echoed through the room affecting him. He was like a zombie, slowly taking heavy steps reaching and going to his destination. The moment he reached the bed, he fell over, eyes closing shut and the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out. Gone to the world around him. 

Choso awoke with a sharp breath, fear striking his heart as sweat bullets appeared on his face. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. For a moment, he thought he was back at that place, shrouded in a certain darkness he wished to never experience again. Pushing himself up, he glanced around at the cozy, rustic brown-colored room before his memories slowly slipped back to him like the rushing waves in a mirror.

He escaped. He escaped, he escaped with Yuuji. 

Yuuji!

Quickly, he shot up from the bed, feet banging against the wooden floor before stomping out of the room. Scurrying across the room, he swung Yuuji’s door open, expecting to see his little pink-haired brother laying across his bed. Instead, he found an empty-made bed, with a piece of paper sitting neatly on top of it. His heart skipped several beats, feeling it drop as he basically jumped towards the bed, snatching up the piece of paper. 

The handwriting of the first line was too neat to be Yuuji’s. However, the second line looked more like the way he writes. 

Yuuji will be downstairs with me -- Y/n

P.S., you still snore too loudly when you sleep. :( 

Usually, he would have chuckled at that, but his racing heart and brain gave him no time. Crumpling the paper, holding it tight as he left the room, stumping away towards the stairs. Choso got to the stairs, a sudden burst of energy fueling him as he quickly scaled down the stairs. As he got closer to the first floor, he began to call out his name.

“Yuuji! Yuuji, are you here?!”

The moment his eyes landed on the inn lobby on the first floor, the back door flew open, revealing the bright-eyed young child. Choso's heart sighed in relief, the heavy beats immediately relaxed as he made it to the bottom floor. At the same time, Yuuji ran up to him, arms wide. Choso scooped him the moment he was close, holding him close to his heart. After holding him for a bit, he shuffled him around to look at his face, quickly checking over for marks on his face, bruises, and cuts that were not there before. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he couldn't help but ask, slowly sliding to the floor. 

The little one shook his head, “no, the nice lady helped me out!” He turned around slightly, pointing towards the back.

He looked up, only to see you standing there, but not only you. Gripping at your long skirt, was a little girl, just around Yuuji’s age as well. She had a blue dress on with pink patterns, and her hair was in little braids, with black and blue beads at the end, held in two ponytails. Her eyes were unwavering as they looked at Choso, continuing to hold on to her mother’s skirt. Looking back up at you, you still wore the same outfit as earlier, only wearing a new apron with no grease stains but rather stains of blue, and floury-chalky white. 

“My apologies if we caused you any distress,” your sweet voice rang out, “Yuuji couldn’t wake you up, so I wrote a note saying where he’ll be.”

You stepped forward, holding the little girl’s hands as you did so. Choso took a short breath before standing up fully, shaking his head. 

“No need to apologize, it’s just… it’s been a while since Yuuji left my side like that.”

You nodded your head, “of course, I understand completely.”

He nodded his head, before looking at Yuuji once again, fully taking in his state of being, “Yuuji, why are you covered in wet flour and…” he took a moment to lift up his coat jacket, sniffing it, “is that blueberries?”

He smiled widely, his white teeth shining against the light, “we were making blueberry muffins!!”

Choso’s eyes quirked up for a moment, “oh really?” He looked back up at you, seeing you nodding your head to confirm.

“We had just put them in the oven when you arrived, they’ll be done by the time people finish their food.”

He nodded his head, glancing around for some kind of clock to see the time.

6:34 pm.

Luckily, he still hadn’t missed dinner yet, he thought to himself as he could feel his stomach squeezing and turning from the lack of food from the past week. 

“Mr. Kamo, I’d recommend you freshen up, those clothes look dirty and old from your journey.”

He nodded his head again, yeah, a shower would do him wonders right now. He then turned to face Yuuji, “you’ll be okay without me, at least for a little more?”

He nodded his head, giving his older brother a thumbs up, “I’ll be fine!”

Choso glanced at you, before looking back at you, “stay with Mrs. Y/n, okay? Listen to her, alright?”

He nodded his head once again, “I will!”

He let out one final breath, before looking up at you, “can you continue to watch him for me, until I come back?”

You nodded your head swiftly, “of course, go get cleaned up!”

You basically shooed him as Yuuji walked back to you, standing right beside your daughter before whispering in her ear. The two of them smiled at each other, before basically running back into the kitchen and back room. Choso turned around, beginning to walk up the stairs, before taking a moment to look back, seeing your figure turned around, following behind the two rascals whose giggles could be heard throughout the lobby. Choso couldn’t help but smile at the sounds of Yuuji’s happiness, something he hadn’t heard in a long time. 

He scaled up the stairs once again, arriving back on the third floor before heading to his room. Choso went back to his room, pulling out another outfit to wear before heading to the bathroom. The bathroom still felt a bit humid from its last use, but he paid it no mind. He shrugged off his old, dirty clothes, placing them in a trash bag he found. He turned on the tub, putting it on the hot water as he waited for it to fill. As steam began to willow through the bathroom, he took a moment to glance at the mirror, his naked body staring right back at him. His scarred hands ran across his scared body, old bruises that hadn’t healed properly, and gnarly scars, scattered across his torso and waist. The most prominent one was the huge reddish-brown scar stretching from his right shoulder, all the way to his lower left hip. As his fingers slowly traced the gash, memories invaded his mind.

He writhed in pain, blood gushing, seeping into his off-white shirt. Above him, he can hear pained sobs, high pitched screams as Yuuji is pulled away from him. Choso cursed, the pain immobilizing him as he could hear his brother’s voice fade further away from him, but he could still hear him screaming his name. 

“...LET GO OF ME! CHOSO! PLEASE DON’T DIE!”

“Quiet, brat!” A stern voice called out.

For a moment, Yuuji’s tears and sobs hushed out of fear. The strong voice turned towards Choso’s writhing body. 

“This is his punishment, be quiet unless you want the same fate.”

He was sniffling, and his brother was sniffing but he didn’t cry out again. All Choso wanted to do was get up, hold him, and tell him everything was gonna be alright. To take him and run as far as he could. Yuuji, his little brother… 

Heavy footsteps soon began to fade, and he could hear something squeak, a door beginning to close. 

“Let’s just see if you can survive this, Choso?”

Darkness surrounds him once again, silence loudly ringing in his ear. His heavy arms pressed against his wound, hoping to somehow, someway, stop the bleeding. The metallic smell of blood hit his nose. He can’t die, and he won’t die, not when Yuuji still needed him. He needed him, they needed to get out, out of this place, out of this life. 

Choso Kamo will not die here. 

With a sharp breath, he forced himself out of the flashback. He glanced back, seeing the tub nearly filling up. He turned around, turning off the faucet before grabbing a clean rag, and slowly stepping into the hot water. He shuddered, taking another step into the heated water. He dipped his rag into the water, before scrubbing the soap along the rag before beginning to wash his body. White suds soon turned brown, evidence of just how dirty he was. 

He sighed, relaxing in the tub. 

To new beginnings, and a new life. 

He felt… renewed, that was the best thing he could describe himself. He thought as he jogged down the stairs. Once he made it down, there were a few more people in the lobby, congregating and talking amongst themselves. He trudged through them, using a simple head nod to greet those who would look at him. He knew what they were staring at, the thick bandage-like mark on his nose, obscuring some of his faces. Most people would just stare, too intimidated by his size to even ask about it. He paid them no mind, hearing Yuuji’s voice come from the open doorway towards the right of the lobby. There were more people in there, all sitting at different tables, with plates of food in front of them as well. He looked around the room, making eye contact with a row of long tables, with trays of hot food steaming from them. The smell wafted through the hair, the savory smell of roasted, seasoned chicken, pasta, and other foods. The sounds of Yuuji speaking got louder and he turned around, only to find him and your daughter sitting at a table in the corner. They both had half-eaten plates of food in front of them, as well as two coloring books in front of them with crayons scattered in front of them. 

He headed towards them, smiling as he headed towards them. As he got closer, his figure must have moved in their peripheral vision because they both looked up, looking straight at him. Yuuji smiled, shouting his name, pushing himself out of the chair before running up to him. Choso scooped him again, holding him close once again. The stains from before were cleaned up, and he now smelled of chicken and pasta. 

“Was the food good?” Choso asked him, his heart warming at his enthusiastic nod. 

“Miss Y/n is an amazing cook! Better than you!”

He tried to ignore the pang in his heart as he said that, smiling in his face. Yuuji gasped, before squirming in his arms. Choso bent down slightly, letting him go as he slid down to the floor before going back to the table. 

“Choso! This is Evageline!” Yuuji held her hand, bringing her closer to you. 

Your daughter, Evangeline, shuffled around, looking everywhere but at him. Just like how his appearance sometimes was off-putting to adults, children can find it unappealing as well. These types of interactions hurt his heart a bit more than with adults. Even so, he took a breath, before holding out his hand. 

“Hi there, Evangeline, my name is Choso. I’m Yuuji’s big brother.”

She glanced down at his hand, before looking back up at him. She was still a bit apprehensive, even taking a point to take a step back a little bit. However, before Choso could say anything, he could feel a figure approaching them from behind, standing right behind him.

“Now that’s not how we greet guests and people, is it Evangeline?” 

He stood up, turning around to face you, this time without any apron on your body. You walked around Choso, taking your daughter softly by her hand and turning her towards you. 

“Hey love,” you spoke softly towards her, “what’s going on?”

Evangeline whispered in your ears as Choso rose back, Yuuji came around the two of you, wrapping his tiny arms around Choso’s legs as the two of you looked at him. You whispered back into her ears as well, Evangeline nodding along with your words. Once the two of you finished speaking with each other, you rose up, holding her in your arms before turning around to the two of them. 

Evangeline looked at Choso before holding out her hand, “sorry, Mr. Kamo. My name is Evangeline.”

Choso couldn't help but smile, reaching out his own hand to gently shake hers, “it’s nice to meet you Evangeline.”

You placed her back down as Yuuji went back to the table with Evangeline, not before telling Choso that he saved a seat for him. You sat with them as Choso walked over to the food table, picking up a plate before stacking it high with food. He grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the pitcher before walking back to the table with you and the children. He placed his plate down, sitting down right beside his brother, picking up his spoon and fork. As he ate, the feeling of hot warm food, not bland as well, was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Choso, look!”

He must have been too focused on his food, looking up at all three of you staring at him. He could feel bits of food scattered around his mouth, which must have set off the little giggles from their mouth. 

“You look funny,” Yuuji laughed, covering his mouth as well.

Evangeline copied him as well, the two of them giggling away at Choso’s countenance. He looked over at you to see an amused smile on your face as well. Choso could feel his cheeks redden as he reached out, grabbing a napkin to wipe away his mouth. 

“My apologies,” he mumbled, reaching over to tickle Yuuji’s laughter only got louder. 

You shook your head, “no problem, I’m glad you're enjoying the food.”

The conversation flowed between the four of you, mostly between Choso and you as the kids were mainly focused on who can make the best drawing of Choso. He asked you about how you became the owner of this inn, and you delved into a great story about your life here. How this has always been a family business, originally founded by your great-grandmother. You had grown up here, as did your mother and your grandmother as well. Families grew here, before going out the world and making their own marks in the world. You told him the story of how your father saved your business, from a group of thieves with dangerous weapons as well. Unfortunately, he had lost his life in the attack but drove them away enough for the police to get there. You pointed over to the back wall where his face was memorialized on the wall of the dining hall, which was always his favorite place in the inn. You let off a bittersweet chuckle once you had told him that. Choso couldn't help but place a hand on your shoulder, trying his best to provide some comfort to you. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, placing your own hand on top of his, “I just hope he likes the way I run the inn now?”

He smiled, “I’m sure he’s very proud of his daughter.”

You thanked him once again, before feeling a tug on your arm. You looked over at your daughter, who gestured for you to come closer. You nodded along to her words before slowly rising to your feet, taking her hand before leading her away from the table. 

“We have to go do something, but it was great having a conversation with Choso. I hope to see you around the inn as well.”

You waved bye to the two of them, Evangeline did so as well, but more so Yuuji than Choso. That’s fine, he thought to himself, as the two of you headed out of the dining hall. As the two of you walked away, the people all around the dining hall greeted you, smiling in your faces as they complimented your food. The two of you soon disappeared through the open doorway, leaving just the two of you. He glanced over at Yuuji, who stuck his tongue out as he put the finishing touches on his portrait of him. He simply smiled, and ruffled his hair for a bit, before continuing to eat his food. 

Three days had passed, and no luck in finding a new job. 

Choso was at his wit's end, and he didn’t know what to do. He had constantly relied on your help with Yuuji, watching him as he went out into the world, giving his name to anyone who would hear him. No luck. No one would hire him, no callbacks to the inn, no nothing. He refused to want to dip into the folded money, which he had now placed into the bottom left drawer in his nightstand. Blood money, as he’s called it multiple times. However, the week was soon ending, and he needed to find another way to pay for another week in the inn. 

His head hung low as he trudged back into the inn lobby, hearing your voice talking to the new guests in the front. As he turned to the left, he looked over at you as you were instructing the new people on what to sign. For a moment, he looked up, and the two of you locked eyes. You smiled, waving at him, and him immediately waving back. One of the guests caught your attention and you turned back to her, speaking in that high-pitched people-pleaser voice he had heard you use so many times. With his heart lifted up just a bit, he continued up the stairs, soon making it to his room. It was empty, as Yuuji was still downstairs, most likely hanging out with Evangeline in an obscure corner of the inn. He soon made it over to his bed, laying across, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. He was tired, so tired of the constant job hunt, however, they couldn’t stay at an inn forever. He needs to do this, to provide a better life for Yuuji. 

A sudden knock came on the door, and his body sprang up in reaction. 

“Choso…? Can I come in?”

It was you, as you laid another knock on the door. Immediately he shot off the bed, shrugging off the suit jacket you allowed him to borrow. 

“Y…yeah!” he stuttered, walking slowly towards the door. 

He stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath before slowly opening the door. You stood on the other side, a small smile on your face as he looked at you. You wore long baggy, flare-out pants, and a simple black shirt tucked in with a belt as well. You weren’t wearing a scarf that time, your long braids hanging loose, falling to right around your waist. 

“How was the job hunt?” You asked him as you took a couple of steps into the room. 

He blinked, watching as you entered the room, unable to do anything but close the door and watch you for a moment. He soon snaps himself out of it, following after you as you take a seat on one of the seats. 

“I haven’t heard back from anywhere, so… not great.”

You hummed, nodding your head for a moment, squinting your eyes for a moment, before looking up at him. 

“On a scale of one to ten… how good are you at handy-man stuff? Like fixing stuff, etcetera, etcetera.”

He was confused, “if I had to guess… a good six maybe? Why?”

You blinked, “that’s all I need. My last handyman quit on me, so I need someone else.”

He distinctly remembered your meeting, you covered in grease as you complained of the same stove which gives you problems once again. 

“Wouldn’t your husband do things like that?”

Your face dropped for a moment, “husband?” you asked. 

His eyes widened for a moment, “...you’re not married?”

You couldn't help the snickers that came out of your mouth, covering it up immediately with your hand, “Choso, I’m not married. You’d think I’d have a handy-man if I was married?”

You couldn't help the wide-pressed smile at the sight of his cute face slowly turning red from embarrassment. 

“I… apologize, for assuming you were married.”

You shook your head, now showing off your smile, “no no it's fine, trust me. I’ve heard the worst assumptions. So about the handyman job…? You’ll no longer have to pay to stay here!”

He perked up a bit, as it hit him, you were offering him a job right here. Which would be even better for him, being close to Yuuji and watching over him much better. He can’t always rely on you to keep watching him. However, that also means they don’t have to leave the area, and with Yuuji and Eva attached by the hip. It was a win all around.

He nodded his head, “I’ll accept it.”

You smiled immediately standing up, “great! Because the grease stove is broken again and I am not fixing it!”

He stuttered, as you suddenly pulled him up from his seat, “wait I didn’t think we were starting right now!”

He could hear your laughter sound a little mischievous, much like when he would see Eva and Yuuji play a game and she would win multiple times. 

He now sees where she gets it from, he thought as he pulled out of the room. However, he couldn't help the smile that formed on his face as you dragged him downstairs.

He now wore the apron you wore when the grease stove broke the last time as you stood behind him, peering in on him as he got the new clog out. Yuuji and Eva stood behind you, watching Choso battle against the gas-grease stove. 

Once he finished, covered head to toe in black-yellow grease, you easily rewarded him with a glass of lemonade, which you enjoyed with the kids as well. As you stood there, wiping away his face that was stained with dirty oil, the smile the children shared was unseen to the both of you. 

The sun glared down as you sat outside in the back of the inn, your fan in hand. Today was a lazy day for you, not much traction as many of your guests enjoyed the city. The back table you sat at was surrounded by your friends, girls you had known since high school, and other places. On the table, a pitch of ice-cold lemonade sat along with smaller finger snacks you had made for their visit. Your hair, now in distressed long locs, wrapped up high in a scarf, matching the color of your multi-layered sundress. Your eyes were covered with sunshades as chatter flowed among the five of you. As you spoke, you could hear the sounds of laughter from the large yard not too far from you all. In the freshly cut grass, there stood Choso a wide smile on his face as he entertained the two little ones. He wore a sleeveless tank top, covered in grass stains and sweat. His hair was up in two spiky-like buns, a few strands of jet black framing his face. 

It had been five months since Choso and Yuuji became permanent fixtures in your lives, and since then you couldn’t imagine how you lived with them. Eva, having a constant friend around, has done wonders all around for her happiness. You also helped Choso with enrolling Yuuji into Eva’s school and were even put down as a guardian for him as well. Things that would constantly break would be magically fixed by him, and sometimes he would even help you with cooking dinner for the guests who would enjoy it. It was like the four of you had your own little family.

“Wow…” the sudden high-pitched tone of adoration broke you out of your trance.

The conversation spoon stopped as you noticed the rest of your friends looking the same way you were. 

The kids have gone back inside at this point, probably to cool down from the sweltering sun while Choso remained on the large lawn, using a rag to wipe away the sweat on his face, he began to walk towards them. 

“Girl,” one of them called out to you, “where did you find this man?”

You rolled your eyes at them, picking up your glass before taking another long sip. As you did so, Choso was within range of your table, and you could collectively hear sharp inhales all around you. Some of your friends even took out some of the fans to cover and cool their faces down. All this while a deep gnarly intensity was building inside of you, all while you sat there as Choso approached you all. 

“Ladies,” he nodded, giving off a shorter smile as your friends waved daintily at him. 

His eyes then wandered down to you as you placed your own drink down, looking up at him as well. His minute smile expanded as he stood right near he bent over, grabbing the only untouched glass of lemonade you had poured out for him. He stood straight up as he downed the whole thing in just a few gulps. The sweat on his body and the drink mixed together as he drank the sweet-sour beverage, your eyes followed along the clear-like liquid as it trailed down his neck soon reaching the valley between his pecs. 

The sound of coughing broke you out of your trance as you turned away from Choso, glancing at the rest of your friends who looked upon him as well. A couple of them glanced between the two of you, eyebrows quirked. However, before you could do something, the loud thud brought your attention back to him. 

“I’ll head back inside, you leave those two alone for a while and they’ll end up in chaos all over again. Thank you for the lemonade, Darling.”

With no other words, he walked back inside the opened door, following behind the muffled voices of chaos inside the inn. You let out an almost silent breathy sigh as you turned around the moment he was out of view from you. You could feel heat all over you, looking up and seeing four pairs of eyes right on you. 

“What…?” you asked, although you couldn't suppress that smile on your face. 

The friend to your left spoke first, “you acting like we didn’t see that. Girl… we are not stupid.”

You let off a tense chuckle, “what? What are yall talking about?”

That same friend rolled her eyes, “she’s really acting like we don’t have eyes.”

You reached over, filling up your almost empty glass to the top, before taking another sip of it, “how about we enjoy this lemonade and this beautiful day. It’s rare that we all can spend time like this with our busy schedules!”

Your other friend spoke up next, “so what we’re hearing is that Choso is single”

Your friends jumped as they heard your glass slammed back against the table, the drink spilling all over the table, your hands, and the outer glass. Heart racing as your friends glanced amongst each other, letting off small smiles and smirks amongst each other. You sat back once again, sipping your cold drink and fanning your fan in your face to cool yourself from the added heat of bashfulness that struck you like a bolt of lightning. Luckily, another one of your friends pulled the conversation into a different topic, relating to drama between people you used to go to high school with. 

The get-along went on until the sun began to set and they all soon had to return to their own homes. You told them not to bother with the clean up, as you had some responsibilities around the inn to get to. There you stood in the kitchen washing dishes and beginning to put them away as you heard heavy footsteps enter the kitchen. 

“I’ve put them to bed, if you don’t mind, they wouldn’t be separated from each other so they’re having a sleepover in Evangeline’s room.”

You smiled at the thought of the two cuties snoring away underneath Evageline’s bright pink covers, like peas in a pod those two were. 

“Thank you for that,” you said, continuing to wipe the water away from the dishes. 

He began to step closer toward you, his footsteps becoming louder and louder, “do you need any help with anything?”

You immediately shook your head, ignoring the pounding of your heart rattling between your ears, “mh mmmhh, no I’m fine. I can handle it all. You should head to bed, you’ve done a lot of fixing around this place.”

By the time you finished speaking, he was behind you. His bodily heat was radiating off of him, causing you to shudder silently, inhaling sharply. He let off a low hum, the sound reverberating through you as you hunched over slightly, catching yourself as your knees wobbling. Your hands were soapy, causing you to stagger and teeter, squealing as you felt yourself begin to fall. Large, rough hands wrapped themselves around you as they held you steady, slowly pulling you back up with ease. You glanced back, seeing Choso’s face right near your own. 

“You alright, darling?”

You nodded your head, unable to say anything at that moment. He smiled, his hands still on you as he shifted his body to your left side. He stood right beside you as his hands slid down from your shoulders, before landing right on top of your wet hands. With ease, and due to your slight trance, he was able to pry your hands away from the sink before slowly guiding you away. 

“Let me finish off the plates, go sit down by the fireplace, darling.”

“Wait—” before you could protest, he grabbed a rag before wiping your hands clean.

You let out a short gasp, mouth wide as he basically took over the last of your chores. You glanced between him and the opened door, revealing the inn where the fireplace was still blazing. Smiling, you turned around, your footsteps sounding off as you left the kitchen. The low dulcet sounds of jazz sounded off from your record player as you entered the small, comfortable lobby. You sat on the loveseat right next to the fireplace, sighing at the radiating heat, relaxing into the softness of the couch. Along with the music, you could hear the clink of glass against the metal sink, and the sounds of suds being pressed out of the sponge, washing away at the dishes.

You thought about the past, how your life has changed once again. How, despite you not showing it, your life was slowly becoming bleak. An everyday cycle for both you and Evangeline, of waking up, walking her to her bus, walking back, making breakfast for the guests, cleaning up rooms, organizing everything, Evangeline coming home, making dinner for the guests, cleaning up again. Not to mention, hospitality for new guests as well as dealing with rowdy guests as well. 

Choso and Yuuji have been a light in an increasing vignette of darkness within your life. 

“Darling,” a soft voice, shook you out of your trance.

Slowly opening your eyes, which you had no idea you even closed, you looked up only to lock eyes with Choso’s dark, concerned-filled ones. 

“You alright?”

You nodded your head, sitting up fully to look at him. His arms were covered up once again, wearing a thin jacket as he held his hand out towards you. Smiling, you placed your own in his much larger one, before he pulled you, squealing at the sudden force. You stumbled upon your steps, before feeling his other hand slide around your waist, stabilizing you once again. 

“I’m sorry, it seems I still don't know my strength,” you heard him say, feeling his fingers rub circles on your side. 

You shook your head, ignoring the heat that ran through your body, “it’s fine, perfectly fine.”

He hummed, before glancing around, and looking at the record player not too far from you. For a moment, he let go of you, before stepping towards the player. Slowly increase the volume, just loud enough to take up the lobby, but not too loud as to wake up the few guests you had. You couldn’t help the smile as he stuck his hand out towards you, bowing slightly. He honestly looked a little silly, but your heart clenched as he asked you, 

“May I have this dance?”

You shifted your head, eyebrows curling up, “what’s the occasion?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “no reason. Just because, darling.”

Every time he called you darling, you could swoon into the moon. However, instead of flying away, you accepted, placing your hand in his once again before being swirled away into a world of sweet jazz and melodious waves of motion. Your hand in his, sticking out while the other rested upon his broad shoulders, while you felt his other hand resting right on your waist. As you two danced away, looking at each other for a quick moment before looking away, still holding each other close. 

“I just wanted to thank you, darling,” he mumbled lowly in your ear. 

You blinked, “thank me… for what?”

“Changing my life, saving me.”

You hummed, curled your eyebrows up, and looked up at him, “how did I do that?”

He looked around the inn lobby before looking back down at you, “giving me a chance, helping me with Yuuji… I’d never thought my life could end up like this.”

The hand resting on his shoulders slowly slid up. Reaching and caressing the side of his face, heart-melting as he nestled up against it. 

“I should really be saying this about you, my life has been so much brighter since you two arrived here.”

He shook his head but you wouldn’t have it, “I mean it Choso, this was a blessing to me, you are a blessing to me.”

He said nothing, as your steps began to slow down, as you bored into each other’s eyes. Nothing could interrupt your silent conversation, as you felt his hand that once rested on your waist slide down to your hips, dangerously close to your bottom. You took a step closer towards him, as the hand you placed on his face slid back, intertwining with his dark hair. There was barely any space between the two of you, and nothing holding the two of you back as Choso leaned down, hastily pressing his lips against yours.

You gasped out his name, before being overwhelmed by him. You found balance in gipping his hair, and his shoulder, feeling his overwhelming stature pushing up against you. His free hand copied his other hand, resting right at your hips before gripping them, bringing them close. For a moment he let go of your lips before whispering,

“Jump.”

With no other words, you jumped right into him, his arms holding you up as you wrapped your legs around him as best as you could. Your dress rode up, mint-green fabric bunching at your waist as the two of your locked lips once again. Choso stumbled backward a bit before feeling him sit down right on the couch where you just sat at you. You rested yourself comfortably on him as your fingers unravel the two messy buns in his hair. Your hips moved along against him, and you could feel his hard-on pressing against you through the thick fabric of his jeans. 

“Choso,” you gasped, releasing the kiss to take in a deep breath.

However, you couldn’t do anything but let out breathy moans as Choso began to lay kisses all along your neck. 

“We should, fuck, we sh… should probably go upstars, Choso before a guest comes down here…”

He hummed against you, feeling his hands massage your ass before gripping it tightly, suddenly standing up. You squealed, a smile appearing on your face as he basically took you towards the stairs, carrying you up the stairs. He was careful not to make too much, as he took you past the second floor of the much more inclusive third floor, where only the four of you were staying. Approaching his door, he kept you up with one hand as he fished out his key, unlocking it with ease before hauling you inside. The room was dark, as it was empty due to the sleepover the kids were having in Evangeline’s room, which was connected to your own. 

You shrieked a little as you were suddenly thrown onto soft blankets and pillows. Pushing yourself up, your eyes landed on Choso's form, his silhouette illuminated by the low lantern light from the makeshift living room, as he slowly peeled away his jacket, once again revealing the arms you previously drooled over. Licking your lips as he soon reached down, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before throwing them into an indescribable corner. He then kicked off his boots, and slid the door close, completely enshrouding you in darkness before climbing right on top of you. Your hands rested on each side of his face before pulling him down for another deep kiss. His hair, no longer contained in its buns, tickled your hands as your fingers dug right back into it. His hands dug under your dress, pressing up against the back of your knee before slowly pushing your leg back, your dress scrunching up further and further. Moving your hands from his face, before nimbly slipping your fingers through the thin straps of your dress before beginning to slowly pull them down, right along with your dress as well. 

Choso helped you out, pulling the rest of the fabric down, and exposing yourself to him. You hadn’t worn a bra, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore underneath your dress. He threw the dress on the floor before beginning to slide down the bed, letting go of your kiss. Stomach twisting in anticipation as he laid ghostly kisses against your abdomen, fingers strumming at the hem of your panties. They then hook underneath the thin fabric, before slowly pulling them down, the sudden cool air causing you to shiver and gasp in the dark room. You lifted your legs, fully exposing yourself to him. Gasping, back arching against the bed as you felt a thick finger pressing against your cunt, your seeping arousal dripping against them. Sweat began to drip down your body as heat arose within you, toes curling as you felt his finger slowly sinking within you. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as you jolted, moaning out into the air.

You couldn’t say anything as he continued to finger-fuck you against the bed, his body sliding up back to you. It was bliss upon earth, and it only increased further and further as he acted upon you. He towered over you, taking in your every expression, every twitch and quiver you made. You were so wet for you, your slick drenching his finger and parts of his hands, you were ready, perfect for him. Slowly he pulled his finger out, taking a moment to lick and suck away at your arousal.

“God I can’t wait,” you heard him whisper before feeling his hands pressed up against the back of your knees, bedding you further and further into the bed, until your body couldn't take any more stretch.

His one hand easily pressed you back, and his other one soon left your body. A few moments passed before you were suddenly gasping, the feeling of his tip, the thickness of it pressing up against your hole. For a few moments, he swiped up between your soaked labia, his actions pulling out short, breath-like moans out of you. 

“Choso, fuck, Choso please,”  you moaned out, begging for him to press into you, take you in any way he wished. 

He almost came right then and there, and could no longer hold himself back as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. Choking on your spit, your head was thrown back in complete ecstasy as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside your pussy. For a moment he slowed down, stopping all of his movements. Just as you were about to complain, he darted, suddenly thrusting himself. Your body convulsed, a scream leaving your wet lips. 

“Fuck fuck, you okay, Love?” He groaned, his deep voice causing you to shake underneath him. 

Euphoric, cloud nine was within your reach as he began to slowly rock his hips into you. Both hands pressed up against your knees, allowing him the balance to reach deep within you. Your words came out garbled, jumbled for the mind-numbing pleasure with a few twinges of pain that accompanied this overwhelming feeling. Your hands now freed, they dragged themselves against his naked back, nails digging into his skin. As he continued to fuck you slowly, he leaned down, pressing soft kisses against your cheeks and neck. 

As you let out another choked sob, Choso whispered in your ear, pressing sweet words into you. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry love, bare with me.”

Your face twisted, gasping as another sharp thrust took the breath straight out of you. He could feel himself reveling in the way your face and body convulsed under him, your reactions so delicious to him as he continued fucking you slowly. He ached for more of it, he wanted to make you feel like this all the time. cHoso could feel it taking over his every being, his every sense. Sweat dripped down his face as he began to pick up the pace, his moans intensifying with every slam. The sounds of your arousal dripped all over him, mixing with the sweat that was building on your body, the warm air and stench that was permeating through the air. 

“So, so so deep,” you slurred, your nails digging into his skin, breaking through. 

“Yeah baby?” he mumbled in your ear, as he pounded into you. 

The nickname caused you to thrash against the bed, a loud moan echoing through the room. Immediately he shushed you, a hand leaving the back of your knee, going to your lips, pressing his thumb against them. 

“Shhhh, don’t wanna be too loud and wake up the kids?”

You shook your head, the taste of his slightly salty thumb pressing up against your tongue. He steadily removed the pads of his fingers as he leaned down, whispering “good girl,” right beside your ear before suddenly pulling you up, his hand now around your waist as he sat up. Squealing, you asked Choso what he was doing, but he shushed you as he stood up on his knees for a quick moment, before flipping the two of you onto the bed. You now sit right on top of him, shuddering as his dick reaches new depths in the new position. You then sat back against your ankles, feeling his hands slide upright to your hips, gripping into the fat and muscle underneath. Stabilizing himself, propping his legs up causing you to gasp, hands flying down and grabbing at his broad shoulders. With no hesitation, he began slamming back up as if nothing interrupted him in the first place. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed through the room once again. 

Choso couldn't help but be transfixed by your blissed-out look, tongue lolling out, lips wet with spit, and head thrown back in ecstasy. Every whisper and whimper you made went unnoticed in his presence. From the moment he met you, he knew just how much you would change his life. 

You suddenly let out a shrilled moan, nails breaking skin once again, “Choso, god I’m gonna come.”

A familiar feeling of urgency zapped through him, feeling heavy heat building up within, similar to you as well. Hair sprawled out on the pillow under him as his grip on your hips became bruise worthy as he didn’t let up, surrendering to the aching of the building climax within him. All he could do was focus on your moans, your words driving him further and further. 

“Coming, fuckfuckfuckfuck, I’m coming!”

With one final squeal, you throbbed and tightened around him, Choso’s throwing his head back at the sudden soaked tightness around. Hips lifted high into the sky as you shook and trembled above him. Your own overflow caused him to reach his climax, his orgasm spilling right into you, filling you right up. Deep heavy breaths echoed through the room from the both of you as your body felt heavy, slumped with sudden tiredness. You could feel Choso lift you off of his cock, feeling your body slump over as he carefully laid you across the bed. Eyes heavy, you whined as you could feel his body heat move away from you. He quietly shushed you for a moment, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You could hear his steps walking away from you, before hearing the faint sound of water rushing, and the squeaky sounds of a sink. He soon came back, hearing his steps get closer to you. You forced your heavy eyes open to see better, only to jolt as the feeling of something cold and wet slid all across your thighs. CHoso wiped away the mixture of cum that was seeping from you, as what dripped all along your inner thighs as well. 

Once you and he cleaned up, he put the rag away in a place where he’ll take it tomorrow before climbing right back into the bed with you. A smile instantaneously took over your face as you snuggled into his broad build, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. There were no words exchanged between the two of you soon after that, the sounds of your breathing lulling each other to sleep, and the added safety of you being in his arms. 

Though as you fell asleep, Choso couldn't help but worry as he gazed upon your relaxed, tranquil countenance. His mind ravaged him with fear, memories of a time before, is this all too good to be true? To be here? With someone, who he loved ever so dearly? He thought of the family he created, of how much Yuuji enjoyed it here. He gazed down at you once again, before placing a kiss on your temple. He snuggled into the bed, making himself comfortable.

No. He will be happy. 

Choso Kamo will be happy. 

taglist --

@homewithnobodies @mimi-sanisanidiot @swinginprunegothcop @foxthroats

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 4

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Jazz guided Jason through the halls to the library, it seemed to be in a different wing of the castle from where the living spaces were. When they reached a split between a hallway and a set of stairs she hesitated, placing a hand on one one of the banisters and turning to face him. She looked at him considering before nodding to herself and picking up her skirts to go up the stairs.

"We'll take a shortcut over the wall, because you're death-touched you can safely breathe the air without it overwhelming you with intense emotions and obsessive behavior." She said absentmindedly to him as if air that could cause such things were normal.

"Uh, glad for that then?" He said following her. She opened the door at the top of the stairs and strode outside, not even glancing at the absurd sky.

It was eerie to say the least, swirling Lazarus and emerald green with purples and blacks making the sky look like an oil slick. He expected the air of the dimension that contains all the afterlives to be colder, but it was pleasantly warm with a gentle breeze blowing by. If he closed his eyes he could imagine standing on a hill watching the clouds go by. On one side of the wall they were atop was a courtyard containing plants that Ivy would drool for, it was nearly as overrun as her greenhouse.

He noticed one of the towers had what appears to be an observatory, though he wasn't sure what besides doors, floating islands and general terrifying shapes they would see through it. "What's with the observatory?"

She glanced at it and gained a fond smile on her face. "That's Danny's. He always wanted to be an astronaut but circumstances prevented that. That telescope can connect to any telescope in our home universe. Even the ones in deep space. He's going to IRU right now for aerospace navigation. There's a dimension he was hoping to spend a couple years in before he has to take the crown that has intergalactic space travel as the norm." She seemed to light up when she spoke of her brother, obviously proud of him.

"Wait, Danny's who you're Regent for? Not a son?" Jason wouldn't have minded if she had a kid kicking around, but to find that the kid he met earlier is the future King of Everything In-between was surprising.

"Oh, yes, Right, I'll explain everything I can once we get to the library, it's just through here." Once inside again, she took brisk steps forward to doors directly across the hall. "Here we are, my favorite spot is just this way."

They stepped out onto a second floor balcony of a three story high library. Books spanned from floor to ceiling in a room the size of a small stadium. Shelves and tables made from a purple wood polished to a shine. Deep red velvet seats on all the chairs and couches in each of the reading spaces. Jason stood flabbergasted at the sheer volume of books present. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see a conspiratorial smile in teal eyes. "I had the same reaction when I first came here. Come on, my favorite spot to talk is this way."

They made their way to a corner of the library that had a pair of chairs, a tea table between them and a small fireplace, lit with a ghostly blue flame. They sat and she looked at the fire, then at him, then back at the fire and sighed heavily. She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts before she spoke.

"Once upon a time there were three scientists in college who wanted to build a portal to the 'Ghost Zone' as they called it so they could study an research entities they referred to as 'ghosts'. Their definition being that any entity that produces, metabolizes or consumes the substance ectoplasm is a 'ghost'." She paused here, clasping her hands together and looking down at them. "There was an accident, I'm not going to go into too many details for now, but just know that one of the scientists became something more than human. The first of his kind in a millennia, a statistical improbability. Some things happened and he believed that he lost the only woman he could ever love to the man that caused him to become something other than human, to become partially one of the creatures they sought to capture and experiment on.

She glanced up and stared into the middle distance, remembering. "Twenty years pass and the two other scientists are now married with children. They've had a lab in their home since they graduated college at the top of their field in ectoscience. They have a daughter and a son, both are born ectocontaminated though they don't know for years later. They've been working on a new portal, this time bigger, large enough to fit a car through." She laughs lightly. "I remember coming down and shoving granola bars and thermoses filled with soup when they were on work binges, determined to get 'just a little bit more done Jazzy-pants, then we'll go to bed'" She gazed wistfully at the fire. "They usually did once they finished whatever food I brought to them, not wanting to have a repeat of the last time they left something with old food in it and it gained sentience and mass enough to chew a few hazmat boots."

She seemed lost for a moment before she cleared her throat. "Sorry, um, where was I?" She blinked before raising a hand up pointing at the ceiling. "Right, the portal. So they spent a good decade start to finish on it. It was going to be their crowning achievement, but when they plugged it in they saw some sparks, but nothing else happened." She folded her hands together on her lap. "They left for a weekend. Went to search for some cryptid they had been meaning to go find for years, but had put off to work on the portal. I was in charge for the weekend, a thing I was used to from whenever they were on design binges. Danny had his friends over and I was in my room studying. I had my headphones on, I don't even remember what band was playing, and I think I was working on chem homework?" She shook herself from the thought. "Anyway, there was this power surge, I remember just thinking that I was mad that it happened right during my favorite part of the song and I was singing into my pencil. When the lights went out, I had the usual expected dread in the pit of my stomach, but something felt especially frightening in this moment. I didn't have time to dwell on it, shaking it off as just being paranoid. I was more concerned with getting my music back on after that. I should have realized something had happened." She tightened her hands until the shook, pale knuckles stood out.

"I'm not telling you details, but there was another accident with a portal, this time it was Danny. He became something more than human. He became the second halfa in a millennia."

"Halfa?"

"Yes, Half human, half ghost. An anomaly, a myth, a statistical outlier. He walks the line between life and death. He will have many titles once he takes the throne, and one of those will be the Balance."

"Damn, that's a lot to put on a kid. How'd that happen?"

"I found out all of this second-hand mind you. I may have known his secret when it all happened, but he didn't know I knew yet."

"How'd he hide suddenly having powers? I don't expect he had particularly good control over them at first, I know several supers who didn't."

Jazz hung her head in shame. "I was too deep in my own head at that point. I was neck-deep in research on how to parent troubled teens because while I missed all his slips for power usage, I did not miss his decline in grades. Especially when the chemistry teacher approached me about the fact he kept 'dropping' equipment." She held up air quotes. "Turns out not being able to control tangibility can cause mass amounts of property damage, who knew?" she shrugged her shoulders.

"So basically, the original halfa guy from earlier managed to gain wealth and power using his powers in increasingly shady ways. He also grew obsessed with my mom and blamed my dad for turning him into a halfa. He wanted revenge. He invited us all to a college reunion where he found out about Danny. Things happened and they became nemeses with Vlad wanting Danny to denounce our father and become his son with my mom at his side. You're allowed to say ew, it was very ew for a long time." She laughed at his scrunched up face. "Anyway, he finds out about ancient ghostly artefacts that are supposed to give the user unimaginable power, and finds out where they are. He finds out they are locked away with the former King of the Realms, and he expects to be able to just grave rob the ruler of the Infinite. He manages to get the Ring before Pariah wakes up, and somehow manages to escape back to out home dimension. All ghosts flee the Realms through the most stable portal available; the one in my family basement. This causes alerts to go out all across the town and my parents put up defenses for people to huddle under during everything. Some stuff happened and it ended up leading to Danny taking a suit our parents had built and defeating the former King Pariah Dark and sealing him away in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.

"Infinite Realms Law dictates that if the leader is defeated in single combat, and the combatant continues after said encounter, then they are to be crowned High Royal and any family members gain royal titles as well. Danny is, however, too young for his classification. He is too young by human years, he must be twenty-one for that, and too young for halfa standards, he must be a halfa for a decade. He won't be of the majority for at least another five years, and then he must have it on the following solstice. Until that time, he is High Prince and must work on learning leadership and combat skills." She gazed calmly at him, resigned for her brother's fate.

"So how'd you end up Regent?" She sighed and closed her eyes, shoulders dropping.

"We had a council for a while, the Council of Ancients, new and old working alongside the Observants. It worked for a little while, but something happening in my home dimension was causing issues. You see, the ghost problem in our town after the portal opened became a pretty big issue when property damage resulted in the thousands and you can't bill the dead. Danny was doing his best to fight off as much as he could, but he wasn't trained and was very new to his powers. It didn't help that our parents were shooting at him while he was trying to save people." She grumbled and Jason's hands tightened to fists.

"What do you mean they shot at him?" He asked as evenly as he could. He could feel the tinges of old hurts coming to the surface. A Batarang to the throat.

"They never hit him, he dodged every time. They didn't know it was him. They thought it was just a ghost, and to them, all ghosts were evil. They had a lot of bias in the majority of their research, but as soon as they found out who he was they immediately changed tack. They had Danny stay at Vlad's for a weekend, which was it's own can of worms, while they disarmed the house and set everything to ignore his ecto signature." She looked thoughtful. "Apparently Vlad wasn't a complete jerk that weekend either, Danny told him what they found out and Vlad, worried for the second of his species, actually helped him through some emotions and helped him train some. I think it's what started on his redemption actually."

Jason breathed out heavily letting his rage dissipate. "You keep saying 'the second' instead of the 'the only'. There are more?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, yes, there's Ellie and Dante. Ellie is my younger sister, she's a clone of Danny Vlad made, and Dante is an evil alternate timeline version of Danny and Vlad that fused together and is inhabiting a clone of Danny Vlad wasn't able to pull into consciousness." She let him digest that for a moment.

Jason choked out a laugh. "Man, and I thought my sibling situation was weird."

Jazz's eyes narrowed, appraising him almost like a predator eyeing prey. "Hmm. We'll discuss your family situation later." She cleared her throat gathering her thoughts. "Anyway, so the property damage led to the government getting involved. More specifically a branch known as the Ghost Investigation Ward or GIW for short. They were founded on the first research papers my parents produced which were heavily biased against ecto-entities on a whole. They were extremely prejudiced against ghosts.

"They started out as a nuisance. Someone easily distracted by getting their suits dirty or faulty equipment. Then the Anti-Ecto Acts were ratified. Then they got bolder. They paid my parents a fake amount of money to buy the house as-is with the portal. They planned to send a nuke in to destroy the Realms believing it to be full of horrendous monsters. Thankfully the nuke was a dud model and someone definitely got fired that day in ordering. But after that they just started to get worse and worse. They were starting to go after anyone who pinged on their detectors, which were just getting more and more precise as time went on.

"Here's the thing about Amity Park, my hometown. It was founded by witches fleeing the witch trials. It sits at the crossing between ley lines, and it's always been a spot that the veil was thin. Ectoplasm would leak through natural portals that popped up from time to time. Add a stable portal to the mix? The entire town was now ectocontaminated. They were now classified as liminal. They were now death-touched enough that they pinged on the GIW's equipment. They began raiding people's homes, accusing them of harboring ghosts. Danny's entire home room got taken in for questioning one day, they had set up little interrogation rooms like a blood drive in the gymnasium." She chuckled darkly. "They got so close so many times, too many times." Her left hand clenched into a fist.

"My parents found out about Danny when the raids first started. He'd decided it was time to come clean because it was only a matter of time before they came knocking at our door. Thankfully, they came while Danny was at Vlad's and they never had the guts to storm the billionaire's house. I managed to avoid detection by wearing a Specter-Deflector and my parents were always in their hazmat suits so they didn't ping either. Things got worse, Danny had to beg the Council to make an edict to not come through the portal for the foreseeable future.

"It didn't work, various beings saw it as a challenge. They began to lose faith in their future ruler. If he couldn't protect his little town and the people in it, how was he supposed to protect them? It was a common sentiment. It was something I grew tired of hearing during one particular fight." She stared at the blue flames of the fireplace, not seeing the flickering light. "Danny was down. Mom and Dad and Vlad were fighting together to both capture the ghost before they could do more damage and stop the GIW from capturing another ghost to experiment on and dispose of. The ghost was the fourth one that week spouting the same bullshit." She spat the word out like a curse, growling before looking into the middle distance with sad eyes. Softly, she spoke, "There was an explosion." She blinked, coming back to focus. My parents were down. My youngest siblings were now fighting. I made a decision." She squared her shoulders and tightened her jaw, determination filling out her features. "I had been helping Danny study to become King, I had read up on all the important laws. I took the Specter Speeder to the council chambers. I stood before them and declared as the eldest and therefore heir and head of the Nightingale family, the Royal family, and that I was at the majority for my classification, I would be taking the title of Regent until Danny reached his majority. I took the Crown and the Ring and my own suit and went to the fight.

"I told Dante and Ellie to get Danny and go, there was nothing that could be done for our parents. I subdued and contained the ghost and then beat back the GIW until they were at the borders of Amity. Then, using power I had just gained, I pulled the entire town into the Infinite Realms." She held out her hands, gesturing to the general vicinity.

He sat with that for a moment. "Wait, wait wait, you're just gonna skim over the fact your parents died?"

Jazz's eyes hardened. "Never." Her eyes glowed yellow for a moment and her hair seemed to float a bit when she said the word. "I just met you, and it's still a sore wound, I'd rather not get into it if that's alright with you." She held herself rigid as if expecting him to press the issue.

"Whoa, it's okay, nevermind, touchy subject, I get it. Most people I know have their parents as a touchy subject. Especially dead ones." He kept his posture open, slouching a little to show he didn't mean to pry.

She hummed thoughtfully, appraising him once more. "So, I told you my story, earlier you told me some of yours. I think that's enough sharing for one day. I don't know about you, but I am very tired. If you like, you may stay here. Just ring the bell on the mantle and Jeeves will be here to assist you. If not, I'd be glad to walk you back to the guest rooms, they are down the hall from the family rooms." She stood and waited for his response.

"Um, yeah, let's walk back together. I had a couple questions about some of the books in my room?" They walked and talked together as they made their way towards the bedrooms. They parted ways with a promise to read the same book and give each other feedback on it in a week.

"Well, this is me." He said awkwardly indicating the hall his room was in, hers was in the opposite hall.

"Yup, I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to see you tomorrow, I have a full day up until dinner, but I'll see you then?" She looked inquiringly at him.

"Yeah, definitely! See you tomorrow!" He said and turned down the hall. He jogged until he got to the door, opened it and then leaned against it falling to the floor. "Okay, so I may not have entirely screwed this up, but man, she's been through a lot already. Do I want to add my shit to it?" He thought to himself, spiraling until he was clutching his hair. He growled and stood up, then stalked towards the bed and flopped down on it, back first this time.

"I mean, I might be stuck here, so would my baggage really matter that much?" He laid there for a moment before deciding to get ready for bed. Once laying down again, he kept thinking of all the different ways he as a person could fuck this or her up if he pursued a relationship. He worried himself to sleep that night.

[ronearoundblindly]

ALSO from the kiss list: ransom and #45, 46, or 47???? ur ransom from the root of all ransom is so 😩😩🫠🫠🫠🫠

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader from The Root of All Ransom series

Out of Spite, one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024

Summary: Ransom's childhood home gets sold in his parents' divorce. The first time you see it is the last time he ever will.

Warnings for cursing and dirty memories from our boi. DEEP FEELS. If you've never read any RoAR, that's fine! You just need to know that Ransom is a filthy, bitter man who used to defile his parent's house any chance he got. Oh! And that Harlan did tell Linda (Ran's mom) about Richard's (Ran's dad) cheating. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for you on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1746

He didn’t think he’d feel this way.

Everything is different but exactly the same.

Ransom can remember when this house was a happy place. Of course, it felt that way only when he was very young and really stupid. He actually thought his parents loved each other back then.

Fucking idiot.

He learned quickly though. Once he paid attention, that’s when he saw. His father didn’t look at his mother that way; Richard looked timid or indifferent, waiting for the money decisions he floated to be approved, waiting to make sure Linda hadn’t stumbled on some evidence of his indiscretions. Meanwhile, Linda…worked. That was it. She just worked.

A child sees that. Whether they are ready to or not, a child sees.

Ransom didn’t understood why that sort of relationship was so fucking infuriating—because if that’s your relationship, don’t have a fucking child,—but he saw.

Just like fashion and furniture and people, he can tell in one look what he doesn’t want.

He doesn’t want…whatever the fuck this was.

Ran drags his hand over the polished wood banister to lead you upstairs to his old bedroom. It’s now a gym, and in a month, who knows, because in his parents’ divorce, the house is getting sold. His dad has ten more days to move out.

Unsurprisingly, nothing has been packed yet. Richard pays someone else to do that, like he and Linda paid someone else (many other people) to raise Ransom.

He didn’t think he’d feel this way on the last occasion he’d ever be in this house.

He’s hated it a long, long time. He used every opportunity he could to taint and tarnish everything from floor to decor, invisible marks of defiance that his parents never saw, or if they saw, they never understood.

Ransom doesn’t lack respect completely; he just lacks respect for them.

And yeah, to be fair, there are less than a handful of people on the planet he’s found he can respect, but he is capable. They just aren’t worthy, and he doesn’t fucking care.

He thought he’d feel anger or bitterness. He thought he’d feel a sense of justice, maybe, because this veneer of unity is finally being stripped away. He thought, at very least, he’d feel a marked disappointment because they could have done better. His parents are capable of better. They just fucking weren’t.

He feels…nothing.

He feels nothing when you two walk past the railing where his prom date, Candace, almost took a short drop and a sudden stop because she’s an adrenaline junkie and wanted him to fuck her while she held on with nothing but her acrylics. Ransom had to fake coming because he was so distracted by the thought of having to clean up that bitch’s brain from the foyer.

He feels nothing as you two traverse the hall where he terrorized the nannies, throwing whatever he could get his grubby fucking paws on and aiming for them every time.

He was awful; why doesn’t he feel awful?

He still feels nothing when he flicks on the light at the southernmost room and sees…no trace of the first nineteen years of his life. Maybe he feels nothing because there is nothing?

Ran told his mother, point blank, that she could burn anything he left behind for all he cared, and at the time, he didn’t care one iota. Those memories were not worth one red penny to him. He derived more joy from knowing what he’d done here and left for them to clean up than he did from any of the actual stuff.

That’s the thing. Even if the stuff didn’t bring him joy, that was all he had for nineteen years. Possessions hold value to him because emotions didn’t fucking exist in this house, unless you count denial, arrogance, and willful ignorance.

He’s so caught up in his emptiness, he’s forgotten all about speaking during this little tour.

You follow him around, silently, from room to room in a too big house that unsuccessfully contained the egos of only three people. No one was fucking happy. No one wanted to be there. Everyone had to be there, for appearances.

You rest your arm on his shoulder and run your fingers through the short hair at his neck, but you don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. He feels nothing.

And so you two head down to dinner with Richard, a bizarrely familial toast to the house before it’s on the market.

Ran’s father hasn’t cooked, mind you, because that would really be the cherry on the weird shit sundae. No, it’s a catered meal for three fucking people in a house owned by none of these three people.

However, if there’s one skill passed down through generations of Thrombeys and Drysdales alike, it’s ignoring anything going on around you that you don’t care about (and the not caring in the first place, so two skills). Ransom is a really skilled Thrombey and Drysdale.

He has no fucking idea what the conversation is about over the course—courses—of the meal, but he watches you in an awe that makes him feel sorta queazy. How can you still smile and nod at Richard? Ran reached his limit weeks ago, and you’re still barreling through what he can only imagine is the finest, superficial bullshittery the whole county has to offer.

Why?

Why are you here?

This place is not a fucking home. 

Why are you putting up with this? Why put up with him, for fuck’s sake?

But the emptiness swallows that outrage as fast as his mind can churn it out.

“Ya know, I think I’ll take my plate in,” you say sweetly to his father, standing, so there’s no argument to stop you. “I never got to peek at the kitchen.”

The help part like the sea for you.

Richard chuckles, leaning back in his chair with his drink. “Not sure I ever really peeked in there myself,” he mutters. 

“Please, allow me,” he hears you encourage from around the corner. “I’d like to look out the window.”

Ran mouths ‘window’ questioningly to Richard, who suddenly remembers that they redid the deck and added a pergola eight months ago. Ransom vaguely remembers his mother griping about contractors, but he didn’t listen to the details. He didn’t fucking care.

He’s up and heading for the kitchen before his father can offer to have dessert served outside.

Ransom, clearly in a mood, tells the caterers and wait staff fuck off to a different room when steps in. He has no clue if he knows them previous events. It doesn’t matter.

He’s engrossed, watching you rinse a plate in the sink, something so simple it hurts.

Because the kitchen, Ran thinks, is where you prove you can stand another person—you trust them with your food, they can know what you like, and you aren’t afraid of them in a small space with knives. This is the place where couples work together. They spend time getting things for each other, making things for each other, even when they don’t have to.

In that sense, this is not and never has been a kitchen. It’s a showroom, but tonight it showcases you.

He walks over and looks where you look. Beyond the reflective pane with your faces is a canopy of lights overlooking an open space the length of the house.

It’s beautiful, just one of many helpful additions made after he left. Some other family will get it now. Some other kid will enjoy it. For once, Ran wishes people he doesn’t know a happiness he never had. That’s new, too, that feeling.

Pride swells in Ransom. No one can take that from him.

He is not a good man, but he’s proud as fuck not to be his parents despite their indifference. It’s a miracle he isn’t exactly the same as Ol’ Dick in the dining room, alone, scared for what the future holds when the money runs out.

That was a near miss of fate, Ran remembers, because if he’d been backed into the same corner, if you hadn’t been there to offer a lifeline, he would have fought. He would have killed to survive.

That’s what he knew. That’s what he learned in this house. Fight. Kill. Show no emotion. It doesn’t matter anyway. Each man, woman, and child for themselves.

Richard and Linda live with the consequences of their actions; Ransom lives with the consequences of his parents.

He turns to you, a hand on your hip, and sees you warp you mouth in apology.

“Needed a break,” you admit quietly.

Ran snorts. “I hear that.”

“Just dessert and then home,” you hum. “No drinks outside, okay?”

Then it dawns on him. When he bought his current house, its true beauty was not being this one, but that’s not all anymore. Ran can make a house into a home. He can make himself into the home you deserve, the one he would have killed for.

This house may hold bad memories, but he can make new ones. Houses can be expanded, lit, and warmed. Space can be made to fit the needs of those using it.

His mind can do that, too. Ran can do that.

So, out of pure spite for the wretched monument all around him, he leans over with a smile and kisses you fiercely.

Such a simple thing. A new memory. One happy memory to bury in this dead place and leave forever.

He’ll go back to his home, with you, and get you water from the kitchen even if he doesn’t want any. He’ll watch you cook, and you’ll ask him to taste it or hand you things just a few feet away. You’ll sit in ‘his’ spot on the couch because the new place for him is with his head resting in your lap. He sees it all very clearly.

His parents were right about something: it doesn’t fucking matter. This house doesn’t have to matter to him. Only his real home should do that.

When dinner is over and you two shut yourselves into the Beamer, he looks back one final time.

He doesn’t have to care. He doesn’t have to feel anything. There will be empty spaces in his life, but that’s okay. That’s a consequence of living.

You voice Ransom’s innermost thoughts just before he turns the key in the ignition.

“Good fucking riddance.”

Jimmy Dobyne and a kiss in public ⬅️ ➡️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @starkleila @tenaciousperfectionunknown @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @ellethespaceunicorn

[bullet-prooflove]

Fireflies: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@trublu2u@yousigned-upforthis@queenslandlover-93 @hiding-behind-my-glasses

Companion piece to:

Rattle Snake - Travis struggles with his failing health.

Travis is sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, the one his granddaddy crafted for his grandmama way back when. His gaze is locked on Jefferson and the other cowboys as they herd the recently purchased cattle to their new home.

A shovel rests against the railing, an empty sack tossed over the banister alongside it. His intention had been to prove you wrong, to kill the rattlesnake lurking under the porch but then he’d been hit with a wave of nausea so severe, he’d ended up hurling his guts out into his Mama’s shrubs before collapsing back into the seat.  

He hears the door open behind him, your quiet footsteps on the wood. He isn’t ready to have this argument again, to hear how he’s deteriorating because the truth is he already knows. He feels it every damn day when he opens his eyes and has to force himself out of bed.

“Baby,” he says tiredly. “I really don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright.” You say with a sigh, your elbows coming to rest on the railing as you look out across the ranch. Despite how much you hate Texas, you do enjoy the ranch. It’s different from Yellowstone, more bustling, more lively. The silence stretches between the two of you and with it so does the distance.

He isn’t proud about what he said this morning, or about walking out on you and his Mama when you’d started discussing his limitations. You’d gone to follow him but Jeanine had stopped you, shaking her head.

“He needs space when he gets like this.” She’d told you, pulling out her baking tins. “It was the same way when his daddy died and we were trying to figure out what to do with the debt he left us with. Just give him a little time.”

You’d spent the rest of the morning making sheet cake with a woman who barely tolerates your presence in her son’s life.

“This illness, it’ll consume your whole relationship if you let it, that’s what he’s afraid of, that you’re starting to see him differently.” She tells you as you’re folding in the eggs and you realise that there’s some truth in that. You’re relationship has become about his illness, it's the whole reason you’re here in Texas to begin with.

“I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.” Travis interrupts your thoughts as he toys with the red worry bracelet on his wrist. It’s the same one he gave you when your ex-husband was causing you trouble way back when. “I thought it would be a couple more months before I started to get really sick.”

You sigh as you push away from the railing, coming to settle in his lap instead. His arms wrap around you, drawing you close as he buries his face into the curve of your throat.

“Let’s do something together tonight.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his temple. “Your Mama said there’s a field out back where we can watch the fireflies. I hear they’re beautiful.”

“They are.” He agrees, his thumb chasing along the line of your jaw as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, I know you’re just looking out for me.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his. “As long as you take me to see the fireflies tonight, I can chalk it up to your general bitchiness.”

He laughs then and it feels like something releases in his chest because for now, the two of you, you’re gonna be alright.

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[werecreature-addicted]

I wrote a small little blurb with Pre tadpol!Durge putting out a cigarette on Gortash :3

You stand alone on the balcony looking over the lower city. Baldurs Gate looks back up at you. The city smells like piss and cheap wine, but also more pleasant things: blooming flowers, baking bread and roasting meat. The city lights keep the night from being too dark, but the torchlight is dim enough that you still see the stars. It’s hardly a peaceful night, you can hear shouting down below and what sounds like a band playing farther off, but still, you find yourself at ease. You’ll have to come up here more often, you think to yourself as you light a cigarette. The sewers are home, but the city has its own charm. 

You start smoking, enjoying the bustle below you. The door behind you opens and the hairs on your neck stand on end. Your instincts tell you to whip around, to not give your back to the person approaching. But you still yourself, you know those footsteps, and he wouldn’t hurt stab you in the back… at least not literally. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Gortash says, wrapping his arm casually around your waist as he comes to stand beside you. With his other hand, he starts toying with the sleeve of your robe. His robe really, but you’d snatched it for the night, the clothes you’d come in nothing more than blood-soaked shreds at this point. You look down at his hand and can see the tan lines where his gauntlet should be, his skin slightly paler where the metal usually rests. It looks silly you think, but you don’t tell him that. 

“It’s more recent, I only took it up to quit drinking,” you admit. He hums and leans into you further, pulling the collar of the robe to the side and pressing his mouth to your neck, tickling your skin with his stubble. 

“Trading one bad habit for another,” he teases in between kisses. “Wonder what you’ll have to take up to quit smoking.”

“Something worse I assume,” you say, tilting your head to the side so he can kiss his way up your neck to your jaw. Suddenly he sinks his teeth into your neck biting you hard. Your body jolts and you let out a soft “oh” of surprise, which makes him laugh. You smile too. You’ll get him back for that. You’re sure of it. You go to put your cigarette out on the banister but Gortash stops you. 

“Hey- that’s expensive, and wood. You’ll burn the whole place down,” he protests. You’re sure he’s more upset at the idea of the ash singeing the glossy wood than he was actually concerned that a little ember would burn down his entire estate. 

“Fine, I'll put it out on something cheap then,” you say and press the burning end of the butt into his arm. You expected him to scream or curse you out. Instead, he hisses and then lets out a low groan of pleasure. A shudder goes through your body at the sound and you grind the butt deeper into his skin, before pulling it off, a nice red welt left behind. The smell of burning hair and flesh fills your nose and you flick the crushed trash away, letting it land somewhere on the city streets below. 

He glares at you, holding his injured arm and looking at the small burn. “It’s nothing a Cleric can’t fix, but you really are a brat, someone should put you in your place,” he grumbles. The idea excites you

“Yeah? Why don’t you take me back to bed, and you can try to ‘put me in my place’ as you put it,” you tease. 

“You think I can’t?” he asks, his eyes shining with the challenge. He cups your jaw in one hand and brings your mouth close to his, but not kissing you quite yet.

“It's the opposite," you admit, your eyes falling to his full lips, "I know you can.”

[c-rose2081]

I don't know if you're interested, but here goes, any Red and Chloe fic or headcanon from your childhood friends?

Knowing Red, she must have convinced Chloe to help her steal the desserts her mother baked and that she definitely forbade them from eating before dinner.

I haven’t written a ton of kid Chloe and Red yet, but I do know they got into so much trouble together. The terrible two, you know lol

Stealing deserts? Absolutely. Playing pranks on staff, sliding down the banisters, wrestling in the fresh dirt put down by the gardeners, running through the woods to climb the most impressive trees or playing in the river during the summers, and even (at a slightly older age) stealing Bridget’s ATV for a joyride.

They even turned a few stuffy royal dignitaries hair flamingo pink once, forcing Bridget and Ella to withhold their laughter at a royal dinner.

Ah yes, these two got into plenty of mischief together and I hope to write them soon ^^

[yearningaces]

Good question!

It takes weeks.

Buying the old mansion was worth the sheer amount of time you were spending fixing and cleaning and repairing and arranging- all by yourself!

Sage -your partner- kept to their own, occasionally moving from the room you were working in so they could keep writing in peace. Their book -a romance no less- was important to them, and that was fine.

You could take care of your new home anyways.

In a way it was a sort of prideful thing. After a life of never having anything that was yours, for you, not leftovers to be thrown away, scraps, hand-me-downs, or whatever had been forced into your hands? You were ecstatic with this home.

It showed as you worked as well. Cleaning baseboards, and beautiful dark varnish wooden designs, from the archways to the stairs to the banister.

The realtor said this place was hand made hundreds of years ago, and what a piece of art it was. And you often said so.

When cleaning the cabinets, you found small yet intricate carvings in the wood, resembling vines and flowers in the corners of the cabinet doors, you'd gushed about it for the rest of the day.

When you'd cleaned out the soot covered fireplace, cleaning the old equipment, and placing it all back- you noticed how the metal shines beautifully and how the stonework was so delicately placed to form the spherical shapes, even the wooden mantle was crafted with care.

This house was a labor of love, and it was yours to love now.

So you did- And the house noticed.

The first few days were tentatively silent other than the music you'd turn on while cleaning, or the typing of Sage's keyboard.

After the first week, you realized something, you never had to open a door. If you needed to leave a room it would just be open. If you wanted to be in a room the door was closed before you could turn around. No creaking joints, no slam, no gust of wind. It simply was.

It was unnerving at first, but the best way to not be afraid was to act like you weren't and keep going. So you'd pass through the opened doors with a pat to the solid wooden doorframe. Sometimes saying a quiet 'thanks' whenever going into a room, knowing the door would be closed when you turned.

It never happened around Sage. And if you brought it up you might freak them out, so you kept quiet. No need to disturb the peace you've found and they've tentatively agreed on.

Then it was your chair.

Well- that is to say the chair that was left in the house that you claimed as your own.

In that office you'd found, halfway hidden through the library, there was a velvety chair, plush, dark red, old, and so sturdy it was a chair built to last. After cleaning it, it was a wonderful sitting spot when you were tired.

The issue was, the chair might be haunted?

You didn't know exactly, it wasn't being rude, it was just... There.

In the office, in front of the fireplace when you were tired. You'd set a drink on the side table, maybe open one of the many old books you'd found in the house and read. Maybe even nap.

Except now, it followed you.

Not visibly, of course. But if you showed signs of exaustion, especially when cleaning the lovely house of yours, you'd take a step back, your legs bumping into something behind that throws you off balance and you land in the chair. The large, heavy one that would need two people to move.

The first time, it understandably freaked you out, you jumped out of it, turned, and it was gone again. In the office.

Next time you never took your hand off it as you got up, to turn and see it still there. Until you looked away with your hand off of it, and the chair was gone again.

So you accepted you had a chair that would just appear when you were tired.

Then... More began happening.

Lights would turn on and off for you, in any room, even if you don't say it, as soon as you reach for the switch, it would do it itself.

Dishes would arrange themselves at your table, setting the entire dining room table when it was just you and Sage living there.

The old record player you found would start playing a new record if you were in the room, especially if you were working on anything.

If you were making a meal for yourself, the chair at the head of the table would be pulled out by the time you made it to the table.

It only happened when you were alone.

As if the very house tried to avoid interaction with anyone except for you.

You wonder how long it would stay this way... and what more would happen once the house grew more comfortable.

[thepenultimateword]

Claws and Fangs Part 2

CW: Discrimination, essence of racism and hate speech (just with made-up terms because its supernatural creatures)

Part One

[Vampire!]

The little girl standing tiptoe in the doorframe sprang at the vampire's chest, nearly knocking them backwards down the long flight of stairs. Luckily, Fangs managed to catch her under the arms and swing her weight back toward the door just in time.

"Aggie!" they cried, matching her energy. They rubbed noses with the child as they shifted her to the crook of their free arm and reached behind them to find Claws’s arm again.

The child, Aggie, clung to their neck. "Daddy said you weren't coming!"

"Plans changed." They gave the little girl an extra squeeze before smoothly positioning Claws in front of her. "This is [Werewolf]. They're staying the weekend with us."

The little girl lit up for an instant but then froze, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose. "Why do they smell like that?"

"Aggie!" a new feminine voice scolded, this one older, huskier. "That's no way to treat a guest."

A tall, raven-haired woman in a long red dress appeared in the doorway. Claws only needed a second to recognize her as another vampire. She carried the same red-eyed glint and predatory elegance as Fangs.

Her gaze roved up and down, taking in their utter unvampireness, but she still smiled as she met their eyes.

“Excuse my daughter. She hasn't had much exposure outside a clan.."

Aggie wriggled out of the Fangs’s arms and darted past her mother's legs and into the house.

"I'm [Vampire's] sister, Nerezza. You must be [Werewolf]."

"You know me?"

"Of course, we've been trying to get them to invite you for a dog's age." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I am so sorry."

Fangs covered their face with one hand. "Nerezza."

Claws's face heated. Apparently, their identity was no mystery. "Er, it's fine. I didn't really notice."

"Until you made a big deal out of it," Fangs said.

"Excuse me, [Vampire] for being careful," Nerezza snapped. "I didn't want to offend them before they even got through the door, and I only just remembered that dog is a derogatory term!"

"You can say dog, just don't call them one."

Nerezza glanced at Claws for confirmation, as if she only trusted the explanation from the source's mouth. When they nodded, she noticeably relaxed.

"Well come on in before you catch a cold standing here. Just leave your bags by the door; the staff will take it up to your room. Now. Let's introduce you to everyone else."

Fangs squeezed their hand as they crossed the threshold. "Here we go."

The house was even more beautiful inside than out. Rich red rugs swathed pearly marble floors. The walls and banisters were dark chocolate wood decorated in tapestries and oil portraits of vampires that looked suspiciously similar to Fangs and Nerezza. At the end of the hall, Nerezza turned through an arched entryway into a great, round sitting room. The sofas and recliners were draped in white fur throws and a rose and silver-leaf garland hung over the hearth, the hearty, pine-scented fire within accenting the room with an orange glow.

"Evening everyone!" Fangs said

Several vampires twisted their heads around as they entered, one man on the end of one sofa with his dark silky hair pulled into a bun immediately began sniffing the air.

"What in burning silver is that smell?"

The man beside him, looking nearly identical except for his hair--pale blonde and plaited over his shoulder, promptly punched him in the ribs.

"Told you, told you, told you!" Aggie sang from the floor where she was very meticulously putting together a puzzle of a frog pond.

Fangs's hand slipped out of Claws's grip and settled more protectively around their waist, seeming to forget for a moment that their partner was over a head taller and a few palms bulkier than they were. Though they wouldn't deny that having that supernatural vampire strength wrapped firmly about them was comforting.

"This is [Werewolf]. You know about them. My...er...well, we're engaged. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Man Bun said condescendingly, this time blocking his brother's fist.

"I haven't actually asked yet, but we both already know--"

"You're going to," Claws helped. "It just hasn't officially..."

"No, not quite yet."

"Soon though?" Claws tipped their gaze meaningfully toward Fangs’s face. Standing in front of their family for the first time probably wasn't the time or place for hints, but they couldn't help it now that the topic was out in the open. They had been waiting for a while now.

"Oh, yes, yes, very soon!" Fangs said, and they both strained smiles at the room. Fangs clapped their hands together. "Anyway. Aggie and Nerezza greeted us at the door, this is my brother-in-law, Gabriel."

The vampire he gestured to was in fact the only one who had not bored holes into Claws upon entering. Mostly because he was reclined all the way back in the biggest armchair, snoring. Claws still committed his enormous frame and the pink elastics in his auburn beard and hairline to memory.

"My brother Renwick,” Fangs moved on, introducing the blonde man. “The especially rude one is Lauden." They pinched Man Bun's cheek and turned their tone babyish. "Our baby."

Lauden swatted them away. "Shut up, I'm grown! ...Unless the last blood custard is up for grabs, then I'll gladly be the baby."

"My mother and father, you can call them Jacqueline and Valerian.

Jacqueline strained a smile, but Valerian was as still and austere as one of the oil paintings in the hall. Claws could definitely tell who had the strongest genes. Jacqueline's blonde hair and storm gray eyes had passed to Renwick, but the rest of the siblings shared their father's raven hair, amber eyes, and delicate bone structure. They still needed to get used to vampire parents looking nearly as young as their children.

Fangs gestured to a regal, middle-aged man in the armchair closest to the fire, not a recliner for how stick straight he sat, pale hand planted firmly around the gold knob of his cane. His dark hair was a mane brushed straight back and streaked at the temples with silver.

"Grandfather Ambrose," they mumbled quickly and then immediately brighter, "And that’s everyone!”

Before Claws could reply so much as 'pleased to meet you,' Fangs's strong arms dragged them off balance, plopping them both on the floor beside Aggie, Claws in the center of Fangs's lap.

Claws looked at the floor. It still wasn't the full moon, but the phantom sensation of a tucked tail and ears plagued their body. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. The air of awkwardness and disapproval was worse than being alone.

"So, [Werewolf]," Nerezza said, breaking the quiet. "How long have you and [Vampire] been together."

"W-we met a year and a half ago. So I guess officially...a year? How long have you known about me?"

"A year sounds right," Renwick said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. His eyes seemed intent on dissecting Claws bit by bit. "You're name came up several times, but [Vampire] has always been a closed trap on the topic. Now I know why."

"Not that it matters, of course," Nerezza piped in quickly.

"Of course," Renwick agreed, though his tone was much less concerned. "How old are you?"

"Er, 27."

"Ah."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Ren," Fangs warned.

"What I'm just getting to know them. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you brought them?"

"This a probationary meeting. For if you ever get to see them or me again."

Claws melted closer to the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug with their eyes.

Aggie tugged on their sleeve. "Can you help me find the froggy eyes?"

She pointed to one of the background frogs on the box, his eyes only the corner of a mostly pond puzzle piece.

"Of course, let's see..." They sifted through several nearly identical, greenish-gray pieces. "Ah ha! One set of froggy eyes!"

Aggie's amber eyes lit like embers as she fit the piece into place. "And the dragonflies?"

Claws slowly slid off Fangs's lap and sprawled onto their stomach. "Pink or blue?"

"The pink."

"Ah, those ones are tricky, huh? Well, it looks like they're an edge piece, so can you help me find all the pieces with flat sides like this?"

She nodded adamantly, and together they made a small pile. Claws already saw the dragonflies, but instead of handing the piece to her they said, "See any pink ones?"

Aggie bit her lip mildly with one fang, flicking her eyes back and forth like a cat stalking a mouse. All at once, she pounced, finger landing on the center of the piece.

"Right there! Right there!"

"You found it!"

Aggie giggled. Claws was vaguely aware of a slight back and forth of their hips, habitual even with the absence of a tail.

"Look at them wriggle, just like a--"

"Why don't we all change for dinner," Jacqueline said, cutting Lauden off. She stood with a flourish, fluffing the skirts of her creamy vintage evening gown. “Lauden, dear, come with me, and I’ll help you with your tie.”

“What are you talking about?” the young man said, crinkling his pale brow. “I know how to tie—”

“Come.” Her eyes flashed like lightning in the violent storms of her irises, and Lauden quickly got up to follow her.

***

Claws threw themselves on the bed, giving a luxurious stretch as they stared up at the rich velvet canopy. They rolled on their side as Fangs closed the door.

“Alright, infamous outfit change #1. Help me, my love, what am I ever supposed to wear?” They tossed their head and pressed the back of their hand to their forehead.

Instead of playing along, Fangs sat on the edge of the bed and took their hand. “Do you want to go home? Because one word, and we’re out.”

"Hm?"

"We've only just arrived, and they're already being rude. It's going to get worse as they get more comfortable."

Claws crawled the couple of feet between them and flopped their head on their legs. "I’m not so much of a coward that a few mean words can chase me away. I’m from a wolf pack, you know. We deal with rough every day. Besides, I’ve been through worse.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

“Ow. What?”

“You were not pleasant when we first met. In fact, you called me the d-o-g word. Multiple times.”

“Because I was stupid! And I didn't know it was a slur! I didn't exactly talk to werewolves yet."

Claws reached up and smoothed the creases out of their face. "I know. The point is I can handle it. I'll let you know if can't."

Vampire wore a pout but nodded. They pointed at the suitcases. "It's the grey suitcoat with the red cravat. I'll help you tie it."

"You think I can't do it on my own?"

"Oh, I know you can't. Now stay there and sit still. I'll explain a bit about dinner."

Master Taglist:

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[mythalsknickers]

Happy Friday! For Rook/Lucanis, perhaps “Can I have this dance?” from the romance prompts?

Title: A Wintersend Murder Pairing: Teigue de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte Rating: Teen Word Count: 939 @dadrunkwriting veilguard

The opera gleamed as they walked into the hall from the cool evening. Crystals and silver caught the light as various houses dressed in swathes of a crow's wing. Reaching up he carefully maneuvered his fingers to adjust the filigree and feathered mask, his copper hair pulled back into singular but elaborate braid.

The Wintersend Murder, had required the finest any crow could afford, and it was by far the largest gathering of crows. Every house sought an invitation to the Opera, yet as full as it was, it was not every Crow. Looking down at the dancing he took a breath, there was not enough wine to have him brave that. He scanned the balcony, looking for familiar faces he could use to stay off the dance floor, and looking for the wine. Music filled his ears as his hand rested on the banister, slowly making his way down to the main floor of the gala. Most of the dark corners upstairs where unfortunately occupied with; negotiating contracts, hiding from Talons for heated kisses, and sensual touches. Looking to the almost empty glass of wine he downed the rest of it before passing it off to a servant, his boots hitting the wood floor as he continued his search for a dark corner.

A small smile curved his lips as he quietly ducked behind a pillar and disappeared into a corner where he could sit and watch the festivities. Away from Viago and Teia pestering him to go and join the other young crows for dancing. It was his first real time outside of lingering around the Diamond, and the occasional birthday party that Viago drug him to, of being around this many people and it was a lot of noise; gossip, contract negotiations, conversations, music, declarations, toasting. The list was truly endless. Reaching out he took a glass off a passing tray and took a slow sip. Wine finer than anything he could afford on his own contracts.

The night slowly ticked down, he had seen Viago and Teia take to the dance floor and for a moment he swore Teia had seen him tucked away in the back of the room. He swirled the wine in his glass, glancing up from the red liquid when the drapes next to him rustled. His lips parted for a moment and he forced himself to take a sip of his wine.

"Hm Teigue, happy wintersend." The maker had a sense of humor tonight. He knew he should have moved. Pulling his glass away from his lips he offered the First Talon's grandson a slight smile. "Happy wintersend, Lucanis." he offered warmly. If Teia did not know where he was before, she would eventually. Both her and Viago seemed rather close to the Crow next to him.

"I have not seen you take the floor tonight." It was not a question and Teigue raised his brow giving a slight shrug. Lucanis was dressed in rich purple cloth, adorned in silver that clung to his body in the right ways. "No, I have not had the desire to. Have you gone to the floor?" He doubted if he could off balance Lucanis but his question was met with a chuckle.

"Teia insisted before she took Viago out." It was his turn to chuckle as he took another sip of his wine. The music slowed and Teigue swore he saw something in Lucanis eyes. "Can I have this dance?" Hand outstretched towards him, his brows raised and eyes widened. Lucanis other hand too his wine glass from him as he struggled for words.

"Me.." he tried to keep the disbelief from his voice "I was drin--" A gloved finger pressed against his lips as Lucanis closed the distance between them. "You really do think to much at the wrong times. Yes or No Teigue." His cheeks grew warm at the closeness looking up at the man. After a moment the finger fell away, leaving him with a look that just oozed waiting for his answer. Maker he had expected to get asked to dance, just not by the heir to the First Talon.

"There will be so much talk..." he took a breath the words barely whispered. "If you are certain, yes." He laid his hand down in Lucanis' and there was moment were his hand was squeezed in reassurance. Slowly he was lead out to the floor and he could hear some of the whispers still and feel eyes on him. Include the gaze of three Talons.

"Let us give them a proper show, mio piccola volpe." The words caressed his ear and he took another breath as Lucanis twirled him before the came together. The strings seemed to sense what they where doing as the tempo changed, a waltz into a much more steamier dance. There was no battle for who lead like with Teia and Viago, it was almost like breathing with the way they moved. The heirs of the first talon and the fifth talon locked together and when they were apart it felt hard to breath. Fingers grabbed his chin as the strings slowed again, tipping his head up almost meeting Lucanis' lips. Those fingers fell away, and Teigue took a measured half breath before bowing. "Thank you for the dance." He kept his voice level even as his face practically burned. Pivoting away from Lucanis they both left the floor and Teigue grabbed a glass of wine and slowly made his way out the opera and into the cool air. Sucking in a breath, Teigue downed his wine glass. He had called him, His tiny fox.

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [02]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: canon-typical violene, patching up Reader, author pining for Lockwood

Summary: Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their demeanours are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems striking like a flash of bright lightning—quick-witted and assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off that he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Notes: [01] | [03]

Words: 7.3k

A/N: Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming positive feedback I got for chapter 01!! Thank you so much for everyone who's joined the ride. I hope you guys will enjoy this as much as I!! (I'm on my 4th rewarch of Lockwood & Co. and I still delight in noticing all the small details they put into the show. Also. Lockwood's voice! Makes! Me! Weak!

02: for whom the bell tolls

each man’s death diminishes me, for i am involved in mankind. therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee

      — John Donne

The Rotwell dormitory you live in, nicknamed the Lions Den, is a stocky brick house taking up a good chunk of Dovehouse Street. There used to be a hotel there, way before the Problem, and then an apartment complex for the rich elderly until Rotwell bought the whole building and its private gardens just to prove they can. Echoing the classical Georgian townhouses of Chelsea built out of pale toast and earthy red shades of brick, every residence features timber-panelled walls, triple-glazed windows, and smoked oak floors throughout.

The front entrance has glass doors sliding open for anyone entering. Somehow, the foyer always smells like pine needle polisher. To the right side is a row of mail boxes with each tenant’s name, on the left side is the guard’s office, separated from the foyer by sleek glass panels. Someone decided to put a whole rainforest inside, monstera, rubber trees, philodendrons. They nearly swallow tonight’s agent covering the shift: a bulky, young girl with dark curls to her chin looking like a malformed porcelain doll—delicate features on top, sinewy muscle stretching the seams of her wine red agent jacket going down. She stares at you for a moment, blinking with her long black eyelashes.

You wave.

She doesn’t wave back, and returns to painting her nails a vibrant yellow you could pick out from space.

Inside your mail box, you find ads and unpaid bills, reminders to pay said bills, and a very unflattering drawing of you working out in the dormitory’s underground gym area. You crumble the note and throw it back inside, slamming the window shut.

Your two-room apartment lies at the end of a long corridor, facing the backside and gardens. It is a copy paste of all other living complexes inside this building: a small entrance leading into a spacious living area with a cream-coloured two-seater couch at its centre, a solid cherrywood desk next to the curtained window and a heavy antique armoire twice your size pushed against the wall. Behind an ornate cedar door is the small bedroom, king-sized bed and heavy bureau and all that makes it look more like a hotel room advert than a place where you could wind down after a hard day.

As always, you stand in the hallway for a moment before turning the lights on. It is quiet, the room smells of polished wood and washed laundry. As always, it feels as though the walls are closing in.

You flick the light on and stash your rapier inside the umbrella rack by the front door, ignoring the two trash bags waiting to be thrown out. The laundry has been hanging for three days, but there was just no time to clean it away because you’re barely here—every minute spend within these walls is taken up by sleeping, eating or occasionally staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling and counting the heavy thuds from above whenever the agent living in the upper apartment decides it is time to practice tango in high heels at three in the morning.

You cross the room and open the window, letting in the cool night breeze. The smell of dawn hangs in the air, crispy and cold like the crackling of dry leaves. It will take only a few more hours for the sun to rise and draw London’s people from their homes to go about their daily lives. Jobs, grocery runs, late afternoon dates, strolls through the parks. When the world wakes up, you turn in to sleep, bloody, beaten and bruised, but alive.

You wonder if every day will be like this. Fight against the Problem and only chip away at the immeasurable scale of its extent. This night, you have secured two Sources, stopped two hauntings. But how does this affect the grand scheme of things?

Your head hurts. Best to leave the existential crisis for another day; right now all you need is your soft pillow and the familiar smell of your lavender-detergent. The Problem will still be there once you wake up; it will not ruin those precious hours asleep where you don’t have to worry about anything.

Every apartment has a tiny kitchen and bath adjacent to the living area. A cup of tea before you turn in, and maybe one or two of those chocolate chip biscuit a client gave you last week in appreciation for driving off the Lurker in her basement.

The kitchen looks just like you left it: as though a salt bomb has gone off. There was no time to put away the dishes or give the pan a quick scrub before you left for your shift, and now the leftover burnt bits stick to the dark surface. The half-full cup of coffee has grown cold since the morning, left forgotten. You’re too tired to clean up. It’ll have to wait until you wake up, or maybe even after the next shift.

You consider throwing your head back and screaming for a second when all of a sudden an intense hate for this apartment geysers up and threatens to swallow you. It is tiny, suffocating. There is nothing personal about this—you could disappear from the world and it would just become someone else’s responsibility and property. Nothing would indicate that you left a mark in this place.

Putting the kettle on the stove, you pick out your favourite mug with a broken handle—Kipps’s fault when he knocked it off the table a couple months back—and return to the living room. Your coat smells of burnt fabric from ectoplasm. The agency is very strict when it comes to appearance and representing Rotwell's splendid work ethic, so replacing it will put another dent in your account, but that is still better than going through the same trouble as last month when you appeared with a chocolate smudge on your jacket and every supervisor spotting you gave you hell for it.

Half-shrugged out of your coat, you walk back, past the closed window.

And stop.

Slowly, you turn. Only your own reflection stares back at you—wide-eyed and dishevelled from today. There’s a dark patch on your shoulder where ectoplasm has eaten like acid through the fabric of your coat. The lock is latched firmly on the inside, the metal clip winking at you under the Tiffany lamp’s reflection. Suddenly, everything depends on how still you are against the moving world.

Where did you leave your rapier? Ah, inside the umbrella rack back in the hallway. What’s the closest bludgeon weapon you can get your hands on? Only an empty Pringles can, yesterday’s dinner.

In the window’s reflection, the dark patch on your shoulder rises, distorts. Grows a head. Even with the room plunged into silence, your heart beats rabbit-fast and you hold your breath to keep from making a sound. Just this once, you’re thankful you were running late this morning and didn’t have time to clean up the leftover breakfast on your office desk that stands against the wall. Not even five steps separate you from the blunt silver knife glinting under the lamp with specks of dried jam on its blade.

The shadow behind you grows bulky shoulders and broad arms. When it steps onto the small area just a little to the right from the entrance, the wood creaks.

The world jerks back into motion.

You lunge for the knife on the table when a hard body slams into yours. You crash against the wardrobe, your head hitting the hard wood with a loud crack. The room spins as all air is knocked out of your lungs. You notice a blurry shadow rising in front of you, and your body moves on autopilot—rolls to the right and falls to the ground just in time to dodge a fist punching a hole into the wardrobe.

Nauseating headache throbs like lightning flashes in the back of your head as you scramble back to your feet, wheezing from the pain spreading through your body from the impact. Your rapier. You need your rapier.

Wood splinters when your attacker draws his hand back. He is almost two heads taller than you, completely clad in black. Even his face hides behind a ski mask. All you see are two pinpricks of unfathomably dark eyes as though this man has gazed into an abyss and the abyss has gazed right back at him.

He doesn’t move for a second, stands as though frozen on the spot. Only his hand flexes, relaxes. Clenches. Silver glints off his gloved knuckles. He is here with one intention only: to hurt you.

You don’t have time to ask why. His legs are longer; he closes the distance between you with two long steps, swings his arm towards your face. You spin and fling yourself over the backrest of the sofa, bounce off its cushions and jump to your feet on the other side. With furniture between you and the intruder, you finally force yourself to take in deep breaths. Think.

The smell coming off of him. You recognise it. Grainy, woody with a fruity note. The sweetness you picked up earlier this night must have been caramel. Alcohol.

“Look, if this is about me bumping into your table earlier at the Green Goose, you could just ask for a proper apology,” you press out between gritted teeth. Your whole body feels like a giant bruise, sore and laden from exhaustion.

Every step he takes around the couch, you mirror until it becomes a dance of bodies and mind to see who gives in first; who slows down and loses focus.

At first you believe the noise to be your frantic breathing—or his rattling wheeze, but then you pick it up. A rough, scratchy voice.

“Dickey … need … dickey …”

Your muscles are so taut you fear they might snap any second. Another circle around your couch you go. “What? I don’t—I don’t know what that is.”

“The … the key,” he repeats, louder this time. “I need the key.”

“Key? What key?” You feel the gnawing urge to squeeze your eyes shut against the vertigo of this situation. “I don’t have a key—”

The memory flies back so fast it nearly knocks you out like an incoming brick. Bronze, small, resting within the cushions of a small seal. Disappearing into the deep pockets of a black coat. The echo of death and violence still sticking to your fingers even through the fabric of your gloves.

You round the couch again and stop, the desk at your back. The knife is just in reach. “I don’t have that key.”

“I saw it. He gave it to you. You have no idea how important it is to us.” His voice rises to a snarl, the quality rougher than satin scratching over bark.

“He never gave—” Another memory hurtles your way—it is a wonder you don’t pass out from a concussion. The candy. It is still inside your pocket, suddenly heavier than a stone.

Everything makes sense now.

You take a step back towards the table. “You’ve got it all wrong,” you say, your words tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out, “I don’t have the key, and I don’t know where it is. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“LIES!” he hollers, and punches the backrest of your couch. The loud thud is like a gunshut, and you move, whirl around and grab for the knife—and completely misjudge where it is. Instead, your hand slaps on the dirty plate.

It could be worse.

Heavy steps thump behind you. You grab the plate, turn and hurl it at the man. It slams into him, shattering into thousand pieces.

You fly past him, towards the hallway and umbrella rack where your rapier is waiting. Stretching your hand out, your fingers brush against the silver handle—

A hard grip catches the end of your trenchcoat, yanking you back. The blow comes out of nowhere, slamming into your face so hard you see stars. Your back teeth clang together. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as pain radiates from your cheek. Something sharp and hard slides across your knees, slicing the fabric of your jeans clean in half.

Fingers curling, tightening their hold around the familiar hilt, you turn and draw back your arm, and let it snap forward like a snake lashing out and sinking its venomous teeth into its prey.

The silver-tipped edge of your rapier drives into the man’s shoulder and he cries out in pain, staggers back—and takes your rapier with him. He curls his gloved fingers around the thin blade and yanks the tip out of his shoulder, throwing your weapon to the ground where it lies useless and completely out of reach.

He reaches into a side pocket and draws a jagged, razor-sharp knife.

On second thought, maybe you should just run.

You bolt for the hallway once more, this time aiming straight for the door. The sound of a fast-moving object sailing towards you—something moving quickly and swiftly and with enough force to slice the air in half—makes you throw yourself forward, just in time to dodge the glinting edge nipping your hair.

You yank at the handle, letting white light spill into the apartment from the outside hallway.

Two thinks happen at once.

You wrench the door open and squeeze through the narrow gab. The man behind you slams bodily into the door and you hear a pained groan. At the same time, something sharp cuts through your trenchcoat and jacket. Searing-hot pain explodes in your left side.

You manage to push through and shut the door with a loud slam. A second bang shakes the door; he must have run into it again trying to chase after you.

Hot pain radiates from your side. You grit your teeth hard enough your jaw hurts and follow along the hallway all the way back to the foyer.

When you reach the night guard’s office, there is nobody inside. As if this night couldn’t turn even worse. A small glass bottle lies disturbed on the table, spreading yellow nail polish like spilt blood on its surface. The girl must have knocked it over, now gone to fetch a cleaner.

Great.

You throw yourself under the table and disappear from sight; somewhere on the first floor a door slams shut.

There has to be a way out. A way to draw attention; a way to drive him away. As your eyes rake across the room to find something, anything, they land on a red button behind a small glass window. The ghost-alarm in case of hauntings inside the dorms.

You crawl out from under the desk and scurry across the room, heart beating in your throat. If you turn and he is behind you …

Slamming your fist into the small panel, the button gives away without any resistance.

Sirens blare in the building. More doors slam—opening this time as hundred agents emerge from their rooms. Voices echo from the hallways, drowned by the sprinklers going off and raining salt from the ceiling like little diamonds.

You back into a corner, wide eyes staring at the foyer and counting down the seconds until your attacker enters—any moment, any moment, any moment. Only agents begin to spill into the hall, pale faced, groggy from being rudely awakened after tiring shifts.

With the imminent threat gone, the adrenaline pumping through your body slowly ebbs away—leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion, and mind-numbing pain as though your whole body is one giant bruise.

Your clothes stick to your skin, something warm tickles down your side. You cross the room on wobbling feet, forcing yourself not to look; convincing yourself that it is just coffee, just like a few hours ago when you sat in the booth next to Kipps.

The phone receiver on a corner stand is heavier than you remember. Your fingers move as if possessed, finding the familiar numbers on the dial. It rings. Once, twice.

Tears prick in the back of your eyes as it keeps ringing, your call remaining unanswered. Maybe he hasn’t come home yet. Maybe he is still out. Your throat is dry. You feel like an animal trapped against a corner. Suddenly, everything goes blurry.

Click. Kipps’s tired groan is all you get for a hello.

“Quill,” you choke out. Because despite having to call DEPRAC or maybe an ambulance, Quill Kipps will always be the first you turn to in moments of crisis. “Quill, I might have been stabbed.”

Silence. On the other line, you hear fabric rustling, as though he is crawling out of bed.

“What,” Kipps says, his voice rough from sleep, “the fuck.”

You still don’t know what is so special about the address Kipps has sent you to compared to the hospital or Scotland Yard where you assume they are more qualified to handle your dilemma, but you hope that you arrive soon because the daggers the cab driver keeps throwing at you seem more lethal than the gashing wound in your side.

When he finally stops the car—abruptly enough to launch your body against the frontseat—you rummage through your pockets and empty them completely, leaving a generous tip for bleeding on his car seats.

You barely manage to close the door behind you when he speeds off, leaving a dust trail behind.

The sky is turning cotton pink on the horizon. Dawn spreads light and hope across the city, bright and clear, and very painful for your strained, exhausted eyes. You turn away, taking in your surroundings.

The cab has left you in a residential area at the centre of London where the Victorian semis look like they might belong on old postcards from better times, before the Problem. 35 Portland Row is an inconspicuous, four-level house at the very end of the street. Just like its neighbours, it would not suffer from a new repaint, or maybe just a good clean-up.

A lone shadow sits by the stairs leading into the building, rising when you approach. Kipps looks like you feel: his hair sticks out in all directions and there are half-moons of shadow under his eyes, as if they have been smudged there with coal. He rubs the back of his neck as though that would release all the tension from the last twenty-four hours. Worry is etched deep into his face—worry and guilt, and it is an expression you haven’t seen in a long time. It makes your heart clench, turning it into something small, hard, and cold.

He meets you halfway and catches you when you stumble into him, allowing yourself to be held at last. His hold on you is strong and hard, until you hiss when sharp pain from your wound makes it hard to walk. Kipps’s hold lightens.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his long fingers gently nudging your head left and right by your chin. You’re pretty sure there is a nasty bruise blooming from the punch.

“Turns out someone out there really wants that bloody key,” you say, unable to put quite the heat into the words like you wanted.

The effect is pretty much the same.

It is like a door slamming shut; his expression closes off completely. He puts your arm around his shoulders and hauls you up the stairs. To your surprise, the door is already unlocked and swings open when he pushes against it with his other shoulder.

You enter into a narrow, dark hallway, only illuminated by light streaming into it from an adjacent room. The house smells of iron and salt, leather coats, and a curious dusty, musty tang. On both sides of the walls hang weird masks and odd curios on shelves. Everything about this entrance screams extravagance, but also something inexplicably homely. The complete opposite from your apartment. Voices sound from the first door to your right, silencing upon the front door clicking shut behind you. Now everything is dead silent.

Kipps leads you past an old, chipped plant pot that functions as an umbrella stand and rapier holder. They are old French models with specks of ectoplasm stuck to blades, and dents in the hilts. One long, black umbrella is bent in the middle as though someone had used it as a weapon and didn’t get around to throw it away.

You emerge into a small, cluttered living area containing a fireplace, an old sofa and a few sturdy armchairs grouped around a coffee table. Heavy dark curtains obscure half of the window where the first streaks of sunlight steal through the gap, showing dust dance in the light.

Three heads swivel your way, all in different states of confusion. You recognise one face.

Anthony Lockwood jumps out of his armchair. It has only been a few hours since you last saw him, and so far he has only taken off his black coat. His white shirt is wrinkled, his black tie thrown over his shoulder. There is something restless about him, like a moth fluttering from flame to flame.

Kipps slides you into the free seat on the sofa right next to a giant pile of crumpled ironing. Shirts, pants, and briefs tumble to the ground as you finally allow yourself to slump into the seat and let your guard down.

The room tilts for a moment. You close your eyes, trying to comprehend today’s events. Multiple voices bombard you from all directions and turn into a pounding headache at the back of your skull.

A metal lid clicks open. Careful hands remove your coat, then lift your shirt where the blood has seeped into the fabric, making it stick to your gashed skin. When your eyes flutter open, Kipps kneels before you on the rug, a deep worry crease slicing through his forehead as he inspects your wound.

“Well, good news. It’s not that deep,” he observes. With swift fingers, calloused from handling rapier and tools, he takes the antiseptic and a clean wipe from the first-aid case—expert hands that are used to medical attention; that know the dance of patching up wounds and tending to injuries. You doubt it is something any agent will forget, even when they have served their duty.

When he applies the disinfect after cleaning the blood, you hiss; your body tenses from the pain. “Cool. I’ll thank him next time I see him,” you say through gritted teeth.

Kipps gives you a curt, quick look—but there is still some relief; relief that even now you can be snippy.

“Did you see his face? What did he look like?” Loockwood asks. He’s leaning over the back of the couch, hand holding onto the backrest hard enough his knuckles turn white.

“I don’t know, I was busy trying not go get turned into a shish kebab.” You kick at Kipps when he dabs the gauze a little too hard into your wound.

“Stop moving,” he warns.

“That didn’t work out much,” a girl’s voice notices drily.

You open your eyes. Behind Lockwood’s shoulder, two agents stare at you, blinking their wide eyes like owls.

The boy’s nose twitches. “She bled on the new rug, Lockwood.”

You feel like an exhibit in a museum. Lucy Carlyle and George Karim. Names only familiar to you because you can’t remember a day where Kipps has not complained about them as much as about Lockwood.

“Yeah, why exactly—am I here?” You shift in the seat. Something is poking you in the back. When you pat the cushion, you find an old, dry biscuit.

Behind Lockwood, Lucy gives George a long, pointed look. Seems like this isn’t the first time they witness someone finding leftover snacks in the crevices of their couch.

“You said he was looking for the key?” Kipps is applying gauze to your clean wound which makes everything just a little better; you begin to feel like a human again. Now all you need is a good, healthy amount of sleep. Preferable for the next three days.

“He thought I had it on me. Said something about … how important it was to them.”

Lockwood perks up. “Who is them?”

“Well, he didn’t give me a list or anything.” You pull out some stray socks from under your bum and let them join their siblings on the ground. Slumping into your seat, you notice it is quite comfortable. You’re sinking into the cushions and there is something calming about the smell of old wood and the heavy curtain’s detergent. “But he was desperate. It seemed like … I don’t know. He’ll be in serious trouble without it.”

“Well, good thing it’s with DEPRAC now,” Kipps says, settling back on his heels after he finishes bandaging you up. The silence hanging in the room is stifling. Kipps looks over the backrest of the sofa at Lockwood. “You did bring it to DEPRAC like we agreed to. Right, Lockwood?”

Slowly, Lockwood leans away from the sofa as though that is the only appropriate measure to take in case Kipps decides to hurl himself over the sofa and strangle him. He has the good manners to look almost contrite. “I might have missed out on the chance to deliver it to Inspector Barnes,” he says slowly. His face is calm and betrays nothing, like the blank statue of a saint in a cathedral.

Kipps is on his feet in an instant. Red patches of rage have broken out over his face and throat. “You lying, conniving piece of—”

Lockwood claps his hands loudly. “This just proves that we cannot let anyone except professionals handle this case. Least of all DEPRAC. Someone’s after it because they know whatever that key unlocks is important.”

“Or he was the Visitor’s killer and he knows it could be evidence,” George points out. “Like Annabelle Ward and Fairfa—”

Lucy slaps her hand over her coworker’s mouth. Her wide eyes stare at him, then pin you down. George blinks, then nods slowly.

You raise your hand. “You know, being the one who got stabbed over this, I veto you let the adults handle it.”

Lockwood gives you a dazzling smile. “Overruled.”

“Let’s sleep on it first,” Lucy says, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes with her sleeve. “We’ll decide what to do next when we wake up. And yes, leaving it with DEPRAC is still an option.” She looks over at Lockwood, her eyebrows raised. You can’t think of many who manages to make a proposition sound like a threat.

“First reasonable thing I hear any of you say today,” Kipps scoffs. There is still anger in his voice, but you don’t think it is directed at anyone specific this time. This anger smells of frustration. It stems from knowing days like these are in the fine print of becoming an agent. The danger from having to deal with the living from time to time, which can be so much more dangerous than the dead. He turns to you. “Let me drop you off at a hotel.”

“I—” You don’t want to be alone, not after tonight. But Kipps also lives in the Fittes dormitories and they are mercilessly strict when it comes to non-employed visitors, despite being a senior supervisor like Kipps who enjoys some privileges.

“We must assume whoever attacked you might be out there still tracking you,” Lockwood says, and leans forward to settle his elbows against the backrest. His white shit stretches taut over his shoulders and back, catches over his spine. He lowers his dark eyes to you, within which swims a quiet, but solid confidence as though he has never faced a situation he couldn’t handle. It makes you want to rely on him, a thought you quickly push away the moment it steps into your mind. “We have a spare couch in the library you can crash on until morning—” He glances over his shoulder towards the window where sunlight peaks through the heavy curtains. An almost coy smile captures his lips, showing the hint of a dimple. “Until we wake up.”

You raise both eyebrows. “I can?”

Both Lucy and George give Lockwood the sideye. “She can?”

Lockwood frowns. “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

“A couch sounds perfect.” You are tired enough you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor. You throw Kipps a quick look. He doesn’t look happy, but even he realises this is better than leaving you all by yourself.

With nobody objecting, George heaves a defeated sigh. “Let me go and pick up the empty chips bags,” he says, and shuffles out of the room. You hear wood creak when he stalks down the hallway.

When you tear your eyes away from where he left through the door, you notice Lucy keeps staring at you with an odd look you can’t place. As though she doesn’t really know what to think of you and why you are suddenly here, only 'here' doesn't seem to apply to the living room of her home. It feels like she doesn't seem to know why you have suddenly stepped into her life. She manoeuvres around Lockwood, painstakingly making sure there’s furniture between you and her.

Kipps is by your side helping you up. He follows Lockwood's directions through the entrance hall. You pass the stairs to the end of the hallway where George is carrying an armful of empty bottles and plastic bags out of what you assume must be the library.

It is a small, oak-panelled room across the hall from the lounge. No light sneaks inside with the heavy curtains shrouding the windows. Up to the ceilings, hardback volumes are crammed into black, heavy shelves that line all four walls. It smells of books and ink and printed paper, making you immediately feel at ease under the dim, warm light of an old standard lamp tucked into a corner.

Kipps makes sure you’re comfortable on the leather couch, throwing a worn, chequered wool blanket over your legs. He looks at you for a long moment. Then he seems to crumple inside, like paper; he sinks down in the leather chair opposite you, and puts his face into his hands. “I should have just told Lockwood No when he asked for someone with Touch. I never wanted you to get involved like this.”

“It’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” you state, but there is no malice or accusation in your voice. You are too tired for that.

Still, Kipps makes a sound like a kicked puppy. When you look over at him, you see him pale and slumped down, like someone who’s taken so many blows that the doesn’t want to stand anymore.

Your grab for his hand and squeeze until he returns your gaze. His pale green eyes look haunted. “I don’t think this is anyone’s fault,” you say. “Least of all yours.”

Kipps purses his lips. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Maybe,” he allows. He scrubs at his face, eyes flitting over the hardcover books surrounding him. You grow drowsy with every steady ticking of an ornate mantel clock above the fireplace. To your side is a small, mahogany Victorian pedestal table with a leftover cup next to a stack of London Society magazines. “Or maybe I should have been more careful,” he continues. “Be more careful. So this doesn’t happen again.”

The fog of sleep that almost takes you is cleanly cut by his words. You blink against the dizzy feeling that tries to pull you under; dragging you down like wet clothes when you swim. You let go of his hand and sit up. “You are not responsible for me,” you say, unable to keep the heat out of your voice now. It comes back full force, scathing and blazing. “I can look after myself perfectly fine, and I would not have you waste your life away because you think you are obliged to protect me.”

“You could barely fend off that attacker by yourself,” he shoots back—his voice strains to remain diplomatic, calm, but this is Quill Kipps, and he has never been capable of putting the lid on the smouldering fire when it comes to your safety. “I made a promise and I mean to keep it until you’re retired and old and stop getting into danger—”

The rage that always lives inside you rears when he says that ugly word—promise. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh.

“You are not my brother,” you snap. “And I don’t want you to be!”

All colour drains from Kipps’s face, then comes back in a rush of angry red as he tries to keep his anger under control. You know a lot about rage. How hard it could be to rein it in without a lifetime of practice. How it could eat you up inside.

He stands, slowly, calmly—and that is so much worse than when he explodes. This is him in his upset mood that you call ‘scary-calm.’ It is a calm that makes you think of the deceptive hard sheen of ice before it cracks under your weight.

“Quill—” you begin, but he is already moving towards the door.

“If I were Matthew,” he says at the threshold, not looking at you, “I would actually be able to protect you.”

It is a blow not meant to be a blow, and yet it drives through your chest like a poison-tipped spear. It stirs up age-old dust from a past you try to bury so hard that now you choke on it.

Matthew. Mat. Mat is gone because of you. And now Quill leaves you too.

You jump to your feet, ignoring the piercing pain in your side and stumble after him. Kipps disappears down the hall, then you hear the front door open, and slam shut.

You close your eyes and bang your head silently against the doorframe. Beneath your gloves your palms are slick with sweat and your fingers shaking. All day you felt like walking on a tightrope, and now a single misplaced step sends you plunging. You have never felt this alone before.

“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” says a drawling voice from the corridor outside.

Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their presences are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems bright like a flash of lightning—quick-witted, assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off, he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Any retort dies on your lips when he throws something your away, and you catch the first object mid-air, pulling a face when your wound protests. It is cold and heavy—a pack of ice cubes wrapped in a towel. The second thing hits you in the shoulder and clatters to the ground. A package of painkillers. If you would look up the word Oops in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of Lockwood’s current expression.

You bring the ice pack up and press it against your cheek. “Thanks.”

Lockwood gives a crooked smile. “Plenty of time to figure everything out later. If you need anything, our rooms are just another floor up.”

Your mouth is dry. He isn’t nice because he wants to; he too does it out of an obligation. “OK. Thanks.”

He crams his hands into his pockets, eyes raking from your feet up to your face. It seems as though there is something else Lockwood wants to say, but he decides otherwise and ends up simply nodding before he ducks back towards the kitchen where you can hear the hushed, urgent voices of Lucy and George.

You retreat into the library and shut the door gently. Only the clock’s ticking fills the room now, so loud it is almost grating against your ears. You tug your gloves off gingerly and place them next to the magazines. The skin on your knuckles and the back of your hand is dry like sandpaper. Later this evening, you have to make sure to get your hand lotion.

Ignoring the unpleasant feeling, you lie down and shimmy under the blanket. You tug your hands close to your chest where there is no danger to accidentally touching anything—you know there is no threat from objects belonging to the living, but after almost a decade of experiencing death echoes ranging from mild joy to severe depression, it is soothing to know that the gloves conjure a sense of separation, of safety. Without them, you feel naked and vulnerable.

Just a few hours of sleep. Then you’ll figure out what to do. Maybe you can pretend the whole day didn’t happen—run a few jobs, clean up your room after the attack. Return to normalcy. Return to your day-to-day life before you got roped into Lockwood & Co.’s business and their wayward modus operandi.

You close your eyes and pretend you don’t feel strangely safe listening to the muffled voices coming from the other room.

Something has taken a hold of your legs.

Your stomach roils with panic as you thrash against its grasp, smelling damp soil and rotten leaves—someone is trying to put you under the ground, bury you alive in unholy ground where all hope and virtue is lost, just like—

You jerk free—

—and fall.

The floor is hard and unyielding, slamming you awake on impact. The pain follows right after, radiating from your side to the rest of your body. Groaning, you try to turn to your other side, but with your legs still half-entangled in the blanket, you don’t make it far.

There was a dream. At least you think there was a dream. You can’t remember much, only the smell of rotten soil and copper.

From under the closed door, you see a slim sliver of late afternoon sun peak into the dark room. You lie very still for a moment, even though your back and neck hurt from being curled up on the small couch all night. It is not the foreign place that startles you, but the noises that belong to a lively home: cabinets open and close. Dishes clatter. Water boils. Voices drift through the walls, muffled but heartily warm and bright. It smells of heated butter, herbal tea, and something burnt.

A home. This is a home where people come to wind down after work, to be vulnerable, to pick up the broken pieces after a case.

For just a minute, you close your eyes and imagine this is your life. Your home. This is your room, smelling of books, ink, and candles. Somewhere downstairs a cup smashes into bits, but there is only laughter, bright and cheerful—someone shouts a jolly “Luce!”

You pop your eyes open; the pipe dream dissipates. Your body is a medley of bruises and aches as you get up. Kipps was right, the cut isn’t too deep, you didn’t even bleed through the gauze during the night. You look at the ornate clock hanging above the fireplace. It is past three o’clock. You have to be at Rotwell’s in an hour.

Blinking against the sting in the back of your eyes, you get up and grab your gloves from the small table and your torn, dirty Coat hanging from a chair’s armrest. The fabric stinks of blood and sweat, but there is no time to get back home and change into clean clothes. You can’t get late to work a second time this week.

Your initial plan to just march through the front door and leave doesn’t work out when you pass the open kitchen door. It is a small, cluttered room with a huge table in its centre like a pillar of strength. Several plates with food have been placed down, breakfast served for three people: boiled eggs in cute little eggcups, sandwiches, a fruit bowl, some hot, greasy sausages just out of the pan. There is flatbread and right beside it a plate with small bites like fruits, walnuts, sliced cucumber and radishes.

The agents of Lockwood & Co. coordinate around each other in a way that seems like a practised dance—Lucy swiftly dodges George carrying a plate with doughnuts while Lockwood steps out of her way striding towards the water kettle without even looking.

When she pauses and says something to him, he does that thing you find annoyingly attractive in men: since he’s much taller than Lucy, Lockwood leans down and tilts his head towards her to hear her better. He has a striking side profile, all sharp lines and elegant curves, a pointed jaw.

You see him smile, and grow increasingly annoyed at how effortlessly handsome he is.

George clears his throat, and then all three are staring at you standing in the doorway.

Lockwood’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Hiya.”

Lucy’s mouth twitches into something that hasn’t decided yet if it wants to be a smile or a scowl.

George notices you looking at the food on the table and promptly says, “We don’t own enough dishes for another person.” He calmly closes the cupboard behind him where you see another stack of plates and cups.

“Wasn’t interested. I’m not much into burnt toast,” you say like a liar. George huffs in offence. “I have to go anyway. Work and all that.”

Three heads nod at the same time, a conjoined Hydra.

Remembering you have something like manners, you quickly add, “And thanks for letting me stay.” That should be enough pleasantries. You hastily make your escape through the front door and manage two steps downstairs before you hear footsteps behind you.

“One more thing,” Lockwood says, propping himself against the doorfrome. You wonder if he owns any other piece of clothing other than his white shirts and ties. “Regardless however we proceed with our case, it would be to both our benefits to work out an association. There is no harm in having friends in established circles.” He puts on a smile, one you recognise from meeting him for the first time. Charming, but bashful, he plays coy to try and pull you around his little finger.

So this is how he wants to play it.

You slip into your jacket and smooth down the fabric to appear at least somewhat dignified. “We are not friends, Tony,” you say, and notice with some satisfaction the tick in his jaw whenever someone uses that nickname. “And frankly, if our paths don’t cross anytime soon, I wouldn’t mind. Now, if you excuse me—“ well aware of the ectoplasm stink and the tears in your jacket, you push your shoulder blades together— “we at Rotwell are quite busy with actually solving the Problem instead of playing detective games.”

With a confidence you don’t feel at all, you grant Lockwood one of your sly grins, your usual selling argument whenever you’re wearing your Rotwell armour. Lockwood’s face remains impassive. When you turn, heading out to the main street to get a cab, you feel his eyes burying like a dagger into your gut. In the distance, a church bell rings on the quarter hour, and you try and remember the poem about the bell tolling.

A/N: I cheated a little, the Rotwell dormitories are pretty much the Auriens Chelsea apartment complex. I'll upload a masterlist for this sometime this week to keep things a little more organised.

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