#sometimes I wonder how readers feel when they read chapter 1

[sarroora]

[penkura]

where you belong [3/10]

Summary: As Luffy's big sister, you've viewed it to be your job to see him become King of the Pirates in place of your absent parents, even as you try to find where it is you belong in the world. You never really expected to draw the attention of Trafalgar Law in the process.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader

Warnings: Discussion of feelings of abandonment, age gap relationship (four years), brief secret relationship, mentions and heavy refences to sex, mentions of alcohol, typical One Piece stuff. Other warnings to be added if needed.

Note: Hahaha almost 7.3k words, I'm so sorry. I almost completely removed this chapter, but I wanted to do a little bit more showing Law and Reader's relationship. :) If you'd like a song to listen to as you read, Clock Strikes by One OK Rock is what I was listening to as I wrote parts of this. 💚

Taglist:

@pinksaiyans | @sukunas-play-thing | @spiderlily-w1tch-blog | @mineymak | @valen-yamyam16 | @shimmerxc | @luffy0s | @fluffybunnyu | @laws-wife-things | @crmnic | @eyes-ofhell | @hopelesslover06 | @nyfwyeonjun | @extremely-ashtridic | @idk67876 | @mysweetmagicworld | @lorelexi-main | @pandabiene5115 | @shakysif | @bern87

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2]

Law takes his time telling you about his childhood and time with Corazon. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, especially knowing how you react when Ace is brought up, he’s not sure he can deal with you crying over the things that have happened to him. He also needs the time to work out his own feelings, trying to keep from choking up himself when he remembers everything, even though when it happens you quietly take his hand to try and provide some comfort, like he's done for you.

He never shakes your hand off his, just pushes down the pain and tears and keeps talking to you.

He starts by telling you about his family and life in Flevance. His mother and father, how wonderful and brilliant they were, how much they loved him. His little sister Lami, who adored him more than anything in the world, she always wanted him to join her during the festivals in Flevance. He loved his family more than anything, they meant the world to him back then. You smile when he tells you about the first time his parents let him take Lami to get ice cream, by themselves, and how she dropped hers, so he had to share with her.

While he doesn’t remember too much, he does tell you about his friends from the church nearby. They’d all been classmates too, spending their days going through normal classes and sometimes the boys, Law included, would catch frogs to dissect and gross out the girls. He remembers all the festivals, the neighbors he’d pass by every day, the old lady next door that always tried to get him to eat bread for some reason.

Law tries to make it easy for you, the first day is only about his family and friends. Nothing about the destruction of Flevance yet, he takes a bit to get there, and it affects him just like it does you, it still does to this day.

He really does try to keep his emotions in check, but once he begins to remember how it felt to see Lami sick with the white lead disease, he starts to struggle with keeping his voice steady.

“I…I was horrified when we realized she was sick,” Law has to stop and take a breath, swallowing down the tears he feels trying to slip out, “I didn’t want to watch her die.”

Nodding, you don’t say anything, you don’t want to interrupt his thoughts as he works them out and how to voice them. You just grip his hand a little tighter, which Law returns before he continues, reliving when his home was destroyed by the World Government.

“I left the hospital after I found my parents were dead, I was going to find the nun who had told me some Marines were going to sneak us kids out, so we could get Lami and go,” you can already tell where this is going, while Law grits his teeth remembering everything as vividly as he does, “She had been killed too, all my friends from the church…the hospital was burned down with…with Lami still inside…”

“Law…I’m so sorry…”

“I escaped in a mass of corpses, I had to get out somehow. That was the only way. I, eventually, I found Doflamino and his crew, and worked to join them when I was ten.”

Both of you quiet, you’re trying to take everything in, and Law is trying to get past his feelings again, he hates talking about all of this. Every time someone new joins his crew, he waits a while to make sure they’re trustworthy before he tells them anything.

But he believed you should know, even though you aren’t staying forever, and now you’re slowly learning everything.

You know when he’s done talking for the time being once he becomes quiet, you’ve noticed that about him over the last several months, allowing you to hug him though he doesn’t return it. He does appreciate it though, you don’t ask him to tell you more than what he’s ready to, taking it all at the pace Law sets for this.

“It’s getting late,” you hadn’t even notice until Law brings it up, but it is starting to look dark outside, “Everyone will be back for dinner soon.”

Law can’t help the slight smile that comes to his face when you sniffle a bit and nod, rubbing at your eyes with your sleeve. He didn’t fully expect you to start crying but he’s also not surprised, he figures it must bring out your own feelings of protectiveness and sibling love towards Luffy. Once he stands, Law holds his hand out to help you up which you gladly take, but you pull him into another hug that, this time, he gently returns.

“Thank you, again, for trusting me…”

“I hope you won’t betray that.”

“I would never!”

Law laughs a bit at your shocked expression, while you smile and kiss his cheek, something you’d started doing more recently. He’s gotten more used to it; it doesn’t affect him the same way it did the first time. He likes it, but tries to make sure none of his crew are around to see it, to avoid any kind of teasing that may come from it.

“See you at dinner, Law!”

“Mm-hm.”

Watching you leave before going back to his desk, Law thinks that went better than he could have expected. He expected more tears from you than he got, but he’s glad he didn’t have to spend several minutes calming you down before you left. He has to take some time to relax himself after dredging up those memories, but maybe next time he’ll tell you some happier ones he remembers, not just about his family but about Cora-san too.

~~

Before he even has the chance to tell you about his time with Corazon, Law is hit with several nightmares, all flashbacks to that night, something he never expected to happen. He believed he’d gotten past it all, but it seems the thought of telling you everything was causing it all to resurface and disturb his sleep (not like he gets much anyway).

He's good at hiding it though, you don’t question the dark circles under his eyes, even if they look darker to you lately. He tells you it’s nothing when you ask, convinced that’s enough for you even though you give him a skeptical look before going on your way. Law thinks you’re going to let it go, he can take care of himself. He’s handled this before on his own, before his crew came to be and he had friends to help him.

He can handle it again, he swears he can.

But it gets worse, especially after Law does tell you about Corazon, everything they went through to save him, and how his savior died to protect him. It keeps you up some nights afterwards, thinking about it all more than you should, and you know that wasn’t Law’s intention. He wasn’t trying to upset you or garner sympathy, it was simply his life story, and he felt like you needed to know. Like he wants you to understand why he’s started the plans he has, with stealing the hearts of other pirates to become a Warlord, the rest of his plans he won’t tell you about for whatever reason.

It probably would be strange to outsiders, but you’re surprisingly okay with it all. You aren’t a permanent member of the Heart Pirates, you don’t need to know all the details.

Still though, you feel like something is off, not with you but with Law and how you two are now. You’ve noticed how tired he is lately, he almost seems to doze off during the crew meetings he lets you in on, at least until someone says his name and it wakes him enough. He still seems to yawn more than normal, it’s what led you to be standing in front of his office door so late tonight, you want to make sure he’s doing okay or see if he needs anything. You feel nervous and you’re not sure why, while you quietly knock on the door and wait to hear if Law calls you in.

When he doesn’t, you open the door and call for him.

“Law? I was going to make some tea and was wondering if you want any…”

You don’t get a response since he’s asleep at his desk, your first thought being that at least he’s sleeping. You’re glad to know that until you realize it is not a peaceful sleep and he seems to be having a nightmare from the distressed look on his face.

Oh that makes so much sense.

You had hoped it was just the stress of everything going on that was keeping Law from sleeping, not that he was having his sleep disturbed by nightmares. Of what, you don’t know yet, but you feel the need to wake him.

“Law? Hey,” you’re quiet as you set your hand on his shoulder, hoping that wakes him, “Law, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

It does work to wake him, but also startles Law to the point he nearly knocks himself out of his chair when he wakes and sits up, eyes wide when he looks at you but not really, you know he’s still waking up.

You mostly know that when he barely whispers ‘Cora-san’ and it makes you realize what he’s been suffering from in his sleep. The memories have come back fiercely and it makes your heart ache for him knowing everything he’s gone through.

You’ve suffered worse than you let on.

Once his eyes focus and Law sees it’s you with him, he worries he’s let things slip about the nightmare, especially when he sees how concerned you look.

“What…[Y/N]-ya, what…what time��”

“It’s after midnight. I was checking to see if you wanted tea but,” he doesn’t say anything but you watch him as he rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, you wonder briefly if it’s sleep or tears he's trying to get rid of, “I noticed you weren’t sleeping well…are you okay?”

No I’m not.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

Law nods, waving your hand off his shoulder before turning back to his desk.

“I am.”

He’s certain you don’t believe him, based on the face you make as you nod, before shaking your head.

“You don’t really expect me to just accept that answer, do you?”

I wish you would.

Before he even responds, you take his hand and pull him up out of his chair, which also surprises him though he is still waking up fully

He doesn’t even fight when you start to drag him towards his bedroom, or when you get him in there and tell him to change for bed, you’re going to go make some tea for the two of you real quick.

While he does get ready for bed, he doesn’t expect you to stay long after you return with the drinks. He fully expects you to hand his over and leave, going back to your room to sleep, not for you to climb into his bed beside him and give him a smile like you’re wanting to talk before going to sleep. Law just stares at you for a moment, before he speaks.

“Do you want to talk about something…?”

“Hmm? Oh, um! Well, I…was going to stay with you tonight.”

“…why?”

You become quiet, Law halfway expects you to decide to leave, telling him goodnight before doing so. You don’t need to stay, he’s fine on his own. He’ll get over the nightmares again soon, he’s sure of that.

“I have nightmares too…about Ace…”

He really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is, but he never thought you’d be struggling like this too. With the fears that come from having witnessed such tragedy and the resulting pain, perhaps he should’ve expected that though. After all the times he’s held you through your breakdowns over Ace’s death, he should’ve known you’d be having nightmares too. But you’ve hid it so well, you’ve handled things all on your own once again, just like he has.

Maybe it’s time we both accept some help.

“Sometimes I…,” you bite your lip before shaking your head, “The nightmares, are about if you hadn’t saved Luffy. So…let me help you tonight, Law…just for a bit?”

“…okay…”

Law isn’t sure how long you two stay awake that night talking, all he knows is that, eventually, he wakes up to someone knocking heavily on his door but he’s not able to move at first. You’ve got his head held against your chest, still fast asleep yourself, no signs of waking but he’s nearly frozen in place when he realizes what’s going on. It takes a moment or two for Law to decide what to do, internally yelling at himself about how on earth this happened and how does he get out of this without someone thinking something scandalous is going on.

He's lucky enough that you release him and roll over in your sleep, he doesn’t have to figure out how to get out of your arms on his own. Now it’s a matter of getting out of his bed without waking you, he doesn’t want to interrupt your own sleep. The knocking stops eventually, Law hears someone mumble to themselves, they’ll probably come back later but he’s got to get out of bed now. He has a chance to get out before you wake or someone catches you in his bed. He quickly slips out, grabs some clothes and goes to his bathroom to change, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh.

This…isn’t going to be good in the long run is it?

Law isn’t looking forward to having to wake you when he goes back to his room, but he’s lucky enough that you’re gone by the time he gets back. You definitely woke up and had the same thought he did, sneaking yourself out quickly without making any noise. When you see him again at breakfast, you don’t say anything but give Law a smile that he returns with a nod.

No one else knows or finds out, much to the relief of you both, and Ikkaku doesn’t question where you’d been the night before.

While he hates to admit that he did need someone that night, Law can’t deny the fact he’d slept better with you there than he had in months.

+!+

A few weeks later, the Heart Pirates are throwing a party for their captain. Law’s birthday has come around and while he’d tried to tell him no party they still threw one together, even dragging you into the planning though you didn’t need to be asked to help really. When you heard it was his birthday, you were happy to help, having a couple of gifts put away for him as a thank you for all the help he’s given you the last year and a half or so. It's not a lot, just two small things you think he’ll appreciate, even with Ikkaku and Uni telling you he's going to love both gifts, it's hard to think that much about them.

Law, although he said no parties, is not one to deny his crew a night of rest and relaxation. He does try to stay in his office most of the evening, but Penguin and Shachi are able to drag him out long enough to have a drink and let everyone wish him a happy birthday. He’s truly grateful for all of them, thanking his crew with a slight smile. He ends up settling beside you for a bit after Shachi hands him a drink, not pushing you off when you lean against his arm and give him a smile.

“Happy birthday, Law.”

“Mm, thanks.”

While you take a sip of your own drink, Ikkaku catches your eye and gives you a wink, which makes you roll your eyes before Law sets his hand on your shoulder, nodding for you to follow him out of the common area up on deck. Ikkaku makes sure to pass you the wrapped gifts you have for Law when you walk by her, it makes you nervous to keep them behind your back when you both sit on the deck to relax away from everyone. You can still hear them shouting and laughing, a few already a little wasted but it makes you and Law smile.

“You crew loves you a lot.”

“Yeah,” Nodding, Law takes a sip from his drink before setting it down, “I love them a lot too…what’d Ikkaku hand to you?”

“…how the—”

“I’m not blind, you know,” his smirk only makes you pout, as you take the items out from behind you, “Neither of you are good at hiding things.”

“Fine,” you sigh heavily as a joke, but still smile as you hold the wrapped items out to him, “A gift for you.”

Law quiets as he stares at the gifts you have in your hands, before he finally takes them from you. The happy yet nervous smile you have tells him you weren’t really ready to give these to him, but Ikkaku seems to have forced your hand. You don’t seem mad about it though.

“…you really didn’t have to get me anything, I wouldn’t have been offended.”

You shrug a little, knowing it’s really not much, but it still makes you smile to see Law just a bit flustered by it. He obviously wasn’t expecting anything from you, but of course you surprise him once again. It seems like almost everything you do lately endears you to him even more than before.

What a mess we’re creating.

“I know but, I wanted to. As a birthday gift and to thank you for everything,” you watch while he starts to open the smaller gift, heart rate picking up out of anxiety, you’ve never felt so anxious giving someone a gift before, “It’s really not a lot, I just…I thought you’d like these…”

Law isn’t at all surprised to find a coin in the small box, he figured that must’ve been it, he’s so familiar with that size of box and the small sound it made when he picked it up. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s from Foosha Village, your hometown, it has to be one you’d brought with you as a keepsake. The port engraved on one side and the Goa Kingdom on the other, he can pick out the tiniest manufacturing errors and possible imprints on the small coin. It’s special though, he didn’t have one from there in his collection yet and you’ve added to it, how kind of you. He knows if you wanted to, Luffy would take your whole crew back to your home for a visit and you’d pick up another coin or two, you likely aren’t worried about giving one up.

Seeing his face light up a bit at it as he thanks you makes you smile softly, at least until he goes to open the other wrapped gift. You bite your lip out of worry and fidget a bit, not a single thing going unnoticed by Law who almost asks what’s wrong but realizes you’re just nervous for whatever reason. There’s nothing to be nervous about in his mind, until he sees what else you’ve given him, and it causes him to freeze up, which leads to you defending your gift to him.

“I…I found it in a bookstore on the last island…the shopkeeper didn’t want to sell it to me, but I was able to sneak it into my bag and get it out of there. I remembered everything you told me and…I just…”

It's a book about Flevance, the country’s history and culture, everything about the white lead export, the festivals they held, the little bit that was assumed about white lead disease itself. All of it there in his hands now, he didn’t know such a book existed. He would’ve thought any and all traces of Flevance had been destroyed by the World Government, including books detailing the country itself. But they missed one, the one you’d been lucky enough to find and steal from the bookstore, that you thought you should give to him so he had a piece of his home again.

When he doesn’t say anything for several minutes, you start to bite your lip, wondering if you’ve made a mistake. He flips through the book quietly, not making known what he thinks at all.

“I—”

“That’s my sister and I.”

Law finally speaks up again, having stopped on a page for longer than you noticed, pointing out one of the pictures printed on it. You lean in just enough to look, smiling at the picture he’s showing you. The boy is obviously Law, he has the same grin you’ve rarely seen, and the girl has her brown hair tied into small pigtails, smiling just as widely next to him. You hadn’t really read too much of it, just getting an idea of what Law’s hometown was like, but that picture makes you realize how happy he was back then.

“She’s cute.”

“I think,” he interrupts your thoughts and makes you look at him again, “that was during a summer festival. Lami would’ve been four, I remember buying her ice cream and playing a game to win her a stuffed rabbit…she didn’t let go of it for months.”

“She looks like you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Law scoffs, but chuckles a bit, flipping to another page, “I forgot a reporter had taken our picture then…these are my parents….”

It's another picture from the festival, but this time just his parents are shown, probably having been nearby to make sure their children didn’t wander off. Now you see why he said Lami didn’t look like him, she was a carbon copy of their mom. You never would have guessed those pictures were in that book, or that Law remembered when they were taken.

“…you look just like your dad.”

Nodding, Law closes the book and sets it to the side. He’ll read it fully later, those pictures and the small flip through he’s done are enough for tonight. He has to push those emotions down for now and doesn’t push you away when you give him a hug that he quietly returns, thanking you.

Neither of you moves or says anything for a while, before you look up at Law and speak.

“Hey, Law?”

“Hmm?”

“…tell me that I haven’t misread all of this.”

Law is stunned into complete silence, more frozen than he was earlier, when you lean up just enough to press the softest kiss to his lips, it’s almost like it doesn’t happen but he knows it does. You’ve actually kissed him, his feelings aren’t unrequited after all! The fact you think you’ve misread everything he's said and done the last few months, he just wants to sit and tell you everything now. How he’s been stressed about telling you, he wasn’t sure you really felt the same.

But now he is! The confirmation he’s been looking for despite the fact he was already certain you felt the same. With the way you’ve spent so much of your free time together he should’ve realized it sooner, how everything just led you both to each other every time. Its unreal that this is happening, that you’ve taken that first step to change your relationship with him. He really did think it would never happen, you’d both be forever pining, or the feelings would fade.

Honestly Law’s relieved you decided to take the chance, he wasn’t sure how or when to do it himself. He’s not used to this, what should he even be doing now?

Maybe he should be kissing you back, Law realizes a moment later, when you pull away just enough for him to see the disappointed almost sad look on your face. He’d gotten so caught in his thoughts that you must think he doesn’t feel the same, all because he was so distracted he didn’t think to return your kiss.

“Sorry,” Oh you sound so sad, it nearly breaks his heart to hear your voice, to see you looking away from him, “I…I shouldn’t ha—”

“Don’t,” Law nearly whispers it, moving both hands to hold your face and makes you look at him, “Don’t apologize.”

A barely audible ‘okay’ is your response before Law properly returns your first kiss, letting you slip your arms around his neck while he moves one hand to your waist to bring you a little closer to him. He knows this could be a misstep, that you may come to him in the morning and say you’d drank too much, that it shouldn’t have happened. But for now, he’s going to ignore the thoughts that tell him to stop. That he can’t be doing this, you’re a rival captain’s older sister, it’s not going to work out no matter how much he hopes it does. It doesn’t matter to him, not right now.

All that matters is you.

You and him, right now, with your hands in his hair, his arm around your waist, and his other hand stroking your cheek. It’s almost too much to believe it’s real but it is, he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. To be able to receive your affections and return them. Part of Law wonders if this was your plan all along, to get him away from everyone just to kiss him, even though he’s the one who led you away, but he thinks you didn’t plan this part at all, it just happened.

But it’s okay, he doesn’t mind. Not everything has to be planned down to the letter. You certainly weren’t in his plans.

This really might become a mess down the line, but does that matter? Just for a bit, he’ll ignore everything going on around you, Law will briefly ignore his plans just for a few moments tonight. For the several minutes you two spend in a silent confession of feelings that had built up over the last few weeks, he’s going to ignore reality.

Until you softly push him away, Law wonders if he did something wrong, only to see you give him a shy smile.

“Happy birthday, Law.”

He laughs slightly, shaking his head before kissing you again.

“Thank you, [Y/N]-ya.”

You really can’t wait to tell Ikkaku about this.

+!+

Eventually Law walks you to your room, your gift to him in one hand while you hold onto his other one, fingers laced together and stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. You two haven’t fully decided what you are yet, you’ll discuss it later, he’s promised you that. Even if Law would like to sit and talk things through with you tonight, it’s late and there are things to do the next day. The rest of the crew might be hungover and sick in the morning, but they’ve got to get a move on to the next island, there are more hearts to be collected.

Once you’re back to your room, Law kisses you once more for the night, thanking you again for the gifts, before he heads off to his office. He tries to hurry so you don’t see the pink blush on his face, but you already have, you just don’t tell him. You simply say goodnight in return, going into your room and leaning against the door with a dreamy sigh and smile on your face, which Ikkaku picks up immediately when she sees you from her bed.

“So…how’d it go?”

“I kissed him.”

“What?!”

“And he kissed me back…for a few minutes.”

“Holy shit, you got Law to make out with you?!”

Before you can say anything else, Ikkaku tells you to wait, jumping out of bed to grab your arm after she locks the door and drags you to her bed, making you sit down. She quickly goes to her dresser and pulls out a small wine bottle she’d hidden from the boys and joins you back on her bed with it.

“How long have you been hiding that?”

“Doesn’t matter! Tell me everything!”

The alcohol burns but Ikkaku’s giggling at your retelling of what happened with Law makes you smile and giggle in return. She looks like she’s reading a slow burn romance novel while you tell her everything that’s happened, giving Law his gift and kissing him, how he returned it and said you’ll talk about things later. She rolls her eyes a bit at that but the few yawns you give tell her that was probably the reason why he said that.

Once you finish telling the story, you sigh again and fall back on her bed, still smiling while Ikkaku watches you.

“That was my first kiss…”

“Really??”

“Mm,” you nod a little, thinking back and knowing that’s true, “I wonder if it was his too.”

“Probably. Captain hasn’t shown interest in anyone before, I’d be surprised if he’s ever kissed anyone that wasn’t on a dare.”

You look like you’re thinking, but Ikkaku smiles before she takes a drink of the wine and lays beside you.

“This is so cool, you and Law. I knew there was something there when I saw you two working together.”

“Oh please, I doubt he’s liked me that long.”

“You never know! Imagine he’s liked you since Amazon Lily!”

“Now that’s way too far back!”

The two of you stay up laughing and talking, the few worries you have about what’s next dissipating as Ikkaku tells you everything she’s noticed that led her to believing Law liked you, it makes you so much happier to know your feelings are reciprocated.

After he makes it back to his office, Law nearly collapses on the ground, his energy spent and his emotions going haywire.

The gifts you’ve given him, the kiss you shared, he doesn’t know how to fully process all of it. It’s so foreign to him, he doesn’t think he’s felt so happy since the time he spent with Cora, he’s sure he hasn’t felt this loved since then either, even though he’s sure you’re not in love with him yet.

Law sets your gifts on his desk, he’ll put them away in the morning, placing his face in his hands to try and stop the blush he knows is there and the smile that he can’t seem to wipe off no matter how much he tries to. He tries to calm himself down, tell himself this isn’t a big deal, maybe you will come by in the morning and tell him it was a mistake, but he hopes and prays you don’t.

I can’t believe she kissed me. I didn’t expect that…

“Heeey, Law, I’m heading up for night watch,” Penguin knocks on the doorway a bit, stepping into Law’s office as his captain just nods, making him raise an eyebrow, “Something good happen, Cap?”

“Yeah…yeah, something good happened.”

+!+

It takes a few weeks still for Law to ask to take you on a date, but you waste no time in accepting the offer. He tells you not to let it out to anyone, but you may have slipped up and told Ikkaku when you asked for her opinion on what to wear. The two of you sounded like schoolgirls with how you were giggling and chatting over the fact Law actually wanted to take you out for a date, your feelings aren’t one-sided, he really does like you back! It only feels so strange to know that because of how Luffy and Ace would chase off boys that liked you way back when, even if you liked the boy back, your brothers couldn’t stand the thought of one of them taking you away. None of them were good enough for you.

You think Ace would’ve liked and approved of Law. Even though he’s older than you, if they’d been able to meet, you’re sure Ace would have liked Law, liked the fact he’s also a doctor, and that he makes you happy so far.

The night of your date doesn’t really go as planned though. Everyone except Ikkaku, Bepo, Law, and you are off the ship, exploring the town you’re docked near, Law had sent them all out with a day off and stayed on board along with you to get ready for your date and make sure no one was going to find out about it. He’s not ready for the teasing that’s to come and wants this to stay as secret as possible.

Once you’re dressed and ready, you expect Law to come get you from your room like he said he would at the time he’d told you, but he’s late and you start to worry when it gets later and later.

Had he changed his mind and decided to stand you up? No, no Law would never do that, if he didn’t want to go out with you he would’ve said so, he probably never would have asked in the first place.

Right? Right. Law wouldn’t leave me without an answer.

Again you’re at his office door, knocking to see if he answers and once again, you receive no response. He hasn’t left the ship you know that, Ikkaku said she saw him in his office just a few minutes before he was supposed to come get you, so what happened?

“Law? Are you ready to go?” Still no response, so you decide to again let yourself in, you aren’t prepared to see Law is still in his office, but appears to be passed out on the floor, it actually scares you.

“Law!! What happened?!” You hurry over and make sure he’s still breathing, relieved to find he is, before checking him for a fever. “What the hell, Law, are you all right?!”

What a way for your first date to start.

~~

Law never wanted you to know just how nervous he really was about your first date, he kept it all to himself. He only let Penguin know about it by accident, to get some advice that he thought might be helpful, but his friend only ended up telling things not to do. He rolled his eyes and gave up on that, only asking if it was normal to feel like he was going to be sick at the thought of taking you to dinner

“Yeah for a first date, that sounds normal, Cap.”

“How do I get rid of it?”

“I…well…go on the date and see?”

Yes, very helpful advice. It didn’t help with the constant dizzy feeling he had, though Law thinks that may have been slight dehydration from his nerves causing him to forgo all water and food that day. He really didn’t want to risk actually throwing up before or during your date and grossing you out.

Unfortunately, all of it hit him at once when he was leaving his office to go get you, causing Law to realize how badly he’d neglected himself that day, and the day before, as he passed out without the chance to call for someone’s help.

But when he opens his eyes a while later and sees you giving him a worried smile, he knows he’s screwed up. He blinks a few times, barely registering that he’s laying down on the couch in his office, he knows he hit the floor. He can feel the pain in his head from it, yet he doesn’t mind too much feeling your hand in his hair or his head in your lap.

“Hey, you.”

“[Y/N]-ya…?”

“In the flesh.”

“What…what happened…?”

“You tell me,” giving him a concerned smile, you gently run your fingers through Law’s hair while he looks up at you like he’s thinking, “You were late coming to get me, I was worried you’d changed your mind…when I came to see what was up, you were passed out on the floor. Bepo helped me get you here.”

“I…I don’t remember,” he shakes his head a bit before sitting up, finally remembering what it was and groaning, “Wait, yes I do. I was about to come to your room, when I started to feel dizzy. I…guess I passed out…”

“Do you have a fever? Are you feeling okay? We don’t have to go out if you’re sick, Law! We can do it another day.”

Law really doesn’t want to admit the reason for his dizziness and sudden fainting, once he realizes what caused it all, he doesn’t want you to feel bad about something you couldn’t control. It’s all on him for stressing out so much about the date, he just wants to impress you. He's never done this before, dating isn’t in his skill set.

“…Law?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

He gets up so quickly you don’t have time to stop him, but still follow and grab his arm.

“Hey, talk to me,” you make him turn to face you, smiling softly even though he doesn’t look at you, he’s keeping his eyes on the ground, “Whatever it is, I won’t be upset. If you want to postpone, that’s fi—”

“Why do you even like me?”

“What—”

“There’s nothing good about me,” Law moves to pull away from you, but you keep your grip on his sleeve, not letting him get away, “I’m not a good person, you deserve someone who is. You deserve someone who can make you happy, not…not me…I can’t do that…”

The silence feels deafening, when you don’t respond right away. He’s sure you’re rethinking all of this now. His birthday when you kissed him, the few times in between then and now where you’d stop him to kiss his cheek and he’d return it with one to your forehead, how he’s walked you to your room each night, and the few times he’s let you share his bed for the night. When he finally decided to ask you on a date the other day, even though you gave him the brightest smile he’s ever seen from you, he doesn’t believe you could be happy with him.

Who could ever be happy with him, with someone who’s seen so much death in his life, at only twenty-five, when he’s bent on avenging Cora and stopping Kaido?

Why would you want anything to do with that?

“I…am happy, though,” you move to hold Law’s hand, placing your other on his face to make him look at you, “I like you, Law. I really do and I feel happy when I’m around you, you can ask Ikkaku. I tell her all the time how much I like you, how much I want to be with you.”

“You don’t—”

“I’m not lying. I don’t know what you’re thinking about us, and that’s okay right now, but I…I can see myself with you now and in the future. I promise, Law, you make me happy, just by being you.”

Law doesn’t have a chance to say anything before you kiss him, trying to convince him of your feelings being real. He’s hesitant to return it but does so after a moment, before you pull away with a smile.

“…you look nice.”

“Thank you…you do too.”

“I…I was going to take you to dinner.”

“Oh yeah?”

Law nods, wanting to explain better, before you start to sit down, still holding his hand to bring him to the floor with you. When he tries to speak, you just shake your head.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“What about—"

“Will you tell me about your tattoos?”

Law doesn’t pull his hand away from you, while you continue hold it and gently run your finger over the cross on the back of his hand, he has to fight not to just intertwine his fingers with yours.

This isn’t how he thought your first date would go. Not you finding him passed out from stress and turning it into simply talking. He knows already he’s going to make it up to you with a proper date at the next island.

“For my family, and for Cora-san…” he points first to the ones on his hands and forearms, placing his free hand on his chest to point out the one for Corazon though you could’ve guessed that.

Humming, you nod, Law brings his other hand up to softly tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and watching you lean into his hand.

He really is very sweet.

“For your crew?”

“My jolly Roger on my back.”

“…what about for you?”

Law takes a deep breath but doesn’t say anything for a bit. He keeps holding your hand, staring at his own, wondering if he should admit it or not. What will you think? Will you decide you don’t want to bother with him?

You probably read the book you gave him, the one about Flevance, he could tell the book had been read. It didn’t go into detail about his home’s destruction, chalking it up to the white lead disease and scarcity of resources, but he wasn’t surprised when he got there himself. The government would never admit wrongdoing, they’d never allow their involvement to be published.

But he thinks you should know. You haven’t walked away after hearing his story, his past, you’re still here with him. You look like you already know what he’s going to say, a sad smile now on your face as you look at his hand in yours.

“’Death’…for what’s marked my life since I was ten.”

He’s quiet, like he’s worried he’s going to scare you off, like he’s marked you for death just by developing feelings for you, allowing himself to entertain the thought of being with you. Everyone he’s ever loved has died, it could be the same for you if trends are anything to go by. It wouldn’t be fair to you, to Luffy, if anything happened simply because you’ve chosen to be with him, Law doesn’t want anything to happen to you. You’ve both been through things, of varying degrees, what could you want with someone like him?

Law tries to pull away from you, you’ve been quiet for so long now, he thinks he’s effectively squashed your feelings for him, you don’t want to be with him now, he's sure of it.

But you don’t let him get too far away, wrapping your arms around him and laying your head on his chest. Law isn’t really sure what to make of this. It’s not like before, when you’ve hugged him other times, you’re still quiet yourself though you nod.

“I don’t think that’s true anymore…not with this crew, this family you’ve built.”

“[Y/N]-ya—”

“I’d like to stay by your side and prove you wrong,” you tighten your arms around him as Law finally returns your hug, tighter than you even expected, “if you’ll let me.”

“…as long as you’ll have me.”

You both stay quiet for a bit, eventually you look up at Law and give him a soft smile before leaning up to kiss him again, which he returns without any hesitation this time.

It'll take some time for him to be fully comfortable and accepting of this, of the love and attention you’re ready to so freely give him, but you’re willing to give him that time.

Anything to make sure Law knows you aren’t going anywhere, even when you have to return to your crew. You’re not going to let him go very easily.

[504py]

Scalding-Hot Steel - Knight!Leon Kennedy/Reader

He finally lets you try on his armor.

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT!!! 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏 i got caught in a bit of a slump, but i hope this can make up for it, and that this was worth the wait!! the chapter after this might be the finale, so i may take even longer to get to it. nonetheless, thank you to everyone who's been reading till now, and thank you all for 600 followers!!!

Historical inaccuracies, I suck at old-timey speak, reader referred to as "my lady" but no other gendered terms or descriptors besides that, no use of Y/N, Leon is a total puppy, mutual pining.

1, 2, 3

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You're unsure what it was, but following that interaction at the library, you and Leon have grown closer.

This upgrade in your relationship has made you be able to relax more in his presence, now that you see him as more friend than foe. Well, to call him a foe was a gargantuan exaggeration, but you did find him intimidating. You still do sometimes.

Even if you've backed off and retired your old obsessive habit of being way too observant about every single little detail about Leon, you can't help but still notice how it seems like your roles have been swapped.

Leon has begun to follow you around like a dog, to put it simply.

You swear it's not just you fixating on him, you really have started seeing him around much more often. He's started waiting by your door to greet you a good morning with a small smile, before heading to the courtyard. During lunchtime, he's begun to engage in smalltalk with you, talking about mundane things like the weather, or your schedule for the day. He's especially chatty if he learns he's going to be part of it. At night, when his usual routine would be to simply see you off at your bedroom door and say goodnight, now he sits by your bedside and talks about anything 'till it lulls you to sleep. He'd be mortified if you knew how long he stayed after you've dozed off.

Leon has begun studying you, in return. He likes to think that he's observant, but that usually only applies to combat, or if he's been trained beforehand on the matter. With people, he's never really had much luck reading them, unless it's too obvious for it to even be called "observing."

Leon admires that about you, how keen your eyes always are. He wonders if you're as drawn into his quirks as he is with yours. If you were, he envies your ability to drink in information so tactfully. If the devil were in the details– in your details, Leon would love to become a sinner.

His attempts in learning more about you were painfully amateurish. Even if Leon were a great tutor, a great protector, a great fighter, he tends to be terrible at holding conversation.

"My lady–"

"I told you to stop calling me that." You sigh and roll your eyes playfully.

"Sorry." He huffs your name bashfully, drawing closer towards you. You look up at him, and he drinks in the sight before you're squinting slightly at the rays of sun attacking you from behind his head.

"Please step into the shade, milady." He insists, holding his hand out for you to place yours on, before leading you underneath a large tree.

"There you are again, Sir Leon." You laugh, resting your back against the smooth bark of the tree.

"Hey, I asked you to forgo the titles as well." He muses, noticing you were still straining your eyes slightly, so he steps in front of the sun. It makes your face relax, and once again, he realizes keeping you happy and protecting you brings him fulfillment like no other.

"Just doing the same as you are, Sir Leon, since you won't drop mine." Chuckling, you sit down on the plush grass and wait for him to follow.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh, setting down the picnic basket in front of you. Leon wants to sit beside you, but then his back wouldn't be there to shield you from the sun. He sits where he is.

"Alright, I'm sorry." He says, almost jokingly. Saying your name out loud makes him feel shy, like saying the name of a god. It feels almost forbidden to be molded by his tongue, but you always invite him to say it, and the intimacy makes his heart race every single time he dares to. He mumbles it quietly again, getting a high from it.

You look beautiful. He thought that from the day he first met you, but the closer you two have gotten, the more and more he finds himself thinking that, and even more does it make his heart ache in his chest. In the shade under this tree, windy summer day illuminating the soft curves of your face so enchantingly, Leon can't help but look like a bit of an idiot drinking the sight in.

"Are you feeling hot?"

His eyes look at your lips first, ears registering your voice second. He closes his mouth, realizing it's been hanging slightly agape.

"I, uh, no– no, I'm feeling alright, my–"

You tilt your head down, and send him a playful warning glare. He stops in his tracks and looks down for a second, smiling breathily.

"I'm alright."

"Really? Your head tilts to the right this time, and Leon's heart skips a beat at how adorable he finds the gesture. "That armor you're wearing looks pretty hot. Can't you take it off?"

"It's only chainmail." He reassures, taking off his helmet and combing a hand through his flattened hair, "The helmet is a little troublesome, though."

You chirp, "I can imagine." before you open up the picnic basket in front of you and start rummaging through it.

Leon watches you munch on some biscuits for a bit, before his eyes flit back to the helmet by his side. "...Some time ago, you said you had wanted to try on my armor."

He says this mid-chew, so you hurry to get your food down so you can respond, "Oh, you remembered?" You wipe away a few crumbs from your lip, Leon finds the act charming, and it makes him smile softly. You continue, "Mm, yes, I did. Why bring it up?"

"Well," Leon holds up his helmet, "Would you like to try it on now?"

The way your eyes light up can't help but force a boyish, giddy grin on Leon's face. It feels strange and his cheeks feel weird, he can't really remember the last time he's smiled this hard. It does scare him a little, how foreign it is, but the feeling is so, so welcomed.

"Of course! Are you joking?" You put the snacks in your hands away, and move the basket to the side so you can inch closer to Leon. The feeling of your legs touching make butterflies take flight in his stomach.

"I-I'm not– I–" He's sputtering and he finds his brain struggling to function at being so flustered.

"Calm down, Leon." You laugh heartily. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him, but with how darn observant you are, he's sure that you're well aware what you do to him. It makes his cheeks burn red and glare at you with a kittenish frown. He wishes he could be more suave about his feelings towards you.

"I will once you stop making me so flustered." Leon huffs, hoping that wasn't too bold of a thing to say. His cheeks burn deeper. His eyebrows lower at your surprised look.

"Do I now?"

"W-Well– See, you're doing it again!" Leon groans, letting go of his helmet to hide his flushed face in his broad hands and whine. His ears turn red at the sound of your hearty laugh.

"Well, it's only fair that I do it to you too."

"Too?"

Your face warms, realizing what you've revealed. Leon grins, elated at the mere implication that he makes you feel the same way.

"Y-You've noticed, haven't you? In the library, you asked why I felt so uncomfortable around you."

"You didn't exactly answer... I thought it was because you disliked me."

"...Now you know that I clearly don't. We get along rather well, don't we?"

He's beaming at you, and it's not just the sun shining on him, it looks like he's literally glowing with serenity and love.

"We do, my lady."

"Leon!" You interject him calling you by your formal title.

He can't seem to let the title go, because in his mind, it's more of a pet name than a title. A term of endearment. Leon clings to the "my" part of the title, he liked the tiniest hint that you could be his. My lady, my lover, my sweetheart, mine.

Leon giggles, and he pauses for a moment after, realizing he can't remember the last time he's let out such a noise. He gazes upon you in awe, amazed at how you were able to bring out this side of him.

"What is it?"

Leon blinks, getting drawn out of his haze and shaking his head dismissively. He keeps his soft gaze on you, though.

The pads of his fingers rest on his helmet, feeling the ridges of it. Maybe it was too rough for someone he deemed as delicate as you. His eyes lower and rest on the piece of armor, noting how it's covered in scratches and dents, how it isn't so shiny as he'd like for it to be. It washed over him like a small wave of shame, thinking it not worthy for someone of your standing to don. Not even socially, but the standing that you held within his mind and his heart. Leon never thought he'd be insecure over such a trivial thing.

"So... Can I try it on, my good Sir?"

Leon lets out a little snort at what you call him, freezing and making an embarrassed face at the undignified noise, but then he he sees how happy it makes you– perhaps how happy he himself makes you, and he feels at ease.

"Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness."

You playfully slap his bicep at the absurd title. "I am not royalty!"

"You are to me." He mutters as he adjusts his sitting position, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

He's kneeling in front of you, being mindful of your hair or anything on your clothing the helmet could snag on, gently lowering it before the hard metal rests on the top of your skull.

Leon sits back down, and can't help a cheesy, tight-lipped smile when he sees how awkwardly it fits you. It's crooked, and it simply is too rugged in contrast to your usual attire and demeanor.

"...How is it?"

"Wow, I can barely see. This is amazing!" Your hands rest on the sides of the helmet to try and stabilize it, yet it still tips over off balance after adjusting. Leon lets out a snort, and this time, he's only half-embarrassed.

"How do you fight in this? I can't see anything."

Leon wordlessly pulls the visor up. His heart pounds at the sight of your flushed face and messy hair.

"Ohh. What if an arrow lands in my face, though?"

"I can assure you, you won't be getting into that sort of situation anytime soon."

"You seem very sure of yourself, Leon."

"Of course, it's my duty to protect you."

"...Do you enjoy it?"

"What? Protecting you?"

You nod, "Yes."

"I look forward to it every day."

The two of you share a wide smile, beaming at the intimacy of this interaction, and you two have never felt closer. I want to kiss you, is all Leon can think about.

Right as he was mindlessly leaning in, you let out a small laugh for whatever reason, and Leon is forever grateful that you do, because it snaps him out of his trance, and he feels so stupid for trying to make a move on you.

"That's good. I don't think armor suits me very much anyways." You clumsily take his helmet off of your head, and rest it by your hip.

"I'm glad to have you protecting me, Leon. I'm so happy to have you by my side every day, not even as a knight, but as a companion." You say this so demurely, looking down at your lap with a cherubic expression on your face that has his heart pounding in his strong chest.

Then, you just had to look up at him, and meet his lovestruck stare, and maybe he's gone crazy from how flustered he's been all day, but he swears he can see the same look in your eyes.

Leon throws out whatever he was last thinking straight out the window, encases your wrists in his hands, and kisses you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

[primofate]

A Shot in The Dark (Chapter 2) Wriothesley x fem!reader

Summary: As the upcoming Weapons Master of the town, you've started to take more responsibilities in your father's shop. Little did you know that taking up this job would cause you to get thrown into the messy world of criminals and the messy world of confusing feelings for the Duke of Meropide.

Warnings: blood and talks about the use of blood for something unconventional, some might find it disturbing.

Read other parts: Chapter 1

Wriothesley didn’t show up.

Not the day after, nor the day after that.

At first you wondered if he was thoroughly offended by you not remembering who he was, but on second thought, he didn’t really seem like the type of guy to be offended by someone—especially you—not remembering his name.

And so the days passed by normally, the usual number of customers, the usual number of people walking in and asking general questions about weapons and the like. No sign of Wriothesley, nor any other “celebrity”.

It was a week after meeting the Duke that the shop door nearly flew off its hinges and in came a man with a sword strapped on his back.

You took one look at him—scraggly beard, mid 40s, head of hair that was somewhat long, but tied back into a small tail—and was immediately transported to a conversation with your father.

“We usually don’t judge books by its covers, Y/N, but you’ll know when to deny service to someone,” your father exclaimed, magnifying glass in one hand, pointed at a piece of metal.

You purse your lips at the statement, watching him quietly, until you had to ask. “What do you mean? How would I know if they were good or bad people? There’s no way to tell in such a short amount of time,”

Your father muses a bit, a slight hum emanating from his chest. He puts the magnifying glass down and meets your gaze. “Sometimes, your instincts just know, my dear,” he smiles a tiny one. “Our talent of fixing any weapon in existence may be a mundane skill…but weapons are powerful things Y/N! There are times where we have to stop and think, will I be doing the right thing if I fix this?”

“Good afternoon,” the man speaks and you blink back to present day. He stands confident in front of the counter and pierces you with his gaze. There is nothing inherently wrong with how he looked, but you could tell he wasn’t from Fontaine, and there was a strange feeling of anxiety trying to surface from the bottom of your stomach.

Instinct, huh?

You smile at the man. “Good afternoon,” you reply, eyes darting up to the hilt of his sword, peeking behind his back. “How can I help you today?”

The man moved with a type of grace and fluidity that told you he was no ordinary citizen. He most likely had been wielding a sword for years. His hand came up to the hilt of his sword and he pulled at it until it came off its scabbard, revealing that the blade was a blood red colour.

You controlled a shiver that ran up your spine as the man laid the peculiar looking sword on the counter. On closer inspection, the hilt was a deep purple. And the blade was a natural red colour—for a moment you thought that it had been dipped in blood—it was, to your knowledge, a katana, and a very beautiful albeit uniquely coloured one. The wear and tear was visible and you knew that this weapon was most likely centuries old. You dare not to touch it.

“What’s wrong with it?” You simply ask, prying your eyes away from the weapon and towards the man.

The man doesn’t show any sign of disappointment nor worry. “It’s not as strong as it previously was,” he explained. “I assume it needs a bit of refinement,”

A bit, was an understatement. It needed A LOT of refinement. It was an old blade, anyone could see that, weapons master or not. Your hands hovered above it and you ask, just as you always do “May I?”

Your hand inched closer as the man nodded and you took time to run your hand over the entirety of the sword. It had…a lot of ill intent. How you could tell, you weren’t quite sure. It was not wholly about its colour, but its aura, and how heavy and tired it looked.

“…I’m sorry, I can’t fix this,”

It’s time for this blade to rest.

You never thought that you would decline someone of service, it just didn’t seem like something that would happen.

“Do you know of Dendrobium flowers?” The man’s voice is rather low, but still smooth and somewhat friendly.

You blink up at him, taken aback by the sudden topic change. “…I can’t say I do,”

He talks, and while he talks he tries to retrieve something from his rucksack. “Dendrobium. A rare and expensive plant, found in Inazuman soil,” he takes a small box and opens it, revealing a blood red flower that you’ve never seen in your life before. “Rumor has it that these plants are watered using blood,”

There’s a small pause. A moment for you to internalize the information he just shared, and you were sure now, that there was something strange going on with your customer.

“…Mmhmm,” you let out quietly with a small nod, not knowing what else to say, feeling the atmosphere in the shop grow colder.

“The bloodier and more brutal the battlefield, the more lovely the Dendrobium blooms,” he closes the box, and hands it over to you. “Consider it, a gift,” he takes his blade in his hand and stretches it out for you to see clearly. “This here, is Muramasa… and the only way to fix him…is to refine him with Dendrobium ore,” He sheathes the katana onto his back and levels his gaze back towards you. “…but, it’s been centuries, since anyone has seen a Dendrobium ore. People say that the Dendrobium flowers crystallize when it’s been watered with enough blood…and yet I haven’t seen a single Dendrobium ore in my life,”

You stay silent, merely letting him finish his story.

“Well then, ma’am, I’ll be on my way. My thanks, for taking a look at Muramasa,” he tips his head forward, turns, footsteps towards the door, pulls it open and he pulls it close again as he leaves.

You stand still, the flower box in your hand. You wait a few minutes before you can completely feel yourself relax back into your normal state—you hadn’t even realized that you had been tense the whole time—and your eyes drop back to the small black box.

…Does he know? I’ll have to tell father about this…

And just as you always do with your other customers, you try to replay the interaction back in your head, to see if you missed anything or if you said anything wrong. The next customer didn’t come in until lunch time, so you were thankful that you had time to unpack your interaction with the strange man whose name you didn’t get.

The more you thought about it, the stranger it had been, or perhaps he was merely an eccentric? Still, it was completely unnecessary to tell a long-winded story about the Dendrobium…what was his purpose?

“You look out of sorts today,” A smug, familiar voice echoes through the shop. Wriothesley is suddenly there, you hadn’t even heard the door open nor the bell ring.

“Oh, Wriothesley,” you absentmindedly let out, snapping out of thought, eyes adjusting to the view in front of you rather than staring off into space. “Welcome back,” you give a small smile, which has the man a little suspicious.

He thought you were just tired, and maybe hungry, it is lunch time after all, but on closer inspection Wriothesley was conscious of the deeper frown lines you wore. Something as subtle as that, he would notice. Having a good eye for detail was one of his job descriptions.

“Ah, she finally remembers my name,” He takes a jab at you, grin appearing on his features. You can’t help the upward tug of your lips, and refrain from rolling your eyes. You don’t get to retort back because he follows up almost immediately: “Something happen?” He has his gauntlets tucked under his arm yet again, his frame seems taller today, or perhaps you were just feeling small after your weird interaction with your earlier customer.

“…Nothing for you to worry about,” You give a real smile this time, eyes darting over to his gauntlets. “Just…mulling over some fixes,”

It was convincing to the normal person, but to Wriothesley, it was a good attempt at diverting his attention from the real problem. Nevertheless, he didn’t push it, and set his gauntlets down on the counter for you. “Brought these back… I would’ve been back earlier but things happened at the Fortress…” he chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had done something disappointing.

The sight made you raise an eyebrow in amusement, mouth turning up the slightest bit more. He seemed to have a talent for making people feel at ease. “That’s nothing to apologize for, it’s your job,” your hands rest on his gauntlets, remembering the exact fix that it needed. “I say I’ll be done with this in 3 hours. You can come back for it right around then,”

He made a sound of understanding watching you start to take tools out to finish up the work. Wriothesley seemed to pause for a moment, his weight shifting from his left to his right. “You’re not getting lunch?”

You shake your head no, “I tend not to get hungry when I’m busy…or I guess I get too occupied with things and forget to eat,”

He again indicated that he heard you with a slight hum, but adds “…Well I’m reminding you now. Café Lutece is just down the road from here,” he points his thumb behind him. You look up to blink at him, your mind blank for a moment.

Was he asking you to eat with him or was he telling you to eat by yourself? You weren’t quite sure and you were stuck about what to say, until he made it clearer to you.

“Come on, I haven’t eaten either.” He jerked his head towards the shop door, indicating that he was about to go, and it sounded like he wasn’t going to offer again.

“Mm…” You think aloud, loosening your hold on the screwdriver in your hand. “I…guess I could go,” you decide, and its as if he relaxes the slightest bit more, waiting for you to walk around the counter, then walking ahead to hold the shop door open for you.

As you lock the shop up for lunch, you turn to him when done, somehow completely forgetting about your strange customer earlier, pointing a finger up to make a point “Lunch break is one hour max, otherwise, I’m charging you a late fee!”

Wriothesley chuckles, “and I thought I was a hard worker,” as the two of you walk together towards the restaurant down the road.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Day 1

You're struggling a bit to comprehend the fact that you really did agree to this whole week-long thing with him. Luckily for you, Jungkook knows exactly how to ease you into things. But wait- why is he naked?!

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements, non-sexual nudity, safeword discussion, Corruption kink, some backstory on JK, Shibari, wax play, Dom/Sub dynamics (beginner/introductory), minor sub-drop, slight angst, dry humping, cumming inside underwear, massages, mentions of primal play, mentions of pet play, very light orgasm control, hinted praise kink, JK in nothing but dark grey Calvin's for like... 90% of this, hinted big dick!JK, they both in love it's kinda cute,

Shibari: a form of artistic bondage using rope to create visually appealing patterns on the skin.

Wax play: the use of body-safe candles to drop wax onto someone's skin.

Corruption kink: gaining pleasure from corrupting a seemingly innocent person.

Length: 6k words

-> Masterlist

A/N: I'll include a short definition of the kinks in every chapter because I just know someone's gonna ask/complain that I don't explain things enough in my works haha. Also my smut writing is kinda rusty I've noticed, so I apologize for that as well...

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

"So.." You say through your food, chopsticks seemingly aiming for any piece of meat that could be done next on the barbecue in front of you on the table. "..do we like, need some fifty-shades-of-grey-type contract?" You ask Jungkook, who rolls his eyes.

"Absolutely not." He shakes his head, drinking some water. "Don't tell me you saw that movie too." He asks, and you shrug.

"Saw it with Jimin and Yoongi back when it was in the theaters." You say. "Yoongi said there was a lady who literally masturbated in the front rows, but I don't believe that. Who would do that in public?" You cringe to yourself, and Jungkook watches you for a second.

He's gonna put a no on voyeurism for you then, judging from that reaction.

"I'm surprised Yoongi went." Jungkook chuckles.

"Me too. Wasn't really sure why he did." You tell Jungkook, snatching a piece of meat for yourself. "He just complained over it the entire time anyways."

"Yeah, well-" Jungkook says, reaching for the scissors to cut up some meat. "-he's in the same scene as I am, so I'm not surprised he thought the movie was dogshit too." He explains, and your eyes widen.

"Wait, Yoongi ties people up too?!" You hiss, and Jungkook can't help but shake his head, laughing to himself.

"That's the tamest thing he does." He laughs. "Yoongi actually.. showed me most of the things I know." Jungkook offers, putting the scissors back to the side to instead pick up his chopsticks again. You wonder what he means by that.

"Like.. what?" You ask him, unsure- but you can't deny the curiosity inside of you. You had a hunch about Yoongi for a while now- and in a way, you can see him being in the whole scene a lot more than Jungkook. Jungkook is your fluffy buff but cute best friend- Yoongi has this odd aura to him that feels almost like a warning that he's hiding more of himself than he shows.

"I'm a Dominant person, right?" He asks you, and you shrug. "I like to be in charge, command and take the lead during.. scenes."

"Yeah, that part-" You say, stuffing a steaming piece of meat into your mouth, almost burning your tongue, "-I know about that stuff. Like, dom and sub, top and bottom all that." You nod, and he acknowledges it too.

"Good. Then you probably also have read that the best Dom's have been sub's in the past." He simply tells you.

"… so Yoongi tied you up before?" You ask, and Jungkook lets his head fall for a second.

"You're so cute sometimes, you know that?" He shakes his head, before he continues. "No, he actually didn't. I learned that part all by myself." He explains gently. "But before I could take charge, I had to learn. Someone had to get me into this stuff somehow, right?" He shrugs.

"So you and Yoongi were a couple at some point?" You ask, but he shakes his head.

"Yoongi and I had something similar to.. us, one could say." He explains across from you. "Simple exploration, nothing more than that." He tells you, before his chopsticks reach out to steal a piece of food right from between yours- and when you look up, he's staring right at you. "So now that I think of it, Yoongi and I had nothing like we do." He says.

"H..how so?" You ask, slightly intimidated.

"Because I don't just want to explore and leave you be after this week." Jungkook says. "I hope you know that I'm aiming for something entirely different here."

"For what?" You wonder, and he leans back, crossing his arms, grill in between you both sizzling loudly.

"Your trust." He shrugs. "Your love." He offers.

"What if I can't love the same as you do?" You say, a little defeated. You know Jungkook likes you- it's no secret. And you know he knows that you like him too- because it's no secret either.

"Then we'll search until we find what works." He responds.

"But-" You start, but he reaches out instead, a warm hand over yours cutting you off in midst of your sentence as he speaks to you, voice just as warm as his skin.

"I won't give up without trying first." He tells you. "And neither should you."

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

"Why here?" You ask, as he adjusts the couch into a makeshift bed for the time being. You'll be staying the entire week with him, and you'd agreed to that, because you've stayed over a lot of times before. Jungkook's apartment is nothing new- it's familiar, like a second home, warm and comforting.

"Because my bedroom is too intimidating-" He starts, tucking in a bedsheet in the corners of the couch. "-and I don't want to ruin your own with memories that might be unpleasant." Jungkook offers.

"Oh." you simply say, unsure. You've not yet thought about the possibility of him doing something you.. don't like. What happens then? Will you have to leave, or will the week end before it's even begun? Will it make things awkward, and weird?

"Hey." Jungkook calls out softly, holding out a hand. You look at him confused. "The blanket?" He asks, and you remember now that you're holding one for yourself to sleep under tonight, giving it to him. He puts it in a corner for now, same with the pillows, before he pats the couch for you to join him on. "Are you scared?" He asks, and you shake your head- albeit a little unsure.

"Just.. nervous." You say. "It'll be weird."

"Maybe." He admits. "A lot of things are weird first time. Nothing wrong about that." He shrugs.

You sit down on the makeshift bed next to him, when he chuckles, and brushes your hair over your shoulder. "I'll go shower real quick, alright? You just get yourself comfortable." He tells you, and you nod, watching him as he leaves to walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

It's clear that he's taking his time in there, because even after an hour, he's not yet returned. Or maybe longer? You're not sure, because you know you've somewhat dozed off on the bed when you feel his hand on your shoulder, simple strap top giving him access to a lot of bare skin there. He smells nice, and when you reach out, his skin is warm.

Wait- skin?

The moment you open your eyes you're greeted with his bare legs- he's only really dressed in some… dark grey, very form-fitting Calvin Klein's that pretty much hide almost nothing, really. It makes you sit up suddenly, body having to take a moment for a second after the rather sudden movement, a chuckle heard from Jungkook who seems entirely unbothered by his almost-nudity. "Sorry I took a bit longer. I had to get some stuff." He explains, sitting up properly himself.

"Why- why are you naked?" You ask, unsure where to look. In his opinion, you're so.. adorably shy just from the mere sight of his bare skin that it makes his inner desire stir a little. The fact that he's gonna be the one to really help you discover some of your hidden fantasies gives him chills- the good kind, of course.

He can't wait for what you might be hiding.

"I'm technically not." He raises his brows playfully, before crossing his arms- noticing the way your eyes focus on them for a good moment. "And considering why you're here, you'll soon have to get undressed too." He shrugs.

"Oh.." You hum yet again today, looking down on your body. You didn't really think about that. Compared to his toned body, you're.. an embarrassment.

"A body is just a body." He tells you. "I know you don't like yours, but I promise you it doesn't look the same to me as it does to you." He reassures you.

"Do I have to.. like.." You mumble, and he understands.

"You don't have to do anything." He promises. "We can just forget about this whole thing-"

"No!" You deny, shaking your head immediately. You do want this. You do want him to.. love you the way he does love others. Or maybe you want to somehow make him love you in a more.. special way. You're not sure- you don't really know what exactly you want right now, but you do know that you trust him.

You trust him.

"I trust you." You say out loud, grabbing the hem of your shirt- when he reaches out.

"..can I?" He wonders, and you nod, raising your arms without thinking so he can easily pull the item of clothing over your head. It's cute, the way you already feed into his own interests and kinks, without even knowing- and is that a piercing decorating your belly button? "Good girl." He purrs, lifting your shirt over your head, before slip out of your leggings, sitting back down. His hands move around your back slowly, fingers easily finding the clasp of your bra to undo it, letting the piece of underwear fall down easily from your shoulders and into your lap. "Hey-" Jungkook says, and you look up at him. "-you're fine." He smiles, and you nod.

You're fine.

"You can keep on the rest." He says, referring to your panties. At least you chose some cute ones, you think to yourself a bit relieved, as you nod. "I know you said you can't imagine it-" He starts, grabbing some pale pink and rather… delicate looking rope from the side. "But I'd like to try it, still." He asks, and you nod. "I won't restrain you this time. I'll only show you what it feels like, so you can decide for yourself if you enjoy the sensation or not." He says, and again, you only quietly nod. "But before that.. we have to address this first." He chuckles, looking at you. "I need.. verbal responses from you. Not just somewhat of an answer."

"Like.. do I need to call you sir, or something?" You ask, and he smirks.

"If you want to, you can." He smiles. "But you don't have to. A simple yes or no works just fine for me. And-" He adds on, undoing the neatly folded nylon rope in his hands as he speaks. "-We need a safeword."

"A safeword?" You repeat, and he nods.

"Something other than stop or no that you say to end a scene and get you out of whatever position you might be in." He explains. "Preferably something odd, that you wouldn't normally say during sex, so it won't be used by accident."

"So like.. Tiger?" You ask, not really thinking about it, and he nods.

"Tiger it is." He agrees, tapping your folded knees. "Turn around for me, yeah?"

"Yes." You say, moving to sit in front of him, making him chuckle.

"Cute." He comments under his breath, before he positions the rope right under your chest. "Tell me.. what do you usually do?" He wonders, and you don't answer for a moment.

"Like.. when I do it myself?" You ask, and he hums an agreeing reply.

"Yes. I'd like to know." He tells you. "So I'll have somewhat of an.. idea what is safe and comfortable for you." He explains his reasons, while he moves and adjusts the pale pink rope around your torso. You've almost instinctively moves your hands to hold onto your neck so your arms are out of the way, and he can't help but grin about that.

So much to 'I can't see myself enjoying that'.

"Uhm.. I don't know-" You begin, unsure how to really talk about that. "I have like.. toys, n' stuff, and I usually do it in the bathroom cause I get the bed dirty otherwise.." You explain.

"Toys?" He asks, pulling the rope snug in some places- and while it's tight, it doesn't bother you at all, surprisingly. You understand when he said that some people feel some sense of security from it- it feels actually quite nice, even the knots you can feel dig a bit harsher into your skin.

"Yeah like.." You take a deep breath, somewhat to test if that's still a possibility- and you can, while his fingers seem to adjust some knots in the back. "..a normal… dildo." You cringe at saying it out loud, moving on quickly. "And a vibrating.. thing. I don't use anything else." You admit, and he chuckles, as he taps your butt.

"Sit up for a second." He commands, and you do so, letting him guide the two ends of the rope in between your legs before he helps you sit down again. "So other than that, I guess you just use your hand, am I right?" He assumes, and you nod.

"Yes." You add on quickly, squirming a bit at the sensation of the rope between your legs. You have to control yourself. It's clear that he said he doesn't want sex- yet.

"You're free to get.. turned on, by the way." He tells you, teasingly pulling on the ends that run through your legs as if to underline his statement. "After all, this is about you."

"But-" You complain weakly, trying not to move to much. "-What about you?" You ask, and he shrugs, something you cannot see.

"I'm getting my satisfaction, don't worry." He explains. You're not sure how that would work- but you don't question it either. Say.." He starts, tapping your elbows. "How do you feel, right now?"

"Good." You nod to yourself. "It's.. surprisingly comfortable. It feels nice." You say.

"It looks nice, too." he offers, hands moving over your skin, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. "Very pretty." He praises, and you decide you don't care if he's just speaking about his work- you take this praise for yourself, using it to fuel your own emotional state in this moment. He runs his hands over your arms that are now comfortably down, hands holding yours for a second. "Let yourself go." He chuckles. "You're still tense."

"I can't help it.." You complain weakly, unsure what to do. It does feel nice, you want to move- but in a way, it's not quite right yet.

"Then maybe I can help.." He offers, hands testing the waters it seems like as they run over your thighs, just touching, nothing else. "Would you want that?" He asks, and you nod, eyes closed. "Words, darling." He demands, face close to yours while his fingers suddenly dig into your skin, gentle punishment for not following what he'd told you to do at the beginning.

"Yes.!" You almost gasp out, when one of his hands moves to grab onto the back of the artistically tied harness, pulling you, arching your back for you as he forces you to rest your upper body against his arm. You can practically feel the way your underwear soaks up your arousal, rope suddenly moving a lot more easily with the help of it between your legs.

"Show me how your hips can move." He hums into your ear, and what should feel weird comes naturally. Like in a trance you follow his words, let yourself fall because he's basically seeing all of you right now anyways- and he's seen much more before, so how bad can it really be? You trust him.

You trust him.

You can hear his breathing right next to your ear, and your hand starts to wander- before it stops. "Can-" You begin, swallowing down before you can continue. "can I touch you?" You ask, unsure if the same rules that apply to you apply to him as well. It's only fair if they do, right? It's only fair to ask him for permission, right?

"Yes." He answers, and with that, your hand blindly searches- finds his knee, moves up his thigh, warm skin underneath your rather cold fingertips earning a change in the pace at which he's breathing in. You hold onto his leg for a moment, feel the muscles move underneath the skin for a good while, as you become more and more desperate for a release of any sorts. You want to touch him too, but you don't know how- so you just leave your hand where it is, not moving any further.

His head, meanwhile, leans down into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses there, while the hand that's not holding onto your harness moves over your chest, grabs onto the soft flesh with almost rough motions. You can only imagine the sight of his inked hand holding strongly onto your skin, thumb running over your nipple as your breathing hitches, legs moving in any way you can imagine to adjust your position.

But it's not enough.

Only when his hand sneaks between your underwear, the rope and your skin do you finally make any progress, breathing heavier as his fingers seem to play around with you just the way you like it. And it doesn't take long for you to come undone, back arching more, eyes clenching shut as he helps you ride it out for as long as you can.

You notice after a moment or two how he has already begun to untie you- and in a way, you're confused.

"What're you doing?" You slur a bit exhausted, surprised yourself how much energy this seemed to have taken out of you.

"Untying you." He chuckles, continuing to undo all the knots while he holds you close to him.

"Yeah but.." You mumble, moving a bit so he can reach your back better. "What about you?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"This isn't about me." He declines. "And I've had my fun, don't worry about me." He reassures, gently pulling out the rope from between your legs, making you cringe as you feel how wet you are down there. "There we go." He softly hums, running his palms over the red skin where the rope has left it's mark here and there. It doesn't hurt- though you do have to admit that your back and neck are kind of sore now. "How do you feel?" He asks, and you shrug- hissing when it stings.

"I think I pulled something, dunno.." You say, sitting up as he rolls up the rope again, setting it aside, before he helps you sit properly for a moment. "I'll go wash up.. sorry for the uhm.. sheets.." You mumble as you see the damp spot where you've sat on.

"No problem." He shakes his head, getting up as well to help you up. It's only when you enter the bathroom and Jungkook is still behind you that you suddenly question what's going to happen next. "What?" He chuckles, amused.

"Uh.. I need to.." You struggle, unsure how to tell him what you want to say. "I wanna shower?" You question almost, and he laughs.

"I know." He confirms. "And I wanna make sure you're fine." He tells you, and you look at him confused. "You might feel fine right now- but once that adrenaline goes down-" He tells you, a finger gently tapping your collarbone. "-you might not be."

But you cross your arms, stubborn as you are. "I'm fine." You tell him, and he smirks suspiciously, looking at you with his arms now crossed as well. "You said a no means no and I'm saying no right now." You huff, and he reacts at that-

though not in the way you thought he would.

Because he simply nods, uncrosses his arms, and sets some towels out for you to use. "Don't worry about running around naked, I'm not bothered." He simply snickers, before he leaves you alone, a moment of silence soon interrupted by him moving around in the living room, presumably changing the sheet over the couch. You slowly take off your pretty soiled panties, putting them in the hamper to wash before you get into the shower to clean up.

And much to your own dismay, Jungkook seems to be right, because suddenly, as the water runs over your skin and you're almost done cleaning up, you're not fine anymore.

Dark, rather upsetting thoughts suddenly grow inside your head, making you feel not shame- but something almost like regret. You should have insisted to do something for him, right? Maybe he wanted to shower with you because he felt like you were abandoning him.. just because he is a guy, doesn't mean that he's without any feelings. Did you upset him? He probably won't tell you even if he did.

A knock on the bathroom door is heard, and you're busy trying to pull yourself together, when Jungkook's still bare arm reaches out to turn off the shower, before he wraps a towel around you. Quietly he dries your hair with a towel before he leads you to your makeshift bed, now with new sheets, where you sit in silence until he returns with brush and hairdryer. Everything goes by in a blur, until you feel Jungkook's hands on your shoulders, his legs next to yours as he holds you close to himself.

You're waiting for the 'I told you so'.

But he doesn't say it.

Instead, he simply silently sleeps on the couch with you, letting you cling onto him throughout the small nap you take in the middle of the day as much as you want.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

A few hours later, when you wake up, things are.. weird. Just like you feared.

Jungkook is still sleeping heavily, right behind you with you laying on one of his outstretched arms, biceps serving as a surprisingly comfortable headrest. He smells nice, his body is warm, and he looks relaxed as he still slumbers away.

And yet, you feel odd.

He just quietly took care of you after.. what you did a few hours ago, but you don't understand why you actually felt that way. You know that it was irrational of you- nothing had happened, everything was fine, you made a decision that you felt most comfortable in. So why were you so distraught over it later?

Well, he told you that you might end up like that. You just didn't listen.

He slowly stirs behind you, waking up as he watches you already sitting on the couch, wide awake. He's careful but not overly cautious as he slowly gets up as well, simply observing for a minute or two before he decides to speak up.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, and you shrug. You're not sure. You don't know it yourself.

"I don't know." You answer because of that, because you can't give him anything than that.

"Hm, I can imagine." He hums simply, running a hand through his chaotic bedhair. "I knew you'd drop, but I also knew.. you had to experience it yourself." He shrugs, watching you with still sleepy eyes.

"Drop?" You wonder, and he nods leaning back on his hands.

"Think of it as.." he thinks for a good example, "when people go to concerts. And they end up crying afterwards. It's the same principle, at its core." He says, and only now, as you turn to face him, do you realize you're only wearing panties- just like he's only wearing his boxers, making you snatch up the blanket to cover yourself. You earn nothing but a chuckle from him. "What we did together gave you a rush. And without any aftercare, people crash down from it." He explains softly.

"So that's why.. you wanted to shower with me?" You ask. "Aftercare?" You wonder, and he nods.

"Its important. For everyone involved, not just the.. one receiving it." He offers.

"Were you.. upset?" You ask, and he shrugs his shoulders.

"A little." He honestly replies, and you're thankful for that. It only adds to your reasons to trust him.

"I'm sorry." You say, pulling the blanket a bit closer. "I didn't know."

"Now you do." He simply chuckles, a hand on your back as he gets up, and walks into the bathroom, getting some things you assume before he emerges again. He's still almost naked as he walks back to you, smiling in a friendly manner as he sets down a towel, and tells you to lay down on your stomach on it. You do as told- determined not to push him away this time.

He notices that change in your behavior almost immediately- and he can't help but feel excited about it.

You're swaying your legs a little as you watch him light a candle close by, setting it on a table for now before he leans back and watches you it seems like. You realize it's one of those he'd received in that package earlier today- and you're curious. "What're you doing with that?" You ask, chin on your arms.

"I'll.. let some of the wax drop onto your skin." He says, chuckles when you tense up. "Dont worry. They're body safe, very low melting point. I'm only using things I believe you can handle." He offers, when you feel something drop onto your back- right between your shoulder blades.

True. It's hot- but not unpleasantly so. Maybe like the warmth of a cup of tea maybe.

"After all…" he hums, one more drop under the last falling down. "…You're not only getting to know me.." he continues, voice almost.. sensual as he speaks, another two drops falling in quick sucession of one another onto your skin, straight on your spine. "…but I'm getting to know you, too." He tells you with amusement, free hand softly running over your back. "Your body is talking to me a lot more openly than you do, darling.." he purrs teasingly, and only now do you notice how dark it is in his apartment. How long did you two sleep? It must be almost nighttime by now- led lights and flame from the candle illuminating the room enough to see comfortably, while he runs his fingers over your skin, another set of drops falling down the length of your spine.

It's almost agonizing how slow this all is. Frustrating, even. But you try and stay composed, maybe that'll earn you praise?

It's only when he sets the candle aside, and starts to dig the heels of his palms into your muscles that you sigh out in pleasure, feeling how your sore neck and back relax. Of course he'd know everything about massages. Sometimes, you're convinced he knows everything.

It feels childish to think like that, but sometimes, you've caught yourself looking at Jungkook as if he's the answer to all your problems. As if he can just pick you up and whisk you off your feet, hold you close and fight all monsters like a knight in shining armor ripped straight out of cheesy romance novels. He makes you feel like that, at least. And maybe it's time to let him prove if he can be prince charming.

"There we go." He praises suddenly, hands still moving as he sits behind you, legs pulled over his thighs while he continues to push out the knots in your neck and shoulders. "Let yourself go." He mumbles to you, as if he's hypnotizing you. If he does, it's working, weirdly enough. "I'll take over from here, hm?" He asks, no, states, and you simply sigh, closing your eyes.

"Yes." Is your answer, and you can't see the way his lips twitch.

His arms push your legs closer to him, manhandles you gently to have your core right over what you assume must be his own length, barely contained in his underwear. You wonder what he looks like. You've been told you can't take much- how will he make it work? He feels strong, big- maybe too much to handle. But you want to learn, maybe there's a way. You want to take him, even if it hurts. You've never felt like that before- it had never been something.. attractive to you. But you want him to make you take it. You trust that he will, now that you think about it.

You don't even question if he will. You know he will- the anticipation lays in how.

Are you already realizing it? What you could have with him? Probably- maybe. Or maybe it's just the way his bulge feels pressed against your core that's making you dizzy in the head. Yeah. That could be it, too. The way it's hot and hard, giving you nothing but a teaser of what he's got hidden away from you. How cruel he is. You want to see him.

"So needy.." he hums, chuckles, as his hands move with the help of the oil from the candle, fingers sliding easily down your back, to find their way around your waist to hold you. "Poor thing.." he mumbles towards you, grabs a bit more harshly at your flesh as if to test, and you want to whine-

But you swallow it down, making Jungkook tilt his head a bit with a smirk.

Not quite there yet, he thinks to himself. But I've got six more days to go to make you mine.

"Tell me what you're thinking." He asks- demands, because there's no question about this sentence you notice. It makes your spine tingle, a sudden urge to please and voice out your thoughts boiling up in your throat, as you let out a breath first and foremost, and he can't help but be affected by it, length in his underwear twitching impatiently at the sight of you so lost in pleasure. Oh the things he'd love to do to you make him greedy almost, mind coming up with scenario after scenario he'd love to see you in.

How long could he edge you until you'd cry and beg for him to let you have your release? Or how often could he make you cum until your body would give up?

How far would you go to please him?

Would you let him hunt you down like nothing but prey, just to feast on you, sex all bite and scratch and nothing but primal urges needing to be satiated? Or maybe you'd rather play his pretty little pet, loyal at his feet, patiently awaiting his command?

There's so many ways he can think of to corrupt you.

And he wants to try them all.

"You-" you answer his earlier question, hiding your face in your arms as you move your hips, grinding over his crotch on the hunt for your release. He'll be easy on you today, won't tell you no, will let you have it if you so desire. "I'm.. thinking-" you stutter a bit muffled into your arms, "-of you..!" you press out, and he can't help his smile from forming as he leans back his body, pulls you a little more roughly over his groin, unable to hide his growl as you become more and more shameless, moving erratically to gain any form of friction from him.

"Good." he sighs out as an answer to you, hands grabbing at your bottom, the urge to hit the soft flesh at least once agonizing- but he controls himself, holds back, just as to not overwhelm you too much at once. Instead, he presses you down, helps the movements of your lower body, earns a whimper as payment for it, and he can't help but be affected by it as well. "The only thing you're allowed to think of is me, understood?" he tests out, and much to his delight, you nod.

"yes-!" it feels like you almost want to say something else- and he wonders what your choice would've been, but he doesn't pry. He's got enough time to find out about it soon, after all- and he can be surprisingly patient, especially when it comes to things he's passionate about.

And god, is he passionate about you.

Suddenly, he wants to know. Wants to test you, despite his earlier choice of wanting to take is soft and slow- as his hands reach out, arms hooking underneath your thighs, suddenly lifting you up, leaving you with nothing before he turns you around onto your back, hands on your hips pressing down, preventing any movement. "Please-!" you beg, and he watches in interest how you struggle against him.

"Please, what?" he asks, acting nonchalant. "What do you want?" he wonders as if he doesn't know, and you look at him like you're searching for something, or maybe you're just collecting courage. For what, he doesn't know- yet.

"Please- let me.. cum.." you try, but it's not quite right for him. You also don't seem uncomfortable with the situation- you seem more like you're holding back, like you're unsure, hesitant.

"Hm, that won't do."he shakes his head, leaning further away, though his hold on you still keeps you still. "Try again." he tells you, and you close your eyes, like you're bracing yourself.

"Please let me cum!" You repeat, though this time with a lot more confidence, and he grins at that, one of his hands taking the front of your panties into it, before he pulls it up, fabric slipping between your lower lips, already drenched in your arousal.

"Go ahead then." he tells you. "Give me a good show, yeah?" he almost sings, and you immediately move, frantically so, hips rolling in desperation as he watches, muscles in your thighs stuttering especially when he helps you assist, pushing you towards your orgasm a lot faster than you anticipated.

It leaves you gasping for air, hips stuttering as you try and catch your breath, core clenching around nothing for a good while. The moment you open your eyes you're greeted with the sight of someone more akin to a demon, a predator, Eden's sin recreated as a human person- the sweat on his skin making him look as if he's glowing, eyes sharp and pupils blown wide, one hand carefully running over your thigh while he other is on his-

oh.

Oh..

There's a clear and surprisingly big stain on his dark grey Calvin Klein's, and you turn red as you realize what that must be. It gives you an odd boost of confidence, knowing that the sigh of you had done that to him- had helped him get to this point, even if just a little. It still counts, you still take it- as he smiles, and leans down to gently kiss your cheek.

"Good girl." he praises quietly, and this time you don't mask your whimper of pleasure, this one of different nature as you bathe in the praise clearly directed at you, you, and only you.

You feel drunk.

But this time, you happily let him move you around, pick you up and carry you into the bathroom, where he helps you step out of your underwear, your state leaving no room to feel shy about your nudity in front of him it seems like. He's used to it- it's nothing new to witness, but considering it's you in this state, he's even more gentle than he would usually be in a situation like this. how can he be with anyone else after you?

He doesn't know. And for now, he won't think of that.

All he knows is that underneath the shower, and later on on the couch where you'll sleep for the entirety of the week, he's got you.

And he'll do his best to keep you at his side forever.

[777heavengirl]

AM - Chapter 2

No. 1 Party Anthem

Sirius Black x reader Chapter 2/3 Warnings: angst?, smoking, suggestive themes, fwb to lovers word count: 4,294  masterlist

Currently playing: No. 1 Party Anthem by the Arctic Monkeys

Chapters i, ii, iii

        Sirius Black was not a somber man. He was known for being loud, rambunctious, insufferable, incorrigible. His voice echoed and his eyes shone when he laughed. He did not wallow nor turn gloomy. He had suffered too much in his life for that. But you had turned his life blue. Your absence left a hole in his heart. It had been three months. Three arduous months of a game of cat and mouse. You avoided him at any cost, clinging off of your boyfriend's arm more often than not. Sirius seemed to always be searching for you. 

He felt the rush of adrenaline as he finished his drink in one gulp, it had tasted horribly bitter at the beginning of the night. Now he couldn't taste it at all. He had been on the prowl the whole night. For you, just to catch a peek of you would be enough. To hear your laughter would soothe his growing anxiety and the paranoia that you were out of his life for good. He'd do anything for a glimpse of you. He wondered if you had come and left already. The thought settled in his heart like a pile of rocks. 

Sirius could feel the beat of the music in his chest it overpowered the beat of his own heart and the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop. Between the lights on the floor and the sweat that seemed to permeate the walls. He felt like he was searching for his soul, tumbling between people, staring too hard to see if it was you through the darkness. It kept slipping from his fingers. You kept slipping. 

He hated this point of getting drunk. He hated the way he knew there was no way back from this threshold. No matter how much water he drank or bread Peter fed him there was no way back. He hated that he still had the itch to get more because he might as well be completely pissed. He'd feel sick regardless. He felt his heart beating in his ears as he finally laid eyes on you. A cigarette hanging from your lips even indoors. You had been smoking a lot more. He had found and monitored the pile of cigarette butts in a corner of the astronomy tower. The only trace of you he could ever find these days.

He wondered if you were happy.

The fun-colored drink in your hand swished and swirled as you laughed, the blond gripping your hip. He could see James across from you, laughing and chatting spiritedly. No doubt recounting some dumb story, Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. They had finally gotten together. Or so he thought. He felt like a terrible friend. He couldn't think straight. He caught James's eye, he hoped he'd come get him. 

Sirius felt like his feet were slowly being cemented into the ground. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, the only grounding force as the mass of people around him overtook his senses. 

"Let's go Padfoot, you need a walk," Remus whispered into his ear, worry seeping through his skin, his demeanor. Sirius felt the beat and the melancholic lyrics that were starting to resonate through the charmed speakers clutched his heart with an iron grip. He shook his head furiously, he couldn't go. Not when he had just found you. Just when he had finally seen the light. It had been like catching a glimpse of a star in the middle of a stormy night. 

"Come on Moony-" Sirius moaned out, his eyes barely open, barely registering the scarred boy's figure. "Before she's gone before the moments gone-"

Remus dragged Sirius away regardless. He wasn't going to be making much sense if he spoke to you anyway. Remus felt bad, sometimes he'd hear Sirius mumble your name in his sleep. It was fleeting and slurred but after the third time it happened, his wand illuminating only the page of the book he was reading, Remus knew it was indeed your name. 

The Ravenclaw common room entrance was directly connected to a staircase, Sirius's head lulled to the side colliding with Remus's shoulder. Neither of them dared actually to go down the stairs. 

"Up, come on pads,” Remus finally got Sirius upright but turned as the door opened once again, the chatter and music from inside spilling into the hall briefly.

"Is he good?" James shut the door behind him,

"I'm doing great Prongs I just need a smoke," Sirius had wandered over to the small stone window, breathing in the fresh night air. He briefly thought of throwing up. 

Remus sighed offering Sirius a cigarette, rolling his eyes as James's lips resembled an 'o' in surprise. 

"I thought we were all collectively quitting?" James put out his hand, fingertips tingling with excitement. Lily didn't like it. James had quit way before they got together anyway.

One wouldn't kill him. Remus placed it on his palm. 

"Where's Wormtail?" Sirius turned to look at the two other men, a, now lit, cigarette hanging from each of their lips.

"Last I saw, chatting up Dorcas Meadowes," James chuckled as he blew out some smoke,

"I reckon he doesn't know she's a wee lesbian" Remus mumbled from between his cigarette

The other two broke out in a roar of laughter, they loved Peter dearly but he could be a bit clueless sometimes. 

"Marls is going to kill him," James clutched his stomach as he laughed. Sirius threw his head back as he continued to laugh, his forearms supporting him as they leaned on the window ledge. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he continued to laugh. The world still spun around him. But the sound of his friend’s laughter grounded him. He hadn't felt like this in a while. 

As they all calmed down again, snorts and chuckles still bouncing every so often, they continued to take drags of smoke. 

"What's been going on with you lately?" James's voice was low, a heavier tone than the one that usually laced his tone. Brows furrowed in concern and his free hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Remus stomped out his cig with his chucks, crossing his arms as he looked in between the two other men. He could feel the air become thick, as Sirius mulled over the question and continued to hang his head out the window, letting the air blow at his short curls. They reached a little under cheekbones now, he was relieved.

Remus felt his knit sweater was going to suffocate him. 

James thought of repeating his question.

"Is she happy?" Sirius finally broke the silence, taking the last drag of his cig before he also stomped it out. The ashes and the rocky floor grinding under his heavy boot. He was starting to regret wearing only a black shirt to cover his torso, the short sleeves had been cuffed and he could feel the cold night air pick at the skin of his arms. 

"I don't think it's fair for you to question that," James mumbled. He loved Sirius. He did. He was his brother, his closest confidant. He’d been trying to convince him to run away and stay with him. His mother had a room prepared already. He'd do anything for the boy. 

But brothers or not. Sirius was a fool. He had been for a while now. He could see the look on Sirius’s face. The look of love.

“Do you think it’s too late-“ 

“That’s even more unfair,” Remus thought of lighting a second cigarette. He didn’t.

”I need a drink,” Sirius stood upright again, his forearms marked and itched with the stamp of the edge of the window. 

Before either Remus or James could deny Sirius his itch, the door to the Ravenclaw common room opened again, this time with Peter stumbling out.

”Did we know Dorcas was a lesbian?” 

-

You didn't care that Sirius was ignoring you. You didn't care that he never glanced your way, or that he left when you came. You didn't care that you had seen a girl coming out of their dorm two weeks ago. You didn't care about him. You had a boyfriend now, a boy who cared about you and made you smile and blush. Someone who wanted you for more than just sex. Jacob was sweet, he brought you daisies and taffy. Even if you didn't adore either of those things. He always put his arm around your waist and he had started dragging you to be with his friends more often than not. You suspected he had realized he wasn't exactly popular around yours. 

You wondered sometimes, between cigarettes, if you were happy.

You hated smoking.

Jacob hated you smoking too. You pondered the psychology of your actions as you pulled one out of your pocket. He flicked your arm when he saw the stick between your fingers. If only he knew how many packs you had been running through. You ignored his glare, opting for lighting it, even if you were inside. Not like anyone would notice in the overcrowded, obscure Ravenclaw common room. Bastards had the best spot, couldn't hear anything coming from the common room for at least two flights of stairs. Horrendous to go up or down when intoxicated, however.

Lily smiled pleasantly while hanging from James's arm. They were cute, you were delighted they finally got together. It was almost like it was meant to be. You couldn't help but feel your stomach churn when she spoke of the fireworks and butterflies that lived in her chest from his look alone. Lately, life had been feeling like a pile of rocks had settled in your stomach. The dread that came with every touch and every kiss. You wondered if there was something wrong with you. You felt vaguely bored. You pushed down the thought, hoping it wouldn't crawl out again.

You weren't listening much to James, the story he had dug up to entertain his new girlfriend, and your new boyfriend was something you had lived alongside him. No point in tuning in, he had it covered.

You felt Jacob squeeze your hip. Your eyes searched the crowd, you knew what, or well who, you were looking for but you were afraid to even acknowledge it to yourself. The cold glass of your drink made your fingers numb and tingly. You wondered if he had even come tonight.

You laughed as your boyfriend did, as if on cue. You glanced at James, whose eyes flickered to someone in the crowd. You saw his smile falter.

"Y/N how about you finish the story," He finally focused back, handing Lily his drink with a kiss on her head. He left, his body weaving in and out of the crowd, without much of an excuse. You smiled awkwardly at the two people in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to hand Jacob your drink and cig to follow James out. Well, maybe not the cig.

"Flippant man isn't he?" Jacob directed a small smile towards you. You offered a very wobbly one back. You thanked the heavens as Lily left, mumbling something about Marlene having Peter by the scruff of his collar. 

Jacob’s face flashed with recognition, his hand going up as to call someone's attention. He grabbed your waist with a simple let's go and dragged you around the crowd like a rag doll. You finished your drink, the shimmery liquid burning at the back of your throat and your glass sat forgotten on some piece of furniture for someone else to find. Your now smushed cigarette sat at the bottom of the glass. You greeted Jacob's friends warmly, a small shy small playing on your lips.

You tried, you truly did but either the alcohol or the knowledge of your friends being outside wouldn't let you focus on the conversation. Jacob's friends weren't bad, just not your type of crowd. You caught a glimpse of three out of the four marauders coming back in. James immediately made a beeline for Lily, a very sweaty Peter under his arm as he noted Marlene's presence. Remus trailed slowly behind the two. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

"I'll be right back, I gotta go to the loo," you knew your lie had reached the blond as he let go of your waist with a small smile. You pushed through the crowd, avoiding your group of friends. The door was all you could focus on. The man who was possibly on the other side. You weren’t sure he was even there. You didn’t know if you were hoping he was. So you went, the cold night air immediately forcing your lungs to expand. The hall smelled like cigarette smoke. The door closed behind you and it was finally silent.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Sirius looked at you through his dark lashes, a small smirk on his face. 

"I thought we said we'd quit," your mumbled statement was meant as a joke, both of you just trying to break the icy barrier you had built between you. There wasn't a cigarette in sight.

"Your pile on the astronomy tower says otherwise" you winced, "does your little boyfriend know? I reckon he doesn't like the thought of his pretty girl frying her lungs with a cig"

You stared at him silently, your teeth biting at the inside of your cheek. You regretted finishing your drink. You pulled out the box of Player's No. 6 instinctively. 

"If you don't put it away, I'm going to throw it out the window," Sirius was drunk, he made sense but he felt like he couldn't look at you straight. He closed his eyes briefly. He sort of felt like was melting into the wall. The pack silently went into your pocket again.

"You know it's not like I'm falling in love," you didn't know why you said that.

"I didn't ask that love," you wondered if you were drunk. You observed Sirius, the way his jaw clenched, his tongue running over his teeth as he went deep in thought, eyes still closed. You trudged closer to him, forearms resting against the windowsill. You wanted to kiss him. You felt sick.

"I hate you," you mumbled as he laughed and shuffled closer. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. You looked out the window, he stared at the door, body leaning against the stone wall. 

"The same way you hate cigarettes?" He whispered this, his head turning towards yours. He didn't know what he hoped to hear. You were mere inches apart, his warmth mixing with yours, you wondered if you'd get a shock if you touched him. He fought the urge to press his lips against yours. 

"Yes, the same way" You felt the words scratch at your throat. He felt closer than ever, he moved a bit, and you held your breath. His lips pressed against your cheekbone. Right next to a little beauty mark. Soft and light but enough to tie a knot in your throat. You didn't want to cry in front of him again. You felt intoxicated.

"He won't be happy if he sees us," he parted a bit after he whispered this fact, his eyes darting to the closed door. He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one closer to the corner of your lips. You pushed him playfully with your shoulder. You missed him.

"Do you think he'll break up with me?" you felt as pathetic as when you asked the opposite question three months ago. you frowned. It squeezed Sirius's heart in hope, he didn't answer though. But he didn't have to, you laughed and soon he did too. You laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You clutched your stomach and stumbled a bit, laughter spilling from your lips like a river. He hoped to hear you laugh like this forever. He’d never get tired of the sound. 

You discovered that Sirius found it equally as hilarious. Tears gathered in his eyes as he laughed, he laughed endlessly, his usual chuckles or boisterous laugh missing. No, this was unfiltered, his sides hurt and he snorted sending the two of you into another fit. 

Your body ached in laughter. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he thought of you. 

You thought of him every day.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you slowly stopped laughing. 

"You're no good Sirius Black," he could feel his heart flip as your lips said the syllables of his name "You'll do me no good." He pressed his shoulder into yours, turning to kiss the top of your head. It felt like an apology. Like an I'm sorry love, for every time he pretended not to want you, for every time he took you for granted, for letting it get this far, for not remembering or caring or loving. 

You didn't know what he actually meant with it. The door opened again, and the first thing you noticed was the frown on his face. Then the angry red of his cheeks as your boyfriend stomped closer to you. You had never noticed how Sirius was a bit taller.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," his grip on your arm was asphyxiating. You felt like your heart was plummeting down to your stomach. 

"I'm sorry I got distracted," your mumble was blue and laced with regret. Sirius considered taking the swing he'd been pondering about for months. He refrained.

"Let's just go" Jacob pulled you along, down the stairs. Not without sending Sirius a glare over his shoulder. He could hear how the boy talked about him the whole way down, shooting question after question, the why were you there with him's, and the can't even take my eyes off of you's not letting you speak. He hoped you'd look back.

You didn't. You couldn't.

You'd cry if you did.

You wondered if you were supposed to feel this way. Like the sheets were the only thing that could save you. You felt like your bed was stuck on you.

Lily was a sea of worry.

"He's outside the common room he won't stop asking Marls where you are and why you aren't coming down," she sat at the side of your bed. It had been about five days since the party. Since you laughed with Sirius. Since you concluded that you wouldn't. No, that you couldn't be happy without him. "You know how she gets, she's already exasperated."

You've been avoiding your boyfriend like the plague and your heartstrings pulled against your will. You felt bad, you thought you could just forget about Sirius, forget his looks, his touches, his kisses. You felt like the worst person on the planet. You had turned your once kind, sweet boyfriend into a jealous mess. He wasn’t the nicest anymore but you couldn’t blame him. Because it was obvious. More than you had thought. How often your thoughts strayed, how often you thought of Sirius. You knew the real reason your friends didn't exactly love him was because he wasn't Sirius. Because every person on the planet except the bastard himself could tell you were in love with Sirius Black.

Sirius didn't want you though, did he?

"Sweetie, what do you want me to tell him?" Lily in all her caring nature brushed her fingers through your hair. 

"Just tell him I'm really sick and that I'll send an owl or something Lils," you sighed "Just get rid of him before Marls says something insensitive"

Lily laughed "I'm afraid that's already happened but I'll see what I can do.”

As Lily left you thought about Sirius. About what your non-relationship was before. How you lounged around his bed for hours on weekends. Mostly naked as a baby, you would talk for hours. You’d always have sex of course and you’d hardly spend the night, but you would sneak over earlier rather than later, so 'we get the whole day love'. Sirius wouldn’t let you go until dinner was being served and you whined about hunger.

The way he’d kissed you the first time, slow and steady with his hands cupping the back of your head. you were bordering on tipsy. he said he had been wildly drunk but you knew from Remus he had only really had one or two drinks. This was one of the things that made the uneasiness start to prey on you. The way he would subtly kick you out, asking you if you wanted to go to dinner or leaving with you just for you to end up going different ways at the end of the night. The way he’d only kiss you on your lips every so often. The way it was a badly kept secret but a secret nonetheless.

You wondered what was missing from you. Was it something about the way you looked? or worse your personality? You had agonized over your appearance for months. You asked Lily about the trendy muggle workout videos. She had laughed as if you had said something silly.

At first, you thought why Sirius, it would’ve been anyone really. Insecurity was a wild beast, hard to satiate and even worse when it was something as transactional as sex with seemingly no meaning beyond pleasure. why did you decide to kiss him that night? had he kissed you first? you honestly couldn’t remember anymore. 

You stared daggers into the bracelet on your wrist. what had he given your other friends? you wondered about the price as if it would help the urge to feel wanted.

You missed Sirius Black because you were in love with him. Because he was one of your closest friends. You missed his stupid smirks and teases. The way he used to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss the corner of your mouth. You missed sitting next to him at breakfast with his hand always touching your thigh in some way and the way he always saved you your favorite foods. Sneaking into the kitchens because you had missed dinner. He always refused to let you leave his bed until he decided it was enough.

But his body betrayed him until his eyes were droopy with sleep and he’d have to find some force to get up so you wouldn’t end up falling asleep together. 

You missed the way his fingers traced your naked back and the way he’d whisper secrets in French. He always refused to tell you what they meant.

You felt your cheeks dampened and wondered when you had started crying. You were tired of this, you needed everything to stop. Marlene and Lily came bursting into the room, bickering about Marlene’s temper. 

“Well he deserved it-“ Marlene grumbled and a small smile formed on your lips.

”Why is that Marls?” your pleasant smile faltered as the two girls looked at each other nervously. 

“Well it might be best if you talk to him-“

”Oh sod off Lillian she deserves to know,” Lily scowled at the name as Marlene went on “Your boyfriend's a wanker, he got all hot and flustered and had the balls to get in my face” 

You scowled, Jacob didn’t seem like the type. He was sweet and quiet most of the time. You wondered where he had been hiding this temper. You felt the guilt start to bite at your fingertips. Marlene continued,

”He kept talking about how you were probably with Sirius, he kept screaming can you believe it? He was screaming!” Marlene spoke so fast you felt like you couldn’t keep up. “He kept screaming about how you were hiding out in his room, and how you were a- well”

“I think that’s enough Marlene”

“and James well… he came out,” Marlene ignored Lily, but opted for omitting what your very upset boyfriend had rambled on about. Probably for the best, you thought.

”Oh Merlin,”

”He punched him!” You jumped from your bed, eyes wide as Marlene started to giggle but she quickly stopped as you gestured for her to explain. Lily glared at her and Marlene suppressed a smile. 

Lily turned to you, “I just think you need to talk to him directly, he’s in the hospital wing”

”Where’s James?” they both looked at each other, worry in their eyes. Marlene fidgeted with her ring.

“Slughorn took him, we’re hoping McGonagall will get involved at least,” Lily chewed on her lip nervously “It might help”

You sighed as you flopped back down to your bed. Everything was falling apart. You felt like you were falling apart. James wouldn't have gotten physical unless it was needed. He was always so relaxed, sure he always had a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, always some smart bullshit to spew. But to get physical? You couldn't help but still be grateful for him. For whatever the reason was.

Your thoughts strayed to Sirius,

You felt your eyes water again, hot with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of it all.

Tags ! (lmk if they don’t work or if u wanna be added) :

@beekeepingageissome,

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer Chapter 3 - The Trials

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader A/N: Chapter 3 is here! I'm glad I was able to write this out. As usual, this has been adapted to y/n format. To read the OC version, check out AO3.

Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Yet by Switchfoot while reading this chapter. It just pairs well. Warnings: childhood trauma, lots of angst

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Nanami masterlist

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

Nanami feels a chill rake over his spine as the shadow being says the words.

“Regrets? There isn’t a single sorcerer in the world that doesn’t have regrets. There’s no good way to rank them.”

“Really 7:3 sorcerer? You don’t believe some regrets hurt more than others?” The Spectator watches with keen eyes as Nanami contemplates its words. There’s a pregnant pause while he considers, glancing around at Phantom Tokyo as he does so. He didn’t like how the shadow easily figured out what he’d been hiding for years. 

A sorcerer’s life was always full of regrets; regret for not being normal, regret over their fallen comrades, regret over not taking time to themselves, regret for not being able to fall in love freely.

“What good is spending time thinking about regrets anyway?” he asks finally. “There’s nothing we can do about them. We learn to accept them and move on.”

“Have you? Accepted, that is?” the shadow asks back. Nanami stares at it, feeling a jolt pass through him.

“Of course I have. Now unless time travel is something the purgatory realm offers, I don’t see the point. I can’t go back and undo the things I regret. So of course I learned to accept them.”

“Then why do you never allow yourself to think about them? If you’ve really accepted them, then thinking about them shouldn’t bring that feeling of guilt in your chest, should it?” There’s a sly tone to the shadow’s question as it asks.

Taken aback, Nanami glares at it but doesn’t answer. Anyone who had lived his life wouldn’t question the guilt that accompanied his regrets. It was an endless cycle, reminding himself that most of the things that had happened weren't things he could have necessarily controlled yet it weighed down heavily on him. And how could they not? He was there when those awful things happened. It was a natural human tendency to wonder if the outcome may have been changed if he had done something differently.

The shadow does not fail to notice the less-than-kind expression on his face. “The only reason I ask, sorcerer, is because many try and fail to escape the purgatory realm even after agreeing to face their deepest regrets. Most believe it is coming to terms with them when in fact, it’s more than that.” 

It glides slightly closer to him before continuing. “It’s not enough that you come to terms with your regrets. But it’s learning to recognize that despite everything, despite all the guilt and unhappiness, life is still worth living. Many do not make it to that stage, and if that concept fails to take root, then the realm decides your life isn’t worth saving, and it will do what it was created to do, and end your life for you. You must want to live so much that all the regrets that feel like failures become reasons to live.”

“That’s unrealistic. Shouldn’t you have to find new things to live for instead? Who would want to continue living because of their regrets?”

“And what’s the guarantee those new things won’t become regrets later? Life doesn’t necessarily go linearly, does it? Something that brought you joy one day can make you miserable the next. It’s the same with people and relationships, isn’t it? You could have the best relationship with someone, and one day, they may hurt you, or you hurt them, and that too becomes a regret. Depending on the situation, it may be superficial or deep. If that person means enough to you, you won’t end the relationship because of that single regret, do you? Sometimes people experience multiple regrets with the people in their lives. It’s the same with wanting to live. You can keep finding new reasons to live, but ultimately, it’s realizing that life is worth living even with regrets.”

Nanami ponders the words, the frown on his face deepening. So many people in his life had come and gone. Some had been his choice, others due to circumstances beyond his control. He thinks about everyone he currently knows, and the shadow chuckles at his state. “I promise I’m not speaking in riddles meant to be solved. This journey is different for everyone. For some, it’s simple. Others need a few reminders about how much opportunity life offers.”

Nanami paces up and down the aisles of the bookstore, contemplating. “And what does facing one’s regrets look like?”

“It’s different for each person that enters the Trials. Some say it’s a withered garden, and they need to tend to the most neglected flowers and once the garden is in bloom, they can go back to living. Others are the only doctor in a hospital full of sick patients and don’t get respite until everyone is nursed back to health. But I will say that not everyone makes it through. Some become consumed by what they see or begin to feel hopeless with the amount of work necessary to survive. You have an additional restriction of being at the mercy of however long the neutralized energy remains in that charm of yours. So I’d say to not waste it much longer.”

Nanami glances at the aum charm on his wrist and feels a tinge of hope bubble inside him. He tries to think optimistically. Finding reasons to live even with the regrets…he hadn’t considered it that way. 

“You also have an unexpected plus. You have someone who desperately hopes you might come back to them. Most don’t necessarily have that privilege. The additional incentive will hopefully allow you to navigate this quicker.” The shadow adds trying to gauge his reaction.

Nanami again looks doubtfully at the charm. Deep in his heart, wedged away was a little box he hadn’t dared to open or peek at since he locked it away at 16. Even the sheer idea of it felt taboo, and he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it. But he allowed himself a moment of guilty pleasure, wondering if y/n had received his message by now. What would be your reaction? Shock? Happiness? Would you be crying tears of joy? 

He tries to imagine your face, putting together fragments of the various expressions he had seen during your time together. The lines of dissatisfaction that tugged at the corners of your mouth when he kept saying logistically sorcerers didn’t live very long, the glitter in your eyes when Itadori-Kun brought back a pastry for you, or the melancholic way the tip of your nose turned red when you watched those sad movies when he was teaching you how to channel your energy into the cursed doll. The day you had chosen Sophie’s Choice was a hard day overall, with him coming back from a mission only to see you, Ino-Kun, and Itadori-kun squished together on the sofa, the doll on your lap, all of you with tears in your eyes. 

Would you have cried like that for him after learning about his supposed death? Or maybe it was more intense than that? The kind of ugly crying where one trembles and can’t catch their breath? Or maybe there hadn’t been any crying at all. He shakes his head. He had no evidence that he had meant anything to you at all. The aum charms had been put on Ino-Kun and Itadori-Kun as well. Yet part of him hoped you had felt some kind of grief, that he had meant something to you, even if it was just as your teacher. 

In any case, whether or not you had cried was irrelevant. As the shadow had pointed out, it was thanks to your charm that he was now alive, and that wasn’t a thing to be taken lightly.

“You called it the Trials?” he asks The Mediator, who nods. 

“I will have to send you into another space where you can deal with your regrets. It’s rumored to be inside one’s heart but so far, no one has been able to confirm that. Now remember sorcerer. Once inside, you must look at your regrets, each one, learn the lesson it provides, and accept that you can live, despite having it. This isn’t about coming to terms with your regrets. It’s about understanding that your life isn’t any lesser to live just because you have them.”

Still not entirely convinced he knew what the shadow meant, he nods shakily. 

“Take your time, but don’t dawdle. You don’t have forever. And when in doubt, remember the reason you’re alive right now.”

“Have people have been successful before?”

“Indeed. And went on to live very happy lives, in fact even fuller lives than they had before.”

Nanami feels his pulse quicken. He had more questions but it felt pointless to ask them. As the shadow had pointed out, he was wasting precious neutralized cursed energy. He can feel his earlier dream of dying, of fading away into oblivion, slipping away like water through his fingers. 

“Ready?” The shadow’s silvery eyes gleam at him, waiting. 

With resolve, Nanami nods. It felt daunting, but he knows now he has to try. That there might be things he still needed to experience in the world of the living. 

The Mediator gives him a nod of finality before raising a shadowy limb from its side, looking eerily like the Grim Reaper for a moment, black smoky fingers curling up into its palm. Nanami turned to look behind him, transfixed, as what appeared to be a rectangle of light began to materialize. It had a strange metallic look, and as it grew larger, he could have sworn he heard the faint pulsation of a heart fill the space in the bookstore. Perhaps he really was going into a dimension of his own heart. The thought filled him with wonder, something he hadn’t felt since the loss of innocence during his teen years. 

He knew from a medical standpoint that his heart would be the same as any other human being, but he couldn’t help but try to imagine what it looked like in this dimension. Was it warm? Cold? Would he get a garden or a hospital? Or something more wondrous and complex than either of those? The rectangle finally stops growing and hovers a few inches off the ground and Nanami chances a peek inside. It looked curiously smooth and paved from his position, and appeared to have light reflecting inside it, and again, he heard the undeniable sound of a heart beating, like it was trying to urge him to look inside himself.

“This is where we part, sorcerer. I hope we do not meet again.” The shadow bows to him and Nanami returns the gesture, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose as he straightened. 

“Thank you for the guidance. I feel a little less willing to die at this moment.”

“That is reassuring to hear. Your initial attitude had me worried. Now go, there isn’t any time to waste.”

Nanami looks at the bright geometric patch before squaring his shoulders and purposefully stepping forward towards the metallic, reflective light. Y/n’s face burns in his mind as the sound of a heartbeat fills his ears and he walks through the door into what lay beyond. 

Once inside, he chances a glance backward and sees the portal sealing off, the briefest glimpse of the shadow creature catching the corner of his eye before it closes into a smooth surface of reflective glass. The dimension is plunged into silence, deafening and slightly unsettling. The blond sorcerer moves forward, taking in his new surroundings, astonished by what he saw.

His Trial was a smooth, long, corridor that appeared to be made of endless panels of mirrors from top to bottom. His shoes clicked on the polished glass as he moved forward. What was he supposed to do? Unlike the Trials that had been described to him, there was nothing here that needed his care or nurturing. He appeared to be alone, with nothing but his reflection for company. He ventures a few steps forward, thinking.

“The scenarios described to me said I needed to take care of whatever I found here,” he mused out loud, continuing to walk, randomly looking up, down, and to the sides where his glass image followed suit. “But I don’t see anything here. Wait, don’t tell me…” he almost laughs aloud, Y/n’s chief complaint echoing in his head. “Is the person I have to take care of myself?” he asks the mirror dimension. 

Immediately, the panel of mirrors on his left changed. While the ceiling, floor, and right wall retained his reflection, the left began to show swirls of color and distorted shapes. Fascinated, Nanami steps closer to the one nearest to him and peers into the glass. The abstract splotches instantly form a crisp image, playing like a scene from a movie and Nanami is astonished at what it shows him. A young boy with a tuft of messy blond hair ran towards a lake in happy abandon, water wings around his thin arms as he splashed in. Nanami’s gut twists as he remembers this day. The day so long ago, when he had learned that things such as curses really did exist, that they were not imaginary misfortunes cast by witches onto unsuspecting people like his storybooks had said. 

He watched his younger self floating at the surface of the water, his family a short distance away as they set up lunch on a picnic table. One of his cousins joins him shortly, giving chase as he lets out a peal of laughter and tries to kick away from him. Knowing what was going to happen, Nanami watched his younger self helplessly as he swam towards the middle of the lake, a brave 6-year-old unaware of the darker things that lurked in places that held negative emotions.

Unbeknownst to his family at the time, a girl had drowned there that past summer, something that Nanami had unearthed years later after this incident had occurred. His younger self now reached the middle of the lake and was suddenly lost, dragged under by an invisible force. The little boy blinks in shock, then opens his mouth and lets out a muffled scream as he sees the ugly curse that had caught hold of his foot. It grins, showing off too many teeth as he struggles, its pale green skin glimmering grotesquely under the watery light before he manages to kick the curse with his foot, swimming to the surface, coughing and spluttering, desperately trying to make his way back to land. His cousin looks at him in confusion as he swims in the opposite direction. 

“Get out of the water! Get out!” The shrill screams echoed off the lake as he finally made it to the edge and hauled himself out, laying on the grass shivering. He watches in panic as his cousin stays where he is, treading water and not making any attempts to come back. His father sprints over to check on the situation looking alarmed.

“Kento, what’s going on?”

“There’s something in the water! Tell aniki to get out!” Younger Nanami practically yells, trying to put distance between himself and the lake. His cousin shrugs, then takes a breath and goes underwater. When he resurfaces, he shakes his head. 

“There’s nothing in here! Kento did you see a huge catfish or something and freak out?” he taunts, a smirk appearing on his face. The blond boy shakes his head no vigorously. 

“There’s something there! I swear!”

“You’re just making things up! If you’re too scared, then stay there, I wanna swim.”

Nanami watches his younger self shrink, drawing his knees up to his chest in terror, watching his cousin swim fearlessly in the water. However, nothing happens. Several minutes pass by before his cousin finally comes back out, hair dripping. “Fraidy cat,” he shoots at him before joining the others at the picnic table. Younger Nanami walks to the table too, determined to get his point across.

“There really was something there!” 

His mother reaches out to pat his head. “It may have been a large fish Kento. It’s ok to admit it startled you,” she says emphatically, and the younger boy’s expression drops. Adult Nanami felt it inside his chest, that feeling of knowing they didn’t believe him, and that it was the beginning of almost a decade of them convinced he was a liar, saying things for attention. Younger Nanami becomes quiet after that, sitting in defeat at the table, the fresh barbeque and corn on the cob tasteless in his mouth. 

What was he supposed to learn from this? Adult Nanami pulls away from the mirror, feeling his heart tighten, feeling sad for the little boy sitting so dejectedly at the table. He takes a deep breath, knowing this was the moment he started to not trust his family, his parents, with any of the things he saw. The curses only worsened from there, almost like because he had seen one, all of them suddenly felt comfortable revealing themselves to him. His chest felt heavy with the grief filling him. The shadow had said to take the lesson from the memory and move on.

He leans against the opposite panel of mirrors, trying to get his feelings into check. Regrets from that day…he regretted scaring his family. He regretted being able to see that curse in the water. He regretted finding out he was different from everyone else that day. And how were these regrets supposed to become reasons to live? He racks his brain. He tried to warn his cousin about the unseen danger. That shaped him into becoming the responsible one in any situation. He had to be aware of what the others couldn’t see. It made him protective. It made him want his students to have a better childhood than he did. Was that it? Him turning into a guardian for everyone around him was a reason to live?

And just like that as the thought came into his head, the mirror began to frost at the edges, becoming more and more opaque as it covered the length of the panel before the memory became fully obscured, no longer visible to his eyes. 

Nanami swallows, still slightly unsettled by what he saw. It had been one thing to experience that as a child, but watching it as an adult, seeing how the people who were supposed to be looking after him brushed away his fears like they were nothing, hurt, even now. Part of him wanted to hug his younger self, to tell him he had become someone that everyone depended on, that someone wished for him to stay alive so hard that she put a neutralizing charm on him and saved his life. 

Was this how the rest of his Trial would be? If the first memory it showed him was this one, Nanami knew it would only get worse from here. His being felt painfully raw after seeing that childhood recollection, and he was unsure if he wanted to see more of that. The events that occurred at Jujutsu High when he was a teenager were unavoidable; he had been prepared for those to crop up based on the conversation he’d had with the shadow, but to see himself defenseless, as a child, with no one on his side was already breaking down his psyche. 

As he gathered his will to push on, he recalled the shadow saying this Trial was so he could face his deepest regrets. Deepest, not every. Could he have possibly found a way to get out of here faster? Nanami knew he had regrets that ran deeper than the day at the lake. If he approached each mirror, he would know which regret it was showing him. What if he could skip over the ones that weren’t as bad and only get to the ones that had really impacted him?

Motivated by the idea, he peeks into the next mirror panel, the colors and shapes coming into focus and he sees himself at 11, seated on the sofa with his parents, his dad looking stern, his mother exasperated. Recalling this event, Nanami quickly walks away from the mirror to the next one. Dealing with his regrets should not involve also dealing with his emotional trauma. That was too much. 

He stands in front of the next mirror and waits for the memory to come into focus. However, to his dismay, the colors remain as jumbled objects colliding with each other, refusing to coalesce. Hoping this was just a coincidence, he moves to the next one and is met with the same view, abstract movements, and blurs of action, refusing to show themselves to him. 

A regret is a regret, no matter how big, perhaps. Or maybe, the mirror dimension had determined what his deepest regrets already were, and he would have to face whatever it threw at him. 

With a sigh of defeat, Nanami turns back and goes to the mirror he was hoping to avoid. His heart was racing at the thought of reliving that day, but he was left with no choice. Once directly opposite to it, he braces himself for the memory. 

“Kento, this cannot go on any further. Your mother and I…we’re at a loss about what to do.”

“I’m sorry otosan.” His 11-year-old self keeps his gaze trained downwards, observing his legs that were swinging off the edge of the sofa. “But I mean it, it was there, trying to hurt my classmate.”

“Kento.” His mother leans towards him. “I am not sure what to believe anymore. These…incidents. These…stories. They’re becoming a more frequent occurrence. The doctors are baffled.”

Nanami’s dad, a man resembling him now in terms of height and build, tsks and shakes his head. “They’ve suggested medications, talking to a therapist-”

“The therapist wasn’t helping. They never believed anything I said.” The small boy appears to shrink a few inches in between his parents, his little fingers now fidgeting with each other as he speaks his words. 

“Kento, the problem is, we’re having difficulty believing you as well.” His mother looks like she’s about to cry and it fills his younger self with guilt, that he’s making her this way over him. “The doctors believe you have schizophrenia. It would explain you seeing things that aren’t there-”

“But they are there,” little Nanami insists desperately, looking at his parents with tears in his eyes. “They’re there, but it feels like I’m the only person that can see them.” He sees the look his parents exchange and feels like his worst fear is being confirmed; that his parents thought he was going crazy.

Adult Nanami steps away from the mirror, feeling sweat on his forehead. He feels his heart hammering in his chest and he slides down the smooth glass onto the floor trying to not fall apart. It was behind him. He had put this all behind him. He had vowed to never remember any of this ever again. It was why his will stated all his possessions should be donated to charity. He didn’t have a family. Had no one checking in on him. No one to visit during the holidays, save the other staff from the school. 

Jujutsu High had been both a blessing and a curse. But Nanami hadn’t felt like he was part of a family in decades. Hadn’t allowed himself to want that simple wish because it hurt too much. The aum charm swings against his leg, a pendulum reminding him of the limited time he has left. He realizes the day spent at the amusement park had been the first time in his adult life that he had allowed himself to indulge in that little fantasy. That the little group he had trained had somehow become his family of misfits. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he wanted that to become a reality. That he wanted to belong.

Taking deep calming breaths, he gets to his feet, not totally prepared to face the memory again but is astonished to see the mirror has already frosted up, the memory blocked and gone. Admitting he wanted a family…another lesson learned. 

Unsteadily, Nanami moves on, hoping the next memory isn’t as brutal as the first two.  

support banner by @/ cafekitsune

tagging:

@that-goth-bisexual @buttercupbitches @jadedjane @hunnie-lily

@starsinmylatte @soft--cherry @estarlias

@daswanj @connorsui @kentosgirlie @dreaming-about-seireitei @byul9158

@darkstarlight82 @whatshernameis @Galatict3a

@Mangiswig @bleachbrainrotbro @illusionaryennui @harlekin6

@pernesophe @26xidk @an-ever-angry-bi

@sweetbouquetpanda @muzansfangs

[skyrigel]

Obsessed with you 11

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x afab! reader

Synopsis: Ton's most eligible bachelor makes a move, oh dear ! An offer by the gentleman.

Warning: no description of reader, reader's last name is Rose for convenience ( used only twice ) internal conflict, mutual pinning but it's secret on reader's part, Benedict being an absolute tease, touchy Benedict, fluff and humour, reader's mother has some issues, resentment feelings for love, alcoholism ( blink and you miss it ) please read it !! ( No Polin, kathony in this chapter)

Dearest gentle readers,

This author believes desire to be a spectrum, and while longing, passion, lust and love are often known, i would ask, ' have you ever seen obsession ? ' it is rather very tempting.

It is not I, but the moon that basked in the sky last night who whispered, and i simply convey. There's been an offer made by the gentleman. Tempting, is it not ?

The next morning...

" How was your evening ? "

You coughed, grasping your throat as Mrs. Turner immediately patted your back, helping you with water.

Your mother's gaze was usually unfocused and clouded but even so, it was terrifying enough when she narrowed them at you.

" Fine." You said, feeling your chest burn, " It was very pleasant."

" That's amazing dearest." She turned back to her plate, untouched as it was, she hardly ate sometimes, you looked away, blinking.

" Ma'am, shall we expect any caller ? " Mrs. Turner asked your mother, but the question was solely directed to you.

" Indeed." Mama drank, her third glass of wine," she's very good girl." She added, raising her empty glass, her eyes stinging with moisteness.

" She is." Mrs. Turner smiled, you dropped your gaze back to your breakfast, staring hard. Oh god, what have you done ?

While waiting for a caller...

If Mrs. Turner noticed your panic, she said nothing and darkest part of you wondered if she was enjoying it actually.

" Your mother will be so disappointed if you have no caller today." Mary sighed, you winced internally, feeling sudden urge to just run and run until everything inside you crumbled and withered away.

" C'mon ! " Mary moaned, nudging you on your arm, "you're scaring me like that, say something."

" I don't know." You turned to her, pulling a straight face " suggest something lady Mariam." Mary groaned, you giggled, remembering how your sister used to, in every pain, in every nightmare.

Gissele joked all the times, her sharp wits and biting humour was something you always looked up at, you always wanted to be her because nothing touched her, she never cried, never baffled, her laughter still echoed sometimes in your head. But when night came and so did fear and darkness, on one such you tip tooed to her room, frozen at the soft sobs that were muffled by the pillow.

The jokes weren't funny anymore.

" Oh i wish—" whatever Mary wished was drowned by Mrs. Turner who entered the room with a undignified frown directed to you both , her eyes sharpening with unspoken disdain. Mary sat up straighter, abandoning her usual hunching and slouching.

" You have a caller miss." Mrs. Turner annouced, " Mr. Benedict bridgerton." She said, her mouth bitter with loathing.

You half registered her resentment before a shrilly strangled noise escaped your throat, mind swirling with last night memories that you were still not accepting to be true, you told Mary everything except the offer from the gentleman, or perhaps it wasn't a offer at all. A demand.

" Oh no." Mary gasped, you weren't sure if you had nodded or said anything but Mrs. Turner left, her mouth clasped close, brow knitted.

" What should I do ? " You bited your lip, panic settling, you remembered too well how bolting Benedict made you feel, the feel of his lips pressed against your skin. It was too endearing, a feeling that was too close to flying, soaring high but also to falling, down and down till there's nothing holding you but gravity, Benedict made you skip your heartbeats then become it's very muse.

" Be yourself. Didn't you say that to me ? "

Mary deadpanned, sensing your dread, she tried again,

" We can still run away, the window's open—" Mary stood upright, turning towards the fireplace when Benedict came. He was holding flowers, almost all kinds, his eyes twinkled as he raked his gaze upon you, smiling.

" Good morning, miss Rose." He bowed, at first to you, handling your flowers and you were gone the moment his fingers brushed against you, but it was then you realised there were two bouquets.

" Lady Mariam Turner." Benedict's smile grew wicked, you were sure to heard Mary mumbling something very blasphemous before she turned around, her face red.

" A very good morning, Mr. Bridgerton." She bowed, her eyes shut. You were paralyzed, feeling your skin still buzzing.

" C'mon, don't stand too much ladies, you might get tired." He purred, clapping his hand as he sat down next to you the couch, Mary and you shared a look before you sat back, she followed on the other one.

" Why did you come ? " You said, feeling your throat getting rigid, considering how Mary sighed, it was the worst possible thing to say to your caller, it didn't matter.

" Well, I was going to meet you mother and ask for your hand in marriage today but since she's sick and confined to her chambers, I shall do it tomorrow." You gaped at him, no matter how much you convinced yourself that it was just a dream, in no hell it could be now, his sincere eyes were most dazzling and despite the smirk that lit up his whole face, there was no ounce of humour.

" That's.." you shaked your head, don't think about his mouth, stop, stop, stop—

" Very kind." Mary was equally baffled, but you knew what a tease she would be to you later, if only you survived now.

" Thankyou lady Turner." Benedict smiled to her, bowing again, his teeths showing and Mary's ear blazed and she looked away, chortling under her breath.

" I am sorry about yesterday." You weren't sure how you could offended him but it didn't matter, you would be doomed if anyone knew of the lunacy you pulled last night.

Benedict deepened his gaze but said nothing, he slowly descended to your collarbone and heat crept up your spine. You shifted back, baffled at the tightening in your guts.

" I shall leave you to talking." Mary stood up, motioning towards the shelves and shelves of books.

" You don't read." You hissed at her, she sticked out her tongue tip and was gone, sparing few glances in between.

" I like her." Benedict said, you noticed that he was much closer. It surely wasn't a trick of your mind.

" Why are you doing this ? " You asked him, because you would be damned if it were another of his flirtings, another way to entertain himself. A frown crossed his jolly face and it didn't look like it belonged there.

" Forgive me if I had not made that clear." He said, his eyes softened when he looked at you, " I want to marry you." Oh.

No, no, you told yourself, didn't what Mrs. Turner said, he liked them of class, he has no honour when it comes to corrupt young ladies—

" You don't even know me." You said, voice small and frail.

" As much as I know you, you are kind, gentle and affectionate. Your beauty however is yet another muse of mine, i tried so hard, to trap you in canvas and colours but I couldn't do any justice, for you were simply ethereal in your own orbit. " He said, " but I would like to know all of you, every layer, every facade...you are the most extraordinary person i have ever met."

You wouldn't believe him, no matter how bright his eyes shine and how true every word feels, no, you wouldn't make the mistake Gissele made. Words, stupid words.

" We danced, only one time."

" It was enough." He reached out and kept his hand over yours, it was then your realised how badly your hands were trembling.

You didn't pull away, you knew how you would break down if you had to. You held onto him, not that you trusted him, no.

" Listen love, " love, He said it so softly, you were so doomed, " The moment our eyes locked I knew you had bewitched me, everything inside me longed for you...and..I knew it's silly but I thought i would die if I didn't see you again and when I did, I knew there was no life worth living it it's not with you."

" Those are just words." You looked away, instead focusing your eyes on Mary on the other end of the room, pretending to read a book, it was upside down.

" Yes, they are." He agreed, " so that's why I am here to make them actions, I fancy you so much that it sometimes scares—"

" Then don't, love shouldn't be scary." You remembered all those letters in Gissele's room, talking about love this, love that, ending with love you's, but what then ?

Benedict chuckled, like you weren't bashing him. he squeezed your hand gently. His fingers sliding through the dips of your knuckles, like moulded for each other. Stop.

" Love's not scary, it can be when you think about losing them, I was last night when I thought you wouldn't show up. That I would never see you again...no, I was terrified."

" You knew." You turned to him, he was practically hopping as he caught your gaze, every desire crawling out to you, screaming your name.

" I did." He confirmed, you raised your brow in question, " I would recognise you anywhere." He said simply and just like that you believed him.

You felt your face warming, heat shooting up in flames, Benedict seemed amused as his other hand, the one not making stars on your wrist came to caress your cheek. His lips parted when he felt your warmness, then he smiled, a knowing one.

" What if I nothing that you have assumed me to be ? " You weren't sure why you asked him that, perhaps it was the last letter you burnt before your elder sister could read it.

...Gis, this is not what we agreed on, this is not you, not the Gissele i knew. Please stop claiming it to be mine, we didn't even go that further, stop spreading these sour rumours that could filth my name...

" I adore all of you, every bit and every mole, i don't think there's any choice for me, it's just... there's no proof but you just know...I knew it, it's you, miss Rose. It was always going to be you."

You nodded, not sure if you could speak anything, feeling your heart thud louder and louder with each word that he spoke, every curve of his mouth and you could slowly feel time stoping.

That was the moment Mrs. Turner took to came, you yanked your hand back but Benedict wasn't much interested and his whine was quite visible.

" Mr. Bridgerton, Would you like lemon cakes, our cook is quite famous for it ? " Benedict looked at the refreshments that was left untouched except the biscuit that Mary nicked while on her way to 'reading' books upside down.

" As much I am very fond of it, i would have to say no. Me and miss Rose fancied a walk around the gardens."

Mrs. Turner looked accusingly at you and you shrugged, Benedict ignored all of that.

" Pleasant weather, is it not ? "

Mrs. Turner perched her lips, smiling that was mere curtsy. Oh god, what are you Benedict bridgerton ? Why are you so obsessed with me ?

By the secret gardens, with Mr. Bridgerton...

" Lady Mariam, alright ? " Benedict turned back to Mary who walked few steps behind you and him.

" Yes my Mr. Bridgerton." She said, slowing even more, she wasn't even trying to be good chaperone. Benedict praised her for it.

" That's my hand." You grasped your skirt before Benedict could hold it, for god sake, people were watching.

" Oops." Benedict apologised, not being sorry at all, his smile widening. You kept your eyes ahead.

" So would you say yes when I will propose ? " Benedict asked this, indirectly for the third time since the walk, he was rather good with words, he was also good at painting as much as you had heard and— stop, stop, stop.

" Haven't you already proposed ? " You stopped, he did too, cocking his head sideways.

" Yes indeed I have and I meant it." He admitted, " I was talking about the one where I am on my knees."

You weren't going to think about that, absolutely not, in no scandalous way. His thighs would look very erotic. Shit.

"No."

" You're lying." He scoffed. Yes you were, not that securing a proposal this season was your absolute ultimatum. Your mother wasn't cruel, she never was, but she was very paranoid and it was more crueler sometimes.

But marrying Benedict wouldn't be your escape or security, because you knew you would love him, whatever that was and if you could hate yourself for it then so it be.

The fate and destiny Benedict said, the way he just knew and who were you lying to ?

Didn't you touched him and got so electrified that you knew nothing would ever be same again, say it, go on. Lie, lie again but swear it if you didn't lock eyes with him and wished to just get lost and never be found. Wasn't it the night of the masquerade ball when you were truly alive for the first time in so long, giggling and free, dancing with your hands tied. Go on, lie.

" You wish." Benedict laughed on that, rich and beautiful and enough to make you hide your face as it went crimson.

" Lady—" he bagan to turn, you grabbed his elbow, jerking him to you, very unladylike.

" Stop teasing her." You leaned towards him and while you were in no position to talk about flustering but damn, Benedict was knocked out of his breath. You smiled, it was truly inevitable not to.

" I like to."

" Mean."

" That's very unladylike to insult your husband to be." Benedict said, recovering, all his smugness on full display. You let go of his arm, bending to take a pebble.

" Husband ? " You tossed a pebble off the lake, hoping to blame the rosiness that bloomed your cheeks on the sun.

" Yes wifey ? " Benedict ducked his head, like a puppy with stars in his eyes. He was so beautiful, why did he have to be like this ?

" Don't call me that." Please, very much call me that, it makes me blush, please, please.

" Then what should I call you ? " Benedict asked, before you could answer him, his arm grasped your waist, pulling you to him in a sudden moment. Wish you could say you immediately pulled away but that would be a lie. You melted in his embrace, eyes shut, a soft rhythmic music, it was his heart beats, you listened.

" Pebble." Benedict whispered down in your ear, you nodded once, pulling away hesitantly. He wasn't sure but let go of your elbow at last, his cheeks pink with blood.

" Should I call you Mrs.Bridgerton ? "

" Aren't there going to be three Mrs. Bridgertons ? "

Benedict bumped your nose on that, laughing while you frowned. He ought to stop touching you before you do something awfully stupid.

.... you're not stupid Gissele...

" Well ofcourse, yes. I see you're stalking me." Benedict winked, you eye rolled, something inside you shivering, a knot in your stomach loosening.

" Everyone knows that."

" Hmmph." Benedict hummed, " but you ought to know more wifey."

" Ofcourse Husband." You tried and was rewarded with Benedict missing a step, he smiled, a lopsided grin, recovering soon he turned to you.

" I wished to make you a wedding gift."

You knew he didn't even made a formal proposal to your mother but even so every word felt truer than life, for once you let go of what would happen, if he would break your heart then so be it, if you die bleeding then let it be that way, but you want to be alive, for once, just be alive.

" That's very kind of you."

Benedict tucked a strand of hair behind your hair, smiling his brightest smile.

You looked back at Mary who grinned back with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

" Obsessed." She mouthed, you shaked your head, smiling to yourself, very well.

Rigel's note 🪩 : I hope it was good, I am bit struck in life :( also can anyone make a banner, please ? I mean i would do it myself but I am so so slumped up right now and lack skills too <3 also thank-you for leaving cute cute asks and replies and messages!!! I am so thankful to write for wonderful dearest readers like you, love you <3

Join taglist to be updated :)

Taglist ( <333 ) : @imgondeletedis @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @mayusenpai666 @toeoffrog @alyyaana @rebeccawinters

[vunblr]

Wounds and Walls (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. smut.

Summary: Haunted by his past, Bucky moves next to a healing mutant who previously helped him. Their casual hangouts evolve into a deeper connection.

I suck at summaries.

Word Count: About 4.8k

notes: It’s been a while since I last wrote something in English, so apologies in advance if you spot any mistakes. This fic was initially meant to be a one-shot, but as the story grew larger... I decided to divide it into two chapters to make it more comfortable to read.

While writing, I envisioned a curvy reader, but I made sure not to include any physical descriptions of the character so that anyone could fully immerse themselves in the story. I hope you enjoy it!

Before the government officially recognized Bucky as a victim of Hydra’s manipulation and mandated his participation in Dr. Raynor’s therapy program as a condition for his release from prison or other legal consequences, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already intervened. They offered the government the services of Y/n, a mutant with the ability to heal not only physical but also mental and emotional wounds, to help stabilize Bucky, ensuring he was ready to transition back into civilian life without being a danger to others or himself.

At first, he resisted any form of help from Y/n. His reluctance wasn’t just about pride; it stemmed from years of distrust and the lingering need to face his past alone. Also, he was skeptical of any "quick fixes” and he suspected the government might be using Y/n to keep him under control, which reignited old feelings of being manipulated and weaponized during his time as the Winter Soldier.

Despite his initial resistance, Y/n’s patient approach began to have an effect. Bucky still maintained his reserved and cynical attitude, but he begrudgingly allowed himself to cooperate. Little by little, the barriers between them started to lower, and eventually, once it was determined that Bucky had stabilized and no longer posed a threat to third parties, his treatment with Y/n came to an official end and he was granted a conditional release, with the stipulation that he continue regular therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor. However, as part of his reintegration, Bucky was “strongly encouraged” to temporarily reside in a certain apartment building, chosen to ensure and monitor his continued mental well-being. It was there that he made a startling discovery: Y/n “coincidentally” lived in the same building, and again, “coincidentally”, next door. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had placed him next to Y/n deliberately as if expecting her to act as some sort of silent support system. But over time, his skepticism faded.

Y/n was surprised the first time she saw Bucky in the hallway of her apartment building. It had been a normal afternoon until she spotted him, effortlessly carrying what seemed to be bags filled with clothes in one hand, and balancing a microwave over his opposite shoulder like it weighed nothing. When she approached him, eyebrows raised, they exchanged weird pleasantries. Bucky, ever the man of few words, explained briefly that the government had suggested he reside there temporarily, as part of his continued reintegration. It felt almost too convenient, and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had arranged it. ‘Maybe someone wants me to work for free', she thought with a wry smile, considering how often he might need her support.

Their schedules during the week were completely mismatched, so they rarely crossed paths on weekdays. But Sundays eventually became their unspoken tradition. At first, it was casual, sometimes they’d watch movies, and other times they’d just sit in comfortable silence or chat, though "chat" mostly meant Y/n doing the talking while Bucky would grunt or nod at the right moments, staying mostly in his quiet, contemplative self. He didn’t mind her filling the silence; in fact, it made him feel less pressured, knowing she didn’t expect anything more than his presence.

As time passed, something shifted between them. Bucky, little by little, began to open up. His walls began to crack, allowing glimpses of the man beneath the brooding exterior. Y/n noticed the subtle changes, the way his shoulders seemed less tense during their Sunday hangouts, how he started to relax on the couch, and the slight uptick in his voice when he shared the rare observation or commented on the movie they were watching. He still wasn’t exactly chatty, but Y/n could tell he was trying. His words were sparse but deliberate, and as he grew more comfortable, he started contributing to conversations in his understated way. He’d throw in the occasional dry comment or a thoughtful observation, his eyes meeting hers more often, and the pauses between his responses weren’t as long or uncomfortable.

As months passed, she came to realize that her feelings were growing into something more than friendship when thoughts of Bucky began to linger beyond their casual Sunday hangouts. It wasn’t just the time they spent together that stayed with her, it was the way she found herself worrying about him on the days they didn’t cross paths, or if he seemed withdrawn or distant during their conversations. Also, her mind wandered in unexpected ways, catching herself checking on him with glances that were far from innocent. It was undeniable how handsome he was, how he made her heart skip a beat without even trying as he stretched on the couch giving a glimpse of his lower abs or the way his blue eyes glimmered the few times he smiled… sometimes she felt like a schoolgirl having a crush on her friend.

One Friday night, pained screams woke her up. The sounds were unmistakable, raw, and anguished, and they were coming from the other side of the thin wall: Bucky’s place. She realized he was in the grip of a nightmare, and not just any nightmare. In all these months of hearing him struggle with haunted dreams, she never listened to this caliber of screams. She got up from bed quickly and went to the balcony the two apartments shared, separated by a low fence of old decolored wood. Swallowing hard, she stepped onto a flowerpot, swung one leg over the fence, and then struggled to follow with the other, cursing her pathetic fitness level as she landed awkwardly on the other side, graceless and breathless. Peeping through the glass of the sliding door she saw him sleeping on the floor turning and tossing, entangled with the sheets. As he writhed in his sleep, he let out a gut-wrenching scream that echoed throughout the room. His face contorted with pain and fear as he struggled against invisible forces.

"NO!" he cried out desperately. "Stop!"

As she watched him suffer like this, she felt a pang of concern. This wasn't just a bad dream, it was clear that Bucky was reliving some traumatic experience repeatedly inside his mind. One hundred percent sure that it was related to his "therapy" sessions at HYDRA, she approached slowly to him and tentatively caressed his head, as she sent a flow of healing energy through him.

"It’s ok Buck, you are not there anymore, wake up" she murmured.

As she kept touching his forehead, Bucky's screams gradually subsided into soft whimpers. "Hurts..." *he mumbled incoherently, still caught in the grip of his nightmare. Despite her reassurances, he continued to thrash restlessly, the nightmare gripping him tightly, refusing to release its hold. 'No, don’t...' he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with fear and conflict as his legs began to shake.

Pondering about the consequences on her physical safety of waking him in such a state, she made up her mind and hugged him tight, trying to make him stop moving, transferring more healing spark into him by force. The embrace seemed to ground him somehow. His movements gradually became less frantic, though he occasionally flinched whenever something particularly disturbing happened in his dreams. Her efforts seemed to be working, slowly but surely chipping away at the nightmare's hold on him.

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as confusion clouded his features for a moment before recognition dawned upon him. Sensing he was awake, she let go of him at once and sat on the floor, giving him space. "Shit…" he said quietly, looking up at and noticing her sitting there, and put two and two together. "Thanks… for waking me up." Even though he was awake, Bucky appeared exhausted, physically and emotionally drained from the ordeal. Yet despite everything, there was also relief etched across his face, proof that her presence truly did help him escape from whatever horror he was experiencing.

"There is nothing to thank me for, big guy. You were suffering, and seriously, you were going to wake the whole neighborhood.” Before she could stop herself, she opened her mouth again. “Um... do you want me to stay with you for the rest of the night?” she winced inwardly, wondering what possessed her to throw such an offer at him, assuming he’d never consider it.

He briefly contemplated her offer, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Actually... yes." he admits, his voice still tinged with weariness. He shifted slightly, making room for her beside him. "If you don't mind staying close, I mean. Sometimes physical contact helps calm the racing thoughts when they get like this.”

Quickly recovering of the surprise, she nodded. "Not at all, just look at your state. Where do you want me?” she asked without thinking. Seriously? ‘Where do you want me?’ she could die of cringe at her choice of words, but he seemed unaffected by it.

"Close would be good" he confirmed softly, patting the space beside him on the wrinkled bottom sheet. "Just... lean against me or something." With that invitation extended, Bucky made himself comfortable once again, curling up into a somewhat protective position as he waited for her to settle in next to him.

Y/n laid by her side behind him, a few inches close to his back, tentatively resting a hand on his ribcage "Like… this?"

He let out a content sigh. "That feels nice" he murmured gratefully. Relaxing into her touch, Bucky let himself sink deeper into the pillow, his breaths becoming steadier with each inhale, soothed by her calming presence. Exhausted by using her powers at high level after a long time, she allowed herself to relax and succumbed to the slumber, falling asleep.

She woke up late in the morning, with something big and warm pressed against her. Still half-asleep, Bucky instinctively wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer against his chest. He grunted softly, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his breathing slow and steady indicating he was still asleep. The events of last night slowly came back to her, and she suddenly remembered exactly where she was and with who. As she was becoming aware of the situation, he unconsciously started to nuzzle into her neck more deeply, inhaling her scent and humming contentedly as he did so.

Full awake now, and very conscious of his ministrations, she pathetically whimpered and started tapping his naked shoulder to wake him up, her touch soft but insistent. As the technique seemed not to work, and seriously things were getting… handsy, she made up her mind and smacked the back of his head.

Startled awake, Bucky blinked several times, his bleary eyes struggling to focus "Huh? What time is it?" he asked groggily, still half-embedded in dreamland. As reality began to filter back into his consciousness, he became aware of just how close he was pressed against her, causing a faint flush of embarrassment to creep across his cheeks.

She cleared her throat, looking momentarily at the ceiling “About ten, I think”.

Groaning at the realization of how late it's gotten, but more for the fact he was practically hugging her like a koala, Bucky slowly extracted himself from the embrace, taking care not to jostle her in the process. "Sorry,” he apologized, running a hand through his disheveled hair, lost in thought. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around the room awkwardly before fixing his gaze back on her. "So, uh... Saturday. What plans do you have for today?" he asked, trying to play it cool, despite the lingering sensation of self-consciousness between them.

Grateful to have a topic to divert the tension, she stood up and patted her old cotton nightgown for imaginary dust particles. “Actually, today I’m going to buy some clothes with a coworker, she invited me to go out to a nightclub with the gang. It's been years since I went to one.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "A nightclub? That sounds... interesting," he commented dryly, attempting to mask his curiosity with sarcasm. "I take it you're going to need some new threads first though?”

“Yup. And even if I have an idea about fashion, I don’t know what to wear to go to a place like this nowadays. Sincerely I don’t pay much attention to what people wear on the street when I cross them returning after a night out and I'm just going for a walk in my old sweatpants. So, she'll help me look nice for tonight.”

“Right.” He frowned inadvertently.

“Right,” she mirrored. “Well, considering it, and that you seem… more than fine, I’m going now. I’m sure you have much to do today, like watch paint dry, or maybe return some missing calls to Sam.” With that, she waved and walked towards the balcony.

Still sitting on the floor he followed her movements, his eyes lingered on the sway of her hips more time than necessary, admiring how the sunrays revealed her silhouette through her cotton gown. Then he noticed where she was heading. “The door is that way, in case you didn’t notice” he stated, signaling the exit with amusement.

“Oh, I know… but mine is locked. I had to perform some of my best cirque du soleil moves at the balcony to get in here last night.” She loathed at the prospect of climbing that damn fence again, and with an audience this time. Maybe there was an easier way. “How about you repay me by brushing up on your rusty espionage skills and open my door without damaging the lock?”

Later that afternoon, Y/n returned to her apartment with a couple of bags with some casual clothes also stashed in the bounty. She started rummaging at them, looking for the potential attire for the night. Objectively, she wasn’t too keen on the idea of going to the nightclub, but she knew she needed to socialize more, make connections, and maybe find someone to distract herself from the attraction she was starting to feel toward her grumpy neighbor and friend, who (thank God) seemed unaware of her affections. He didn't seem interested in her that way, and the prospect of him discovering her little crush was mortifying. Also, she knew he had been attempting to date lately, surely encouraged by Dr. Raynor.

Her mind navigated to the night she saw him exit his apartment with a pretty flower bouquet, going on a date with that chirpy asian bartender, or the afternoon he left with a sole rose wrapped on a flimsy paper, looking so damn handsome in a casual-formal dressing attire. “Tinder” was his sole response when she quirked a brow at him in the hallway. He never discussed that part of his life with her and honestly, she didn’t want to know about it. Having to listen about his gorgeous dates, (they had to be, he could have the woman he desired) and pretending to be happy for his progress while dying on the inside wasn’t something she was eager to experience. Before letting her thoughts spiral any further, she quickly patted her cheeks, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, and continued her preparations.

When she finally narrowed her clothing options down to two, she couldn’t help but seek his opinion. Setting aside her complicated feelings for him, he was still her friend, and in his earlier years, he’d been quite the lady-killer. Even if he wasn’t that man anymore, his ‘experienced insight’ would definitely come in handy for a situation like this. She knocked three times. "Bucky, are you home? I have a favor to ask you" After a while, the door opened, and he quirked a brow at the sight in front of him. She quickly swagged two hangers to his face. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Can you help me figure it out? I’ll pay for Sunday’s pizza if you do." She showed him a short black dress with a low neckline, a red blouse, and a miniskirt that matched. "What do you think?"

Bucky’s brows furrowed briefly but then he managed to make a poker face. The black dress, with its low neckline, was bold and sexy, too sexy if he were being honest with himself. The red blouse and miniskirt weren’t much better, with the skirt's short length that would leave little to the imagination. He knew Y/n was asking for his advice as a friend, but something twisted in his chest as he imagined her wearing either of these outfits, out at a nightclub, surrounded by people who didn’t know her the way he did. A faint, irrational pang of jealousy hit him before he could push it away. His grip on the hangers tightened slightly as the thought crossed his mind: ‘Who else is going to see her like this? Who are these work colleagues?’ But it wasn’t just jealousy. There was an undercurrent of protectiveness too. Bucky had spent so long trying to guard himself from the world, that the idea of Y/n going out there dressed like this, made him feel like he needed to protect her, even if it was from something as simple as wandering eyes or strangers getting too close.

He had to admit that the idea of her going out, dating, or doing anything related to what a single woman her age would do besides spending her Sundays with him had never crossed his mind. Somehow he had taken for granted, stupidly now he knew, that she would always be there maintaining the status quo of their relationship ad infinitum. He wasn’t really sure if he was ready for something serious considering how messed up he still was, and the idea of ruining what they had for a nightstand or a failed attempt at something serious was unthinkable.

So, he forced himself to remain calm. He wasn’t going to let these feelings show to her, the last thing she needed was his unresolved emotions clouding her moment of fun. He gave his input, keeping his voice steady, even if the thought of her walking out in that black dress made his chest tighten. "The black dress makes an impact" he admits truthfully. "It's bold and sexy..." Then his gaze shifted towards the red ensemble. "And while this one is quite daring too due to its shorter length." Pausing briefly to think, he finally continued "If we're talking about making heads turn though? Then I'd say go for the black dress." He handed the clothes back to her, his expression controlled, but his mind racing. He forced a smile. “I think whatever you end up choosing, it would look gorgeous on you.” He handed her the hangers, holding them a little more time than necessary before releasing them.

Her legs almost quivered at his statement. "Thanks, Buck!" Before thinking twice, she pecked him on the cheek.

Feeling her soft lips pressed against his skin, Bucky involuntarily flinched, caught off guard by the sudden affectionate gesture. “No problem.” he murmured, watching as she swiftly retreated toward her apartment. As she left, he found himself unconsciously reaching up to touch the spot where her lips had been, as if trying to hold onto that warmth just a little longer. For him, feelings were something buried deep, locked away alongside the memories he didn’t want to revisit. At first, Y/n had been just another presence in his life, someone who was helping him heal, albeit reluctantly. But something had shifted over time, subtly at first, then more noticeable, like a pebble rolling down a hill that turned into an avalanche. He sighed deeply, staring at the door after she left.

Y/n closed the door behind her with apprehension. She noticed his flinch when she kissed him and couldn't understand the duality. Last night, he had wanted her to stay in his makeshift bed after the nightmare, and, for fuck’s sake he even snuggled against her neck in the morning! asleep, but he did. This little exchange only reinforced the idea that she had to put an end to whatever feelings she was developing for him, and fast. She needed a distraction, and soon, before things got even more complicated.

With a mix of determination and frustration, she decided to ignore his pick of the black dress. When the time came, she defiantly slipped into the skimpy red miniskirt and blouse instead, fueled by a need to reclaim control over her own choices. Then she applied cat-eye makeup and chose a red, glossy lipstick. Grabbing her purse, she stormed out of the apartment. As she did so, she encountered him in the hallway, returning with, surprise-surprise, another bottle of whiskey. As she walked past him, she waved him goodbye with a smile, without a second glance.

Caught off guard once again, Bucky nearly dropped the bottle as he watched her sashay past him, the provocative outfit she had chosen leaving very little to the imagination. Swallowing hard, he tried to compose himself before responding to her waved goodbye. "Have fun tonight" he managed to say, his voice slightly strained. As the elevator door closed behind her, Bucky let out a shaky breath, his mind reeling from the unexpected visual feast she had just presented him with. "Fuck.” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. Somehow, he knew. He wasn’t just fond of Y/n; he was drawn to her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be in a long time. She wasn’t just the friend next door or the person helping him heal. He had tried to distract himself by diving again into the waters of dating after… he can’t even remember how much time, to no avail. 'What am I supposed to do with her?'

Just as she was about to exit the building, the rusty main door lock got stuck. Great. After several attempts, shaking the damn thing, and even giving it a few pathetic kicks, she finally surrendered. She knew who could help her and grimaced. After managing that catwalk exit showing him indifference, now she needed to crawl back to him for assistance.

Y/n took a breath and knocked again on his door, which creaked open on its own, poorly shut. He was sitting on the couch, drinking whiskey and watching a soccer game. “Hey,” she said, trying to keep it casual, hoping to downplay the awkwardness of having to ask him for help after leaving him in the hallway with barely a glance. “Are you in the mood to roleplay a locksmith?”

Startled by her sudden reappearance, but not giving any sign of it, he took a swig straight from the bottle before turning to face her "Again? Don’t you have other neighbors to disturb at this ungodly hour?” The words came out dry, but as he spoke, his eyes drifted down to her legs. He told himself to look away, but something about the way the fabric clung to her curves made it nearly impossible. He felt a flicker of frustration rise within him.

Y/n could feel his attention on her, almost as if he were scanning her, but then his eyes quickly turned back to the whiskey. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was checking her out, she couldn’t read his body language, and really, this was not the time to start walking on that path of thinking just minutes before going out. So she trampled her wandering thoughts and begged. “Come on Buck, it’s getting late. I’ll make you those garlic snacks you like for tomorrow's movie, deal?” she pleaded bowing herself a little clasping her hands, then instinctively adjusting her skirt and drawing his attention to the tantalizing view of her thighs once again. His mouth went dry.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he attempted to regain some semblance of composure. "And you’ll buy me a six-pack. An expensive one" he suggested, gesturing her vaguely towards the hallway to take the lead.

She narrowed her gaze. “Want me to clean your windows too? You know what, give me that.” She took three steps, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and took a generous swig of liquor. ‘Screw it. If he’s going to act all tough, so do I.’  She felt his eyes on her again as she tipped the bottle back, and the weight of his gaze, combined with the burn of the whiskey, made her feel bold, maybe a little too bold.

“Sure" he replied gruffly "Help yourself." Watching her drink, he noticed how the amber liquid caught the light, accentuating her curves outlined beneath the thin fabric of the blouse. A strange mix of frustration and arousal coursed through him, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. There she was, acting so casual, so damn unbothered, and he, on the other hand, trying to keep himself from reacting like some horny teenager around her.

After the drink, she gave him back the bottle nonchalantly “Hey, what’s with that frown? I thought we had already cleared the phase of that staring thing of yours. Besides, sharing is caring” she cleaned a stray drop on the corner of her mouth and winked. She fucking winked at him.

Bucky grunted, playing off the moment with a scowl. But his mind was racing by the way she waltzed back in, drinking his whiskey completely unfazed by his presence and ready to go out with some random people to do whatever in a club. He tried to reprimand himself. She was his friend, his neighbor. They had a dynamic: a light-hearted, sarcastic friendship that worked. And now, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to just reach out, close the space between them, and…

“It's nothing,” he lied. “Just thinking about stuff I have to do with Sam.” Suddenly conscious of how closely he was observing her, Bucky forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

Y/n noticed the stare this time but decided to let it pass. “If that’s the case, that door’s not going to open itself, so move your firm 106-year-old ass and open it, will you?” she quipped, her voice carrying a playful edge. It was the kind of comment that would normally pass between them without much weight, but this time... she felt it hang in the air a little longer than usual.

A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face. “Firm, huh? Seems like someone’s been staring.” she could swear he looked at her with something akin to mischief in his blue eyes.

Blushing slightly, Y/n cursed herself for letting her thoughts slip out. She tried to brush off the awkwardness with a flick of her wrist, determined to stay cool. She wasn’t about to let this turn into any kind of flirting after all that self coaching about auto-preservation. 'Nope, not going there tonight, what if I'm imaginating things?.'

“Tic toc, Bucky,” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the hallway. She added a little authority to her voice, more for her own sake than his. She had to steer the conversation back to normal.

Bucky felt the spark flicker and die at her words. His jaw tightened slightly, and he nodded, moving past her toward the hallway. 'Guess I read that wrong'. He told himself that it didn’t matter, that it was better this way. Safer.

As he knelt to inspect the lock, Y/n couldn’t help but cast a glance at his back, watching the way his muscles shifted under the thin fabric of his shirt, before letting her eyes drift lower for a split second. She mentally scolded herself and diverted her gaze to something more innocuous, like a suddenly interesting blank point on the wall.

With a metal screech, he literally poked the old lock to the other side with a vibranium finger, opened the door, and made a floriture with his arm. “There you go,” he said, his tone neutral, almost detached. “If you don’t need anything else, I’d like to get back to watch the soccer match.”

She smiled, trying to keep things light, even though she felt a weird tightness in her chest. Then, without thinking, she added, “Well go watch your soccer then, and wish me luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone!”

Hearing her words, Bucky felt again the pang of jealousy. The thought of her in the arms of another man was enough to send a surge of possessiveness coursing through him. His hand, still resting on the doorframe clenched slightly, the wood almost creaking under the pressure. Swallowing hard, he tried to quell his emotions. "Good luck" he responded tersely, forcing a strained smile onto his face. It was a pathetic cover for what he was truly feeling.

The truth was, luck had nothing to do with what he wanted for her that night. He wanted her to return to her apartment alone and unclaimed by anyone, just the same way she had left.

CHAPTER 2

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[sweptawayghost]

Light My Fire PT.1

PAIRING: Joel Miller X Reader

DUEL POV

Word count 6.8K 

CHAPTER WARNING: male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, age gap, mention of guns, slow burn, pov,flirting, friends to lovers, mentions of choking, angst, fluff

Series summary: Joel Miller is down bad for the first time in a long time. After him and Ellie arrive and settle into life in Jackson, Joel is itching to get out. He becomes your patrol partner but he could be so much more if you give him the chance. 

This will be a slow burn 

Anything written in italic indicates someone talking to themselves

Hello anyone who cares enough to read this!

So I had previously written two parts of a series I was planning titled “In Dreams” . Since then I have decided I want to change how I write this and have decided that a good old fashioned POV would be more enjoyable to write. So this will be the main series but I will leave my previous works up. if you have already red my first part of In Dreams you don't really need to read this one but i have changed a few things

Thank you for reading and as always your feedback is appreciated!!!!!

///

Joel Miller was down bad. 

He found himself wondering how far too many times. He was sure he'd sworn off love and romance but then there you were. With your toothy grins and your warm palms. Eyes that made him feel safe and seen. 

Your laugh filled his ears and swelled his heart. He would do anything to be in the same room as you, he would move where you move, he would go where you go, He could listen to you talk about anything and nothing as long as you kept looking at him and laughing at his stupid jokes. 

He wishes he could tell you right now how badly he wanted you. He wishes he could let you know how important you were to him, how he would move mountains if it would make you smile. 

He hoped you would see how much Ellie loved you.

Joel saw the spark return to her eyes thanks to you. He loved that you cared about her so much, as if she was the most precious and fragile thing in the world. 

How you fed her, brushed her hair for her. You happily opened your home to her when you knew Joel would be gone for a night or just to make sure she wouldn't be alone. 

There were just certain things that Joel couldn't provide for Ellie. But He knew you could. He wanted you to be in her life regardless of how he felt for you and how you felt for him. How do you feel about me? 

///

JOEL

I draw my eyes down to the half drunk glass of whisky that rests lazily in the palm of my hand. 

The late afternoon light comes flooding in through the doors as a young man runs into the bison and jumps behind the bar and through to the kitchen. The chill of the fall air sweeping in alongside the light. 

I've always liked fall. I loved the feeling of the warm sun pouring down on me in the mornings and the burning numbness in my fingertips when the sun begins to set and the chill of night starts breathing down my neck. I loved the way the leaves changed and morphed into shades of a fire, I liked how delicate they seemed, ready to be swept away at the slightest gust of wind. I loved the way the earth smelt, especially when it rained. 

I loved the way the earth started to soften and sink, It made it easy to track. Rain brings water and water is a lifeline. 

It was also nice to see the town prepare for the cold months that were about to come. People up on the roofs of their homes, cleaning gutters, fixing shutters and patching broken windows, salting meat and tanning hides, pickling and preserving anything they could. Preparing the green houses, people dragging bags of soil and horse shit to the doors, weeding, turning soil. People worked steadily but they never seemed rushed, as if there wasn't a sense of urgency or an immediate threat looming over their heads everyday. Sometimes it just seemed like a normal, sleepy, small town. In a normal world. On a normal day. 

I move my eyes to my brother sitting across from me, even though he's right in front of me I feel a million miles away from him. It makes me a little sick to see how unfair the years have been to him. It might also just be because I just never envisioned him this old before. I always saw him how he was when he was twenty. So full of life, happy, electric, even when he shouldn't have been, it probably would have saved him from getting into a few scraps back in the day and it would have saved me from a bloodied nose when I had to step in and help him. 

Now he looks… sad

Distant, cold and old. His eyes that once lit up with fire now sunken and barely an ember burning in the night. I wish he was fatter as well. It would probably make me feel better for not being there for him, for letting him endure all that he has without my help. Maybe I shouldn't blame myself. Afterall, he was the one who left. 

I still wouldn't trade him for the world. 

“So your patrol partner…” Tommy's voice pulled me back into the moment. The door swings shut with a soft thud and suddenly the sound of patrons and chatter fills my ears again.

A million miles away

“You’ll like her but…” he trails off looking down into his own glass, the lights in the bison were low and warm, it felt like a hug, it felt warm it also made everyone seem warmer and more alive, more vibrant. 

Tommy let the corners of his mouth turn upward, almost smiling “ She’s shy, she's real weary of new people so no offence intended” he stated, pulling his glass up to his lips and sipping its content. 

No offence intended?

“Is that your subtle way of tellin’ me she a bitch?” I raised an eyebrow at my brother and let my eyes roam over to the door again as it swung open, letting in more fresh air that settled on my forehead that I didn't realise was burning until now. 

“Some would say” is the only reply he was offered

Some would say. 

But Tommy wouldn't. 

Now Tommy may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I trust him when it comes to people. He seems to have an inapt ability to tell when someones genuine and when someones about to fuck you over.  I trust him with this one. I wouldn't trust him to set a trap, or to wake up when he was told to. I wouldn't trust him to drive a tractor in a straight line and I wouldn't trust him to borrow and return my tools no matter how many times I remind him. But this I can trust him with. 

“She's good quality” He continues “if she asks you some out of pocket shit it means she likes ya” another smile threatens to bleed across his face “ And if she treats you like you're stupid then she really likes ya” He throws the rest of his drink down his throat before dropping his glass back down to the table. 

I let the side of my mouth curl up with his words, knowing exactly what he means before I pull back the rest of my drink.

///

As I walked home that afternoon I thought about how surreal everything felt. It sometimes felt like I was watching a movie or tv show and not actually living this life. 

Tomorrow I’ll be going out on patrol with a new partner. Tommy had taken me out a few times teaching me the ropes, not that it was necessarily complicated work and while I knew after a while I would be placed with a new partner I was worried. It was easy with Tommy, we would communicate so much with only the nod of a head, we knew each other's limits, no need for small talk or to fill the air with unnecessary chatter because some people can't sit with silence. 

Tommy knew exactly what button to push when it came to me. This was a blessing and a curse, especially given that I knew exactly how to push back. 

I’m not scared of new people… but I am scared of stupid people, im scared that this person will crumble under pressure and fuck up. What if they make a stupid move that costs me my life, what if they leave me for dead, what if they don't know how to turn the safety off their gun because they've never had to point it at anything. 

 I filled my time in between patrol shifts with Tommy by completing handyman duties, fixing things made me feel useful, like I wasn't so much of a burden and I was earning my keep at least. Not like there was a shortage of jobs around here, it seemed like there was always something to do, patch up a fence, sweep out a barn, fix a hinge on a door, one of the women even asked me to come over and clean her pipes, I told her I wasn't qualified for that kind of work, the sexual innuendo not lost on me, just didn't wanna give it up for a woman who thinks that a cheesy line like that would work on me. 

I just kept on moving from one thing to the next, I couldn't slow down. I didn't want to slow down because that would have given me time to think. 

A small group of five or six kids runs past me in the street grabbing my attention and pulling me out of the mental nightmare I was about to fall into.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that we are here, that the threats of the outside seem like a distant memory and that we don't have to fight tooth and nail to make it to the next day. 

This notion also made me feel uneasy. I feared what this would do to me over time, letting myself relax and letting my guard down. When we arrived, Tommy asked that I surrender my pistol, only temporarily until I “acclimated”. Tommy and big words aren't a usual mixture, it's kind of like putting hot sauce on vanilla ice cream. Without my gun I felt naked, like I have no means of defence, even now as I walk down the street I feel the absence of its weight on my hip. 

I wasn't used to people smiling at me as I walked past them, I wasn't used to women smiling at me when they walked past my house,sometimes 3 times a day. I wasn't used to finding ‘ready to cook meals’ at my doorstep when I came home and I wasn't used to small tokens and gifts left on the front doormat, books, notepads, pens, paper clips and rubber bands, thumb tacks, shoe laces, toilet paper. Almost insignificant things, but now seem like so much more. 

///

I Woke up with that feeling in my chest… again. like a high calibre bullet has blasted through me for only a moment. For a moment, I'm back in the basement. I'm on the freezing concrete floor laying on top of a barely there mattress and my back is so sore I feel like I'll never be able to get up. For a moment, there's a pain in the left side of my abdomen and it hurts worse than the feeling in my chest and the pounding feeling in my head. For a moment… 

I open my eyes letting the blue hues of the morning sky flood my vision as it spills in from between my curtains and paints itself on my walls and ceiling. I try not to let my mind go there. I try to keep those memories packed away. I try to save them in case…  Well, I don't know right now, but I know that thinking about it isn't going to change it.

 I pull myself up and hang my feet off the side of the mattress, rubbing small circles into my chest to try alleviate the pain that's decided to set up camp there. 

I let reality wash over me again. 

I'm safe. I'm okay.

As if those words should make me feel better, as if I deserve to feel that way after everything I've done. 

In the time since Ellie and I have arrived I've set up a routine for myself. I need to keep busy and I need to keep moving. Get up. Get dressed. Get to it. Coffee has entered my life again and like a toxic lover I just have to keep going back for more. I don't know how I ever lived without her, she's the devil in disguise, she's dark and deep, while the instant stuff was nothing compared to the real shit, but i couldn't love it any less. 

In the weeks that Ellie and I spent getting settled into the house, I quickly learnt all the creaks and cracks the house made as you moved through it. On really windy days it was almost like it was breathing with the way it groaned against the wind.

I pulled open the front door, pushing my shoulder into the wood as I pulled it back so the swollen wood wouldn't make too much noise when I pulled it away from the door frame.  It's funny how every sound seems like it's amplified when the suns not out. I whirl my head around to look up the staircase, I can see Ellie’s bedroom door from where I stand, the blue light casting the whole house in a dream-like shade of blue. In a few hours she'll (hopefully) be up and well on her way to school. 

I know it's definitely not her favourite thing and trust me I think school for the most part is a waste of time but I have seen her hand writing and i've seen her try to stitch up a wound and I doubt that she could point out which berries are safe to eat and which ones will turn your insides to gravy. 

Unlike the QZ, this school would actually be helpful to her. Besides all that… she needs friends, she needs connection, she needs to feel safe and not just with me. 

Stepping onto the front porch with socked feet I let the steam of the coffee swirl around my face and inhaled the chilled morning air. The streetlights glow softly on Jackson's main street, a few blocks aways from the place I now call my home. I hear the soft murmuring of people start to make their way into the mess hall for breakfast before starting their daily assignments. It reminded me of before. 

When Ellie and I arrived back in Jackson for good we didn't have much more than the clothes on our backs, we both smelt to high heaven and my feet felt like they were going to fall off, my face hurt from squinting my eyes and my lips were cracked and bloody. When I looked at Ellie I felt my heartbreak, as much as I was hurting I knew she was hurting ten fold. She looked so defeated. 

The community had put together something of a welcome basket for us. The house was stocked with towels and sheets, the wardrobe had some clothes in it, t-shirts and a winter jacket as well as some thick socks, the ones I wear now. A pair of jeans, underwear and even some shorts… I will never trust a grown man who willinging wears shorts.

Ellie got more or less the same items, even a few dresses which remain discarded in the back of her wardrobe, finally she got a new pair of shoes and not those shitty canvas ones that would leave her feet soaked to the bone. 

Soaps, toothbrushes and toothpaste, lip balms, conditioner and shampoo, razors, a hair brush and a comb. All such simple items which now seem like they are worth their weight in gold.  The bars of soap were imperfect and misshapen, the toothpaste came in a powdered form in an old glass container that looked like it once housed a candle or some kind of ointment. So many of the clothes had holes that had been patched over and mended in some way, same with the sheets and towels. 

The items and all their imperfections made them even more special. Handmade and hand mended. Someone cared enough to see the potential in salvaged items that were otherwise discarded and left behind. 

I remember that first shower I had. 

I wanted to cry

Maybe I did cry, it's hard to tell. 

I remember how it felt. Human, warm, like I was wanted, like someone was holding me and stroking my skin with a thousand fingertips. I wasn't just having a shower, I was washing away all the blood that had dried in the cracks of my skin, I was washing away all the grime that clung to me like a stubborn headache, the sweat, the guilt, the tightness in my chest that I knew would be there tomorrow when I wake up but in the moment it felt like it was gone forever.  

I felt guilty taking so much when I had taken away so much already. You have to stop thinking that. 

I can almost imagine the last twenty years were just a really bad and vivid nightmare as I stand in the crisp air of the morning. The neighbourhood starts to stir and begins to breathe to life before the sun makes its way over the hills. I close my eyes and drag in a breath and release it as I drop my chin to my chest. The sound of gravel crunching under foot, muted conversations and the sound of my neighbour walking around the upper level of their home. All familiar sounds, now alien. 

I crane my neck from side to side to relieve some pressure from the ache that lives there.

When I look down at the woolly socks that cling to my feet I notice a growing hole in the right foot, where my big toe lives, the pad on the heel also beginning to thin out, ready to throw in the towel any day now. Shame, I thought to myself, I really liked these socks. 

///

I make my way down to the gates of Jackson. I remember Tommys words from yesterday “If she treats you like shit she really likes you” 

I'm not one to shy away from a challenge, I like straight forward people but you have to be careful it doesn't fall from being blunt to being an asshole, I like to think I've perfected that. If this new partner of mine wants to believe that she's better than me because, what? She’s been here longer? She knows the routes better? that’s fine but if she fucks up and makes a fool of herself I’d be very happy to give her the reality check she needs. 

I pass a few friendly faces as I walk down the street, offering a wave because that's the neighbourly thing to do. Neightbourly. The concept seems odd when you've seen the things we have. 

Arriving at the gates I never expected to see you. 

In fact you were probably the last thing I would have expected to see on patrol at all, you looked so… young. Like the world hadn't gotten its claws into you yet. 

your face held no expression as you looked straight ahead at me, actually it was more like you were looking through me.

 Your face looked fresh and warm, your lips looked so soft, your cheeks all rosy from the chilled air. The sweater you wore swallowed you and a few strands of hair fell into your face as you moved towards me. 

You looked serious but when I looked into your eyes I could tell you were soft. 

You were a hell of a lot younger than me that's for sure and I began to imagine how you Were before all this.

What are you like now?

Would you leave him bleeding out in the woods?

Would you be one of those chatter boxes that would rather spew bullshit than shut it? 

Have you ever killed someone?

Have you ever killed infected?

What do you sound like?

Oh shit her mouth is moving she's talking to me.

“I'm sorry what?” I say, I must look stupid, was I staring at her? You're holding out a leather strap to me and for a second I thought you were holding a hand out for me to shake, the reins dumbass, take the reins from her hand. Feeling like I've just woken up from a fever dream, I now see that you're holding the reins of two horses as well as two rifles slung onto one shoulder and your backpack on the other. 

“Your horse” you say to me lifting your brows with a weak smile, your arm still outstretched with the reins in your clutch. 

I take the worn reins, feeling how the leathers have been softened by the warmth of your hand. 

You slide one of the rifles off your should as well, handing it over to me 

“You a decent shot?” my voice came out in a low whisper, still thick with sleep. 

You let out a small huff as you readjusted your backpack and rifle before climbing onto your horse. Without saying a word you gave him a look that said hurry the fuck up and lets go. 

///

Tommy was right, you were shy.

You didn't say much, not even offering me your name. 

You seemed capable, you took the lead on the trail, you checked out the weapons, you saddled the horses, god you even packed extra food incase I forgot to bring some. 

You were prepared. 

Oh god I hope she doesn’t think I'm some useless trigger happy lug head.

You had taken the lead on everything. Normally I'm the one to prepare, I'm the stoic one, I'm the one taking the lead. God, is Jackson making me soft. 

I felt my every move was under a microscope. Like you were watching and waiting for me to fuck up. 

Every so often I could get a glimpse of your face, your soft expression, your eyes that dart back to find me, eventually you slowed your pace and walked your horse next to mine. Neither of us make an attempt at small talk. Good, can you think of anything worse than “how the weather?”, “who did you have to kill to be here?”, “ouch you lost your parents, yeah so did 80% of the people who live in jackson” bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Periodically I would see you looking at me but you never met my gaze, always turning away as if I didn't see. You made me feel… sweaty, nervous like I want you to like me.

“I want you to like me” seriously grow up Miller what are you fourteen. You've working together not in an arranged marriage. You didn't even tell me your name until we were several hours into the shift and communication became necessary. 

“Im Joel by the way”  you responded with a look that said yeah I know dumb ass.

For years I've been the quiet one, I've been the muscle, I've been the protector, I've been the lead. Now here you stand in front of me with your arms folded over your chest, cocking a brow looking extremely unamused at me. I towered over you, somehow I've never felt smaller. I felt like a side salad to a steak. I was the supporting act after years of being the main attraction. 

Patrol was uneventful, I tried to stay out of your way and when you told me to jump I asked how high. You held my gaze for a bit longer now and an odd feeling stirred in my stomach when you did. I started to notice small details on you, cuts, scares, bruises, broken finger nails, small patches on your jumper where you had mended it time and time again refusing to leave it behind. The way you adjust your backpack periodically cracking your back as you did so. I liked the way you smelt when you walked close to me or when the wind changed direction. Jasmine.

Small things. Insignificant thing that told me a lot about you.

I wonder what you noticed about me. 

///

I wanted to look at you more. Almost like I want to press pause and study you uninterrupted. That's not creepy joel.

You still held a stony expression when we approached the gates, while I felt relieved to get out of your presence I also liked the way I felt around you. 

You held your hand out to me and for the second time today i find myself zoning out and getting lost in your eyes, your expression doesn't change and oh shit she's talking again 

“Say that again” 

“The horse, Joel” 

God my name never sounded so good coming from someone's mouth.

I look down and see your hand stretched out towards me. 

“Unless you wanna hold my hand” a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips 

Oh god she smiled at me, that's so cute.

I drop the leather strap into your hand, a lazy half smile sits on my face because you smiled at me. She's starting to walk away, say something back, think of something. Anything. 

“Do you need help getting back or do you think you've got it under control?” you ask, turning over your shoulder slightly as you start towards the stables. 

“Im good” my voice cracked slightly from the lack of talking. I could be embarrassed but I'm not, the flutter of your lashes as you looked up at him, the hushed toe of your voice, the plumpness of your cheeks, I don't care how I sounded. 

As I stood watching your walk away I thought about Tommys words again.  “If she treats you like shit she really likes you” 

God, I've never wanted to be treated like shit so bad.

///

“How was it?” Tommy had asked me as he honed in on the bowl of stew, he held it close to his chest as if someone would swipe it from him if he didnt. 

“It was fine” yeah fine in the way that she doesn't even need me there and she gives me a weird feeling in my stomach. 

Tommy raised his eyes from his meal, he rested the bowl on the table with one hand cupping the warm porcelain and the other reaching out for his beer. “Really? Just fine” I've known my brother long enough to know when he's leading me. “Nothing interesting happen that you wanna tell me about?” what the fuck is he getting at?

“Yeah Tommy we had so much fun, we sang songs and picked flowers and braided each other's hair” I spat out “what are you getting at? Nothing happened” Tommys expression didn’t change at my words, the lopsided grin still smeared on his face. 

“It's just that you haven't wiped that smirk off your face since you walked in” 

“Fuck off, tommy” 

///

The next morning came and I didn’t feel as tired as I normally do, my back didn't hurt as bad as I expected it to and the ache in my head reduced to a light fog. My mind felt quiet, almost like all the shouts and screams were happening a mile down the block and not right in front of me. 

I chalk it up to patrol, having something that occupied my mind, something to keep me sharp and it definitely didn't have anything to do with you. 

Get up. Get dressed. Get to it. 

Once I made my coffee and slung the door open as quietly as I could , I returned to my spot on the porch. Once again I closed my eyes and hung my head. Absorbing the noise around me. I opened my eyes for a moment, noting the sharp bit of cold on my big toe, that holes gotten bigger. I close my eyes again. 

Music, the crunch of stone under foot, the shower running from inside the house, the neighbour walking around the second floor next door. I wonder what I'll do today, probably preparing for winter like everyone else. I should go get some food, make a nice dinner for Ellie, and I should try talking to her, make sure she's okay.

“Morning Miller” like I'm being woken from a dream, I open my eyes.

“You busy today?” how the fuck do you know where live? 

///

When you told me you were taking me out of the walls I expected it to be more or less the same as yesterday, like we were filling in a shift for someone else. Instead you walked me to the opposite end of Jackson’s gates and through some poorly secured sheet metal in the fence. I should probably report this to Tommy, this isn't a disaster waiting to happen or anything.

You handed me a pistol and not just any pistol, my pistol. the one I carried halfway across the country with and the one I reached for more times then I can count. The same one I killed with. The one that Tommy had taken from me when I arrived. Was he setting it aside for me? Did he know about your “unofficial patrol” runs? The trails look almost overgrown, like it doesn't get walked often, branches cover parts of the track and the leaves hang low from the trees overhead. Fire

I can feel the sun beaming down on my back leaving a sweat patch right between my shoulder blades and beads of sweat form along my hairline. You walk alongside me, a long sleeve shirt hangs loosely from your form, your hair pushed back behind your ears, although some pieces fall into your face. 

Today felt lighter, the cold air filled my lungs, the sun poured down on me, my pack felt lighter, the weight of the pistol on my hip felt right and the throbbing in my knees felt like no more than a tickle.   

I like the way you smell, even though you said you stank. I liked the way you looked at me, it didn't matter if you were smiling or not.  

“Why did you invite me out today?” I turned to look at you to find your eyes already on me. “Given how talkative you were yesterday” I continued “and does Tommy know we’re out here?”

I hear a laugh escape your lips and when I look over at you you're smiling at me again. The way the sunlight lights up your eyes and makes you look like you're glowing is overwhelming. You look back down at the trail. You adjust your backpack and crack your back, the same way you did yesterday. 

“You seem good, Joel” I fix my eyes back onto the track ahead of me stepping over rocks and fallen branches. “I'm sorry if I came off rude” you continue “In a world where women like me are beaten down, stolen away, used and left for dead…” you stop, eyes firmly fixed on the toe of your boot. You seem so small when the next words come out. 

“I want people to see me as a threat before they see me as anything else" 

///

“Will you walk me home?” you asked me as we approached the gates of Jackson. The possibility of spending more time with you made my heart thump in my chest, even with the ache in my back returning along with the throbbing feeling in my knee, I would walk you anywhere you wanted. Although if I get the chance another time I will make fun of you for asking. The mean little girl wants someone to walk her home. So cute. 

Our unofficial patrol ended when we found an old wood shed about a mile and a half from home. One infected. Taken out by you. We checked a trap out in the woods behind the structure that turned out to be empty. As you waltzed into the wood shed I scanned over the shelves that lined it, books scattered, pens and notepads, a pile of blankets thrown in the corner along with some clothing items, a large black drum sat next to the door, a hose running from the lid of the barrel to the roof. There was an old couch pushed up in the back corner of the shed as well. In the other shelves sat large containers, ‘STOCK’ scrawled across the front of a few of them.

Looking around the structure I soon realised that we didn't ‘find' the place, you were just coming back to it. “What the fuck is this pace?” I asked as you rummaged around in one of the boxes marked “STOCK” 

“Some of the kids call it the love shack” You looked over at me, amusement in your voice “but it's kind of like a supply station” you pull something out of the container and jam it into your bag before i can make out what it is “and yes Tommy knows all about this place” 

What's that tone? Mischief playing in your voice. Is she only saying that so I don’t tell Tommy? She's not that stupid. 

I followed you up your porch stairs taking in the exterior of your home. It's small, the front steps bow when you step on them from years or use. The paint on the weatherboards peeling and faded with time. The elements havent been kind to a lot of the homes in Jackson and I have spent a lot of time looking around thinking of all the things I would do if I had the resources. It didn't stop at my house either. Soon I was imagining renovating half the town.

Your front wire door looked like it was hanging on by a thread and one of the gutters and pipes that ran down the side of your house was all but rusted out. 

I stopped when I reached the top step, you shoved your front door open with your shoulder and knee, a practised move that I'm sure you've done hundreds of times before, knowing just the right angle to hit it at. 

Once the door swung open you shrugged off your bag and toed off your boots.

“Wait here a sec, okay?” and you disappeared into the house “I’ve got something for you” I hear you shout from somewhere inside.

I approached the front door but did not step over the threshold. Looking into your home felt like reading someone's diary or eavesdropping on a secret or walking in on someone changing. 

Books lay spread out on the ground next to the fireplace and on what he assumes is your dining table. Blankets draped over the couch and spilt out of a basket near the front door.

She told me to wait.

A day bed sits in the corner of your lounge room. A basket of yarn spilling out onto the floor along with a few half finished projects along with a tin full of sewing needles, pins, measuring tapes, scissors and a few different colours of thread. 

she didn't tell me not to come in but she also didn't invite me in.

The whole room was lit up in a soft orange glow from the afternoon sunlight pouring in from your kitchen window. It looked warm. It looked like a home. 

Why do I feel so dirty for looking. It's just her living room.

The image of you sitting here on this sofa popped into my head, a blanket wrapped up around your shoulders. Half asleep with a book in your hand while it rained.

I'm not doing anything wrong, I'm just looking.

Or layed out by the fire. The dancing flames lighting up your eyes and warming your soft skin making you glow in the otherwise dark house. 

“What are you smiling about?” you asked looking up at where I stood, a hand propped up on the door jam.

“Just lookin” my palms feel sweaty. You were just checking out her house, not her ass. Calm down Miller. 

I look down at the item you extend to me. It's a bottle, the label worn and water damaged. The seal on the top has been broken and the lid has dents and scratches, it looks like it's been pasted through a few other hands before it found its way into yours. Take the bottle you moron.

“Thank you, its real nice of ya” 

The bottle was filled with an amber liquid and as soon as I opened the lid and inhaled I could tell that this bottle of, what I can only assume is homebrewed bourbon didn't come cheap and didn't come around often.

Now, I didn't know it at the time but this would be the first of many gifts that you would bestow upon Ellie and I. 

The next thing you did for me was mend my clothes, including my favourite pair of socks that I was wearing that first day we met. 

After that I would be coming over and borrowing tools because my dumb ass brother never returned mine and then you would make a joke about needing a screw or asking how big my hammer was. Then you would teach Ellie to sew ‘a skill everyone should know’ you told her.

I would come over in the next few days and clean out the gutters before the storms started to roll in. I would rip out the rotting floorboards from your front porch and replace rusty nails. You would bring me homemade meals or fresh bread to which I would invite you in and you would never decline. 

I loved how you seemed to fit into the house that was meant to be mine, but you felt like a part of you was here even after you left. You would kick off your boots leaving them alongside mine and you would throw your jacket on the hook next to mine or throw it on the back of the couch. 

I didn't know it now but soon I would be teaching you chords on the guitar and swapping books with you. 

I would happily follow you out on more unofficial patrols, sometimes we would be gone for a few days at a time trying to find supplies in dilapidated barns and old properties that had fallen victim to time and the elements. Tommy did know about these little excursions, although he didn't know about the makeshift hole in the fence. I'm sure you got a slap on the wrist for that one.   

I would be coming over to your house to drag Ellie home when she was avoiding chores or trying to dodge school.

I just didn't know yet. 

“You need me to help you get home?” a bashful smile laced your face. I couldn't tell if you were just flushed from the warmth of your home or if you were blushing. 

You pushed past me in the doorway raising an arm and pointing a finger past my shoulder down the street. 

I let my eyes follow the outstretched arm. Seven houses. Seven houses and across the street was all that separated us. Fuck

“See ya neighbour” 

As I walked home I could feel the goofy smile that hung from my lips. 

I slowed my pace, observing the bottle as I went. Chatter in the streets picked up, people started to return from assignment to rejoin their families, others turning straight to the bison in favour of a drink. I listened to the distant sound of children laughing and playing in the streets. The sounds of a neighbourhood. 

///

That was the first night I dreamt about you, it was the first night you pulled me out of a bad dream. It was the first night that I went to sleep with your face at the front of my mind. When I woke up in the middle of the night you were the first thing I thought of. When I closed my eyes and pulled my cock out of my boxers I saw you and when I started jerking myself off I saw you. Fuck i feel dirty. I couldn't stop myself even if I tried. I saw your smile and the strands of hair that stuck to your face. I pictured you laid out by your fireplace, bathed in an orange glow with my hand around your throat as you moaned my name.  

Just once, get it out of your system. She’s attractive, I'm only human. It's fine. 

I let myself imagine all the things I would do to you. Because in the morning i wouldn't think about it again

Just once

I let myself imagine your tight pussy swallowing me up. I could almost feel your hot breath on my neck. I let myself imagine you on all fours and I let myself imagine you riding me on the couch in your living room.

Just once

I let myself imagine how your pussy would taste as I ate you out and I let myself imagine how you could sound as you came on my face, on my cock, on my fingers.

“Just once” I whispered to myself before I spilled onto my hand and sheets.

[joaniscruzing]

sailor song - part 1 - e.w.

I am so glad to be writing a series again you guys! Heads up though, I am in school now, so I do need to focus on my studies, which means I can't crank out chapters once a day like I used to!

Y'all. I love Jackson Ellie. I legit have a Halloween costume of this on standby.

Summary: Mostly exposition, reader meets Ellie after a lot of staring from afar.

Warnings: Talks of religion

A/N: I'm trying to set this on after the events of TLOU II. In my head, I always feel like Ellie went back to Jackson and tried to start over and forget everything. I feel like she'd try to better herself, especially after literally losing everything. Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter.

⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰

In Jackson, you normally went on about your day. You would wake up, pray, have the occasional outing, go on patrol, and then go back to your abode, where you would sleep. You always noticed Ellie though. Her presence, full of light, darkening as time passed, always penetrated your carelessness towards any outside happenings–or people.

You liked how Ellie carried herself, confident, and taking no shit from nobody. However, you also knew of Ellie’s sexuality, which, in your books, was a sin. While you would typically disregard sinners, there was just something about Ellie that drew you in. You didn’t know if it was the two pools of green mystery that were her eyes, or her low, but enchanting voice. Sometimes you would look from afar, watching her laugh as she smoked her joint and coughed, wondering if you and her would ever cross paths in the future. You presumed that she was too cool for you, too rebellious. In fact, you thought that in a normal world, she’d be a celebrity, as famous as Anne Hathaway, an actress from a movie you had loved watching during the movie nights in Jackson as a little kid, The Princess Diaries.

You didn’t know why you were religious, you supposed that it was a way for you to make some sense of the situation around you. After all, you could sum up this apocalypse as just part of God’s plan; and you wouldn’t have to overthink about the issues that came from it and the harshness of the situation. That aside, you wore the cross necklace you found one day while exploring some abandoned building out of boredom proudly and constantly. You read your bible every night, in hopes that maybe it would help you understand your circumstances, and in hopes that there would be a heaven for you to go to in the future.

One day though, after a rather sleepless night, you found yourself heading into town for coffee, looking rather disheveled. You were so tired, in fact, that you didn’t realize that your coffee was sloshing all around in its cup, and getting all over you.

“Hey!” Ellie called, running behind you.

“Huh?” you replied wearily, snapping out of it immediately when you realized who it was. Crap. It’s Ellie Williams.

“Hey, uh, you seem like you shouldn’t be running back to your house with burning hot coffee. Why don’t you come over here for a bit and drink it?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that the coffee had gotten all over me. Please excuse my appearance,” you reply embarrassedly, “I’m fine though, thank you for the offer.”

“Then I’ll go with you to your house then.”

“Okay, didn’t realize you’re into stalking.”

“I’m into a lot more than just stalking” 

Your cheeks burn like hot coals. “I suppose I can drink some coffee with you.”

“Alright then. Should we go back to your house?”

“No, no, we can drink some coffee at that table over there.”

“Are you hiding something?” You look her in the eyes. You sense a twinge of skeptical energy coming from her, which, per the rumors you heard, was never a good sign.

“No! My house just isn’t clean right now.”

With that, you and Ellie sit down and you drink your coffee.

“Do you want me to get you some?”

“Oh fuck no, I’ve always hated coffee.”

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!Reader

Summary: When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.

Content: 26k words, gn!reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, blood donation/needles, fainting, vampirism (blood drinking, mind control to keep you asleep), werewolves, violence, hurt/comfort, smut (biting, blood kink, fingering, spit kink, praise, cuming in pants, cockwarming, p in hole sex, no protection), 18+, MDNI

I'm happy to finally share this story. Thank you @foxybouquet for your help with the nicknames ♡ This is a continuation to my fic Friday Nights at the Cinema Club with Primo. You don't have to read that one. However I recommend reading them in the correct order if you do! The Ao3 version is split into 3 chapters for easier reading.

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 1 | Primo's Story

“You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.”

― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla

May

It takes all of two minutes of regular walking until he finds himself at his destination. Kiosk the sign reads in chipped away block letters, the color faded from decades of exposure to the sun. 

Secondo steps inside. The neon lights flicker unrhythmically, uncomfortable to his sensitive eyes but the small corner store is the only business in a radius of forty kilometers that’s open after eight pm. Two tall newspaper racks greet him by the door, another long shelf that sells all sorts of cheap booze, a random assortment of groceries and drug store products, a bunch of dead flowers slowly rotting in their sad plastic prisons. His brothers would hate it here. Hell, sometimes even he hates it here but as the lovely face behind the register comes into view these feelings quickly change. He wonders why on earth you would choose to spend the limited years of your life working late night shifts in this dingy, outdated shop. Weekend nights, at that.

“Buona sera,” he says, then points to the Marlboro reds behind you.

The selection is abysmal here. You hand him the cigarettes, the picture of a rotting lung barely catching his eyes from the packaging. It means nothing to him, would have meant nothing to him even if he wasn’t beyond mortal diseases. Meanwhile your own curious eyes roam his form like they always do. Not very subtle but he does the very same thing with no hint of shame, your hair and skin tone flat and ashen in the horrible lighting, a wide, deformed black polo-shirt with your name tag on it hiding most of your body.

“Grazie,” he says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change.”

At first, you fought him over the money. By now you accept it without question, the whole interaction usually playing out in exactly the same way as it does tonight. All this morality, all the politeness. You’re wasted here, wasted in this joyless life.

“Do you want to smoke with me? You close in a few minutes, no?” he hears himself asking, not sure where it is coming from. The clock above your head tells him it’s almost ten. 

“I’ve never smoked before,” you say. Such a soft voice. He wonders how it would sound in a scream.

“That is not a no.”

You smile. “No, it’s not.”

What does it say about him, that he wants to corrupt this young, innocent human? Maybe that he has seen too much, the way they tend to throw away the few years of life that they have to work and work some more, energy wasted for corporations, for family drama and horrible vacations just to feel a short sense of adventure every once in a while. Then they die full of resentment and regret and once they’re gone their offspring fight over the little money and the few possessions that they leave.

Not that his own family is much better.

You meet him outside of the kiosk a few minutes later. Wordlessly he hands you a cigarette, followed by his luxurious gold Dupont lighter, worth about a thousand euros, a little splurge he treated himself to in Paris a few years ago. When you open the lid, it gives its signature cling, a well-measured flame flickering to life as you spark the flint.

“This is a fancy lighter,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips.

Secondo smiles. So you have an eye for these things, even if you lack the funds. Even more curious now he watches you light the Marlboro, promptly coughing in pained stutters. He doesn’t fight the amused smile that tugs at his lips as he carefully extracts the expensive lighter from your hands, slipping it back into the pocket of his tight black slacks. 

“What do you say?” he asks.

“It’s not bad,” you reply. “But I don’t think I’ll stick with it.”

He’s not surprised, though he is impressed you so easily gave in. “There are many more ways to sin, more ways to enjoy life, that might be more to your liking, little dove.”

“Like what?”

“Hmmm.” He examines you, lingering on the playful smirk on your face. “Wine of course, riding a motorcycle, expensive clothes, parties, good food… sex.”

An unmistakable heat reaches your face. He can hear the blood pumping faster through your veins, smell the first few hints of arousal oozing from your pores. It satisfies him, your reaction.

“So what, are you the devil trying to corrupt me?” you ask, covering the tremor in your voice with a chuckle.

He takes a drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a long veil of smoke. “Something like that.”

You get more restless beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “If ugh… if you’re asking me for other favors, I’m really not–”

“No,” he interrupts. “I am not. I am not in the habit of finding my lovers in old shops or dark alleyways of small towns.”

“Where do you find them then?”

You pose the question quite genuinely, a flirty undertone to your words that he’s not sure you’re even aware of. He eyes you curiously. “I thought you weren’t interested?”

He can sense more heat rising to your face, radiating off into the cool night air. “I never said that.”

Ah. He averts his gaze, resisting the temptation. Secondo does not take human lovers. Not anymore. After centuries of losing people, of swimming around aimlessly with no one to anchor him, a ship lost in the endless expanse of sea that is an eternal life, he has set himself firm boundaries. Humans are a source of food, at best a companion for a few minutes of conversation, but they are never permanent. Allowing them into your bed leads to lies and wrong expectations. Falling for them, loving them even – it is hopeless, it’s a non-exhaustive well of pain and grief and misery. And attempting to make them last, turning them? He won’t make the same mistake that his younger brother made, inevitably breaking promises and dooming an innocent human to the same restless fate until they despise him for it.

He watches you stub out the cigarette on the metal lid of the nearby trashcan before throwing it away, turning back to him with a glimmer of excited anticipation in your eyes. He’s not sure what you see in him – a sophisticated older man looking for a young lover? A lonely customer in search of a few minutes of company? The local vintner out for a smoke after a long day? 

“Maybe next time we will try something else,” he says.

You don’t reply as he stubs out his own cigarette, heading back home without looking back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/05

Werewolf Presumed Dead After Fight In Central European Woods

A fight between a vampire and a werewolf during last Friday’s full moon supposedly ended in the death of the lycanthrope. Multiple anonymous sources claim that the victim was a middle-aged outcast who resided close to the scene of the conflict in a small Central European town. A source close to the family suggests that the vampire, who remained unharmed, is Primo Emeritus. Known as a former Papa and eldest son of the current head of the Church of Emeritus, the vampire moved to the town no more than twelve moons ago. The source states that it was an act of self-defense and that the Emeritus ghouls took care of the body. No remains could be found within the castle walls of his now abandoned home, according to a representative of the werewolf community. A team of impartial investigators has been hired by the authorities to look into the case. Upon editorial request, Primo Emeritus was not willing to comment on the accusations at this time.

Instances of fights between vampires and werewolves have become rare over the past two centuries. This is the first instance of a killing between the two groups in almost a decade. Further consequences remain to be observed. Experts expect the respective authorities to be able to smooth the waters fairly quickly considering the high social standing of the Emeritus clan.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo nearly spits out his evening coffee, Terzo next to him breaks out in manic laughter. For a few minutes after reading the paper they both sit around the large dining table in pure, unadulterated wonder.

“He killed a fucking werewolf?” Terzo finally speaks into the silence.

“It would appear so.”

More laughter. Terzo is holding his belly underneath his pristine white blouse, his chest heaving with the intensity of his fit. Secondo knows his brother is not breaking out in amusement but sheer disbelief and yet, it is a rare, almost heart-warming experience to hear him actually laughing for once. If only the circumstances weren’t as dire.

“I’m not surprised no one informed us,” Secondo muses. “Father must know.”

“He must, yes, but he doesn’t give a shit.” Another bout of laughter as Terzo’s elbows crash down on the majestic wooden table, his head landing on his hands in a gesture of wild incredulity. “He killed a werewolf. Primo.”

“Will you stop laughing? This could have serious consequences, outcast or not. We have to keep an eye on this.”

“Do you think they’ll be after us?”

A shrug. “That would be foolish but it is a possibility.”

Terzo rests his head on his upper arm now, elegantly draped over the table with his raven hair falling into his face as he turns to his brother. “Why do you think he killed him?”

“Perhaps it was self defense. Some werewolves still hold a deep hatred for vampires. Though it is very stupid to attack Primo. He must have known who he is.”

Terzo pauses, drumming his fingers against his head. He was never able to keep still for long, a little fidget with a tendency for clumsiness, drawing attention to himself if he wanted to or not. “I wish we knew what he is up to. I hate this separation. Can’t you invite him over for that big fancy new wine tasting?”

“He clearly stated that he wanted to be alone for a while to build a quiet new life.”

“Yes but by now a while is four decades.” 

Secondo breathes out a sigh. “I can invite him, I am not sure he will come.”

“Let him know I’m here.”

“I don’t know if that is an incentive or a sure way to get him to never call again.” 

His voice is deadpan, yet Terzo breaks out in more laughter. “You can be so funny, fratello. If only you wouldn’t hide it behind that scary scowl of yours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to help the ghouls clear out the west wing today? We need to renovate the rooms.”

“I don’t know why you assume I am the new bellhop in your hotel business.”

Secondo waits until Terzo meets his eyes, narrowing them for extra emphasis. “Don’t think I do not know why you suddenly felt the need to visit me over the summer. Surely it was not because you missed me so.”

“I don’t know what you mean, fratello.”

“What makes you think they will be here?”

Terzo holds his gaze, similar white and green eyes meeting, only breaking away when the door to the dining room flies open and a black-hooded ghoul steps inside. “They will be, I know it.”

June 

Time feels especially gooey on weekend nights. Customers are a rare sight, not even Mr Emeritus, the attractive older and suspiciously well-dressed man who occasionally buys cigarettes from you, shows up tonight. The tinny music from the old radio behind the counter is somehow worse, every shift a ten hour train ride without stops. Usually, you sit on your little stool reading your book or scrolling on your phone. Today, it’s so boring that you open the daily newspaper to scan the job listings, just in case something pops up.

As expected, it is hopeless. Another dead town center of a remote village with no qualified job offers, your salary a joke but your boss never fails to stress that you at least get the employee discount and free Wrigley’s Spearmint bubble gum. Even with your meager savings you can’t afford the move to a bigger city right now, the prospect of being alone in an even larger just as hollow space with too many strange faces around you not at all enticing. At least here people know you, even if all of your friends have long since moved away in search of jobs and a place to settle.

You turn the page, a rustling sound that feels too loud in the quiet vacuum of the kiosk.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Nordsteiner Abendblatt

– Ad –

Wine is not the only juice of life that makes it worth living. Donate your blood to help the local hospitals this weekend at the Emeritus Vineyard.

Date: June 25th, 4-10pm

Reward: 50€

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Fifty euros? You pause. Have they always offered money for this? It’s not a pay rise, it won’t get you very far either, but for a bit of blood it’s certainly tempting. There haven’t been any blood donation campaigns here in quite some time, not since they closed the local medical center after pretty much all of the doctors retired, their offices long since abandoned. 

You mull it over until you close the shop half an hour later after another sluggish Friday night without customers. You walk past the Vinothek, peeking inside like you always do on your way home. For a shop slash bar that sells wine in an almost abandoned old town it is incredibly fancy, antique looking wooden interiors, deep green velvet wallpapers with a subtle pattern of tendrils of vine that seem to be crawling up to the ceiling, dipped into the soft shadows of dimmed wall lamps. Everything is centered around a bar that is too well-stocked and professional for a town like this, expensive liquors, a wine fridge that must have cost more than your tiny old car. Two men are nursing their drinks – only one of them is peering over the rim of an actual wine glass, black hair falling into an aging face, the other one tipping the remainder of a beer into his mouth.

The only explanation you have is that this is Mr Emeritus’s little playground while the actual money comes from the export of the wine they produce in the vineyard at the edge of town. You’ve been to the old Mansion before, tugged away in the rolling hills framing the area. They offer guided tours with subsequent wine tastings, hikes, really, that are especially beautiful in early fall when the grapevines are filled with deep purple fruit and the leaves of the surrounding trees are slowly turning yellow. Even though you don’t drink all that often and are by no means an expert you have to admit that you’ve never tasted wine quite as smooth, quite as delicate as Mr Emeritus’s.

That day a few years ago you didn’t get to see the owner himself, you’re not sure if you’ve ever actually seen him in broad daylight, but now you do spot him standing in the doorway at the far end of the bar. He looks dashing, wearing tight-fitting black slacks, a matching black button down shirt with expensive-looking leather gloves and the sunglasses you never see him without. He’s Italian, that much you know, polite yet reserved when he’s not coaxing you into smoking. Even a few weeks later you’re not quite sure what got into him that night, talking to you about enjoying life and sinning, about alcohol and sex and then just… leaving. Not even mentioning it again when he picked up new Marlboros the week after.

Lost in thought, you almost miss that his gaze shifts towards the window. Under his glasses it’s hard to tell if he is actually looking at you but you decide to leave anyway before he gets the idea of inviting you inside. Somehow you must have got stuck for a moment, frozen in time, because before you’ve even passed the bar he suddenly pops up right in front of you. Confused, you glance from the entrance back to him, the door only slowly swinging shut. How–

“Buona sera,” he says, lighting a cigarette with the fancy gold lighter he let you use last time. For a man who seems to indulge in luxuries, he seems so very down to earth, minimalist in a way, no word, no detail that feels out of place. 

“Hello,” you reply.

For a moment you stand there like you’re waiting for the bus to pick you up, unsure if you should just leave or if he is trying to start a conversation. Maybe he’s just out for smoke, maybe he didn’t even notice you from inside. The tip of his cigarette burns up brightly when he takes the first drag, a bright orange fleck of light in the darkness surrounding him. His mere aura beside you seems to command the night, wholly different from how you perceive him in the kiosk. This is his private kingdom, this is where he feels at home.

“Did you finish your shift?” he asks then, puffing out smoke.

“Yeah. It was a calm night.”

“I see.” He takes another drag, then he holds the cigarette out for you, secured between his gloved fingers. “Hm?”

You instinctively shake your head and his pencil mustache twitches. He does not pull away, a dare, maybe. “Okay,” you decide. “Sure.”

A rare smile. He takes a step closer which sends you into a nervous spiral, your heart pumping faster and faster. A slight tremor runs through his hand as he places the filter at your lips, the very part that was trapped in his own mouth mere seconds ago. At this thought, your hands start to sweat, warmth spreading out in your lower belly. His eyes are fixated on your mouth as you close your lips around the cigarette, taking a brave inhale that burns in your lungs. This time you don’t cough or stutter. Your face starts to burn all the same.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. “On the house.”

“I don’t usually…” You catch yourself before you finish the sentence, shaking your head to dismiss your own hesitation as you remember his words. “Yes, thank you.”

If he notices how flustered you are, he does not let on as he holds the door open for you to invite you in. The man who finished his beer earlier is slipping past you by the entrance and you notice that whoever had the wine is not inside the bar anymore. At the prospect of being alone in here with Mr Emeritus, your stomach does a somersault.

He disappears behind the bar and you set your bag down on one of the stools before you shift into a comfortable position right next to it. The seats are soft and plush, inviting you to stay for more than one glass. Observing the happenings behind the bar from here is a lot more exciting than from the outside. Mr Emeritus is in his element, that much is certain, whipping out glasses and corkscrews with expert movements.

“You do not drink often,” he states. “I think I have something that you would like.”

You nod your consent and watch him pick out a bottle from the fridge. It looks expensive, a white label with gold-foiled lettering. Papastrello, it says. The rest of the words are too small.

“What are you reading?” he asks as he opens the bottle. His eyes have found your bag, the spine of a worn old paperback peeking out of the open zipper

“Carmilla,” you say. 

“Ah, vampires.” The cork pops, a deep, satisfying sound. A rich, slightly sweet scent escapes the now open bottle. “Do you enjoy the old tales?”

“I prefer them over the newer adaptations, yes.”

“So do I,” he says, expertly filling a glass with the red liquid. “I am surprised a young person such as yourself is so fond of the classics.”

You chuckle. “I think many people are. Or they would not be classics.”

He hums, setting the glass down in front of you. “Not blood but a red that is just as beautiful and rich,” he remarks. “One of my fratellino’s favorites.”

“I don’t uhm…” You carefully take the delicate stem of the thick-bellied glass. “I don’t really know how to–”

“Smell it for a moment, grappolino,” he says. “Do not worry about drinking.”

You bring the glass to your nose. The scent is so strong to your unused senses that you barely have to sniff. Even so, you’re not sure what you’re smelling. It reminds you of different fruits, cherry maybe, almost sweet but with a hint of acid.

“There are different categories of aromas,” he says. “Primary, secondary, tertiary. Many factors influence the smell, the type of grape, the fermentation process, the aging in the barrel.”

He explains it calmly, knowledgeable, not like he wants to brag or taunt you for your lack of expertise. You have to admire how soft-spoken he is for someone with such harsh features, such a domineering aura. Seldom have you met a man of his standing who was so pleasant to talk to, who drew you in like this.

“Now try,” he instructs. “A small sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment, breathe in and see how it makes you feel.”

You do as he says, taking some of the red liquid in your mouth and swirling it around your tongue, breathing in as you let it sit. Somehow the aroma is still there, different from the taste, more intense, but together they fill your senses in a most pleasant way. The wine feels smooth in your mouth just like you remember, even as you swallow, not at all like the cheap supermarket wine you know from when you were younger and drinking with friends.

“No blood, you were right,” you say with a smile. “But it is good. I like it a lot.”

He nods, content with your reply, and fills your glass up a little more. Somehow you feel good about satisfying him, about following his instructions and earning his approval. You wouldn’t mind following him in other areas of your life.

“Speaking of blood,” you say to distract yourself from these thoughts. “I saw your ad in the paper earlier. The one for the blood donation.”

“Are you looking to donate?” he asks, perking up. With his interest so focused on you, you suddenly feel almost shy about it.

“I am thinking about it,” you say. “I used to go years ago.”

“We are happy about everyone who donates. It is for a good cause, we are going to do it every few months now.”

“I didn’t know that you get money for it or I would have looked into it sooner.”

“The kiosk does not pay well?” he concludes.

You huff out a pained laugh. “No. It’s a struggle. But there aren’t many jobs available around here.”

He regards you curiously, at least from what you can gather without seeing his actual eyes. You wish you could. His mustache is a dark brown color, even without hair on his head you assume his eyes must be dark just like that. Or perhaps green, maybe even hazel. Without seeing them your own gaze quickly falls, dancing along his sharp cheekbones and down his prominent nose, the lines on his face leading you to his mouth, pencil mustache, full lips over a strong chin. You’ve been eyeing him for months now, every time he visits the kiosk, but somehow the change in lighting, the change in atmosphere, gives him a magnetic, almost preternatural aura.

A smile tugs at his lips then and you panic for a moment that he might have read your thoughts, that you must have been staring. You quickly avert your gaze, downing way too much of the wine to keep up a graceful appearance.

“Can I offer you some food? Some cheese, perhaps?” he asks.

“Actually, I should um… I should head home,” you say, already feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”

“Take the bottle,” he says.

“What? No– That’s–”

“Grappolino, I want you to have it. Don’t insult me by refusing a gift.”

You’re not sure what the name means, something with grapes, probably, but you’re too flustered now to pay much attention. When he hands you the bottle you blindly take it, uttering a few words of thanks. He remains steady, unbothered, which you assume is a good thing. He’s not truly offended. You wonder if anything could shake him enough to break his measured temper.

“I will see you at the donation?” he asks when you slip from your stool.

“Yes. I will see you there,” you promise. “I can’t wait to give you my blood.”

He chuckles, a foreign sound coming from the depths of his throat. Without looking back up, you grab your bag and almost rush out of the bar. The cool night air slaps you in the face like a whip, clearing your head and senses from the effects of the wine and its producer in mere seconds. You take a few deep breaths, pressing the cold bottle against your burning chest. If he is flirting with you then it is certainly working, if not then his mere presence affects you in ways you feel almost ashamed of. Either way, you can’t deny that the money has suddenly become a secondary motivation to visit the vineyard next week. No, there is something way more thrilling waiting for you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Specks of dust dance in the sunlight like a thousand tiny feathers, sinking to the ground almost weightlessly. The two empty sitting rooms on the ground floor should be enough to meet the demand that Secondo expects for today. Everyone who donates their blood gets a voucher for the Vinothek and fifty euros cash on hand. The incentives promise a high yield, enough to fill every pre-order as well as the glasses of his special guests once the blood “wine” is ready to be served.

To his chagrin, all the ghouls are busy renovating the guest rooms, and so Terzo is the one helping him prepare the localities. The partnering hospital has sent a truck with enough donation chairs to line the walls opposite of the south-facing windows of the two rooms, granting a nice view over the vineyard. Come sundown, the ghouls will handle the donations. With their monk-like appearance Secondo hopes the people will be trusting. All the bureaucratic hassle, all the licenses and administrative obstacles better be worth it.

“So, how many times do we have to do this?” Terzo asks, rolling another chair into the room.

“This will be the first harvest, another one in September,” Secondo says. “We will keep sixty percent of donations, the rest goes to the local hospitals. It should give us enough to last over the winter if the demand is stable. Then we continue in spring.”

“Mhm and you’re looking forward to tasting the blood of someone special?”

Secondo’s gaze snaps up in a withering look. “Are you eavesdropping on me?”

“It was hard to avoid, fratello. After I finished my wine I had to use the bathroom and it is so close to the bar, no?” He shrugs, smiling to himself. “Now, what happened to Mr. I-don’t-fuck-humans?”

“Who said anything about sexual intercourse?”

“Sexual intercourse?” Terzo repeats. “That’s not a very romantic word. Not very sexy either.”

“I am not looking to fuck, I am looking for a food source.”

“So you want to sample their blood today?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think it’s good? Why are they special?”

Secondo has no answer to this. Instead he pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusts his gloves, biding time. When he finally meets Terzo’s curious gaze again, he shrugs. “I have a feeling.”

“Where exactly is this feeling located? Just below your belt?”

He heaves an annoyed sigh. He won’t grace with him a reply to this, maybe even because he knows that there is a certain truth to his brother’s words that he would rather ignore. There is just something about your smell, about your presence, your positive aura, the warmth in your eyes, that wakes a certain hunger in him. Sexual or not, Secondo knows that he needs to taste your blood.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The mansion is just as impressive as you remember from your last visit years ago, throning over steep hills with neat rows of lush grapevines. The sight takes your breath away as you carry your already tired body towards the open entrance gates of the estate. A grand, majestic building sits partly hidden behind two tall beech trees with their voluminous crowns, U-shaped, well-kept and exuding the impressive historic atmosphere of centuries past. Ivy and vine tendrils crawl up the high walls on either side, hiding some of the rich ornamentations of the façade that are partly embellished in gold.

You leave the winding trail through the landscape, your muscles burning from the steady uphill climb, and enter a spacious, stone-flagged courtyard. An almost Mediterranean ambience welcomes you – old wine barrels have been stacked in one corner, beautifully planted with lush flowers and shrubs like a small magical garden. A small outdoor sitting area dominates another corner, shielded from the sun by a pergola that’s overgrown with more vine tendrils. Terracotta planters scattered around the open space house even more greenery and the whole area smells richly of herbs and pollen.

You soon spot a sign with a red arrow, the words blood donation written underneath, leading into one of the side entrances. An old chair secures a wooden door that opens into a cool but gloomy hallway, flagged with old stone tiles that remind you more of a castle than a stately home. You’re met with voices chattering in the rooms on either side – it seems busy. Glancing into one, you spot a small reception area and decide that this is where you must be registering for your donation. One wall of the room is lined in medical chairs, almost all of them occupied by donors with black-robed men that remind you of monks tending to them.

You are greeted by one of them, only not with words but a gentle nod as he guides you through another door. Inside is a small office where a pale but kind-looking doctor receives you. After a short talk he clears you for donation and you’re assigned one of the chairs near the entrance. One of the black-hooded men approaches. He really must be a monk, you decide, doing charitable work. Perhaps Mr Emeritus has connections to the church – it would make sense if he is veering into the philanthropic lane now. So many religious orders have their own humanitarian organizations who offer volunteers in the field of medical care, maybe he even has his own. You don’t question the process as everyone else in the room seems comfortable.

The monk does not speak to you when he prepares your arm but he is certainly skilled as he slides the sharp needle through your skin and into your vein. You hardly feel any pressure and as the tube fills with your blood, you start to relax in your seat. He hands you a black rubber stress ball, mimicking how you’re supposed to squeeze it to your palm to increase the blood flow. For the next ten minutes you stay exactly like that, your arm outstretched and your fingers wrapped around the squishy toy. Time passes fast, an older lady begins to chat with you before she is done and leaves you to yourself. Once your bag is filled, the monk removes the needle and expertly wraps up your arm. You don’t see where he carries the bag as he leaves through another door.

With your donation complete, you first sit and then stand up, cautiously stretching out your limbs as to not overwhelm your circulation, following the lady’s advice to take it easy. Another sign in the hallways indicates that there is a sort of break room with snacks and drinks, so you decide to head there and wait until your body has recovered. The sudden change of light and temperature as you leave the sunny and warm sitting room does you no favor. Suddenly your head begins to swim, an icy cold wrapping around your body like a blanket of snow. Your fingertips tingle, cold sweat spreading over your back and then you’re sinking, falling–

“Careful,” a steady voice says and instead of the cool stone floor you hit a soft, strong body. Your vision is blurry but you clearly see the outline of black sunglasses over a strong nose and then those soft, full lips. The man cradles you against him, sitting you down with his knee supporting your back. “I need you to lie down, grappolino. Do I have permission to carry you?”

You nod, not quite sure what is going on as your brain struggles to cling to the world around you. 

“It’s you,” you whisper when he gathers you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all. 

He carries you down the hallway, the sudden movement only making you dizzier until you feel like you have to throw up. “It is me,” he says at length. “Do not worry, little dove, I will take care of you. I will take care of you forever.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his soothing words, spoken in such a deep but somehow soft voice that caresses your ears like the gentle touch of a lover. Comforted, you rest your head on his shoulders, breathing out a tired sigh, and drift off.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“This is the right bag?” he asks, even though he can smell it through the plastic and antiseptic layers surrounding it. The same scent he detected from your arm when he carried you upstairs, a scent that already has his nerves on edge with an appetite that he can hardly contain.

The ghoul nods and Secondo shudders as he cradles your blood in his hands. What a beautiful red, richer than any wine he ever made. He takes off his sunglasses to admire how it moves when he flexes his gloved fingers, the texture so smooth, almost silken. Saliva gathers in his mouth and for a moment he forgets the presence of the ghoul.

Impatient now, he looks up to dismiss him. “Grazie.”

He’s already in the kitchen when the door closes, ripping open cabinets in search of a glass. But his body is on fire, burning, longing, craving. He feels like a starving man, like an addict in search of a fix, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s abandoned his search. With both hands he takes the bag and sinks his fangs into the plastic, penetrating the material until he can finally taste you. A deep, rumbling moan breaks from his chest as the first drop of blood meets his tongue. It’s not enough. He bites harder until more of the liquid spills out. Secondo drinks like he has never drunk before. Any attempt at savoring it is in vain. He can’t remember the last time he lost control like this, gulping it down with a greed that would make Lucifer proud, an unquenchable thirst. Your blood is infernal, drinking it an unholy sacrament, the closest he has felt to his faith in decades since leaving the Church. More and more he sucks into his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and onto his sleek white shirt, the one he ironed before knowing that he would meet you today. He rips it from his chest as soon as the bag is empty and the taste starts to fade. Impatiently he sucks at the stains until the aroma finally escapes even his hyper sensitive taste buds.

He’s a wreck. The smell lingers in his nose long after he’s licked the last remnants from his gloves. He sinks to the floor, shamefully gathering the last few drops of blood he spilled and bringing them to his searing, ruined tongue. A pathetic, shameful whimper escapes him and he has to sit in quiet solitude for several minutes until he manages to gather his wits. This is embarrassing, he decides. He has to get cleaned up and dressed.

Secondo enters his bedroom where he brought you to rest a mere ten minutes ago. The sight of your innocent form sleeping in his bed nearly sends him into another frenzy, your neck exposed over the collar of your shirt and practically begging for his mouth. He stands and looks at your weak body, watching your eyes twitching behind their lids, even if they stay closed. For now he is sated enough to stay in control, pushing any animalistic thoughts to the side. You’re beautiful, such a lovely young human, sleeping in the bed of a bloodthirsty monster. The thought makes him chuckle. Perhaps human prejudice against vampires is not that unfounded, even if he usually thinks of himself as a rather sophisticated specimen.

He allows himself another moment of silent reprieve, his eyes roaming your peaceful form without his glasses now. Eventually he brings himself to take a quick shower in the en-suite, freshening up, more cologne, less blood to spook you. He decides on a simple dark green polo shirt, showing off his arms. As he splashes his face with water, he can’t help but wonder what is happening to him. 

Your taste is unlike any he has ever experienced before. If he sold it in bottles, even watered down, everyone would flock to his business. But just the thought of sharing you with any other vampire makes him recoil in disgust, the hair on his arms standing up in defiance. It is an entirely new sensation, entirely unwelcome, and yet he can’t shake it. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about these intrusive feelings, about his lack of control, the possessiveness that overcomes him in your presence. He’s not even sure if he can trust himself to be near you.

But even so he knows that he cannot let you leave. Not anymore.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You dream of him. 

The outlines are blurry, a room that feels dark, the lights blended out and only coming in through cracks that won’t allow your eyes to focus. Then his handsome face comes into view. Your vision clears for just a moment. Blood covers his face. Not his face. His mouth. His eyes are weird, one is a dark red and one is incredibly pale, the strong brows above drawn tightly together. His gaze is intense, a hunger, a craving reflected in his glowing irises. You’re scared for just a moment but then his expression changes, a sudden tenderness glossing over the harshness of his features and the red eye turns to an emerald green. He looks quite beautiful like this, even with the blood covering his mouth. Especially with the blood covering his mouth.

When you break free from the tight grasp of your hazy dream and open your eyes, his face is right there. You startle, your slow heartbeat suddenly jumping into a sprint, but there is no blood, no discolored eyes, just his sunglasses as he pushes them up his nose.

“Don’t be scared, grappolino,” he says from the edge of the bed. “It is just me.”

You nod, blinking yourself awake. Your head hurts, a low thrum that penetrates your skull like a fly repeatedly hitting a window.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You sit up slightly, propping the pillow up behind you and the way it hurts, the pressure and numbness in the crook of your arm, brings back your memories. “I donated blood.”

“You did. And you fainted,” he explains. “This is my own private bedroom.” 

“Do… do all the patients get this treatment?”

A chuckle. “No.”

Heat rises to your chest and you avert your eyes. They are immediately drawn to his bare arms, to the dark hair covering them before his gloved hands appear in your peripheral vision. The polo shirt suits him, a dark green color, the cut accentuating the solid shape of his shoulders. A tuft of dark chest hair peeks out of his open collar and you can see his nipples through the fabric. It is cold in here, you realize. Or perhaps your goosebumps have a different origin.

“I brought you something to drink,” he says, lifting a dark glass bottle he must have set down beside the bed. The distraction is imminent. You eye it curiously, a frown settling on your face. 

He can’t possibly be offering you wine right now? 

“Grape juice,” he states.

“Oh.”

You feel silly now, maybe your brain is still not fully awake. He opens the screw and fills a glass that was previously set down on the bedside table. When he hands it to you, the tight bandage on your arm hinders you yet again from moving freely and you have to hold out your other hand instead. Mr Emeritus is patient, waiting until you’ve taken the first few sips before he stands from the bed.

“I will bring you some food, little dove. We need to increase your blood sugar, give you some energy. In the meantime you will be good for me and drink your juice, yes?”

His words make you choke on your spit and you cough uncomfortably into the burn. “I ugh… I will. Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but it’s enough to have you flustered. You take small sips of the juice that, just like his wine, feels smooth on your tongue and has a rich, intense flavor. It warms your belly, brings life back into your limbs and other parts of your body. You’d be good for him in so many different ways if he let you.

That thought makes you abruptly realize that you’re in his actual bed. You use the chance to properly look at the spacious room surrounding you. It is furnished rather simply, heavy dark curtains cover most of the windows but even with most of the light locked out you can’t see anything beyond the huge canopy you’re resting on. You’re draped between dark green cotton sheets that must have an incredibly high thread count with how soft they feel underneath your fingertips. The dark wooden bed frame is kept upright by four artfully carved posts, solid and dominating the room, the drapes tied to them with rope. You spot two doorways – one is closed, the other slightly ajar. The wall next to the open door is home to a huge painting, the edge of the gold frame shimmering in an odd ray of light that breaks through a gap in the curtains. You don’t know the artwork, it seems to be a dark one, mostly covered in shadows now, but you think it must be a religious subject because you can make out monk-like figures, a goat, a building that resembles an old abbey.

“You walked here?” 

Mr Emeritus reenters the room, carrying a tray as he pushes the door open with his black leather brogues. 

“Ugh, yes. Is that bad?”

“You cannot walk back,” he decides. “No one is available right now to drive you and I cannot leave before we are done with donations. I suggest you stay and rest.”

“As in… stay the night?”

“One of our guest rooms should be finished by now. You can stay there.” A pause as he settles back beside you and places his cargo in your lap. On the tray you find a basket with a few slices of bread, ciabatta from the looks of it, a plate with a small piece of butter, two different wedges of cheese, a bunch of grapes and other fruit. It looks delicious. “I hope this is to your liking.”

“It looks wonderful, thank you.“ You look from the tray to him. “You’re not from the area originally, are you?”

“No, I am not from the area. Does that matter to you, grappolino?”

“No, you just… you don’t look like you belong here,” you finally say, popping a grape into your mouth. “You should be in… I don’t know, Rome, Paris. Or Tuscany, maybe. Why did you bring your business here? Just because of the vineyard?”

“The mansion has been in possession of my family for a long time,” he says. “I always had an interest in wine making, so I took over when the previous tenant expressed his wish to retire.”

“So you actually chose to live in the middle of nowhere?”

“I enjoy the quiet and solitude.” He cocks his head to the side. “And besides, so do you.”

“Hm, touché.”

You eat as much as you feel comfortable with. He watches you throughout your little meal and while it unsettles you you’re more than willing to accept his hospitality. You promised to be good for him after all and you don’t intend to break that promise. Once you’re done he relieves you of the tray and sets it down on the floor. He gives no indication that he wants to leave.

“Do you feel better?” he asks instead. “Let me feel your pulse.”

You don’t object when his gloved hand reaches for yours. The leather feels thick, sturdy, which makes his hand look huge when it surrounds yours. But then he seems to make a last minute decision to remove the gloves, revealing pale but strong hands, dark hair trailing from his knuckles down to his arm. His fingers are cooler than you expect even though there is a warm glow pulsating underneath his fingertips. Your heart immediately begins to hammer in your chest, rapidly beating against its cage of bone and skin. This will not be a useful measuring, at least not if he’s trying to anticipate your health.

Perhaps his train of thought is similar, for his eyes search yours the moment he feels the increase. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and his thumb gently strokes over your wrist. You’re quite incapable of looking away, even through the sunglasses there seems to be a sort of shine in his gaze. If only you could properly see them, not just their shadowy outlines. Sparks fly just below your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.

“You seem livelier to me,” he concludes. “Perhaps some more sleep will do, hm? I will have your rooms arranged, you can stay here for the time being.”

“I have a question,” you pipe up before he can leave, a hint of embarrassment laced into your words that you can’t quite hide. “Am I still getting the money?”

“The money?”

“The fifty euros.”

You’re acutely aware of his thumb still stroking your wrist, so softly that it tickles. “You will, grappolino. But there is… something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait but perhaps now is a good time, no? Before you are too tired again.” 

“What is it?” you ask.

“I want to offer you a job.”

Your eyes widen, the words so unexpected. “A job?”

“I need an employee for the Vinothek. Wine tastings take place on Friday nights every few weeks and I need someone to take over the regular business as I take care of them. The rest of the time you can help out in the vineyard. We have a few important events soon where we introduce new varieties, some international guests will come to visit and there is a lot to do until then.”

“Are you sure this is… not just a pity job offering?”

“No,” he states so matter-of-factly that all your questions vanish. “I can use two extra hands and a sharp brain. I will double your current salary and you can move into your own quarters here for no extra cost. I will make sure your rooms are to your liking.”

You let the thought sit for a moment. Double your salary? Living in an actual mansion in the midst of beautiful wine hills? You wonder what the catch is, if he’s just going to fire you once fall is over or if he’s going to give you all the most horrible tasks he can think of. Even so, for that much money you wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets, sweeping the floors or brewing his morning coffee. It���s not that different from what you’re doing right now anyway.

“Of course there will be no eh… bad blood if you say no.”

“That seems exceptionally dumb,” you say, cringing a bit at your words. “What I mean is, that’s a… a tempting offer. It’s one that sounds too good to be true, actually. It’s just… I don’t know much about wine.”

“I can teach you all that you need to know, grappolino, non preoccuparti,” he says, his voice deeper and almost sultry. His thumb presses into your pulse then, drawing a line along the vein in your forearm until he stops just below the crook of your arm. Then he seems to snap out of whatever thought occupied his mind and pulls away. “Think about it. I do not expect a reply right away.”

You nod, missing his fingers on you already. When he finally leaves the room, you sink back into the soft mattress and imagine what a life here would be like. The offer is too good to refuse and your undeniable crush on Mr Emeritus urges you to agree even more, no matter how foolish it would be to pine after your employer. Subconsciously you bring your thumb to the wrist he just held, mimicking his touch. You think you might die if you don’t feel his hands on your body again. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you would like to explore all the different ways of sinning that he mentioned to you, and perhaps you would very much like him to take part as well.

July

Even though you’re still not quite sure what to make of the masked and hooded monks living in his home who never seem to speak, you accompany them to pack up your belongings. They follow all of your requests and directions without question, treat your things with utmost care and make sure nothing gets lost. What is even more astounding is how they carry even the heaviest of boxes filled with books without any visible strain. Most of the furniture you won’t need anymore is quickly sold or gifted to people on eBay and in the span of one afternoon, all you need is neatly packed into boxes that are now stacked in your new quarters.

You’re not quite sure how he did it but Mr Emeritus handled your job transition quite seamlessly. Your old boss agreed immediately, at least that’s what he told you, and a day later you signed all the necessary paperwork. It gives you a whole day off to familiarize yourself with your new living situation. All morning you unpack boxes, sort books into shelves, clothes into drawers. Your quarters are bigger than anticipated. A decently sized sitting room with beautiful antique-looking green sofas leads into a wide, canopied bedroom that has an en-suite bathroom as well as a walk-in closet.

You are free to use the impressive kitchen downstairs and really, you still haven’t found the catch in the whole arrangement. In search of a cup of afternoon tea, you make your way exactly there, hoping that the pantry is stocked since you’re pretty sure Mr Emeritus has his own private kitchen somewhere else in the mansion. This morning, when you picked up a cup of coffee, he was nowhere to be seen and no dishes or any other evidence betrayed that he was down here. 

When you enter the room now, you spot someone else – a raven-haired head stuck in the fridge. The man looks like he just woke up, wearing grey sweatpants and a purple dressing gown. When he turns around, you notice that his upper body is naked and for a moment you’re not sure where to look. The sweatpants barely conceal the outline of his cock and his bare chest and the soft pouch of his belly are covered in thick black hair. A few small tattoos litter his pale skin, an upside down cross underneath his ribs, two more symbols you don’t recognize just above the dip of his hips. His face seems familiar, broad and handsome, beautifully aged with lines that bring out his strong features, bushy dark eyebrows over eyes that… You halt for a moment. One of his irises is green and the other is white, just like the ones you saw in your dream. Heterochromia is nothing new to you, but for an eye to be this pale?

“Oh, buon pomeriggo,” he says with an openly flirty smile. “We have not met yet, I believe?”

“Uhm... no. I don’t think so.”

“You can call me Terzo.”

You give him your name as well, introducing yourself as a new employee. Before the man can say anything else, steps resound behind you and Mr Emeritus appears in the doorway, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. “Am I interrupting, fratello?”

“Oh, we just met,” you explain. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else living here.”

“This is just my brother,” he states. “Don’t mind him, he is ugh… hanging around.”

Terzo scoffs dismissively. “I am actually also working here–”

“I thought you were not my new bellhop, fratellino?”

“I help with the guest room renovations. Really, I am the eh… interior designer, you could say.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. “Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, tesoro. How lovely to have a youthful presence in this old house.”

“Likewise. I actually wasn’t aware this was a hotel also.”

“It is not,” Mr Emeritus explains, taking a few steps into the room now. He looks incredibly handsome today, wearing his usual black slacks as well as a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and the collar open just enough to reveal some of his chest. “We are going to host some of the guests who submit to long travels in order to attend the wine tastings. Now, I was looking for you. I think you need a tour of this place, grappolino, no?”

Terzo dismisses you with a gentle smile, waving after his brother when you both leave the kitchen. Mr Emeritus briskly walks ahead, leading you down a long hallway.

“Were you going to eat?” he asks. “I interrupted.”

“No, I wanted a cup of tea. But I can just have that later.”

He hums, then leads you up a staircase to show you where the guest rooms are going to be located. You see some of the monks again, carrying furniture, painting walls, cleaning rugs. They don’t acknowledge your presence, only step aside when you pass.

“Mr Emeritus–” you start.

“You can call me Secondo,” he interrupts. “Since you are already calling my brother by his first name.”

You’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of jealousy tainting his voice. He certainly did not look too pleased when he entered the scene earlier. “Secondo and Terzo,” you say. “Like the numbers?”

“My father was not very creative when he procreated like a dog in heat. He argues that he followed an old Italian tradition which is just convenient, no?”

You make a mental note that his father is not a good subject to broach just as he leads you back into the main staircase. “Can I ask you something else?”

“I understand you must have many questions. Feel free to pose them whenever you wish.”

“Well, the biggest one I have is… uhm…” You pause but he does not seem bothered at all. “Who are the hooded men? They look like monks but also not like any real monks I’ve ever seen before.”

“They are something similar.”

“Like a cult? Is that why they don’t talk?”

“No, grappolino, not a cult. We call them the Nameless Ghouls.” His voice is even and patient considering the amount of questions you’re shooting at him. As you walk down the stairs you notice that he is not even remotely out of breath while you’re already struggling to keep up. “They are bound to certain rules of their community such as to not speak to outsiders. They work for me because they were summoned to do so for which I am very grateful. I have arranged one of the former guest houses on the property where they live amongst themselves.”

You furrow your brow, a little confused as to how much of a red flag that should be for you. Ghouls, the religious painting, the upside down cross on his brother’s chest… it does seem suspiciously like a cult. His pace is so fast that you almost stumble down the stairs now. “Do I… do I also have to join them?”

“Oh, no, non preoccuparti. They have nothing to do with you.”

“So they just… help out here?”

“Sì. They make all of this possible.”

“I mean, if they want to live like that, I guess that’s okay.”

He stops in the middle of the staircase. You almost stumble into his strong back, catching yourself on the railing just in time. “I assure you it is all consensual, grappolino. They are free to leave and do as they please. Just like you. Nothing here happens without great enthusiasm.”

You look at him, toying with the hem of your shit nervously now that his gaze is back on your body. Enthusiasm does not sound like he is talking about work but at least it also doesn’t sound like a cult. “This word, is it a good thing?”

He chuckles. “It is a… how do you say? Pet name?” Suddenly he takes the step that separates you, inching closer until his face is right in front of yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, I like it. I was just wondering… is it a common name?”

“No, it is not common.”

You stare through his glasses, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. Is he flirting with you? Is he making fun of you? The tension is unbearable but you cannot be sure if he feels it as well with half of his face hidden from your sight. You have half a mind to take the glasses from his face.

“If you follow these stairs all the way down,” he finally says, stopping you from any foolishness, “you will reach the wine cellar. It is the door at the bottom, right next to the main entrance.”

“That’s… that’s where all the treasures are kept?”

His mouth curls into a rare smile. “Not all the treasures.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“Certo.”

“Do you have the same eyes as your brother?”

He cocks his head to the side, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You will have to find out, grappolino.”

You swallow, about to take a foolish step closer to him when he suddenly backs away. His face is out of reach before you can even attempt to rid him of the sunglasses and he’s halfway down the next flight of stairs when you finally catch yourself.

“Now let me get you some tea and some food also,” he calls, not even making sure whether you’re following. “You have to eat a lot of iron and vitamins to increase blood production. We don’t want you to get anemic, hm?”

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/07

A group of rogue werewolves attacked two unsuspecting vampires in the Styrian mountains last Monday. The perpetrators fled the scene after they did not manage to kill their victims and attracted the attention of a nearby group of vampires. Both victims fully recovered in the span of two days while further circumstances of the incident still escape the authorities. Unnamed sources claim that one of the vampires is an old acquaintance of Primo Emeritus. Since last Wednesday, speculations on Social Media suggest that the incident could be connected to the death of a lycanthrope in May in which the former Papa was supposedly involved. Neither the authorities nor the Emeritus family were willing to give statements to confirm or deny these rumors.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo is not proud of slipping into your room that first night. He’s not proud when he sees you sleeping so peacefully, trusting that you are safe in his care. You look lovely, young, the picture of innocence and trust. A human so lively, so curious and quick-witted. There is an intelligence in you that is way beyond your years and maybe it is the very reason why you so foolishly trust him – you’re not superstitious.

Before he drinks from you, he inspects your quarters. Sheer curiosity, he tells himself, he always liked to learn. Your bookshelves are filled with all sorts of genres – classics, romantic novels, thrillers, horror, historical fiction, non-fiction. What is most telling however are the books on your bedside table. He finds the same copy of Carmilla you carried in your bag, a book about wine making you must have recently ordered and another book that looks suspiciously like a cheap erotic novel. Maybe not so innocent, he thinks, wondering how he would find you if he came in here a few hours earlier, just before your bedtime.

Secondo is not proud when he slips into your room again a few days later. He’s not proud when he does it again and again and again until one day he notices the first signs of anemia in you and gives you a week of reprieve that has him shaking like an addict. At least he found the strength to be careful now, exerting the control he lacked when he tried that first bag of blood, barely puncturing your neck with one of his fangs and drinking as slowly as your blood flow dictates. He does not want to hurt even a hair on your head, does not want you to wake up the next morning with a wound like an animal attacked you and get suspicious. No, he needs you to stay here and stay well, a source of food, a source of joy.

Still, the moment he drapes himself over your sleeping body and your blood hits his tongue it takes all of his strength to stay calm, to suppress the moans spilling from his lips, to stop himself from growing hard against your sleeping body and humping you like a horny teenager. Just a late night drink, nothing else, a meal to sustain him throughout the night. The restraint he displays is impressive even to him. It goes against all of his predatory instincts that tell him to simply drain you, to consume you until you have nothing left. 

No, Secondo is not proud of any of it. And he slowly starts to realize that it is not stealing your blood that affects him in such a way that he struggles to keep his eldritch powers measured, to ensure that you stay asleep when he feeds. The kiss of a vampire can be impactful even for the vampire himself, at least when other feelings are involved. So no, it is not your blood that breaks his resolve, that makes it so hard to treat you like any other food source.

It’s the feeling of your skin against his lips.

August

Every day in the vineyard feels like a dream. 

You never realized how much your job at the kiosk and living in your tiny flat with nothing but the bare essentials had drained you of the joy of living, how it had put you into a sluggish rhythm of loneliness and unfulfilling work – not until you started to see a different life for yourself, that is. Perhaps Secondo was right when he told you to try out different ways to enjoy yourself all these months ago, perhaps he saw how stuck you were before you got here. Your growing crush on him certainly helps to envision a happier future for yourself in this place.

Your favorite thing are the quiet afternoons with him. Usually, you never see Secondo or his brother before two o’clock. It seems like they are night owls – it is not a rare occurrence that you spot light underneath his office door well into the late hours when you head to the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. In the mornings, you get most of your work done, usually helping out with wine orders that the Nameless Ghouls pack and a post truck picks up around noon. In the evenings, you help out at the Vinothek, taking care of the shop or waiting on people while Secondo tends the bar. But the afternoons? The afternoons are priceless.

Secondo and you usually get comfortable underneath the pergola in the mansion’s courtyard. While he prefers to sit in the shade you have opted for a sunny spot. First you share a break with some afternoon coffee for which his brother usually joins you, then, once Terzo leaves, he starts to teach you everything he knows about wine and wine making. As expected, he is a most patient teacher who takes great delight from your genuine interest in the subject. Today, he is talking to you about different grape varieties and their differences in taste.

“Sangiovese is a red variety,” he explains. “Very common and the base for many wines that I have shown you, grappolino. Chianti, for example.” 

“Like in the Silence of the Lambs.”

“Sì, like that one.”

“Have you ever had it with liver?”

“You see, my dove, Chianti is actually not a good wine to have with liver. Amarone would be much better suited, or some lesser known ones. Dr Lecter would have known that, in the book he did.”

You have to smile at that. Of course he would take note of such things while watching a movie or reading a book. While he continues on his lecture on Sangiovese, you breathe in the rich scents that waft over the courtyard, carried by a gentle summer breeze. For a moment you turn your face into the sun, letting the warm rays caress your features. Mild summer days are your favorites, being outside in a simple shirt without freezing or sweating too much. When you turn back, you notice Secondo watching you. When you smile at him he cocks his head to the side, still observing you without shame. As though he only notices now, he suddenly turns away and reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back into view it holds a silver flask and he makes a face when he takes his first sip.

“Not good?” you ask, chuckling.

He shrugs, giving a dismissive hum. “I am… used to drinking better things these days.”

“What’s in it?”

“A new drink I have been working on. I try to sample it throughout the day.”

“Can I try?”

“No, grappolino, it is not ready for that yet.”

“You will tell me when it is, though?”

He smiles, a genuine, almost soft smile that you see on him more often now when you’re just among yourselves. “I will, little dove. You are always so eager to learn and try new things.”

The compliments he gives you, if rare, are always meaningful. They manage to fluster you every single time and you subconsciously start to scratch at your neck again. This has been going on for some time now – a few mosquito bites that never stop tingling and as soon as you touch them they start to torment you.

Secondo eyes you, brow furrowed, as if to ask why you’re fidgeting so much. The itch won’t leave, however. At this point it’s hard not to just give in and scratch until it’s bleeding and hope that it will just heal off.

“Mosquito bite,” you explain. “I’ve had them since I got here. Somehow they love to drink from my neck.”

“It is a very tender spot, no? Well supplied with blood.”

“Hm, I think so.”

You scratch until it hurts, then you force yourself to stop. Meanwhile, a distant noise becomes louder and louder until a truck enters the courtyard. Its loud beeping as the driver turns around and goes into reverse hurts your ears to the point where you cover them.

“Oh, I quite forgot about that,” Secondo says and stands up. 

You watch from the pergola how a few of the Nameless Ghouls appear and carry boxes as well as barrels of wine outside loading the truck. Secondo further rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt to help, carrying boxes until there is not much space left. The Ghouls bring three more barrels and you watch in utter fascination when Secondo picks one of them up like it weighs nothing more than a feather, placing it inside the cargo area. A minute later the truck takes off to his destination and the Ghouls disappear.

“This… was this a full barrel?” you ask, still in shock, the moment Secondo joins you again.

“Oh, no, of course not.”

“Why would you deliver an empty one?”

He eyes you, sitting down, not even out of breath. How is he so fit? You never see him working out. “Always so many questions, grappolino. So curious.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug.

“Some people buy them,” he says at last. “For eh… decoration purposes.”

You eye him skeptically. Even carrying an empty barrel would take a lot of strength. At the same time, you assume, he has been carrying boxes and barrels and heavy pieces of furniture for years now. When he reclines against his chair, you again take notice of how pale he is.

“You should wear sunscreen,” you say. “You look like the pale type that burns easily.”

“I am Italian, my dove. I am not the pale type.”

“Still, sunlight is the main cause of skin aging and skin cancer.”

“Are you telling me I look old, grappolino?”

“After you just carried all these things old is the last word on my mind that I would use to describe you, no.”

A smirk tugs at his lips but when you take out your sunscreen, waving it in front of his face, he still allows you to apply some to his cheeks, chin and forehead. You think that any excuse to touch him is worth it, even if it means acting like a mother hen to a significantly older man. Despite your inner desire, you don’t let your hands linger on his face. Touching him feels vaguely forbidden, even with his consent and over the greasy layer of sunscreen. Your shaky hands certainly betray the nervous flutter in your body and when you sit back down on your chair, your stomach is in uproar.

Yes, these afternoons are your highlights because with every day you feel like you take a precious step closer to him. And if you’re really lucky and he’s not too busy he takes you back to his private kitchen afterwards to give you your own little tastings, introducing you to flavors your tongue has never met before. One month in now, you can honestly say that the decision to come here was the best one you ever made in your life.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/08

Ad:

Don’t miss when the new special varieties of the world famous Papastrello wine are introduced. Now with a hint of blood and many more flavors.

What? Food, Wine, Socializing

Where? Emeritus Vineyard

When? September 29th

⛧ ✦ ⛧

It is a subtle art to manipulate the taste of blood. You have to feed your prey the right flavors of food and pour the perfect drinks down their throats to influence the aroma in just the right ways. Too much alcohol and the blood is ruined, too much sugar and it tastes like cheap supermarket wine. Secondo has refined his approach over the past centuries to match his personal preferences.

“Grappa,” he says, pushing the thin-stemmed glass in front of you. “A young one.”

You sway the glass underneath your nose, inhaling the sharp scent. There is not much you could deduce from the smell, not with your human senses, but he appreciates how you always try to use them regardless of how futile the results.

“It is distilled from the pomace after the winemaking,” he explains as he watches you nip. “Nothing goes to waste.”

You smile. “That is a very progressive view.”

“I think it is a very conservative view. Traditional, if you will.” He raises his brows, waiting for your reaction. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice, it burns in all the good ways.”

“It used to be the drink of farmers,” he explains, filling your glass again. “Until technology progressed in the last century. The taste improved a lot, now it is very popular. I learned how to make it in Northern Italy not too long ago.”

“Were you always a winemaker?”

“No.” He does not elaborate, though his brow furrows as the ghost of distant memories tries to haunt him. The flicker is gone as fast as it came. “Come here, grappolino.”

You do, walking over to where he is sitting and stopping right in front of his chair. He grabs your hand with his gloved one, the back facing upwards before he takes some of the grappa and spreads it on your skin.

“Go on,” he says. “Take in the aroma.”

The scent that hits your nose is pleasant, much more pleasant than the taste. When you are done, looking back at him, he reaches out for your hand and brings it to his own nose, holding your gaze. His lips graze your skin when he sniffs and you think you’re about to combust, your whole body tingling nervously at the unexpected touch.

“Impurities show in the smell,” Secondo explains, remaining unfazed. “Of course, this one does not have any. It is perfect.”

“Of course,” you repeat and when he looks at you with his intense discolored eyes, you’re not sure if he meant the grappa. “So… is that true for people as well?”

His brows rise, a smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzles your hand. “Hm, I don’t smell any impurities in you.” A pause in which you stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. “Unless they are…” His hand slides up your arm, agonizingly slow. Fingers sprawl out on your cheek, cradling your face before he taps his index finger against your temple. “In here.”

“I can’t say my thoughts are very pure when I’m around you, no.”

Your admission, so readily given, hits him like a gut punch. His cock jumps in his pants, swelling until his slacks are uncomfortably tight. It’s not like hasn’t daydreamed about making you come in a hundred different ways, about having you sprawled out underneath him in the very bed you first opened your eyes to him, to have you begging for him, showing him just how obedient and good you can be when it really counts. Right now, he wants to bend you over one of the wine barrels and have his way with you until you’re crying out his name, until every bit of boldness leaves your body and you’re at his mercy in more ways than one. He wants to teach you the sin of lust until you’re fluent in its very language.

“You’re the first human in a long time that’s tempted me,” he admits with a sigh, pulling his hand from your face. “But the sinner knows temptation when he sees it. I won’t fall, little dove.”

You chuckle, leaning further back against the edge of the table. “The first human? That sounds ominous.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You should thank Satan for the gift of ignorance. I know you like to ask questions but sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Secondo,” you whisper and then you’re closer, your leg touching his knee. It is evident by the way your blood rushes to your face that you can see the predicament in his pants. He makes no attempt to conceal it. “I don’t know what it is that you think you need to protect me from. But I just wish… I just wish…” You visibly swallow. Then your tongue darts out to wet your lips, slowly, sensually. “If you’re a sinner, then why not sin?”

It is foolish of him to allow you to slide into his lap. Even more foolish to place his hands on your hips and pull you closer, to feel your soft flesh against his thighs. Your hands land on his shoulders, delicate, curious fingers that feel him without shame. They stay there until you sit so comfortably that you don’t need the support anymore at which point they start to travel – over his chest, down to his belly, back up over his bare forearms. The skin contact is more intoxicating than the grappa. You’re always so warm.

It is only when they reach his face that he flinches. You stop immediately, trying to meet his gaze through his glasses. He takes a deep breath. You’ve seen Terzo’s eyes, there is no reason why you would be spooked by his now. And yet–

“Please?” you whisper.

He knows that meeting your gaze with no barrier is going to bring him to his limits. It is a last safety measure, a shield to prevent you from seeing into his soul and to stop him from falling into yours. Curious, beautiful eyes who have seen way more of him than he ever wanted to bare. Still, it seems like you have softened the hard edges of his resolve. More and more of him trickles from the cracks and he can’t quite figure out how to mend the leaks. 

His cautious nod is all it takes for you to take the frame of his glasses and carefully pull them off his face. You hold his gaze so bravely, even as you set them down on the table. The quiet that follows is agonizing even to him. His muscles tense and even though he tries not to blink, he’s the first one to do so.

“You do have the same eyes,” you finally whisper.

“Runs in the family.”

“Ah.”

Those soft fingertips dance along his jaw now, tracing the lines on his skin as though you’re drawing a map. He allows you to get to know his face, even allows your palm to cup his cheek when you gain more courage. The warmth spreads inside of him like a flame, kindling his deepest, most carnal desires that used to be latent for so long. 

It terrifies him and yet he craves nothing more than to give into the pull of their current.

“Secondo,” you whisper, his name laced with all of your needs, and then you’re leaning in.

He already feels your hot breath against his lips, your thumb swiping along his sharp cheekbone, and he can’t help but admire your boldness. It would be so easy to give in and accept his fate, accept that he is not as immune as he thought. But to do so would be to admit to his feelings and the consequences, the pain this would cause you both, is not worth a fleeting moment of passion.

He turns away at the last second, your nose brushing against his, even as your lips miss. You pull back, looking at him with your heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. It takes everything in him not to grab you. Confusion ices over your features then and he uses the moment to gently push you off his lap until you land on your feet again.

“Go to bed, grappolino,” he says and to his own shame he can’t meet your eyes as the words leave his mouth.

Even so he catches the hurt of rejection that flickers over your face. He can already smell the salty tears gathering in your eyes, even as he fully turns away and starts to clean the table. Your footsteps retreat with no argument, no witty comeback, not even an insult or a sound of annoyance. He almost wishes that you would have slapped him.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When he sneaks into your room that night dried tears stain your velvety cheeks. They present him with a feeling he has not dealt with in centuries – guilt.

He falters, thinking that he should not feed from you tonight, not after refusing your intimacy earlier when you offered it to him so willingly. And yet, perhaps even more now, he wants to feel your skin against his as if to offer you the comfort he cannot give by day. Against his better judgment he settles in bed next to you, facing you this time instead of just taking your neck from behind. You’re sleeping on your side, one cheek squished to the pillow, the other one available to him. Secondo pulls at his gloves and gently strokes along your cheekbone, gathering what little wetness remains. You’re warm. So warm.

With some effort he leans over you, finding the spot on your neck and reopening the wound with his fangs. As he begins to drink, his arm wraps around you, pulling you into a more comfortable position. It is the closest thing to a hug.

The contrast between you and him hits him with full force in that moment. He’s not sure why you’re not afraid of him. Most humans sense the presence of a vampire. Unaware as to what the threat is, they still usually feel unease or a vague air of danger. Perhaps you have no sense of self-preservation or perhaps you truly just don’t fear him. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who are unaffected, too curious for your own good.

Or perhaps you were simply made for him. Perhaps Lucifer made your paths cross for a reason.

The thought of having you, of leaning into what has been building between the two of you is terrifying but thrilling at the same time. With your blood in his mouth it is easy to imagine claiming you, revealing himself to you, bringing you into his world and showing you its magic.

He’s not sure how you sense his line of thinking but in that moment you start to shift, moving against him like you’re trying to get closer. He slips, losing grasp on his powers for just a moment but it is enough to make you rouse. You don’t fully wake but your sleep lightens and with a tired sigh you cuddle up to him, tilting your head so he has even better access. An arm wraps around his middle, fingers playing with the hem of his black shirt until they graze his bare midriff. 

“Secondo,” you whimper. 

It awakens something inside of him he has not felt before, not a sexual feeling but a thrum somewhere close to his heart. Need is dripping from your voice, the smell of your arousal hits his sensitive nose, and he’s sure you must be dreaming about him now. Before he knows it he has sunk both of his fangs into your neck and is sucking the blood oozing from the wound. His senses explode, the feeling of your skin on his fingertips, your taste, the way you sigh and seek out his embrace. Lust he can handle, hunger he can handle, but these feelings run deeper, digging below the surface and clawing their way into his very core.

Suddenly it’s all too much. He pulls away from your abused neck, already discolored and swollen, and the sight of what he’s done is enough to propel his overwhelm and guilt into new heights. Secondo slips from the bed and before he knows what he’s doing he finds himself back in his own bedroom. He throws his gloves to the side and stares at his shaking hands. Hands that held you not five seconds ago. Hands that are already yearning to hold you again. His body is buzzing with the need to be close to you, trying to chase the feeling he had when you clung to him, and he hasn’t felt this alive in centuries.

He slides to the ground, leaning against his bed and staring through the window at a growing, nearly full late August moon. What he should be focussing on is the Vinothek, the preparations for the event not even a full month in the future, the growing tensions with the werewolf community and the upcoming wine harvest, not playing around with his little human. 

Secondo licks along his teeth, grazing his fangs, but the taste of your blood won’t fade from his mouth, no matter how many times he swallows and swallows and swallows. It remains there, a phantom of you to remind him of his folly. He knows he won’t find any peace tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When you dream of him this time, it sets your body on fire. Your imagination, in comfort or torture, brings him into your bed where he wraps himself around your body and kisses your neck with reckless abandon. It seems to last all night but at the same time you feel like you’ve only slept for an hour. Waking up is like being ripped from paradise and cast back into the raging horrors on earth. At first you think you still feel his lips on your neck but the sensation turns into a dull pain, not that of a love bite but that of a hammer repeatedly hitting your skin. You remember his rejection from last night and promptly feel like throwing up.

With your mind still stuck in the fragments of the dream, you enter your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water. The pain on your neck has reached into your whole shoulder area by now and you pause when you spot your reflection. A huge purple bruise has spread over the area around the bite. How–

It would not be the first time your body has let his frustrations out on yourself in sleep. Maybe you scratched the mosquito bite too hard, maybe that’s why you dreamed about him kissing your neck in the first place. At any rate, what you really need right now is a cup of coffee and some painkillers.

Without as much as changing you quickly head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet as usual, the morning has just begun after all and the sun is creeping up over the horizon. Every window you pass reveals a spectacular view of the vineyard with its rows and rows of wine dipped into the soft orange light of a late summer sunrise.

The sight helps improve your mood somewhat. Though that is quickly reversed when you reach the kitchen. You’re already halfway to the coffee maker when you jump after spotting Secondo sitting at the large kitchen table. His own cup of coffee sits in front of him as he reads the paper and you’re wondering if he never went to bed in the first place. 

Of course he has already detected you, eying you curiously. He’s not wearing the glasses, you note, only his gloves, a simple black polo shirt that draws your attention back to his forearms. Quickly, you avert your gaze and focus on the machine in front of you, your face hot in shame for your silly attempt to kiss him as well as your dream.

“Buon giorno, grappolino,” Secondo says, closing the newspaper he’s spread out in front of him and folding it neatly. You can’t read his expression, not even with his eyes revealed to you. 

“Good morning,” you say. “You are up early.”

“Sì. We get some important deliveries today.”

The noise of the espresso machine drowns out your hum of acknowledgment and briefly ends the conversation. However, Secondo’s gaze lingers on your neck and you realize that you’re still only in your loose sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, the bruise in plain sight.

“It’s… it’s not a hickey.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it. It’s not like you could have got one in the span of the few hours that you’ve been separated. “I don’t know how I got it, probably scratched too hard in my sleep.”

He doesn’t reply, not with words, but there is something in his expression that is wholly foreign to you. His brow is furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and without his glasses you can see a range of emotions reflected in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s a mixture of shame and guilt. He doesn’t stay long enough to let you see more.

September

Harvesting wine is a brutal job. That is what you’ve been told, anyway.

Hand-picking the grapes instead of using machinery protects the soil, Secondo told you, which is why the Nameless Ghouls head out every morning and every evening to gather them manually while the sun sits low on the horizon.

“The grapes have to stay cool,” he told you when you asked him why they left at four in the morning each day. “It reduces the risk of bacterial infections.”

You watch the bustle from your window, how they start at the bottom of the hillside and make their way up, row after row with buckets and containers on their backs. Once their shift is over, they bring the yield back into the courtyard where they prepare it for further processing. 

It seems like they never get tired.

Most days, Secondo and Terzo either help them pick or they take care of pressing the grapes. Things stay a little awkward, at least for you. Secondo does not really acknowledge that anything happened at all and since the whole vineyard is busy with the harvest while you’re stuck in the office or in the shop, restocking shelves, checking inventory, taking care of shipments, you hardly even see him. On one hand, his rejection still hurts, but on the other hand you’re relieved that he has not fired you or had any other negative reactions to your advances. It would not be the first time you meet an emotionally repressed man who pushes you away. Not the first time you calm your anxiety by nurturing your foolish hopes that maybe one day he will find it in him to like you back.

You learn that the harvest has to go over quickly before the grapes are overly ripe. It’s no surprise when they’re done after no more than three weeks. The cold storages are filled with grape juice just like the wooden barrels in the wine cellar where it now rests, fermenting slowly over the next few months until it turns into wine.

With the harvest done, focus shifts to the upcoming tasting event. When you don’t see Secondo chasing the ghouls through the guest wing for some last minute changes to the interior, you usually know he’s busy in the wine cellar, entrenching himself in one of the back rooms which he told you are not for nosy little doves. You’re sure he’s working on his new wines, perfecting the secret recipes. He prefers to work undisturbed in silence, so whenever he is busy down there he has you stock the mini bars in the guest rooms, make floral arrangements to decorate the sitting rooms or prepare small self-made gifts for the visitors. Anything to keep you occupied elsewhere.

You’re not sure if he really wants to work in solitude or if he’s just avoiding you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo never took himself for a coward. 

He is a smart, calculated man who has a few centuries of experience under his belt that help him go through life mostly unscathed. He tries to anticipate risks and act accordingly and he might come across as cold or dismissive at times because of his measured choices. He hides, he protects, he does what he has to do. But he is not a coward. 

He is not a coward but since that night, he has not drunk from you.

It bears the question if avoidance and cowardice are two sides of the same coin. If he can’t win either way. The impulse to ignore an issue is not exactly familiar to him but with the event coming up, with the harvest and goings-on at the vineyard it is easy to slip into a mode of focus that pushes you away by keeping busy.

If it weren’t for that hunger.

He’s drinking enough blood from his supply to sustain him but somehow it will not sate him in the way that your blood does. Even as he works with Terzo now, preparing the rooms for the guests that are arriving today and tomorrow, all he can think about is you. It certainly does not help that your smell lingers in every single room.

“Fratello,” Terzo pipes up behind him. “Did Primo say he would bring someone?”

“Hm?”

“He’s…” His brother snorts, pressing his greasy palms against the freshly cleaned window. “I swear to Satan, he’s with a human.”

“Di che parli?”

Secondo can’t help but join him, glancing out of the window like that one annoying neighbor everyone hates, scanning the courtyard in search of his older brother. Primo’s old Bentley has been parked at the far side beneath the beech trees. His long blond hair dances in the breeze behind him as he rounds the car and opens the door to the passenger seat. Someone else steps out, not a ghoul nor anyone else Secondo has ever seen before. The person holds his gloved hand and he immediately pulls them into his arms, wrapping his deep red cloak around them. He leans down to kiss them on the mouth, tenderly, taking his sweet time as he cradles them in his arms like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Ma che cazzo…” Terzo whispers. “The old man found someone before I did.”

“He’s with a human,” Secondo states.

“No shit, Sherlock, eh? Not all of us are anthropophobic.”

“I am not–”

“Satana, are they going to stop making out? That’s disgusting.”

“Stop spying, stronzino.”

He practically pulls Terzo from the window and forces him to welcome their brother in the entrance hall downstairs, as respect demands. They have to wait another five minutes until Primo appears, carrying two large suitcases, the human he brought with him entering alongside. They’re young. Very young in fact. Probably around your age, he can’t help but note.

“Fratello!” Terzo greets him exuberantly, opening his arms to him. Primo barely has enough time to set down the suitcases before Terzo’s lips press to his cheeks in two loud kisses. “You look well! And you brought someone, che sorpresa!”

“I am well,” Primo says as Terzo quickly moves on to the human, taking their hand delicately in his and bringing it to his lips. Meanwhile Primo faces Secondo who is still rooted to his spot behind the reception desk. “Grazie per l’invito.”

“Grazie per essere venuto,” he replies diplomatically. “It is good to see you, fratello.”

“To be honest, we need a place to stay for a while.” He turns to his companion who has since been freed from Terzo grasp, wrapping a possessive arm around their waist with a sort of love-sick expression that Secondo has never seen on him before. “This is my little flower, my greatest treasure. I want you all to meet.”

Terzo and Secondo exchange a quick look but before they can say anything the human speaks up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Primo told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope, eh?” Terzo asks.

“They know,” Primo says then. “You don’t have to hide.”

“You told them?” Secondo asks, the shock evidently woven into his voice. 

“Fratello, what is going on?” Terzo’s reaction is quite similar. “Werewolves, a human?”

In that moment Secondo’s senses detect you coming down the stairs. He shushes his brothers, nudging Terzo towards the suitcases in hopes of giving the appearance of a normal check-in. The last thing he needs right now is another human finding out.

“I told you I am not your bellhop,” Terzo complains.

You round the corner, then, and they finally pay enough attention to notice you as well. Secondo can’t help but take you in when you descend to their level. His eyes find your neck, the bruise mostly faded but even so the memory of that night is clear in his mind. That appetite inside of him stirs, the urge to have his lips on your skin again to taste not just your blood but all of you.

“Oh, hello,” you say, effectively bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I thought I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, grappolino.” He has to force himself to stop staring at you. “The first guests have arrived. This is our brother, Primo, and his… partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“And who is this?” Primo asks, shooting Secondo a knowing look before he greets you with a gentle smile. “How lovely to see a new face in these old halls.”

Secondo introduces you, not without a hint of barely concealed shame. He can feel Primo’s eyes boring into him throughout, the accusation of hypocrisy very evident in his narrowed mismatched eyes. Of course Primo would see right through him. His older brother’s senses are even stronger than any of theirs. He would not be surprised if he still smelled him on you.

“Can you find a Ghoul to carry their luggage?” Secondo asks. “I would like to have a moment with just my brothers.”

“I won’t leave my flower,” Primo says, vehemently shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” they interject, running a soft hand along his arm. “I will just start unpacking.”

It is only with a great deal of reluctance that Primo follows him and Terzo into the kitchen and leaves his little flower to you. The eldest immediately finds the kettle and brings some water to boil. Old habits die hard, Secondo supposes. Serious conversations are only to be held over a calming cup of herbal tea.

“Cos’è successo?” Secondo ask once they all sit over their mugs. “With the wolf?”

“It was not done on purpose,” Primo says. “I was protecting someone I love. That is all you need to know.”

“The human?” The word comes out with much more venom than he anticipated.

“Ah and you are here to pass judgment?” Primo asks, giving him a withering look. “You?”

Secondo presses his lips together. “Not judgment. I am trying to understand why.”

“Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone? To love them so much that you would kill for them?”

”No, I–“

“I am not here to be questioned,” Primo interrupts. “You invited me to an event, no? That is what we are here for. If you allow us, we would like to stay a few more days until we can move into our new home. But apart from that, I do not wish any commentary on my life.”

“You are moving?” Secondo asks. “With the human?”

“Oh, don’t mind him, fratello,” Terzo chimes in. “He is just grumpy because he fell in love with a human as well but unlike you he already messed it up. We are very happy for you and your little flower.”

“I will not have this childish conversation,” Secondo says. “There are werewolves running amok because of this, attacking our kind.”

“And they will calm down,” Terzo says. “There are a few rogues, it is not the whole community.”

“Secondo, I know you are worried.” Primo’s voice lost the defensive tone, instead it sounds much more like the caring, diplomatic voice his brother is used to. “But I don’t need your protection. If any werewolf is foolish enough to attack us, they will face harsh consequences. I will defend what is mine and I urge you to do the same.”

Secondo lets those words sit for a moment. He has never felt protective of anyone outside of the family before but now the first person that comes to his mind is you. Would he have done the same, killing a werewolf to save you? Potentially rekindling a centuries-old conflict between two communities? 

The answer comes surprisingly easy.

“Did you invite Copia?” Primo asks then. “He is not here?”

“Oh, he is busy playing Dracula somewhere in the Slovakian mountains,” Terzo replies. “He said not to expect him but to send him a few bottles.”

“He is not doing well.” Primo takes a long sip of tea. “It has been half a century.”

“Until father steps down this will not change,” Secondo says. “Copia has the rightful claim to the title.”

“Well, we had this argument before and it caused a family feud that made us vulnerable in the first place,” Terzo snaps. “The old stronzo doesn’t give a shit.”

“Let’s not get into this now,” Primo says. “We are here to celebrate that your business is doing well, Secondo. It will give the community something else to talk about for a while.”

This is as long as they manage to keep Primo from going to look after his flower, leaving them to stew over their own tea mugs they won’t be emptying. Secondo struggles to grasp what he learned today. Primo – the experienced, the wisest and most reasonable of them – is in love with a human. A young, kind, lovely human. And he is happier than ever before.

But perhaps that is not what is so hard to understand. Perhaps it is the fact that Secondo wishes he had the very same thing. Primo’s words still ring inside of his head. Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone?

The answer is no. He knows exactly what it feels like.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The next twenty-four hours are the busiest since you came to the vineyard. Guest after guest arrives and Secondo puts you in charge of welcoming them. You’re behind the reception desk most of the night because apparently most of them traveled through the evening hours. By twelve pm on the very day that the event takes place the last guest arrives. He is a middle aged man with dark hair and kind brown eyes, looking far more average than the rest of the guests with their fancy clothes, aristocratic features and expensive cars. He reveals his name to you and you scan the reservation, finding him at the bottom as one of the last ones to book a room. There aren’t any left, so he must have got lucky. 

“That would be the blue room, sir,” you offer, handing him the key.

He eyes your neck, then, and you’re not sure what he is looking at, if he can still somehow see the faint remnants of your bruise in the dim lighting inside. Before you can apologize for your appearance, he glances away again, smiling. “Thank you, little one. The blue room sounds lovely.”

“Let me ask someone to carry your luggage, sir.” 

You’re ready to ring the bell and call for a Ghoul. However, the man stops you with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not necessary. I shall carry it myself. A little workout never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, okay.” 

He’s already up the stairs when you’re distracted from the encounter. Secondo strolls into the entrance hall. He does not appear nervous, despite only having eight hours left until the event begins. Right now he’s dressed in a simple polo shirt, slacks, his usual gloves and sunglasses. You love it when he looks somewhat casual, at least to his standards. Still, you can’t quite revel in his handsome appearance. Since the tasting is so close now, your anxiety has risen to an uncomfortable level. He said he needed an extra pair of hands but he never specified for how long.

“Has everyone arrived?” he asks when he reaches the desk.

“Yes, the last guest just went to his room.” You eye him as he scans the list in front of you, not even taking notice of the state you’re in. “Actually, do you have a moment?”

He looks up, then, and you freeze. Even through the glasses meeting his eyes has the heavy impact of a gut punch. You’re surprised by how gentle his voice is. “Of course, my dove. What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you ramble before you can think twice about it. “I know, we were just being a little flirty with each other and that this is very different from actually attempting to kiss you. I feel very stupid now that I… that I misread the situation and I want to apologize. I love working here and I don’t want to lose it when the event is over. I enjoy being here, spending time with you and I don’t want to leave.”

“Grappolino, who said anything about leaving?”

You’re almost crying, tears pricking your eyes like a thousand needles. “You’re avoiding me. I just assumed that when you don’t need me anymore…”

He stops you by reaching for your hand, pressing his thumb into your palm. “You do not have to worry about this right now.”

“How can I not? You’ve been acting all sorts of weird with me.”

Secondo sighs deeply and you regret bringing it up now when he’s already stressed. But then he perks up as though something caught his attention. He pulls you into the door to the wine cellar by the stairs just when you hear voices and footsteps approaching. Blindly you stumble after him, shivering when you reach the cold stone masonry downstairs where he turns on an old, dim ceiling light. Down here it smells of fermentation, wine and vaguely of must. You lean against an old table, listening to the gurgling sounds of the carbon dioxide leaving the barrels.

“You won’t go, grappolino,” Secondo says, running his gloved hand over his face until he reaches his sunglasses and takes them off. “In fact it is I who should apologize for how I’ve been treating you. For things you don’t even know about.”

You stare into his odd eyes, the white iris almost glowing in the gloomy old cellar. He takes two steps until he’s right in front of you and you feel a cold shiver of anticipation running along your spine. You haven’t been this close since the grappa incident and the smell of his cologne makes you dizzy with need.

“My dove, you did not misread the situation. I very much wanted to kiss you.” He cages you in, resting both of his hands on the table at your sides. “And I very much want to do so right now.”

“Please,” is all you can say. “Please, Secondo.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin at your begging tone, the lines on his hollow cheeks deepening. He leans in until your breaths mingle, until you can feel his exhales tickling your lips. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the tight space. “It is foolish.”

And yet he does not pull away. His hooked nose nuzzles yours as if to savor the moment for just a bit longer. You dare to reach out and wrap your hands around his strong neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He hums when your fingertips brush the tender skin at his nape and his own hand moves to cup your cheek, looking for more contact. The leather feels soft, hiding how his firm grip keeps your head in place. His eyes are stuck on your lips and you decide to close yours, mentally tracing the line of butterflies that flutter from your belly all the way up to your throat. Another hum leaves him when you part your lips in a sigh and then his thumb pushes your jaw up, tilting your head just right before his lips capture yours.

His mouth is cooler than expected, softer too. Secondo takes charge of the kiss in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Gentle but firm at the same time he moves his lips against yours, slowly increasing the pressure. You moan softly, clinging to him as your body sinks and sinks against him. His hands move to your hips to catch you and he easily sets you down on the table, stepping between your legs until you can feel his whole front against yours. He’s already half-hard and his outline is only growing against your stomach.

You snake a hand between your bodies, cupping his length through the tightness of his slacks. Secondo groans into your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips with urgency. You kiss back with the same hunger, swollen mouths and eager tongues exploring each other to the last crevice. When you break away, saliva drips from the corner of your mouth to your chin and he licks it off, kissing from your cupid’s bow down to your jaw.

Before you can properly recover your breathing, Secondo’s hand toys at your lips and he slides two of his fingers inside your mouth. You receive them, allowing him to press down on your tongue.

“Get them wet for me, hm?” he murmurs into your skin. “My perfect little dove. So eager, so filthy, just waiting for me to fill you.”

You suck at the digits spurred on by his praise, swirling your tongue around their length while his lips firmly attach to your neck in a bruising kiss, just like in your dream. You struggle to keep your grasp on reality, lust and pleasure overwhelming all of your senses. When he finally pulls his hand from your lips you feel horribly empty. He gives you no time before he pushes his hand into your pants, not even playing with you before he immediately slides it in deeper. He finds your opening, fingers probing and widening before he slips one inside. You keen, grasping his shoulders for support and he adds a second one shortly after. The stretch is beautiful, thick, gloved fingers that he crooks expertly to hit that sweet sensitive spot inside. You think he moans louder than you at the contact, sinking against your body for a moment as the sensation hits him.

“You…” He shudders, groans deeply into your ear. “You’re so… warm.”

He gasps when you impatiently rut against his hand, rolling your hips in sync with the movements of his fingers inside of you. He helps you along, pumping his fingers in and out of you while still kissing your neck with his insistent mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, closer, until his hard cock rubs against your front at every thrust of his hand. Secondo grunts like a wild animal and then his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A stinging pain shoots through you and you cry out in surprise. The feeling is not unpleasant, on the contrary – the pain mixing with your pleasure makes you wonderfully dizzy. He must have broken the skin because there is more wetness now than just his spit trickling down your throat. Secondo startles when he feels it, breaking away from your neck, and you can see blood staining his teeth and lips. “I’m sorry– I–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s okay, I like it rough. Don’t stop.”

His lips press to yours urgently. You moan, tasting your warm blood in his cold mouth, and you push your tongue inside even deeper for more. Secondo’s movements speed up. His fingers fuck you roughly until you can’t help but clench around them. It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue against yours, a few more strokes of his fingers until you’re tumbling over the edge. The moan that breaks from your throat echoes loudly in the old stone halls and you whimper pathetically at every thrust with which he carries you through your pleasure.

You notice that his hips still hump your front in sync with the last few pumps of his hand, chasing the friction of your body. He’s grunting, his open lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before they slide down to your neck. His tongue darts out to lick the remaining blood from your collarbone, eager strokes of his tongue that leave a wet trail over your skin before his lips close tightly around the wound. Suddenly he stills, releasing a drawn-out moan stifled by your wet skin and you feel his cock jumping inside of his pants when he cums. For a moment he holds you against him, removing his fingers to wrap both of his arms tightly around you.

“Perdonami, per favore,” he whispers, pressing a thousand soft kisses along your neck. “I hurt you. I hurt my little dove.”

“Don’t apologize,” you stress. “I like it rough, I would have told you if I didn’t.”

“That’s not…” He sighs. “No, I cannot hurt you. It has to stop.”

“Secondo.” He falters at the sound of his name, frowning at you. “I liked it. Please, don’t worry.”

He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head vehemently. “Grappolino, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You smooth out the deep line between his eyes, caressing his features with all the tenderness you feel towards him. He slowly relaxes, resting his forehead against yours. For a while you stay like that, embracing each other, breathing each other in. Your heart beats strongly against your ribs, longing to reach him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this happy before.

“Secondo,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He freezes against you, his limbs going rigid. After a moment he pulls away to meet your eyes and there is such visible confusion etched into his features. His mouth opens slightly, revealing the edges of two sharp fangs, still dipped in your blood. His eye turns from a deep red to its usual green.

Suddenly, it all begins to fall into place. Perhaps you breathed in too many alcoholic fumes down here, perhaps you’ve finally lost your mind. But the way he lapped at your blood, the way he avoids the light, the bruising around your neck, the sunglasses and late nights, how you dreamed about him with blood staining his mouth, his eye glowing red–

“Secondo!” a voice calls down the stairs. “Sbrigati!”

His head whips around and he tries to break away. You attempt to keep him there, holding onto his shoulders, urging him to stay. “Secondo, are you… are you a–”

“We have to talk later,” he says, tearing himself away from you with ease. “We have to head to the Vinothek and get ready for the guests. I will wait for you in the courtyard.”

”But–“

He won’t hear you out. Before you can say another word he’s already upstairs.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Somehow you manage to get dressed. Your legs hardly carry you upstairs, weak from the force of what just happened as well as the sudden stress added on top. With your evening outfit already neatly laid out on your bed it doesn’t take you too long to get ready but you also can’t find any calm moment to gather your thoughts. Your suspicion spreads in your mind, carrying a hint of fear but also curiosity. You’re sure you’re slowly losing grasp on your sanity. It’s impossible. You’re not superstitious, on the contrary, you’ve always relied on your thirst for knowledge, on the fact that you learn fast, that you see through things and quickly understand them. But if your notion turns out to be true, you ran into the trap of a predator with open arms and a bared neck.

Even so, your suspicion doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning when you meet everyone in the courtyard, Secondo and his brothers already waiting for you in the shade of the pergola. When his eyes meet yours you feel a pull, a need unlike any you have felt before. You can’t help but wonder if you’re being manipulated, if this is all a mirage and he’s been toying with you all this time.

Real or not, their looks for the night take your breath away. What strikes you the most is how all three of them are wearing face paints that shape their features like skulls. They’re all slightly different but Secondo’s looks the most menacing, stressing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheeks. In contrast to that of his brothers his eyeshadow is glittery, sparkling in the light that meets his face.

Suddenly you’re wondering how the thought of them being vampires has never occurred to you before. Secondo looks quite like Count Dracula himself in his white button down shirt, a green brocade vest under a perfectly cut suit jacket, an emerald green bowtie, black slacks and leather brogues that match his gloves – the same gloves that were inside of you not even half an hour ago. Terzo’s outfit is quite similar only that his shirt has ruffles, the vest is a deep purple and he’s fixed a silver brooch on his collar that bears the upside down crucifix you’ve seen tattooed on his body. Primo is wearing a crimson brocade tailcoat, his long blonde hair curled at the edges while his partner’s outfit was carefully chosen to match his. They look like they jumped straight out of a classic horror movie – elegantly menacing, aristocratic and weirdly out of time.

During your ride to the Vinothek, you’re closely pressed to Secondo’s side on the backseat of a short limousine with darkened windows, driven by one of the Nameless Ghouls. Even dressed up you feel quite out of place. His strong thigh is pressed against yours, distracting you enough that the five minutes pass quickly. You stare at his hands resting in his lap, toying with the hem of his gloves, and you wonder if he wore the same pair on purpose.

At the venue, more Nameless Ghouls arrange tables and chairs in one of the side rooms that are usually empty. You feel pretty useless while the others discuss the tasting, so you refill the shelves in the store up front and distract yourself by preparing the bar for the evening. At some point Secondo approaches you behind the counter. “You can handle the hum-” He coughs. “The evening bustle while I lead the tasting?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, grappolino.” He stops, almost reaching for your hand but pulling back just before your fingers touch. He looks like he wants to say more, you want him to say more, but his lips stay sealed. It is odd to look at his painted face, a man you thought you knew, thought you were in love with. Now it is hard to say if any of it was real.

Once the first guests arrive, you’re tasked to show them into the event location. You know the actual tasting is going to take two hours with the subsequent chance to socialize. Once the door closes you get somewhat comfortable behind the bar. Throughout the night you only have to tend to two guests, the rest of the time you spend googling everything that you can about vampires on your phone. No helpful sites pop up, only a few intense subreddits about suspected vampire sightings that only serve to confuse you even more. 

About two hours later, the door to the side room bursts open and Terzo storms past. He pulls at the door of one of the wine fridges, blindly reaching for one of the bottles. Secondo follows two seconds later, closing the door quietly behind him with a deep sigh. You step aside when Terzo reaches for a corkscrew, pulling the cork out like it’s nothing.

“You don’t know if it is true,” Secondo says, leaning in the doorway.

“Well, they’re not here,” Terzo says. “They didn’t come.”

“You should be glad they did not, fratello. It spares you the pain of another rejection.”

Terzo lifts the bottle and places it at his painted mouth, taking a long swig until the paint is smudged and his lips take on a deep crimson tone. He lets the taste sit for a minute, seemingly content before he starts to empty the bottle without pause.

“Fratello, you need to calm down,” Secondo warns him. “This is a wine tasting.”

“Yeah, so? Are you supposed to be boring at those?”

“They are a more… sophisticated sort of event. Come sai.”

“What I know, fratello, is that I’m here for a good time, just like everyone else. I want to have some actual damn wine and find someone to fuck later, sound sophisticated enough?”

“Terzo,” Secondo says. “You can’t fuck or drink the pain away.”

His brother frowns, grabbing another two bottles from the fridge. “Watch me try.”

You follow Terzo with your eyes as he pushes past his brother and disappears in the other room. Through the open door you can hear the bustle of people socializing, the clinking of glasses. “Will he be okay?”

Secondo closes the door and shrugs. “This is going to cost me a lot of wine. It is not easy to get him drunk.”

“So ugh… who didn’t come?” you dare to ask.

“His ex.” Secondo lifts his hand to rub at his eyes but thinks better just before they touch his make-up. “It is a long story. Someone told him they’re with someone else.”

“Secondo,” you try, now that you have him alone. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”

“I need to look after him before he causes a scene. Can you do me a favor and get some of the orders sorted? The bottles are in the backroom. You can pack them in the usual boxes and bring them out back where one of the Ghouls will pick them up later.”

You want to argue with him, force him to listen to you, but he seems too tense to risk an attempt now. Instead you nod. “Where are they?”

“I will bring you the forms.”

With that he disappears into the side room as well. You’re curious, maybe too curious for your own good, but you just have to risk it and slip inside as well. The sight that meets you has you gasping. All of the guests have gathered around bar tables, wine glasses filled with a deep red liquid as they eagerly chat and drink. Even in the dimmed light you realize that this is not the same wine you’ve seen served at the bar, nor does the texture resemble any of the ones Secondo had you try. No, if it’s true and they’re– 

A sudden sense of terror overcomes you, even more so as you notice the first curious pairs of eyes on you that you swear are a glowing red. They don’t look real, they don’t look even remotely human, and most of all they look hungry.

“You are too curious for your own good.”

Secondo is by your side immediately, blocking your view before he ushers you out of the room. You let him carefully manhandle you until you’re outside of the door, still petrified from what you just saw, from the sudden horror fantasies your mind conjured up.

“The orders,” he says, pressing the documents into your hand before he gently cups your cheek.  You’re panicking, maybe. Or perhaps you’re not breathing at all. “My dove.”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

You nod, telling yourself that this can’t be true. It simply can’t. You’re seeing ghosts, your brain has taken hold of an idea and ran wild with it. This is the real world, not one of the many novels you read. Secondo is right here, looking just like always, his iris green and not glowing at all.

“I’m sorry for busting in,” you say, realizing your silly mistake now. “I just… God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m losing my mind.”

“Grappolino, I promise we will talk tomorrow. First we have to get this done, yes?” His thumb swipes over your cheek, so gently that you decide to believe him. “I will meet you once the guests leave and we will talk about what happened today.”

“Alright.” You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the orders.”

He must know of your suspicion, he must know. His eyes tell you that he’s not going to let you leave, that he has an eye on you if you want to or not. For some reason you still feel safe knowing that he’s here, his touch nothing but comforting. His nod is barely noticeable but he does let go of your face eventually to go back inside. 

For a few minutes you have to hold onto the wall, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm your racing heart. Perhaps it’s the lack of proper sleep. You spent most of last night checking in guests, only getting a few hours of rest in the early morning. 

This is ridiculous, you tell yourself, vampires aren’t real.

Once you’ve recovered, you start to pack the boxes, distracting yourself with the basic, monotonous work that is packing order and updating inventory. You’ve already carried a couple of boxes outside into the alley behind the Vinothek when your sneaking suspicion grows stronger again. There is an easy way to find out whether they were really drinking blood. One way to prove to yourself that you’re overreacting.

Without thinking you rip one of the boxes back open. The bottles look like any other wine bottles. Papastrello, the label says in gold-foiled lettering that is all too familiar by now. The only difference is the upside down cross that is stamped into the paper. The bottles are about the same weight, the dark glass no different from the other wine bottles you’ve seen. The only way to know for sure is to open it, to look at the wine itself.

In that moment you’re too scared to head back inside, too scared that someone is going to sense your suspicion and either laugh about your paranoia or possibly harm you for finding out what no one should know. You feel quite unhinged when you grab the bottle and smash it on the concrete of the sidewalk. What splashes out and mixes with the shards of glass is a red liquid that might be wine or might be blood, you can’t quite tell. The pale light of a full autumn moon reflects in the color, making it much paler than it looked inside. You know that you have to try it to know for certain whether it is wine or not.

It takes you a long moment of persuasion, silently debating with your inner voices until you reach out and wet your finger. On your skin, the liquid feels wrong, thicker, creamier, but also not quite like blood. You swallow your fear and bring it to your lips.

The moment your finger hits your tongue a deafening growl echoes in the street behind you. The sound is predatory, animalistic, ringing inside your ears long after it stopped. The hairs on your arms stand in alert as you turn around, expecting an aggressive dog or perhaps even a wolf straying from the woods. But what meets your eye is anything but. The creature is huge, filling the width of the whole alley with its broad shoulders and even as it cowers, resting on his two huge clawed hands, it’s almost as tall as the cars lining the main road. 

The metallic taste on your tongue is forgotten the moment you spot it. Another growl and the beast jumps into action, galloping along the alley just as you scramble to your feet. Flight is hopeless, you barely take two steps in an attempt to sprint before its heavy steps are right behind you. Still you run and suddenly it seems like you’re making headway, the sounds gaining distance. You dare to turn around when you finally reach the end of the alley. What you see feels surreal, like a nightmare brought to life.

Secondo is standing between you and the monster who seems to have stopped, assessing the situation. Against all instinct you take a few steps back in their direction, watching the furry creature with its deformed but still somehow human body. Suddenly you recognize him, dark hair, the same brown eyes. It has to be the man who checked in this morning.

“You attacked the wrong human,” Secondo says. “This is not who you’re looking for.”

The creature does not seem in control of itself as it paces the road, sniffing audibly, baring its fangs to you in an attempt to intimidate and scare. Secondo stays in front of you, the image of a predator himself, but compared to the werewolf he looks small, almost fragile. Fear buries its way deep into your body. Suddenly you’re not worried for yourself anymore but for him. Your heart is hammering so fast that it echoes inside of your skull, your whole body sweating and shaking. 

When the beast finally pounces, you shriek. Secondo grabs its massive arms to keep it at a distance but the werewolf tears at his clothing, ripping until its claws sink into his torso. His voice stretches into a pained scream that penetrates your whole body, deeper and deeper until you can feel it all the way into your marrow, rattling at your very core. The wolf is going to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It’s going to kill him the moment he breaks his powerful hold.

You would never forgive yourself if he died because of you, if he got hurt trying to protect you. And maybe it is foolish, maybe you should let him handle the fight by himself, but you close the gap anyway until you can duck and reach into his pocket. Before you can think any of it through you’ve already sparked the flint and shoved the flame of his stupidly expensive lighter into the wolf’s fur. At first you think it is too dense to burn but then the beast starts yowling. The softer underfur has caught on fire, a disgusting sulphuric smell spreading around you. For a moment the wolf recoils in pain, letting go of Secondo who stumbles backwards. You’re trying to reach him but then the wolf deals one final blow, throwing his massive arms around his body. At the last moment, his paw smacks into your flank and pushes you down.

You land on the concrete, all breath brutally ripped from your lungs, and the intense pain of the impact explodes in your whole body. Secondo falls to the floor next to you with a heavy thud, dark non-human blood oozing from the cuts in his body. You hear more sounds as your vision slowly fades. Terzo is storming out of the back door, more people blurring into one big mass of faces behind him – and then you’re gone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/09

Last night’s wine tasting at the Emeritus Vinothek ended in a brutal fight between the owner Secondo Emeritus and an unknown lycanthrope. The werewolf attacked a human employee outside of the establishment but could be stopped when the vampire intervened. He fled the scene while the other attendees took care of the victims. Both vampire and human escaped the fight slightly injured but are going to recover with no permanent damage, according to a spokesperson of the family. This is the tenth incident of violent conflict between vampires and werewolves in the past four months, following a surge of cases after the killing of a lycanthrope in May.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. ”

You wake up to Secondo’s voice as he reads you the last few pages of Carmilla. Slowly noticing the world around you, you realize that you are in his bed in the mansion, the same soft white sheets surrounding your tired body that you found yourself in that first day. You keep your eyes closed, listening until the story is over.

“They always kill the vampire,” he says. “Perhaps they are right to do so.” A pause in which you hear the rustling of pages as he closes the book. “I know you are awake, grappolino.”

You turn around, opening your eyes to see him lying in bed next to you. The memories of what happened flood your brain, the way he protected you from the attack, saved you by risking his own life. You remember falling, the impact of the hit you took, and you’re surprised that you’re well, that you feel no pain other than the heaviness of your tired limbs.

“You slept almost a whole day,” he says. “I thought you might be angry with me. But I needed to watch over you.”

You take the book from his hand, running your palm over the smooth cover. Secondo looks tired, paler than usual and without the sunglasses you can see the extent of his exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark green robe over black sweatpants, an altogether unfamiliar sight compared to his usual put together looks. No matter what happened, no matter what you now know, an intense surge of love for him floods your whole body and you can hardly shake it or push it down.

He saved you and you saved him. Everything else seems almost insignificant in that moment.

You shift so you can get closer and he watches you like a hawk, tracing all your movements.  “My dove you shouldn’t move around.”

You don’t listen, you can’t, even as the soreness in your muscles makes it harder. Eventually you settle with your head on his belly, closing your eyes until the wave of emotion has crashed over you. He only seems half as frightening from here, in fact he looks incredibly soft as he gazes down at you.

“What do you think would happen,” you whisper, “if instead of killing we started loving them?”

He exhales – a pained, heavy sound that carries a distinct sadness. His expression shifts and he shakes his head, watching you with glossy eyes. “How can you say this when you know what I am? When you see what my world can do to you?”

“Because I feel it,” you say with no pause. “Because my heart screams that it does. I’m not scared.”

“Of course you are not. You never were.” His hand reaches out but he stops himself. “Per favore, may I touch you?” You press your face into the soft fabric of his robe, giving him a firm nod, and he gently strokes your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp, more to soothe himself than you. “I will never forgive myself for being late. That I missed the wolf in sheep skin because I was too distracted. When it hit you…” His hand stills and his lips press together tightly. After a moment he cradles your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb. “I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you, my dove. I swear it.”

You turn your face, leaning into his touch. “Why did he attack? To get to you?”

“I drank from you,” he says. “Imprinting myself on you. He must have thought you were Primo’s partner. Or perhaps he was just looking to hurt any one of us and went after the smell. There has been an ongoing conflict.”

“Vampire werewolf politics?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Yes.”

“I’m so confused, Secondo. I have so many questions.”

“I know, my dove. I will answer them in time but you need to rest.” He sees your disappointed expression, running his hand along your lips now. “One question.”

“Your business…” you start. “Does this mean vampires don’t harm people? It’s not like they show us in all those movies? They drink from bottles and you get it from blood donations?”

He cringes slightly at your question, a painful twist, perhaps at the prospect of disappointing you. “Many vampires still… hunt. Some are more predatory, some are more subtle, some prefer to not hurt anyone. There are a million ways to feed, amore, and we have no laws to regulate this.”

“But why would they still hunt?” There is irritation, confusion in your tone. “If there are easier ways?”

“Some vampires enjoy the taste of fear in the blood,” he says. “A lot of adrenaline, stress hormones, it flows faster after biting too. Even here sometimes people are scared of needles and you can taste it later after taking their blood. But it is not as intense as it is when you… hunt.”

“Do you… do you like this taste?”

“No.” He falters, cocking his head to the side. “Not anymore.”

“But you have?”

There is a hint of accusation in your tone but he does not seem disturbed by it, on the contrary. “I will not lie to you. I have in the past, grappolino. Many young vampires do, a bit like teenagers who drink alcohol for the first time. But taste changes with time, as it does for humans, and I have left those wild, young days long behind me. In fact, since I tasted you…” He trails off, running his finger down your jaw until he strokes the faint remains of the bite on your neck. “I have no desire to hunt for a better taste.”

His words send a shiver through your body. His thumb presses back against your neck, then underneath your jaw, following the line of your pulse. Even knowing what he is and what he did – your body longs for his touch and you don’t know what to do other than give in. You press your cheek into the softness of his belly, the fabric of his robe smooth against your skin, trying to hide how easily affected you are. “So you were my mosquito? The bites were yours?”

“That is the second question.”

You furrow your brow, trying to pull away but he won’t let you. “Secondo–”

“You take me for a monster now,” he states. “And maybe I am, maybe I am cruel for wanting you for myself in ways that made me keep the truth, in fear that you could not accept me. But my feelings for you are real, they are consuming me more than any thirst for blood ever has. I am…” He swallows, his voice firm as he continues. “I am devoted to you forever.”

For a moment you let those words sink in. This is as close to a confession of his love that you got until now and you realize that it must take him everything to be so open with you. He seems to mistake your silence for rejection.

“I understand if you want to leave,” he says. “I will not stop you.”

You shake your head, finally managing to sit up and properly look at him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He looks pained at your admission, like he has almost been hoping for a rejection. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it that unheard of to be with a human? Your brother is with one as well.”

“Every time I have opened myself to someone it ended in pain and it will end in pain with you, grappolino. Unbearable pain, loss, grief, loneliness.” He stops himself, his eyes red and glistening. “With you I have let the sun back into my life. And I cannot… I cannot bear to have the world take it from me again. Non credo che lo potrò sopravvivere questa volta.” (I don’t think I can survive it this time)

“It doesn’t have to, Secondo,” you assure him. “There are ways… there are ways to make it last, right?”

“There are ways. But this… it is not something to take lightly, amore.”

“Secondo, I want you to know that… that if it ever happens, if I ever die, I want you to turn me,” you say. “I don’t want to leave you, ever.”

He pauses, shaking his head at the conviction in your tone. “We will discuss this later. You need time to think about it, to learn more.”

“You saw how fast it can happen. I feel like–”

“Amore,” he interrupts. “Not now. The next time I think about your death it will not be in this bed.”

You sigh reluctantly, trying not to mope as you settle against his chest. If he has a heartbeat it is too slow and quiet for you to hear it. But his body underneath yours feels nice, soft and welcoming. You notice that he doesn’t seem to be in pain either.

“Why am I not hurt more?” you ask. “I know that’s another question.”

“We have healers in our midst. They have some influence on your circulatory system.” His hand moves to rest on your waist, playing with the hem of the loose white shirt someone put you in. “You will feel sore for a bit, I think. As will I after my body healed my wounds.”

“Would it… would it help if you drank from me?” you ask.

“You’re too weak, my dove, but I appreciate the offer.”

You sigh, bringing your hand up so you can run your fingers over the sliver of chest that peeks out of the robe. Slowly you open it more and more, toying with his dark chest hair and feeling the smooth skin underneath.

“What do you think you are doing, hm?”

You just smile up at him, pushing the robe all the way open. He doesn’t stop you from exploring more of his body, following the line of hair down to his belly, supple and slightly raised. His own hands start to grab more of your body then, squeezing the flesh on your hips, grabbing at your ass. Before you know it he takes hold and pulls you fully on top of him. Your core meets the outline of his hardening cock, barely concealed by the sweatpants. You gasp at the contact, slowly rolling your hips for a bit of friction.

“You feel good enough to tease me,” he says. “Then you feel good enough for a kiss?”

A smile breaks out on your face and you lean in, resting your upper body against his. Before your mouths can touch he has already grabbed you and sits you both upright. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and trapping you in his lap until you can feel all of him. Only then does he allow you to close the gap. The kiss has a bruising force, lips pressing in hard, teeth clashing until you adjust and find a heavy but more controlled rhythm. His tongue licks into your mouth hungrily, flicking against yours and you moan, vibrating against it. Your whole body shudders, looking for more, anything to quench the need pooling into your core. Secondo groans at every roll of your hips, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip like he wants to consume all of you within seconds. You kiss back with just as much hunger, tying to keep pace. Your whole body is burning with need for him, carrying you higher and higher. After a while he slows, hitting an invisible break, and you follow, pulling away to look at him.

Secondo heaves an exhausted sigh, not letting go of you but creating a small gap between your faces to breathe. “I am not quite in shape yet, amore. I don’t think I can keep up tonight.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to drink?”

Maybe it is the way your voice is practically begging him to do so, maybe it is the hunger in your eyes or maybe he truly needs the energy that your blood provides because he finally relents. You pull at your shirt, baring your upper body to him and for a moment he hungrily takes you in, running his hand over every curve, thumbs teasing your nipples until you arch into him.

“So responsive,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jaw. “So good for me.”

His words make you squirm in his lap, the hard friction of his cock adding to the pleasure that runs through you at every touch. “Please. Please, Secondo.”

“Already begging for my cock?” He huffs out a chuckle, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear. He rips the fabric apart with ease, running a bare finger over your arousal. “And already so eager. Always so, so eager.”

“I need you,” you whisper. “Please, all I want is to feel you.”

“Hmm, that is all I want too, grappolino. Perhaps you can use the time while I feed...” His fangs scrape over your skin, not breaking it but leaving a burning trail along your throat. “… to keep me nice and warm, hm?”

“Yes,” you immediately squeeze out. “I will do anything.”

“But there is a catch.” He pulls at his sweatpants, freeing his cock until it slaps against your abdomen, trapped in the tightness of your bodies. “You have to be so very good for me. You cannot make a single move. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Good.” 

He lifts you up carefully, keeping you on your knees above him. You leak onto him, drops of your arousal landing on his cock, and he hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh. With one finger, he wipes it off and smears it over your entrance until he can slip it inside, quickly adding a second. A deep moan leaves you at the intensity of the stretch but you quickly adjust and find pleasure in the stimulation. He pumps a few times, spreading his fingers to widen you even more. When he seems satisfied he pulls them out and grabs both of your hips to pull you down into his lap. The tip of his hard cock slides into your entrance. Before he is even fully inside you already clench around what he offers, making you both moan at the sudden intensity. Slowly you sink down further, his mouth hot on your neck while you run your hand over his shoulders. Once he is fully sheathed, he gives a full body shudder.

“Satana, you are so warm,” he whispers, his voice as delicate as if he is saying a prayer. “So, so warm.”

You don’t speak, allowing him his moment of silent reverence. However, patience is not on your side today and you can’t help but squirm after a second, trying to find the smallest amount of friction. His cock is big, girthy, stretching you open like nothing else you’ve felt before.

“No moving,” he finally says. “I need to be precise.”

With that his lips search for the spot on your neck. He stops eventually, opening his mouth and wetting the spot with his tongue. You expect the pain and yet the sting draws a whimper from you. Secondo stops at once, waiting for your reaction. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”

His fangs pull out and you can feel the blood oozing from your vein. Hungrily he laps at it, not quite sucking but firmly holding his mouth over the wound, tongue swiping at the hole in your neck with every swallow. It’s slower than you expected, even as your heart rate goes up in arousal an anticipation. His cock jumps inside of you and you clench around him, earning you a moan from somewhere deep inside of his chest. For a few minutes you hold out, desire building inside of you with every drop of blood that leaves your body.

Eventually, Secondo breaks away. You notice that his skin feels slightly warmer underneath your fingertips, that his eyes look more alive when they finally meet yours again. The green one has turned red just like in your dream and a drop of blood runs down his jaw. You lean in to kiss it away, the metallic taste on your tongue an intense reminder of who you are with. Secondo reciprocates the kiss with renewed energy, licking the blood from your lips and tongue. You taste more of it in his mouth and you can’t help but moan.

“Your taste,” he says, breaking from your lips. “It is the most exquisite thing, my dove.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly.

A nod. You squirm again, his cock shifting inside of you as you try to find a comfortable spot. Secondo huffs out a deep breath, the same strain visible in his eyes that has you whimpering with every little movement. “This is not how I want you,” he says. “I told you I would show you how to sin, no?”

With that he grabs your hips, a sudden invigorated strength that seems effortless as he easily manhandles you onto your back while he stays buried deep inside of you. The impact reopens the wound on your neck and you feel drops of the warm liquid running along your skin.

“White sheets…” you whisper as more blood dribbles onto the fabric. “Bold choice for a vampire.”

He chuckles, licking along your shoulder to catch the few remaining drops. He hums, his tongue almost rough when he cleans every drop you have left to give.

“Your blood sugar is low,” he whispers then. “When we’re done here I will feed you, amore. After a nap, perhaps.”

You giggle but it quickly turns into a gasp when he finally starts to move, slowly thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. He grabs your thighs then, pushing them deeper into the mattress until he has you folded in half. With him so deep inside of you your whole body is boiling. You can’t help but hold onto his shoulders, allowing him to move faster, fucking into you almost desperately now. Your arousal leaks all over your joined bodies, wet, squelching sounds soon filling the air around you as his hips piston into yours. You moan without shame ever time he hits that sweet spot inside of you, every time his skin rubs against the other sensitive areas on your body.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, keening and closing your eyes when he thrusts even deeper, slower now.

“You look at me, amore,” he warns. “You look at me when I make you cum.”

Your eyes snap back open, meeting the liquid fire reflected in his red iris. Secondo’s grip on you is tight and his own grunts echo in tandem with the sounds of your skin meeting, with all the desperate noises that leave your lips. You dance along the precipice for a moment, trying to last, trying to stretch out time for a little longer. But when he begins to stutter, his own eyelids fluttering in pleasure at every slow, deep stroke in an attempt to keep them open, you finally fall. The climax that hits you is stronger than any you have felt before and you’re a mess, mewling and whimpering, breathing in jolts as the heat spreads in your body like fire.

Your muscles clenching around him soon has Secondo following. His cock jumps, pumping you full with his seed while he breathes a low moan into your ear. You feel every raw shudder, every  little twitch, until it starts to leak out of you and he finally loosens his grasp. Your legs sink back to the mattress and he settles on top of you. Skin against skin, his cool while yours is hot and burning. For a long time you both calm down. Even if he doesn’t seem out of breath, it is clear that he needs the quiet moment of reprieve just as much as you do.

“Ti amo,” he whispers, first almost too low for you to hear but then louder. “Ti amo per sempre. Not even death can part our union.”

You press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

He huffs out a breath, turning you both to your sides where he holds you close against him, his lips tickling your temple as he presses more and more soft kisses to your skin. You start to relax, his sweet touches lulling you into a state of half-sleep. Your mind finds back to what really occupies it, all the questions and insecurities. A thousand thoughts are swimming in your head, some of them have to do with the sticky mess between your legs, some of them leave the four walls of this bedroom altogether.

“I can hear your mind working,” Secondo grumbles. “I thought I had distracted you well enough.”

“It’s just… are the Nameless Ghouls real ghouls then?” you ask. “And is the special wine all blood or is it some sort of amalgamation? The healer you mentioned, was it the doctor from the donation?”

“Grappolino,” Secondo warns. “All in due time.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. You have to bite your tongue to stop interviewing him because he is right – you’ve had enough exertions for the day, and you’d rather spend your remaining energy on more of this. 

“Should we have a smoke?” he finally asks.

“In your bedroom?”

“In our bedroom,” he corrects and reaches for the bedside table.

He grabs a pack of Marlboros, retrieving one to trap between his still swollen lips. The gold Dupont lighter opens with a cling and you have to smile. When he hands you the cigarette this time you don’t hesitate. You take a deep drag, pressing your mouth to his before you exhale. Secondo holds it inside, then releases the smoke into the air above you. When his arms close around your body in a firm embrace, you rest your eyes – and listen to the quiet sizzling of the cigarette as it slowly burns out.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire Secondo. If you want to be tagged in any future Friday Nights stories pls let me know! Terzo and Copia will get their own stories, as you might have guessed from the hints in the plot ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

[bugs1nmybrain]

Could you possibly write Professor Aizawa x college student reader, where UA is a college instead of a high school?

Teacher's Crush - Professor!Aizawa x College Student!Reader ☆ Part 1

Warnings: No smut but nsfw, fem-reader, Professor x student, age gap (readers in early 20s, Aizawa is 30), no sex and cliffhanger, unrealistic confession, not proofread, very ooc aizawa

Notes: OOF. I questioned if I should do this because it is admittedly a guilty pleasure, but it feels taboo?? Then I remembered some of the somno and dub-con stuff I've written and humbled myself down. Fiction is meant to be fun. You're in luck! The recent chapters of MHA rekindled my Aizawa fixation a bit. Very excited to write this.

I plan to make a part 2 of this that will include ooey gooey SMUT. There's just a lot that has to build up to their relationship.

The College won't be UA itself but an out of canon school. Any MHA students will not be included. Aizawa is an English teacher because I noticed that he likes reading in Vigilantes so maybe he has a secret passion for it.

Notes About Reader: Fem-reader, Honor student, shorter than Aizawa, curvy, early 20s

College had its challenges, but overall, you were an A+ student and even better, a teacher's pet. Or..professor's pet?

Professor Aizawa had a soft spot for you. One that he was ashamed of. But the thing was, he couldn't help himself be completely enamored by his favorite student. You were responsible, kind, humble, smart, and reliable. A brilliant student, he could tell from your essays and comments in class. A mind of your own. That's not to say that you were flawless. Sometimes, you'd make a grammatical mistake or two, but he ignorantly disregarded them (which he did not do with the other students) because he enjoyed the appreciative thanks you gave him on the school website when you got a perfect grade.

It's a good thing he was respectful, because you also waltzed into class with little slutty skirts and tops that conveniently showed off your waist and tits. Like today. Yeesh, playing the schoolgirl angle up much?

"Who can tell me the cultural significance of this week's reading?"

Professor Aizawa glanced around to the sounds of crickets. Even you weren't speaking up, though you did seem to have a peculiar look on your face. He wondered how your expression would shift.

"Y/n."

You jolted up and redirected your attention.

"What're your thoughts?"

"Oh, well, I assumed it was important because it showed the socioeconomic struggles of people in the real world in this time period and what they did to make ends meet."

"Great work. Sharp as always, Y/N."

You smiled at him with what seemed like a blush. This was regular lately. You always dressed nice, but lately, your outfits were more revealing, and you became more flustered at his praise. You were so cute.

He wanted you so bad.

And so did you.

Professor Aizawa was one of the younger instructors at this school, though still well older than you. But with his sluggish looks and broody attitude, you'd think he was older than 30. You weren't the only one charmed by him. You heard some students joke about who had the biggest dick out of all professor's and how Aizawa was easily on the top. You wondered how true that was...

He gave you looks that he didn't to the others and you weren't stupid. The As you recieved seemed undeserving at times, but he'd marvel at your work. You caught him peaking when you'd lift up from a chair and your body was on display for him. How soft his tone was with you, and an underlying lust from both of you.

"It's 4pm. Class dismissed." As everyone began gathering their supplies, Aizawa stood from his desk and came over to you.

"Y/N. I'd like to speak with you once everyone's left," he said as if it wasn't an option.

"Wha-what's wrong?" You panicked. You became anxious whenever you suspected you've done something wrong. Especially from Aizawa.

"Don't stress, just stay seated and wait for them to leave."

You nodded sheepishly. Aizawa stood by his desk, trying to keep distance between you and him. You didn't know what on earth was wrong and to upset your favorite professor would hurt you for the rest of the semester.

The rest of the students left, leaving the empty noise between you and Aizawa. He stood seated on his desk with his hands figeting with each other.

"You always tell us to get off the seats," you joke, not remembering that you may be in trouble right now.

"This is my desk. Those chairs are the schools."

"Right. I'm sorry, sir."

Mm.. you were too much for him.

"Why-why, uh. Did I miss an assignment? I did have a busy week so I'm not sure."

"No. Nothing like that. Your grades are perfect, one of the best in my class and I wager the rest of your classes, right?"

"Well, I'm not the brightest in CIS, but I have an A."

"The A is what matters. You seem pretty hard on yourself, I've come to notice."

"I-uh. Hm?"

"I have to pay attention to all my students to make sure you're all living up to your potential. You're talented, and you have a promising future. You're really not an English major?"

"No. I don't read as much as this class has me."

"You seem to like movies based on your personal essays. Film studies have similar elements, you know? But I'm sure you're going to do great things with your degree."

"Thank you, Aizawa. Um. You're much nicer to me than the others, I've noticed," you laugh nervously.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes."

Aizawa chuckled softly. The first laugh you've heard from him. You weren't sure if Aizawa was even capable of humor.

"Well it's because I.."Shota stammered, realizing he really didn't have a solid reason for keeping you behind. He figured just having a reassuring peptalk could win him moments with you. But you were catching on.

Shota's gaze zoned out on your breasts without thought. He admired your short stature and full features more than he should. It felt wrong. You were his student.

"What's that?" You asked.

"I suppose I just see you as a model student."

"Thank you, Professor Aizawa."

"Of course. I was wondering if perhaps you'd be interested in doing a work study as my personal teaching assistant."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. You'd recieve hourly pay and it's part time. I think you're smart enough to handle it."

"I mean, yea! I would love that. I've been trying to get work study for a while but I've had troubles."

Well, this was convenient he thought, considering it was spur of the moment. "I'm glad to hear that. You'll do great and I look forward to working with you."

While you were still here, Aizawa thought of another way he could capture your attention. Your outfit was a problem and it made him feel in checkmate. His cock would grow in his pants just at the sight and the filthy thoughts he had. Though it was against his personal beliefs on the matter, it could be worth it to scold you.

"You know...Y/N. Your sense of style is rather revealing as of late."

"Oh."

"I'm not mad. It's just that the students, especially the boys, might have a hard time focusing in class."

Aizawa eyed you with a faint look of wanting, as if he was trying to signal to you his intentions. He's already accepted he's borderline fucked if you two got together. Would he risk that? With the submissive and hungry pout you gave him back, though...hell yea he would.

"Am I being dress coded?" You perk up playfully.

"Mm..well, maybe you should show me if that skirt passes your fingertips, hm?"

You couldn't believe what was happening. You halfway doubted he was actually trying to make a move, but you realized that he was angled in a way to conceal his crotch from a boner.

"I- um!" You blushed and cracked a smile. You got up and started to check the fingertips, but Aizawa snickered again.

"I wasn't serious about that," he smiled at you, shamelessly looking you up and down. "Y/N, I'm really proud of you. So responsible, smart, attentive. Always in the front of my class, giving me a gorgeous smile. Are your clothes maybe a call for my attention, too?"

It's like he caught you like a deer in headlights. You stammered and looked down at the floor, in disbelief of what he was saying to you. You felt a tingle in between your legs, and Aizawa noticed your squirm.

"Come here," he looked at you with a motion of his pointer finger. So you obeyed and stood in front of him. "Do you have a crush on me?"

He got you.

You felt heated and panicked, worried this would be a problem. By how he spoke, it seemed thay he liked you too. But this was wrong, right?

"I..I mean, you are my favorite professor."

"Uh-huh..that's good to know,"he smirked, encouraging you to say more, but you kept quiet. "Is that why you're always nearly the only student to stay for extra lessons? With your smarts, you certainly don't need them."

"Well, it always helps to stay on top of things," you bluffed.

"That also explains you staring at me in the halls and through the teachers lounge window?"

Did he really notice that? You thought.

"..maybe. I'm sorry, Professor Aizawa.." You spoke in shame.

"It's alright, kitten."

!~¡☆!

Kitten

"This is very inappropriate," he remarks, as if you were the one who approached him.

"Well. Yea."

"Mhm. Are you able to keep a secret for us? Do you want that?"

You stared at him with huge eyes of excitement. You swore you must've been dreaming. You soon felt a calloused hand brushing up again your hand.

"How rational do you think this is?" You giggled, moving closer to rest your forehead on his.

"Not very. But it's not rational to force these things away, either." He sighed in relief, feeling his heart become warm. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me? Out of town, ideally."

"Yea. That'd be very nice."

[xthelastknownsurvivorx]

an incomplete list: things alex (and us readers) love about hrh prince henry of wales

something that I love dearly and find super cool about the list that alex makes for henry about what he loves about him is that we've actually experienced most of these things about henry with alex throughout the narrative of the book so it feels super organic and touching because yes we've come to love these things about henry too

so in honor of henry's birthday and because i was feeling sappy, here's all the moments throughout the book described in the list under the cut

1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off.

Chapter 2, end of alex's london trip

“No booty calls,” Alex tells him, and Henry chokes on a laugh.

Chapter 4, great turkey calamity

“…you’re not a totally boring asshole.” “Wow,” Henry says with a laugh. “I’m honored.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“Hi,” Alex says carefully, squinting over his coffee. “You seem … less pissy.” Henry huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. …’”

2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?).

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry smells like expensive cologne and champagne and a distinctly Henry smell that never goes away, clean and grassy…

Chapter 9, lake house

…then Alex has him, inhaling the clean smell of him, laughing into the crook of his neck.

Chapter 15, election night

The second he steps backstage, there’s a hand on his back, the achingly familiar gravity of someone else’s body reentering his space before it even touches his, a clean, familiar scent light in the air between.

3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough.

Chapter 6, post-red room

“Hang on,” Henry says, and Alex is already groaning in protest, but Henry pulls back and rests his fingertips on Alex’s lips to shush him. “I want—” His voice starts and stops, and he’s looking like he’s resolving not to cringe at himself again. He gathers himself, stroking a finger up to Alex’s cheek before jutting his chin out defiantly. “I want you on the bed.”

Chapter 7, phone conversation

“It’s fine,” Henry says, steadiness rising in his voice as if he’s stuck out his chin in that stubborn way he does sometimes. Alex wishes he could see it.

Chapter 13, confrontation with mary

And [Henry] does the thing Alex loves so much: He sticks his chin out, steeling himself up. “I’m not a coward,” he says. “And I don’t want to fix it.”

4. How your hands look when you play piano.

Chapter 6, post-red room

Alex tries not to be in awe of the simple agility of his hands, tries not to think about classical piano or how swift and smooth years of polo have trained Henry to be.

Chapter 8, in Henry's apartments following wimbledon

His hands are fast, almost effortless, even as he goes off into a tangent about the War of the Romantics and how Liszt’s daughter left her husband for Wagner, quel scandale.

5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you.

Chapter 6

He’s starting to understand what swelled in his chest the first time he read about Stonewall, why he ached over the SCOTUS decision in 2015. … It’s weird that the thing with Henry could make him understand this huge part of himself, but it does. When he sinks into thoughts of Henry’s hands, square knuckles and elegant fingers, he wonders how he never realized it before. When he sees Henry next at a gala in Berlin, and he feels that gravitational pull, chases it down in the back of a limo, and binds Henry’s wrists to a hotel bedpost with his own necktie, he knows himself better.

6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after.

Chapter 2, in the medical supply closet

Then, unprompted, Henry says into the stretching stillness, “Return of the Jedi.” A beat. “What?” “To answer your question,” Henry says. “Yes, I do like Star Wars, and my favorite is Return of the Jedi.” “Oh,” Alex says. “Wow, you’re wrong.” “…isn’t there something to be valued in a happy ending as well?” “Spoken like a true Prince Charming.” “I’m only saying, I like the resolution of Jedi. It ties everything up nicely. And the overall theme you’re intended to take away from the films is hope and love and … er, you know, all that. Which is what Jedi leaves you with a sense of most of all.”

Henry's passion and ability to recite things he's interested in 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Chapter 7

It’s another thing Henry does—whipping out these analyses of what he reads or watches or listens to…

Chapter 10, in the v&a

“James was completely besotted [with George Villiers]. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” [Henry] clears his throat and starts to recite: “‘One man fucks Monsieur le Grand, another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre, and it is well known that the King of England, fucks the Duke of Buckingham.’”

Henry, who has tried, does try, and keeps trying 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying.

Chapter 6, red room

Alex has been learning for a while Henry isn’t what he thought, but it’s something else to feel it this close up, the quiet burn in him, the pent-up person under the perfect veneer who tries and pushes and wants.

Chapter 7, conversation with June and the J-14 magazine

“It pisses me off sometimes, thinking about everything he’s been through. He’s a good person. He really cares, and he tries. He never deserved any of it.”

Chapter 10, when alex storms kensington

Alex swallows hard. “You’re not even gonna try to be happy?” “For Christ’s sake,” Henry says, “I’ve been trying to be happy my entire idiot life. My birthright is a country, not happiness.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“I’m saying,” Henry begins, and the knit of his brow is nervous but his mouth keeps speaking, “I’m terrified, and my whole life is completely mad, but trying to give you up this week nearly killed me. And when I woke up this morning and looked at you … there’s no trying to get by for me anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed to tell the world, but I … I want to. One day. If there’s any legacy for me on this bloody earth, I want it to be true. So I can offer you all of me, in whatever way you’ll have me, and I can offer you the chance of a life. If you can wait, I want you to help me try.”

Chapter 13, in london following the email leak

Henry who has been through the worst thing and now the next worst thing and is still alive. [Alex] reaches out a hand and touches the ridge of Henry’s shoulder blade, the skin where the sheet has slid off him, where his lungs stubbornly refuse to stop pulling air.

Honorable mention: When Alex used to think Henry didn't try Chapter 1, the lead up to cakegate

“I’m just saying,” Alex says, resting an overly friendly elbow on Henry’s shoulder… “You could try to act like you’re having fun. Occasionally.”

12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters.

Chapter 5, in Alex's room after the state dinner

Henry’s hands are huge on his back, his jaw sharp and rough with a long day’s stubble, his shoulders broad enough to eclipse Alex when he rolls them over and pins Alex to the mattress. None of it feels anything like anything he’s felt before, but it’s just as good, maybe better.

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry rolls Alex onto his side and burrows behind him until he’s covering him completely, his shoulders a brace for Alex’s shoulders, one of his thighs pressed on top of Alex’s thighs, his arms over Alex’s arms and his hands over Alex’s hands, nowhere left untouched. It’s the best Alex has slept in years.

13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it).

Chapter 7, paris

In the morning, room service brings up crusty baguettes and sticky tarts filled with fat apricots and a copy of Le Monde that Alex makes Henry translate out loud.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

And beside him, there’s a copy of Le Monde on the nightstand… He recognizes the date: Paris. The first time they woke up next to each other.

14. The way you look when you first wake up.

Surprisingly, no direct descriptions of this but we can extrapolate from Chapter 15, presidential election victory celebration

And for a fraction of a second, a whole crystallized life flashes into view, a next term and no elections left to win, a schedule packed with classes and Henry smiling from the pillow next to him in the gray light of a Brooklyn morning.

15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio.

Chapter 5, alex sexuality crisis musings while on a run with june

He thinks about Henry’s voice low in his ear over the phone at three in the morning, and suddenly he has a name for what ignites in the pit of his stomach. Henry’s hands on him, …Henry’s mouth, … Henry’s broad shoulders and long legs and narrow waist…

16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart.

Chapter 9, last night at the lake house

What if [Alex] got so wrapped up in everything Henry is—the words he writes, the earnest heartsickness of him—he forgot to take into account that it’s just how he is, all the time, with everyone?

Chapter 11, hometown stuff email

You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate.

Chapter 12, bad metaphors about maps email

…the truth of you. the weird, perfect shape of your heart. the one on the outside of your chest. give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there’s so much of you.

Chapter 12, in london following the email leak

Six feet of boy curled around kicked-in ribs and a recalcitrant heart.

17. Your equally huge dick.

Chapter 10, in the V&A

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says. “The top list of reasons to love you goes brain, then dick, then imminent status as a revolutionary gay icon.”

18. The face you just made when you read that last one.

Chapter 4, new years eve party

[Alex] was having fun watching everything he did play out on Henry’s face.

19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it).

See #14

20. The fact that you loved me all along.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“What about you?” “What about me?” Henry says. “Christ, Alex. The whole bloody time.” “The whole time?” “Since the Olympics.” “The Olympics?” Alex yanks Henry’s pillow out from under him. “But that’s, that’s like—” “Yes, Alex, the day we met, nothing gets past you, does it?” Henry says, reaching to steal the pillow back. “‘What about you,' he says, as if he doesn’t know—”

Chapter 11, re hometown stuff email

But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you.

[theharrowing]

Carnival of Terror 🎪 4: I make them dance

The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

🎪 Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Yoongi

🎪 word count: 11.7k

🎪 choose your own adventure, friends & strangers to lovers, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+

🎪 warnings: use of recreational drugs (mdma - time it takes to kick in is sped up for the narrative; feeling unsettled and paranoid; overwhelm); some of you might find Jungkook's behavior to be akin to infidelity, but in the context of their relationship, it's not; explicit smut (vaginal fingering & sex against a wall; multiple orgasms; not quite a blow job; cum swallowing) teasing & use of the word "whore"; being fed water from someone else's mouth; marionette horror; mirror horror; bloody slice across a face.

🎪 note: at best, everyone is a little toxic. at worst, they're a monster in human flesh with dark secrets, that can only exist in this magical realist world. likely, they are something in between. also, if you're in my time zone and see me posting at 2 in the morning, no you don't lmao.

🍧 food note: idk if everyone grew up eating "snow cones" but they're literally just balls of ice and flavored syrup. bingsu and shaved ice are kind of similar, but the ingredients and presentation can differ.

🎪 if you need a little refresher on what happened in the last chapter, i made a handy dandy recap post.

🎪 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🎪 posted june. 2024 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

WELCOME BACK TO THE GREATEST SHOW IN THE WORLD!

We left off making questionable choices with Jeongguk. Just how many of our intrepid characters can get lost at once?

POLLS THAT SWAYED EVENTS IN THIS CHAPTER:

ducky & rabbit 1 | ducky & rabbit 2

The little pale crystals taste bitter on your tongue, and you wince in disgust as you reach for the open water bottle that Jeongguk holds in his fingertips, arm outstretched. He eyes you curiously, more openly than you have grown accustomed to, and it excites you. 

"Have you rolled before?" he asks, leaning close as you swallow down two large gulps of ice-cold water. 

"No," you admit with a shiver. 

Not that you know of, anyway. After what you have seen and felt in Seokjin's hypnotic trances, you are beginning to wonder whether perhaps your memories are not the extent of your experiences. Of course, there is a possibility that Seokjin has somehow planted those memories of you in bed with him and Namjoon, but that is a matter for later. For now, you have other matters to attend to.

"You'll like it," Jeongguk insists, stepping close. 

The two of you stand under the shade of the Hall of Mirrors building. With your back inches from the wall, you are unable to hold any space between your bodies.

Your breath feels heavy as you ask, "How do you know?'

Jeongguk smirks. "You like it when your mind is a little fucky, don't you? I mean…you let Yoongi hyung dig his claws into you for long enough."

"What's your excuse?" you ask, equal parts curious and defensive. 

"I love the game," Jeongguk shrugs, easy enough. "Sure, sometimes he breaks my heart, but he always comes crawling back. And in the meantime, I have plenty of distractions."

"Distractions?" you ask.

Jeongguk is far too close, and his lightly floral musk is cloyingly sweet. You find yourself swaying toward and away, toward and away.

"Drugs," Jeongguk says with another shrug. His gaze is pointed as he adds, "And sex." 

It feels like whiplash the way Jeongguk so easily shifts into a completely different person. If you didn't know any better, you would think he and Yoongi were in on something together, and that Yoongi is just off in the periphery somewhere, enjoying the show. 

"How long does it take to kick in?" you ask, ignoring Jeongguk's dark, smoldering eyes and attempting to gaze out at the carnival grounds past him. 

The sun should be going down by now, but it continues to hang high and bright. All around you, music blares, and voices shout. It no longer overwhelms the senses; rather, it feels commonplace.

"Could take an hour. Could take fifteen minutes. With this cut, it's hard to tell."

That is not reassuring. 

"Why is it so inconsistent?"

Jeongguk shrugs. "This cut is strange."

You sigh and accept your fate; what more could you do at this point? Jeongguk seems amused, chuckling a light, twinkling sound – pitchy and melodic. He almost looks childlike with the striped scarf hanging around his neck, tied neatly in the front. 

"Want to walk around and wait to come up, or go inside and get lost?"

Get lost feels like the wrong way to describe precisely what you want, but perhaps it is somewhat accurate.

You take Jeongguk by the hand and go to the left, toward the back door to the Hall of Mirrors – the door that is closest. From the outside, there is no handle, but you instinctively reach for the edge of the door and run your fingers along where there is a small groove in the black-painted wood, allowing you to hook a finger in and open the door. 

"Whoa," Jeongguk mutters, and you think the same, surprising even yourself. 

The room that the door opens up to is dark, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You pull Jeongguk to the right, whereas the hallway leading into the attraction is on the left, and you find a thick black curtain that you pull out of the way, then discover a small black door. You knock lightly, wait for several seconds, and then yank it open, gaining entrance into an empty space that is clearly not meant for the general public. 

"How do you know about this place?" Jeongguk asks.

"I don't know," you admit. Your body is simply running on autopilot.

The room the two of you find yourself in is rather small and dimly lit, with black walls and nothing to sit upon. There is a small metal hook that locks the door, and you slide it into place. Music plays overhead – the same dizzying organ tunes you have grown accustomed to hearing in this place – and the air feels unusually heavy. 

"I'm surprised you agreed to this," Jeongguk purrs as he crowds your space. 

Instinctively, you step back, knocking your foot against a wooden wall. You stare at Jeongguk as he towers close, keeping your hands to your sides as you try your best to steady your breath. 

"I am too," you admit. 

"Yoongi hyung not enough for you?" Jeongguk teases as he leans close enough to press his body into yours. Warmth radiates, and you melt a little into the wall, allowing yourself to relax. 

Holding firm, steady eye contact, you reach up to rub your palms over Jeongguk's chest, dancing your fingertips over taut muscle concealed under the light, soft, greenish-blue fabric of his shirt. With your left hand, you finger the scarf, giving it gentle tugs.

"Yoongi is more than enough for me," you say, tilting your head playfully. "But he's not here, is he?"

Jeongguk grabs your waist and spins you around. You barely have time to steady your hands against the wall to prevent your cheek from smashing into wood. He presses into you, yanking your hips back until his crotch rubs against your ass, and you sigh a shattered breath as your eyes flutter closed.

"More than enough, hmm?" Jeongguk groans in your ear, voice just above a feral growl. "If that were true, then why are you so eager to let me have you?"

You shrug and whine, "I'm bored."

"Bored," Jeongguk snarls, reaching around to undo your slacks. 

His fingers are quick, and he shoves the material down, then reaches a greedy hand between your legs to rub over your clothed pussy. The material is cold to the touch and still slightly wet, and he tsks in your ear.

"This all for me, or this from earlier?"

"From earlier," you admit.

"When?" Jeongguk asks in a sharp, angry tone.

You grin. "Tunnel of Love."

Jeongguk chuckles, but the sound is deep and swimming with fury. If you didn't know any better, you might think he is planning on ripping you apart.

"I knew it," he all but growls.

Your body simmers with excitement and something else – something that might feel like panic if not for Jeongguk's long fingers roughly stroking over your soiled undergarment. You sigh and press your ass back, feeling the way his erection tents in his pants, tempted to offer to get on your knees and beg for it. 

"He told me all about you, you know," Jeongguk says sweetly, voice far more tame and welcoming. "I know everything."

You hum a curious sound and ask, "Like what?"

"Like how tight you are," Jeongguk says as he pulls your panties aside and lets one finger explore your folds before it dips deep inside. "Fuck," he sighs, breath hot against your neck. "So fucking wet."

"That's all for you," you whine as Jeongguk pulls his finger out and slowly presses it in deep. 

"Yeah?" he asks. "You sure about that? Or is it just me talking about Yoongi hyung that turns you on?"

With a sigh and a light giggle, you say, "Maybe it's a little of both."

"Yeah?" Jeongguk asks, pulling his finger out in a broad stroke that rubs across your clit, making you tremble with pleasure. "You like being hyung's little whore?"

You wonder if Jeongguk is attempting to hurt your feelings despite circling his finger over your bud in firm strokes. All you feel is amusement. 

You attempt to look over your shoulder as you ask, "Are you?"

Jeongguk dips his hand down and slides two fingers in, this time making you hiss. The stretch is not enough to really fill you the way you like, but it feels good. It feels promising. 

From behind, you can hear Jeongguk's other hand at work on his button and zipper. Fabric rustles, his hand pulls away, leaving you empty, and then you feel his cock pressed against your ass. 

"I saw you first," he groans, knuckles brushing over your skin as he strokes himself. "I was the one who pointed you out to hyung. I wanted you first."

He takes you by the hips in both hands and pulls back, forcing your back to arch. You feel trapped in your slacks, unable to spread your legs, but Jeongguk does not seem to mind. He bends and slides his cock against your semi-clothed cunt, causing the two of you to whine in tandem. 

"But Yoongi hyung always gets what he wants," Jeongguk says as he lines his cock up with your hole and thrusts, rubbing his length over your folds and clit. 

A shiver runs along your spine, and you sigh, enjoying the slide even without penetration. Then Jeongguk lines up again and presses slower, steadier, spearing you open. 

Arousal floods quickly, making you moan as pleasure quakes through you. You know that you should be quiet, but it is hard to hold back, and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to clamp your mouth shut and muffle your sounds. 

Jeongguk is thick, and he moves maddeningly slow, making you feel every little vein and curve he has to offer. Everything is heightened with how sore you are from earlier.

"What was it about me?" you whimper, attempting to keep your voice low and steady.

Jeongguk pulls back and thrusts forward, coating himself in you, making the slide much smoother. Then he buries his nose in your neck as he straightens you from the half-bent position you had found yourself in. 

Your back stays somewhat arched, but you attempt to stand tall and allow Jeongguk's hands to grip your hip and chest, holding you in place. You anchor your palms against the rough wood wall, feeling its tiny grooves filled with paint.

"Everything," he groans as he pulls back and thrusts quickly forward, making you moan in dizzying pleasure. 

The hand on your chest slides up and firmly plants over your mouth. You sigh into the feeling, breathing in the faintly sweet scent of his skin as he sets a steady pace and fucks you. 

"Your smile," Jeongguk grunts, hips slapping against your ass in a punctuated rhythm. "Your laugh. You were so—" Jeongguk's hand slides from your hip, reaches forward, and pinches your clit, "—intoxicating," he growls as you moan desperately into his palm, feeling pleasure burst inside you. 

Jeongguk fucks you hard and fast, groaning against your neck while your hot breath creates a pocket of condensation coating his calluses, his life lines, and his heart lines. Surely, you could be heard by anyone who may approach the little black door hidden behind the velvet curtain, but you cannot bring yourself to care.

You feel euphoric. You feel lost.

"Cum for me, baby," Jeongguk commands, fingers pinching and rubbing your clit in rough but pleasant motions. 

Ignoring the way your chest flutters at the sound of Jeongguk calling you baby, you nod and close your eyes, relaxing as best as you can, eager for release. Fireworks of light and pleasure seem to explode within you, and as you climb higher and higher toward bliss, you feel awash with warm, overbearing ecstasy. 

Desperately, you moan into Jeongguk's palm. You attempt to beg him to make you cum, muttering a muffled prayer of, "Please, please, please." 

Jeongguk angles his hips, pressing himself impossibly deeper, causing your eyes to roll back. Orgasm explodes and you squeal and shake, worried the pleasure might knock you down to the floor. 

But Jeongguk holds you firmly and keeps you steady. Your blunt fingernails dig into the wooden wall, and you quake as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, threatening to drown you in its undertow. 

"So fucking good," Jeongguk groans against your neck. "You feel so fucking good cuming on my cock."

You are unsure whether it is the drugs or simply Jeongguk, but as soon as you feel as if you are able to relax and come down from your high, another explodes inside you, causing your legs to go weak as you tremble and squeal. 

"Holy fuck," Jeongguk growls. "That's it, baby. Keep squeezing me."

You attempt to moan Jeongguk's name, but your voice is too muffled. The sound of your release squelching with each thrust fills you with shame and excitement, and you wonder whether you have ever cum so hard before. You want to tell Jeongguk as much – want to praise him for how incredibly he fucks you – but all you can do is moan and sob against his damp palm, and take what he has to give you.

"Gonna cum," Jeongguk warns. Then he slides his hand away and asks, "Will you swallow it?"

Without thinking twice, you nod, voice broken and weak as you moan through the last of Jeongguk's firm, deep strokes. 

He pulls out, and you turn, dropping to your knees haphazardly, which are stuck together in your bunched slacks. Your knees sting as they kiss wood, but all you can focus on is Jeongguk's pretty, uncut cock glistening above your face as his fist slowly strokes up the shaft. 

"Open," he commands, leaning with one hand against the wall and towering over you. 

You open wide and do your best to sit high, but a steady tremble works through your entire body, causing you to feel dizzy and disoriented. Jeongguk takes your chin in his hand and slides his cock along your outstretched tongue, and as soon as you close your lips around the tip and suck, tasting your own heady flavor, he pulsates against your lips and cums. 

Jeongguk moans, fingers digging into your jaw, and you do your best to breathe through the gentle thrust of him along your tongue, spurting into your throat. When he sighs heavily and pulls back, you look up, heavy-blinking and holding your mouth open wide. 

The sight above you is heavenly. Jeongguk pants and stares, covered in a sheen of sweat that sticks his shirt to his firm, muscular chest and arms. His face is rosy-blushed, and his dark eyes are wide. 

"Fuck," he mutters, leaving his cock to hang heavy and deflate while he moves his hand to your mouth and presses the pads of two fingers against the mess on your tongue. 

Something is clearly on his mind, and you stare up in waiting. Then he pulls his fingers out, and nods, cracking a smile. 

"Hyung mentioned you were a fucking dirty girl. I bet I could spit in your mouth and you wouldn't mind."

You roll your eyes and retract your tongue, smiling at Jeongguk's audacity. You absolutely would not mind, but he doesn't need to know that. Not when he seems to feel so superior over you. 

Jeongguk tucks himself back into his slacks and then helps you stand. Your legs feel like overcooked noodles, and you stumble back against the wall as you reach to pull your pants up with trembling hands.

Around you, the sound of the music swells and sways, and you would attribute the disorienting nature to the drugs, but this is how it sounded when Namjoon held your hand and pulled you through these halls earlier. You wonder if, perhaps, Namjoon is nearby.

"Feel the effects?" Jeongguk asks, grabbing the bottle of water from where it seems to have been tossed to the floor. 

You stretch your arms over your head, feeling how simultaneously heavy and light they are. "I think so," you mutter. 

Jeongguk takes a drink of water, then steps forward crowding your space. You open your mouth to ask what he is doing as your head bumps against the wall, but Jeongguk simply opens his mouth and dribbles ice-cold water from his lips to yours. 

Most of the water makes it to your mouth, but some drools out to the side, and as the two of you swallow, Jeongguk kisses you, licking deep and causing you to melt into the wall once more. 

You lift your hands to rub against his chest, palms grazing over clothed pierced nipples, making Jeongguk hiss. He licks firmly over your tongue, then pulls a moan from your throat as he sucks on its tip. 

"You taste good," Jeongguk mutters against your lips, urging you on. 

You slide one hand up to scarf around Jeongguk's neck and pull him close, licking fervently into his mouth, tasting and teasing; taking as you please. Jeongguk presses his hips against you, and you chuckle, breaking the kiss. 

"We should get some fresh air," you mutter, feeling warm and increasingly claustrophobic. 

"Alright," Jeongguk mutters, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. You whine until he releases, and sigh as he says, "Let's go."

Jeongguk takes your hand in his, and you can feel residual cold on his palm from when it held onto the water bottle moments ago. It feels nice and grounding as you attempt to get your feet to cooperate and assist you with leaving this place. 

Only, when you exit this small room and walk toward the door that should lead back outside, all you find in its place is a wall. Jeongguk presses and rubs against the black wood, and he sighs when he finds nothing. High on the wall is a blinking red Dead End sign, and you wonder whether there is a proper back exit, or if this attraction is only meant to have one way in and one way out.

"I want to freak out about this, but I feel too high to care," he grumbles, making you laugh.

You would also like to freak out about this and all the other oddities that you have experienced. But you know that it will do nobody any good, and so you sigh and yank Jeongguk toward the hallway that leads into the attraction. 

"Only way out is through, I guess," you sigh. 

Jeongguk falls into step beside you, and as you enter the first hall full of glass and reflected light, dizziness overtakes you. The two of you stumble and giggle, stopping to gawk at your warped reflections, warping them further as you bend and twist. 

You are a little surprised that Jeongguk continues to hold your hand, firmly keeping you close, leading at times, and following at others. It feels nice. Warm and steady. Secure. You nearly forget all about Yoongi.

But then a flash of blue and black moves in the distance ahead, and although you do not clearly see it, you feel it. It has to be Yoongi. 

Jeongguk is giggling as his reflection when you grip tightly to his fingers and pull, causing him to stumble to your side, muttering something under his breath. 

"This way," you insist, staring ahead for any sign of the blur that you could swear is Yoongi. 

You turn your gaze every which way, looking into rooms and staring as far as you can along paths, but all you find are strangers. Amused couples, bored third-wheels, and giggling shapes pressed closely in dark corners. 

"What is it?" Jeongguk asks, slowing and creating resistance. 

"I need fresh air," you sigh as your chest tightens and the air feels constricted. "I just…I need to get out of here."

Time seems even more warped as the drug shimmers through your system, and you search and search, though for what, you slowly forget. All you know is that there is a deep, pounding need in your chest, but as you turn corners and examine rooms, you question whether that need could ever truly be filled.

Far ahead, down the long hallway and past several doorways, you spot a bright shining light appearing and disappearing. Sunlight. 

You yank on Jeongguk, who follows along obediently, holding onto your palm as it increasingly begins to sweat, slickening your hold. He allows you to pass through doorways first and slides easily behind you to allow others to pass. 

When you reach the exit, he steps ahead first and presses the heavy wooden door open, holding it for you. All at once, the air is hot and dry, and as you take in a deep inhale, you are unsure whether you feel better or worse, squinting against the bright sun. 

Jeongguk hands you the bottle of water, and you finally release his hand, lamenting the familiar warmth as your trembling fingers struggle to twist the tiny plastic cap free. You stumble into some shade beside the entrance of the building, and Jeongguk follows. 

He crowds your space and takes the plastic bottle cap, sliding it into his pocket for safekeeping. As you lift the bottle to your lips, you quake and sigh, shivering despite overheating. 

"The come up is sometimes just as rough as the comedown," Jeongguk mutters sweetly. "You probably didn't feel it as badly inside because you were distracted. It'll pass soon."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, voice weak and pathetic against the small round rim of the bottle. You take a large cold gulp and refrain from finishing off the water despite feeling thirsty enough to want to drown.

"What are you talking about?" Jeongguk asks, laughing. 

As you sigh through the cold gulp, you hand over the bottle, watching as Jeongguk drinks from it with steady hands, much better equipped to handle the drug than you. 

"You called me a whore," you pout, suddenly feeling upset despite not caring before. 

Jeongguk finishes the water and crushes the bottle in his hand, crinkling the plastic as he steps forward to crowd your space. A crazed grin tugs at his lips, and with a lift of his brow, he mutters, "I was only joking," sending a chill down your spine.

"Are you sure?" you ask, doing your best to appear unaffected but feeling jittery.

Jeongguk's look fades and he begins laughing. "You're too much," he mutters, shaking his head. 

Affronted, you attempt to swat him on the chest, but Jeongguk grabs your hand and holds it close. 

"Why are you so annoying?" you grumble, attempting uselessly to yank your hand away. 

"You like it," he responds, grinning as he lets go, causing you to stumble back into the wall from your semi-frantic movement.

The world feels off. Glimmering and electric. Overbearing yet underwhelming. 

"What time is it?" you ask, making no move to reach for the phone in your pocket. 

Jeongguk sighs. "I suppose we should find the others. How long were we fucking?"

His candor makes you shy, and you feel the way heat burns up your neck, to your cheeks. You would attempt to smack him again, but you know it is pointless. 

You look around, wondering whether your friends are still at the game booths where they said they would be. "Where did you tell them we were going?" 

"I told them the truth," Jeongguk shrugs. 

Anxiety rises. "The truth, as in…"

Jeongguk smirks. "They already know about what hyung and I do. No need to act like such a prude about it."

Petulance rises, and you actually lift your hand with the urge to smack, but Jeongguk watches the movement and lifts his eyebrows. He is far too quick, and for your own sanity, you need to minimize the amount of time he spends touching you from this point forward. 

"I'm not a prude!" you grit through your teeth, eager to get your point across without being too loud. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. "Look, Tae hyungie originally pointed you out to me. Nobody is going to be shocked by this development."

"Wait…" you grumble, mulling it over. "What?"

Jeongguk shrugs. "He said you would be my type, which of course made Yoongi hyung pounce first. I doubt that he or Jimin hyung would be alarmed or upset if they knew we ended up together, as intended."

You frown, running Jeongguk's words through your mind. The night you met Yoongi, you were with a friend at a house party. That friend introduced you to Yoongi, who later introduced you to Jeongguk. It would be another week before you were introduced to Taehyung and Jimin. What does he mean Taehyung pointed you out?

"Taehyung?" you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

Jeongguk shrugs again. "I don't know," he concedes, seemingly disinterested in dwelling on the details. "He said you were my type, but I'm sure he just meant visually. It's not like you two knew each other."

You softly ask, "What is your type?" and then berate yourself silently, wishing you could just let what transpired in the Hall of Mirrors stay there. 

Regret sinks its claws in as Jeongguk licks over his lips and says, "Pretty. Bratty. Tight."

You roll your eyes and shake your head, scoffing in disbelief. Despite knowing you should bite your tongue, you tilt your chin up as a challenge and ask, "Well? Did I live up to the expectations?"

Jeongguk cracks a smile and says, "Yeah. You're bratty as fuck."

You shove at Jeongguk with both hands, causing him to stumble back into the hot sun and nearly crash into a couple walking by. He laughs, doubling over with his hands on his knees, and stays there for what feels like a very long time, causing you to laugh as well. And then he straightens out and motions for you to follow him while he begins to walk in the direction of a food cart. 

The biggest downside to the drug seems to be how thirsty you become. You also seem to struggle with regulating your temperature, shivering in the shade and feeling stiflingly hot in the sun. 

Jeongguk stands tall on his toes and leans his arms against the high metal shelf of the food cart while he orders a bottle of water and a couple of lollipops. You allow yourself to study his body, noting the way his tiny waist cinches above the band of his slacks, and how his torso curves up into broad, muscular shoulders. 

Tattoos peek out from under his sleeve, littering his hand, and you remember the feeling of metal under his shirt when your palms felt his chest. There seems to be a lot about shy, sweet Jeongguk that you do not know. Perhaps it is no wonder why he and Yoongi get along so well. 

Yoongi. Thinking about him makes you frown. You wish you knew what happened to him when Jeongguk told him to get lost. Everything has felt like a fever dream since you walked into the carnival grounds, and you continuously wonder when you will finally wake up. 

Jeongguk holds out two lollipops, pulling you from your thoughts, and you examine their colorful wrappers, given the choice between grape and cherry. You pick grape, considering how good cherry might taste if you have the chance to suck it off of Jeongguk's tongue later. 

"Thanks," you mutter sweetly, moving away from the food cart to a more secluded area as you pick at the little plastic wrapper with your fingertips. 

With a sigh, Jeongguk sidles up close to you, blocking the sun. You stand near the backs of various trailers, some hitched together, and it feels nice to be away from the crowd.

"Do you feel guilty?" you ask. 

Jeongguk takes his time to fuss with his wrapper, then asks, "About what?"

You turn your head to glance at Jeongguk, but find you would rather keep your eyes on your wrapper, finally peeling it open as you say, "About what we did."

"Why would I feel guilty?" he asks.

You twist the wrapper between your fingertips, feeling the slick plastic that bunches roughly. Your body is warm, and you become increasingly aware of your fixation, bunching up the wrapper and shoving it into your pocket. 

"I think I'm high," you mutter.

Jeongguk snickers. "We already established that."

Your entire body shivers, whether you are cold or not. Right now, you are unsure what you are. Each time a breeze hits you, goosebumps break over your skin, and you reflexively lift your shoulders to your ears. But otherwise, the heat almost feels palpable, like you could cut into it with a knife.

The fact that it still feels like noon with the sun blaring high overhead starts to rattle around in your head, and you glance up at the sky, searching the clouds for movement. Even the sun does not seem to hurt your eyes as you stare directly into it.

How is it possible that time seems to stand still within the carnival grounds? Or have you completely lost your mind? The illusions show begins at 5, and there is no way it is close to that time. 

As you lift the sucker to your lips, sugary grape flavor bursts on your taste buds more intensely than you could have possibly expected. You suck on it, coating your tongue and lips, then pull it out with a wet pop and mutter, "Wow."

"Good, huh?" Jeongguk asks.

You glance up and notice how the cherry lollipop has already stained Jeongguk's lips red. You want to stand high on your toes and trace your tongue over the color in search of just a hint of flavor.  

"There you two are!" Jimin's voice pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to jolt. 

He and Taehyung eye the two of you suspiciously, and you suddenly worry about your appearance. Despite spending so much time in the Hall of Mirrors staring at your warped reflections, you have no idea how you look. 

"Having fun?" Taehyung asks, voice low and curious, eyes mostly on Jeongguk, who shrugs.

"We did some molly," he says plainly, yawning. "She's struggling to adjust, but we should even out soon."

You return the too-sweet sucker to your mouth. Taehyung hums and Jimin gives a worried glance at you before looking around. 

"We don't have to go to the next show if you think it will be too intense," Jimin offers, bringing his concerned eyes back to you.

You shake your head, muttering around the candy, "I wanna go."

Jeongguk gives Taehyung a glance and the two of them seem to communicate telepathically. You lament briefly over not having close enough friendships to be able to read one another in such a way, but you do your best to shove away the thought. 

Taehyung very softly asks, "We still have some time before the show, want to see this weird tent Jimin and I found?"

Something about the thought of a weird tent makes you uncomfortable. You ask, "Weird, how?"

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes wide and staring at the ground, and Taehyung says, "You just have to see it. It's hard to explain."

"Where is it?" you ask, feeling as if your entire body is weighed down with lead and unwilling to move as the others turn to walk in its direction. 

"Come on," Jeongguk insists, grabbing for your elbow and yanking you along. 

You expect your newfound weight to hold you in place and keep you anchored in the shade, where it is safe, away from the weird tent, and you are disappointed to discover that you are still merely human, and easy for Jeongguk to drag along wherever he pleases. 

The warmth radiating through your sleeve from Jeongguk's palm to your skin should feel comforting, but you find that it is too warm and somewhat oppressive. You remember rough calluses pressed against your lips.

You do your best to yank your arm away, keeping with his pace, and you are relieved when he lets go. You follow Jimin and Taehyung past the game booths, and you are startled when you see it along the edge of the space: a small tent with stripes that are red and what you assume used to be white, but now look more like a rusted off-tan. 

A shiver runs along your spine, and you instantly feel a sense of ick and dread work its way through you, but your friends are undeterred. In fact, they seem to have a pep in their steps as you get closer. 

"Should we be over here?" you ask. 

Jimin turns, frowning as if you have just said something completely ridiculous, then rolls his eyes and giggles. "There's an opening on the side, and there is no explicit warning to stay out, so I don't see why not."

"You already checked this place out?" Jeongguk asks with a bit of a dreamy slowness to his speech. 

"We started to," Taehyung responds, voice almost too soft to make out over the cacophony of carnival sounds. "But then we decided to come get you two."

Jimin rounds the tent along the right, and the rest of you follow him. Sure enough, the flap is open, and there is no indication that carnival guests are not allowed to enter. Strange, you think, since the tent is sitting somewhat secluded from the rest of the carnival attractions, a peculiar sight that you would think would cause people to want to investigate. 

The tent is not too large, especially compared to those the Kim brothers use, but it is certainly not tiny. The opening is just shorter than your height, but the ceiling is raised several feet higher, and as you duck down and peer inside, just past Jimin's crouching body, it is large enough to contain what looks like a tiny living quarters. 

"Are you sure we should be over here?" you ask again, eyes trailing from the small mattress at the far end of the space, past a kerosene lantern and several closed wooden trunks. There are books strewn about and a pair of boots on the floor. Something about the setup seems personal. Intimate. 

"I assume it is meant to be one of those prop tents," Taehyung says from behind you, peeking to get a look. "To showcase how carnies live…or something to that effect."

"You know how, like, when we visit the historical park that has the buildings still styled the way they were in the Joseon dynasty?" Jimin says. You nod faintly. "Like that."

It is true that this tent may be just another prop, but something about it is strange. Perhaps it is just the molly making you feel so creeped out. Either way, you stand up straight and wiggle away from the entrance of the tent, allowing Taehyung and Jeongguk to step closer. 

It is Jeongguk who walks all the way into the tent, and something about it makes your skin crawl. You shout, "Wait," and reach for him, but before you can react further, Jeongguk jolts backward and trips over himself, nearly falling to his butt on the grass. 

You think you hear him mutter, "What the fuck?" causing goosebumps to break out on your arms and neck. 

"What is it?" Jimin asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Whoa," and Jeongguk shakes his head and takes two steps backward. 

"That was…" Jeongguk trails off, staring at the tent and then shaking his head and chuckling. Only, the sound is less mirthful and more unsure. "Damn. I need to lay off the drugs."

"What happened?" you ask, walking close to Jeongguk and turning your head to glance into the tent. 

Everything looks normal, but you are unwilling to step any closer to inspect it. The unsettling feeling has only managed to grow. 

"I thought I saw something," Jeongguk says, chuckling with unease some more. "Or, rather…someone? I don't really know."

This makes Jimin sigh loudly and stand up, turning to face you and Jeongguk. "Oh, give me a break," he groans. "You're just trying to scare us."

Jeongguk's face brightens as if he has been caught in the act by Jimin, but there is something in his eyes that seems scared and distant. Still, you remind yourself that the two of you are high, and you are definitely feeling heightened paranoia. 

"Okay, well this has been fascinating," you say, walking slowly backward and away from the entrance. "But I still feel like I might be peaking, and I don't think I can handle any more of these creepy ass tent vibes." 

To your delight, Jeongguk nods and follows you. Jimin seems intrigued by the tent, however, and it appears as though Taehyung is pointing into it, whispering something to Jimin. 

"Should we just ditch them?" you ask, only half joking. 

Jeongguk pulls out his phone and glances at it, then says, "We still have a little time before the illusions show. Wanna get in line for a snow cone? I saw a cart on the way over here."

A snow cone sounds amazing and you nod, feeling relief and excitement replace all the earlier dread. Out of stress, or possibly impatience, but likely the thought of enjoying something new, you chomp down on the grape sucker, crunching it between your teeth. Unsure what to do with the sticky grape-stained stick, you twirl it between your finger and thumb.

When you turn to see whether the other two are following, you are disappointed to find they are still bent at the hips and staring into the tent. 

"We're gonna get snow cones," you try, but Jimin does not react, seemingly stuck in a trance. 

It is Taehyung who glances past Jimin toward you and says, "We'll catch up to you."

Jeongguk shrugs and begins to lead the way, so you follow. With each step you take, the ground feels further and further away, and you are beginning to sweat quite a bit. Jeongguk sways his arms as he walks, and you wonder whether it would feel nice to do the same, but as you approach the paths where more people are, you feel too self-conscious to try it. 

"What did you really see in the tent?" you ask, eyes on your feet as they step from grass to gravel.

"Yoongi hyung," Jeongguk says, causing you to nearly trip over yourself.

You halt and turn to Jeongguk, whose brows are knit and eyes are downcast. His toe kicks at a small rock. 

"Be serious," you mutter. 

Jeongguk looks up at you, frowning. "I am serious."

You roll your eyes, reach for his hand, and begin to yank in the direction of a medium-sized rectangular freezer box covered in ice cream and snow cone stickers that is shaded by a tall red and white umbrella. The person working the stand wears a light blue jacket and slacks that match the color of the freezer box. 

The two of you get in line, and you realize you are still holding hands. Sweat drips from where your palms connect, and you attempt to pull away, but Jeongguk holds on tight. You feel gross as your wet skin slides against his, and you yank a little harder until he lets go.

Your mind wanders to Yoongi. Specifically, to Jeongguk and Yoongi. You wonder whether they hold hands as much as Jeongguk seems to want to hold yours. You like the idea of the two of them being so affectionate toward one another. 

There are two other people in line ahead of you, and you watch as a person in a sunflower sundress reaches for a tall paper cone with a ball of bright red ice on top, grabbing it with two eager hands. The person beside them pays and receives their own snow cone – that one orange – and then you take a step forward as the person ahead of you leans forward to place an order.

"You don't believe me," you hear Jeongguk pout, but it takes a moment for you to acknowledge his voice and realize that he is talking about seeing Yoongi inside the tent.

You snicker. "Of course I don't believe you. Nobody else saw anyone in that tent, much less someone who looked like Yoongi."

The person ahead of you in line steps away, and you and Jeongguk step forward. He orders a small cup of vanilla soft-serve ice cream and you order a lime-flavored snow cone, suddenly feeling drawn to how green it is on the display images. 

The attendant mutters about the total, which you can barely hear over the carnival songs that play nonstop and the shouting of people both near and far. You think you hear that it is 4,000 won, and you reach for your wallet, jabbing yourself in the hip with the sucker stick that you continue to hold onto, but Jeongguk swats your hand away before paying with his card. 

The two of you stand in silence, and you wait for the paper cone filled with ice and syrup to be placed into your hands. You lament briefly over not considering the flavors more closely, wondering if you should have picked a berry flavor over a citrus one. 

But when you take a frozen bite from the top, you are delighted by how bittersweet the lime flavor is – how different it is from the grape that lingers in sticky shards against your molars. It is perfectly refreshing for a hot summer day. 

As you walk away from the ice cream booth, you notice that Jeongguk seems to be moseying in the direction of the larger carnival tents rather than where you left the others back at the small weird tent. You have the urge to look over your shoulder to see whether they are still there, but something causes you to continue forward. Unease, you think, of what you may see if you look back there again.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and the little hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. Although the snow cone seems to be evening out your high despite the flavor being incredibly intense, your mind continues to race in strange directions. 

A lot has happened since you arrived here, and as much as you want to dwell on all the oddities and attempt to sort out what could be going on, something seems to be stopping you. It is as if each new event is being shoved into one of the various trunks you have seen inside each tent, and it is being locked away for safekeeping. 

You are aware of what is being placed inside the trunks, but without the key to allow you access to each one, your mind is not fully allowed to perceive anything. The notion that your mind palace has become a circus tent filled with trunks makes you snicker. 

You turn to Jeongguk, who has more or less inhaled his soft serve, using his tiny pink plastic spoon to scrape melted dredges from the bottom of the cup. He tips the edge of the paper cup back into his mouth and slurps the final drops, then lowers his arms to his sides and crumples it in his palm.

Suddenly, you feel self-conscious about the state of your own treat, and you wrap your lips around the small orange straw that sticks out from one of the sides and suck down melted ice and syrup. Cloying lime flavor bursts over your tongue, and you stop sucking in order to bite off some of the top ice that is more diluted in order to wash some of the taste away. 

Jeongguk stops in his tracks, and you look up from your lime-flavored ice as you do the same, turning your gaze to him. His eyes are wide, and he stares ahead.

You glance to where you imagine he is staring, but only see a crowd of people separating you from the tents, which are now just across from you, on the other side of a wide pathway. 

Looking to Jeongguk again, you ask, "What is it?"

"I told you I saw him," Jeongguk responds. He looks at you, lifts an eyebrow, then tilts his chin back to where he had been staring. "Look."

This time, when you follow his line of vision, you clearly see what – or, rather, who – Jeongguk was staring at. Standing beside the nearest red and white striped tent, wearing the same blue shirt and black slacks you last saw him in, is Yoongi. 

He seems to be staring back at you, and you blink heavily several times, unsure whether it really is him. 

Without another word, Jeongguk takes off walking briskly, twisting his body this way and that while narrowly avoiding strangers whose paths he cuts across. Your feet hesitate, then you begin to walk as well, more slowly and excusing yourself before stepping into someone's path, doing your best to keep your eyes on the back of Jeongguk's head and refrain from dropping your snow cone. 

Once you are out into the clearing, on the grass beside the large tent and no longer dodging passersby, you take several quick steps until you are standing beside Jeongguk, whose arms are outstretched and shaking. You feel overwhelmed, the sun is bright, and you squeeze your eyes closed before opening them and taking in the scene before you.

Yoongi stands still staring at Jeongguk, arms to his sides. His shoulders are in Jeongguk's hands, and although Jeongguk shakes Yoongi, shouting something you cannot make out, Yoongi just looks at him blankly, unmoving aside from the jostling he cannot control.

"Say something," Jeongguk demands. He shakes harder, and Yoongi moves along like a ragdoll. "Yoongi! Hyung, say something!"

Everything about this feels wrong. You absentmindedly drop what is left of your snow cone and reach up with two heavy hands to place them on the arm closest to you, yanking it away from Yoongi's shoulder. 

"Stop," you mutter weakly, eyes glued to Jeongguk's arm. "Jeongguk, stop."

Jeongguk drops his arms and then forcefully shakes your hands away from him. The harsh movement surprises you, and you take a step back, dizzy and concerned.

"This has nothing to do with you," Jeongguk says in a tone that feels hurt and angry and a myriad of other things.

You cannot bring yourself to look up, and instead, you stare at Jeongguk's black boots. "That's not— I just don't think you should be jerking him around like this," you say, almost to yourself as tears prickle your eyes.

Jeongguk scoffs. "Our relationship has nothing to do with you." His voice is calmer and quieter, but there is still an edge to it. "You're just a pretty little plaything we both enjoyed. Nothing more."

You shake your head. Jeongguk is understandably emotional, but you will not allow yourself to be pushed away so easily. "No. I care. You can't just—"

Jimin and Taehyung have appeared and are shouting while wrapping Yoongi in a hug. And then, in a blink, the sky is dim. It appears to be evening time, but the air holds the same oppressive heat. 

You feel disoriented from the sudden change and consider sitting down on the lime-sticky ground, but a familiar man clad in white appears before you, and you lift your head to find his head cocked, eyes watching you intently. 

"It is time," Jack says, lifting a hand and pivoting to point somewhat to the right, ahead of you.

You turn your gaze to find one of the Kim brothers rolling back the end of a large red and white tent flap and securing it so that it rests open. A black top hat on his head prevents you from telling which one he is until he lifts his head and his eyes meet yours. 

Namjoon stands clad in red and black. His gaze is soft and attentive and familiar in a way that makes your heart ache.

"Are you ready?" Jack asks. 

Trepidation fills you. "I don't know," you mutter.

Jack laughs. "Come, then," he says, placing his hand on your arm while his other hand continues to point toward the tent opening, which you can see from the periphery; your eyes are still on Namjoon. "No sense in wasting time."

You glance around and realize that Jeongguk and Yoongi are no longer standing nearby. The back of Jeongguk's head is with Jimin and Taehyung just ahead of you, in line to enter the tent, but you do not see Yoongi's tuft of dark hair with them. You attempt to look around, but the group of eager audience members has closed in on your right side, and you are unable to see past anyone.

You decide to keep up with your friends, and as you approach the entrance, Namjoon reaches a hand and takes one of yours. His warmth feels like home, and you stare at your hand in his. 

"After the show, I would like to speak with you," he says. "Come to the tent. Jack or Hoseok will show you the way."

You nod, eyes on Namjoon's hand, which gives yours a squeeze, and then lets go. As you look up, ready to ask why Namjoon wants to see you, he turns in a flash of red velvet and enters the tent ahead of you, walking briskly into the darkness on the left. You are ushered inside and to the right. 

Your group follows the familiar path by rote, along the back of tall wooden bleachers, then to the left and down a path leading to the front row, in an area where nobody else is seated. Seokjin is standing in front of the seats but on the stage floor, speaking with Hoseok, the twin in black. Jack stands on the outside of the row of seats, palm held upward, signaling where to go.

As Jimin settles, then Taehyung, and then Jeongguk, you realize there is definitely no Yoongi. The seat to your left is empty, and it is the last one in the row. You glance around, wondering whether he is off somewhere just in the distance. Perhaps, you think, he will join you once the show starts.

You turn to Jeongguk, who stares down at his open hands. His eyebrows are pinched, and he appears lost. 

"Jeongguk?" you ask, voice low and hushed.

"He just…disappeared," Jeongguk mutters.

You look around, watching as people fill the seats of the tent, then return your gaze to Jeongguk, who is unmoved. "What do you mean?"

Jeongguk blinks several times, then shakes his head in shallow movements. "I was shaking him. Telling him to say something. Anything." His voice is monotone. He almost sounds programmed to speak; emotionless. "Hoseok hyung said something to me, and I turned to look at him for only a moment, and when I turned again, Yoongi was gone. It was like he vanished into thin air."

The notion is so ridiculous, you feel your lips crack into a smile. You want to shove at Jeongguk and tell him to quit the act. "What do you mean, vanished? Your hands were on him. Didn't you feel him go?"

Jeongguk turns his gaze to you. His eyes are filled with tears, and he appears devastated. Your heart sinks at the sight of him – at the gravity of his gaze – and you tear your eyes away, to Seokjin standing about ten feet away on the stage floor watching you. 

Seokjin pulls his black top hat from his head and lowers his gaze as he bows. He wears a dark green jacket that matches Namjoon's red one, and as he stands up straight and places his hat back onto his head, he stares at you, grinning. 

The lights in the tent go out, but you continue to watch Seokjin's grin. A spotlight shines onto the center of the stage, behind Seokjin, and you want to lift your gaze and look – to confirm whether it is Namjoon standing in the spotlight – but your eyes remain glued to the devious smile before you. 

“Come one, come all!” Namjoon's voice calls, booming over the cheers and clapping of the audience. Seokjin lip-syncs along, matching Namjoon's timing perfectly. “Welcome to Carnival Bizarre! The greatest show in the world!”

A symbol crashes, piano keys pound in a cacophonic crescendo of sound, and you look up to find Namjoon standing in the spotlight, arms outstretched, with fireworks bursting and crackling up from his outstretched fingertips. 

When you look back to where Seokjin had just stood, nobody is there. You glance to the left, to the darkness of the bleachers across the path, then behind you as far as you can see, twisting this way and that, but no familiar faces greet you aside from Jeongguk, who watches ahead with tears in his eyes. 

Delicate piano music plays, and Namjoon holds his left arm out in front of him, palm downward. You see something shimmering below his hand, glinting in the spotlight, but you are unable to make out what it is.

A golden glow of light fills the area, not enough to brighten the tent, but enough to allow you to see faint shadows cast all over. They remind you of wooden drawing mannequins with rounded shapes for hands and feet, and ball joints between each limb. 

"Strings," Namjoon says, voice soft but booming in the surrounding speakers. You blink, returning your gaze to him, and you think that you can make out thick, dark strings hanging from Namjoon's fingertips that glimmer in the spotlight. Namjoon dances his fingers up and down, causing the strings to jump and sway, and you stare intently. "I control them with my movements. Small and deliberate. I make them dance."

All around, the silhouettes dance. Their legs spread strangely, and their arms jerk around, showing that they are all being controlled by strings. Your eyes move from left to right, watching the figures move, until you notice something.

To the right of Namjoon is a large dark mass. It is mostly in shadow, hard to make out, and you stare and stare until finally, you realize that it is a large piano. The music that plays throughout the space is predominantly that of a piano, and you squint and strain your eyes, trying to see whether someone is sitting before this one, but you see nobody.

"Will my lovely volunteer please join me?" Namjoon asks, and you tear your gaze back to him, then glance eagerly around the dark tent. 

A new spotlight shines behind Namjoon, just to the right, past the piano. There, a figure stands near an entrance across the way that you imagine could lead to the backstage area. The figure has short, dark hair, but his head is tilted downward. He makes you think of Yoongi.

He wears a dark blue fitted jacket with rows of gold down the front that you imagine may be frog knots – hussar style. But from this distance, feeling as high as you are, it is hard to be certain. 

"Yoongi?" Jeongguk mutters, adjusting in his seat and making you glance to your right. 

Jeongguk frowns, and you open your mouth to speak, but your attention returns to the center of the tent as piano music picks up to a medium tempo and you notice Namjoon moving his hands. 

It appears as if Namjoon is only lifting certain fingers, causing certain strings to respond. And, it appears as if with each movement, one of the legs of the volunteer moves, causing him to walk forward into the space. 

In fact, you think you can see something shimmering in long strings from the tops of the man's black shoes, from the backs of his hands, and from the crown of his head. But as your vision moves upward, the strings seem to disappear. It is some illusion, indeed. 

"Small movements are easy to control with just my fingers," Namjoon says.

He raises his right hand and seems to touch two of the strings hanging from his left. You notice the arms of the volunteer sway. The man truly appears as if he is a puppet being manned by Namjoon, and there is a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this may not be an illusion. 

Heavy-blinking and shaking your head, you attempt to clear away the errant thoughts and focus solely on the show. Of course, the man is not really a volunteer. Clearly, this is a practiced routine between two actors. 

As the man approaches the piano at the center of the floor, it is hard not to notice all the ways in which he reminds you of Yoongi. The hair seems a little shorter – a little straighter than he had been wearing it. But his broad shoulders and large hands…his lithe waist and long legs…the resemblance is there. 

And then you remember it: the card Seokjin handed you while inside Namjoon's tent. There was a figure with dark brown hair wearing a blue jacket, and he was playing a piano. The bottom of the card read, The Fool.   

"Large movements, however…" Namjoon trails off.

The man stops just before the instrument – which you now realize is an organ. Namjoon raises his right hand at the same time his left hand makes a sudden movement, and all at once, the man lifts his head and a round curtain falls around him and the organ, causing you to gasp. 

Namjoon continues, "Large movements, I must control with my mind."

You sit up straight, holding your breath, certain that it has to be Yoongi behind that curtain. 

"This volunteer of mine is a regular man," Namjoon insists, using his right hand to lift the hat from his head and tip it as he makes a small curtsey motion, showing that he is a man of his word. A gentleman. "He has no formal training, and he has never visited this circus before. He is—"

Namjoon stands up straight and looks forward. You think, directly at you. 

"—a stranger."

There is a harshness to Namjoon's tone that is matched by a solemn note echoing throughout the tent, though you do not think it is from the organ behind the curtain. The music is soft and fleeting, arriving and dissipating for dramatic effect, likely from a soundboard backstage. 

And then, the music is gone entirely. Silence hangs, save for your heaving, anxious breaths.

"Volunteer," Namjoon says magnanimously. You and Jeongguk shift in your seats. "Play Passacaglia in D minor by Dieterich Buxtehude."

The round curtain lifts with the movement of Namjoon's hand, and sitting before you in a blue hussar jacket adorned with golden embroidery, is Yoongi. He begins his song the moment he is commanded to do so, and with the organ angled just so, you can see his hands moving over the keys. Namjoon's right hand sways in small conductor movements, up to the center and down to the side, as if keeping Yoongi's tempo.

Shimmering strings appear to jut out from Yoongi's hands and the crown of his head. You swallow thickly, watching Yoongi play, never making a single mistake, as if he has practiced this song over and over again. All around, in the periphery, you can see that the silhouetted mannequins are dancing.

Your heart is a caged animal thrumming behind your ribs. The song Yoongi plays is somewhat slow-paced, with both bright sounds and sad ones, tugging you between highs and lows, making you feel extremely unsettled. There is a sort of discordant nature to the song that strikes a deep, hollow longing inside you, as well as a sense of hopefulness. 

You wonder whether Jeongguk is as enraptured as you, feeling the same way you may, but you do not turn your gaze. You do not dare so much as blink for fear of Yoongi disappearing again.

"Faster, now," Namjoon commands, moving his hand much more quickly. Yoongi's tempo increases, matching Namjoon's movements. Although you do not take your eyes off Yoongi, it is clear that the shadows are moving faster, too. 

Lights swirl, and there is something like glitter sparkling in the air, threatening to distract you, but you do not fall prey to the petty tricks of the illusionist. You sit on the edge of your seat, elbows digging hard into your upper thighs, mouth dry and hung open, and you watch intently.

"That's it," Namjoon says, speeding his movements again. "Faster, now! Faster!" 

Although you can still hear the song that was playing earlier – can still make out the familiar modular rhythm and predict each sound that comes next – it is harsh and cacophonic. Dizzying. At last, you blink and lick your lips. Your shoulders are tense and raised, and you breathe slowly, nearly holding your breath.

Around you, the shadows are tangled and chaotic, and it is impossible not to avert your gaze whenever a head rolls or a limb snaps. You think you hear wood splintering and cracking, and although Yoongi is made of flesh and bone, you worry for him.

Namjoon shouts, "Enough!" and uses the fingers of his right hand shaped like scissors to cut beneath his left hand, where strings would be hanging from his fingertips. 

Yoongi falls limp and the song ends in an abrupt crash as his hands and forehead meet the keys. You gasp. Beside you, Jeongguk stands up from his seat.

The round curtain falls over Yoongi and the organ, and the spotlight cuts out, leaving just the one on Namjoon glowing. There are no silhouettes on the walls.

All around you, shimmering silver strings fall like snow from the ceiling, landing on your hair and in your lap, draping over your limbs and creating a sort of mist that obfuscates the stage just long enough for everything but Namjoon to disappear. 

Jeongguk looks as if he is about to jump over the shin-high wooden railing and down onto the floor in search of his boyfriend. He grumbles and fights with Taehyung, who appears to be holding him in place and muttering something low and angry. 

On the stage, Namjoon lifts both arms, which are covered in silver strings, and he bows. The audience stands, claps, and cheers. You feel glued to your seat. 

Upbeat organ music plays and the lights come up, but it is only when Hoseok appears clad in black before you, that you move. You heavy-blink, eyes struggling to take in the brightness of the overhead lighting while silver glitters all around you. The air feels heavy and oppressive, and you are suddenly eager to leave.

"Kim Namjoon would love to see the two of you," Hoseok says, eyes trailing between Jeongguk and you. Then he glances further past Jeongguk, to Taehyung and Jimin, adding, "If you don't mind."

You neither hear nor see their responses. Hoseok steps over the wooden railing and walks past you along the path, leading the way. Jeongguk walks without waiting for you, slamming into your right and causing you to trip as you twist to follow. Then he wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms to your sides and steadying you, causing you to flush hot from head to toe. 

Hoseok does not wait, and you hurry ahead, yanking from Jeongguk's arms to make your way along the path. Rather than turning right, to the entrance, he turns left. You follow Hoseok into the darkness, around the inner perimeter of the tent, toward an opening from which a red light glows. 

Your stomach churns, and you swallow the trepidation that builds and builds. Behind you, Jeongguk mutters, "Where are we going?" but you do not have the answer, so you pay him no mind and continue forward. 

Before you can worry further, Namjoon appears in the doorway. His gaze is soft and inviting, causing your worry to dissipate. As if being pulled on a leash, you hurry to him, stopping only when the toes of your shoes meet the tips of his. 

Namjoon looks at you with reverence, smiling softly. Then he looks past you, expression painted over with something more neutral and polite. He nods to Jeongguk, then pivots to walk into the red light. 

"This way," he says, leading you through a hallway to the wall of the tent, which he reaches for and pulls away, revealing the outside world, which is still somewhat dim and feels like the evening. There is another tent opening just across from this one, which Namjoon steps inside of, pausing in its entryway to wait for you and Jeongguk.

You turn in time to see Namjoon pull the tent flap down. You watch as it seemingly disappears and becomes the tent wall; no seams or hems giving its edge away.

"I have something that the two of you must see," Namjoon says, walking toward his desk on the right side. You realize that in the past, you have entered on the opposite end of the tent, and you gaze around at the newfound view, taking in the trunks and clothing to the left, the piles of books to the right, the bed just ahead.

"Where is Yoongi?" Jeongguk insists, walking past you to Namjoon. Jeongguk stands up straight, squaring his shoulders, and you notice a tremor in his balled fists. 

Namjoon appears unfazed and simply blinks at Jeongguk before belatedly offering him a friendly smile. 

"Yoongi is safe. Once he is finished backstage, you will see him again."

"Finished with what?" Jeongguk demands, chest heaving. "What is he doing back there?"

Namjoon turns to face you and lifts a hand, beckoning you forward. You had not realized you stopped walking about halfway, and you slowly make your way toward the two of them, each step feeling heavy. 

You approach and round the desk somewhat, putting the bed behind you, keeping it from view. The bed brings back flashes of Seokjin's hypnosis show and cause your cheeks to burn hot, so you do your best to tamp the images down. Jeongguk stands to your right, anger pouring from him as he waits for a response.

"Take this, ducky," Namjoon says. "Peer into this mirror and tell me what you see."

Sound becomes fuzzy, and you lean forward as Namjoon lifts a mirror from his desk and holds it out to you, cradling it carefully in both hands. It is an oval hand mirror with an ornate brass frame and handle. 

You take the mirror in both hands, gripping it tightly around the handle while the fingertips of your left hand cradle the back. At first, you only see your face. But then, you see something in the reflection behind you, hanging from the ceiling.

Pale limbs are wrapped in bright red rope. The patterns and knots appear artistically done.

"Rope," you mutter, squinting and tilting the mirror past your own face. For a split second, you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see the suspended visitor, but all you see is an empty space beside Namjoon's bed.

Looking at the mirror again, you hold it so close that your breath fogs the glass. You think that you can see dark hair hanging on one side, and pale feet on the other. Once again, the figure you see reminds you of Yoongi. 

"Is that…a body?"

"Yours?" Namjoon asks.

You shake your head. "Not mine."

"Interesting," he says. "Good. This is good."

You look up, over the edge of the mirror, to Namjoon. Silver strings hang from your hair and glimmer over your eyes, and you think about pale limbs wrapped in red rope – about the snowfall of silver strings inside the tent. 

His gaze is on you, and there is an easy smile on his lips. You tilt your head, asking, "What is it?"

Namjoon watches you, eyes slowly darting back and forth as if taking you in and deciding what to say. His soft, familiar gaze returns and your body yearns for him. Curiosity and arousal simmer through you, and you cannot help but stare directly into his dark brown eyes – sharp as a dragon's but deep as the sea.

"Try as I may to weave the strands together in any order I wish," Namjoon responds, lips down turning to a gentle frown, "you are the one who chooses the order of the strands. I am merely a conduit."

Namjoon's words roll over you in a tall, slow wave. They crash, covering you and breaking around your feet, only to dissipate into nothing. He is speaking in sentences you should be able to parse easily – uses phrases that some part of you understands. 

But you know that there must be a deeper meaning, and that part of you who you are certain knows what that meaning is, feels buried, somehow, and all you can do is blink owlishly and mutter, "Huh?"

Namjoon laughs a soft quiet sound that dies in his mouth but twists his lips into a beautiful, genuine smile. You stare, confused as ever, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

"Jeongguk," Namjoon says instead, reaching for the mirror and taking it from your grasp. 

You feel caught in a daze as you allow the mirror to be taken, putting up no resistance. Your arms fall limply to your sides.

Jeongguk does not handle the mirror with care. Rather, he grips it on both sides, thumbs digging into the glass as he peers into it. At first, he appears angry and impatient. But then his eyes widen with fear, and his hands begin to shake. 

"Jeongguk?" you ask, stepping forward. 

Jeongguk shakes harder, his grip on the mirror turning his fingers white. You reach for it, but stop your movement when you hear the sharp sound of the glass cracking.

Namjoon lets out a sigh and says, "Oh, dear."

You glance from Namjoon to Jeongguk and notice a jagged red line opening across Jeongguk's forehead, over the bridge of his nose, and down to his cheek. Jeongguk gasps, lets out a crazed shout, and opens his hands. 

"This is no good," Namjoon says as the mirror crashes to the floor. 

* * *

My blossoms are falling What a strange feeling When it's so early in the year As soon as they are flowers They go and leave forever Sweet blossom Where is your tree? * Their happiness will shine Their happiness will grow And I hope you don't mind if I let them go

🎵 visit the playlist!

HELLOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💜💜💜 i am no longer going to promise to be back sooner bc it is always a lie. 💀 i had the writer's block/getting straight As/grief trifecta all year, but i am............well, i shouldn't even say it bc i don't wanna jinx it but i hope i am back??? god, this chapter was so much fun to write and it genuinely invigorated something so 🤞🤞🤞 fingers fricken crossed.

POLLS WILL GO UP SOON!!! i only have one so far that is planned, but i am going to outline a bit and see what other fates i can place in your hands. polls will run for 7 days and i will do my best to reblog!!!

thanks for your patience. i love you. i have missed you.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MEAN THE WORLD, AND LIKES ARE APPRECIATED, TOO!!! STAY HYDRATED. 🤍

tags will be in a separate reblog! 🎪 visit the master post to read the disclaimer & request to be tagged! tag list includes the polls!!!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023 - 2024. no translations or reposting allowed!

[diorgirl444]

to all the greasers i’ve loved before - chapter 1.

warnings: bad writing (my first time writing a multiple part fic ), don’t let the picture of dallas fool you he barely features in this chapter i’m afraid, fem! curtis reader though it is never specified whether the reader is a bio daughter or adopted and so can be read as either, doesn’t follow book canon, 1060 words <3

you had always loved love. your parents were more than happy to recount stories of how you would wander around the house dressed in your nightdress with the lace curtain over your hair clutching onto a small posy of daisies and dandelions. you had called it playing weddings and it was your all-time favourite game.

this obsession with love trickled into other things with most of the cookies you baked being heart-shaped or being the only person to still give everyone, even the weird kids handmade valentines after it was deemed uncool at about thirteen. yes, you loved love but there was an important differentiation, you loved the idea of it. so you supposed it was natural that you began to write love letters the way some people wrote diary entries.

you kept them in a teal silk hatbox of your mothers which had long since lacked the hat intended to be in it. there was one letter for every boy you had liked at one time - five in total. Bryon from volunteering at the hospital, Johnny from freshman homecoming, Dallas from two summers ago, Randy from Model Un and Keith since forever. you supposed your letters were less i love you love letters and more goodbye love letters. they were a way of accepting the crush whilst also allowing yourself to let go and move on. that you could sing to the Ronettes and not be singing about him, that you could buy milkshakes at the diner and not wonder which flavour he’d choose. the letters set you free - at least they were supposed to…

Keith Jacobs was a friend of your brothers but you’d always been a bit in love with him. his mother moved to Tulsa all alone with one son and a baby girl just across the street from you and so your parents, lovely people that they were invited the Jacobs round for a fried chicken dinner. you made a peach cobbler for dessert and when Keith asked for seconds - you glowed with pride. by the time he’d finished his third helping you’d already decided what shade of white your wedding dress would be and from that day he was practically always at your house. there was time when it was the four of you, Daryl, Soda, Pony and Keith but then your parents died and it all changed.

Daryl had to grow up and then the other three all started hanging out later and getting into fights which was fine because you had Angela and Sylvia. well, you had Sylvia till the summer before high school. then suddenly over that summer, she started smoking cheap cigarettes and wearing tight jeans where you were still happy to read a silly romance novel and bake cookies. angie was more like Sylvia really but she was like a street dog who you’d given a treat to - loyal to a fault and kept coming back.

which leads you to where you are now, the last day before junior year and the house is packed. you and Daryl were determined to keep up the tradition of home-cooked meals, mainly for Ponyboy but if you were honest with yourself sometimes as you mashed the potatoes with the radio turned up you would close your eyes and pretend your parents were slow dancing behind you. it turned out that most of your brother's friends didn’t normally eat well so they would often come round too. privately you wish they wouldn’t, they were too loud to you with no manners and they didn’t wash their hands before they ate. but for Ponyboy, the baby of the family you put up with it. You break out of these thoughts when Two-bit speaks, because as you hate to remember he’s Two-bit now not Keith anymore.

“guess who scored themselves a girlfriend”

You choke on your broccoli as all the boys cheer and clap him on the back. your ears ring and you feel like you’re gonna be sick. quietly you whisper to Daryl.

“I don’t feel very well. I think it’s my monthlies - I’m gonna go to bed”

he nods ruffling your hair affectionately as if you're still five and not almost seventeen. you don’t mind - that’s Darry’s way - playing dad to you and your brothers.

“g’night kid I’ll bring you some hot cocoa up and one of those hot water bottles wrapped in a towel.”

as you retreat to your bedroom with tears stinging you hear a chorus of “goodnights” and “feel better soon” from all apart from Dallas. despite your pain you still have the energy to roll your eyes, god forbid Winston cares about someone other than himself for once.

once you clasp your box and retreat under the floral quilts that your mom made you finally allow the tears to fall as you reread the letters. you decide tomorrow you’ll draft a new letter for two-bit, an official goodbye to the foolish hope you’ve clung to for so long. You hear the click of the look, and hastily you shove the letters back into the hatbox and wipe any resounding tears. Pony perches on the edge of your bed holding out the hot cocoa and water bottle that Darry had promised you.

“sissy, you okay?”

you bite back a laugh when he calls you that, a name that he called you as a baby that just stuck. then you watch his eyes catch the hatbox with curiosity.

“what’s that?”

clutching the box to your chest you speak.

“nothing just an old hatbox of mom’s that I keep recipes in. I’ve been working on a new strawberry shortcake one.”

you lie easily knowing that since that’s Pony’s favourite dessert it’ll distract him. he grins widely at you and you are reminded how young he is like a stab in the gut.

“promise?”

he says holding his pinky finger out.

“promise baby, I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

standing up you say to him as you press a kiss to his forehead and place the box away in the top shelve of your wardrobe. he’s still at an age where he pretends that stuff grosses him out so he scowls childishly as he leaves the room. you slip into your white cotton nightgown and finally let sleep overtake you. you’ll deal with it all in the morning and yet in that weird stage between sleeping and awake, you swear you hear the door open once more…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

@socgf @heart-shqped-box @jujuheartz13 @r0seb100d @cranberrv @anifever @notagreasernotasoc @honeysmoonn for now i’m just tagging all the people who expressed an interest but if you don’t wanna be tagged or wanna be added let me know <3