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loudblonde · 2 years ago

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader Mafia AU (chapter nine)

Summary: (Y/N) and Ghost arrives in Paris, where their building sexual desire for each other reaches an all-time high, it is followed by (Y/N) dreaming about them and a certain ex-lover of his. Everything is going smoothly, so far.

word count: 2 K

+18 themes, minors dni

The ride and sailboat to France landed them docked illegally in a private dock a little after midnight. Ghost was swaying on his feet, barely standing upright. (Y/N) grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards a car waiting for them, he showed Ghost in the passenger seat before taking the driver's seat. The back windows were tinted so back seat passengers couldn’t be seen. They were silent. Neither spoke and Ghost most certainly didn’t sleep. Even if he wanted to. Ghost didn’t protest at the opportunity not to drive. (Y/N) had already napped in preparation.

Ghost saw them drive through small villages that slowly became bigger and bigger towns. Towns turned to cities which turned to Paris.

(Y/N) parked in front of a hotel that didn’t look like a hotel unless you knew it was there, it was carefully hidden.

He got out, grabbed their bags and handed the keys to the first person he saw, Ghost followed behind, like a silent looming threat, ready to take out anyone who got too close.

The inside reception and welcome area were beautiful and luxurious looking. The floor was made from white marble and the carpet had gold-trimmed edges that didn’t look worn down. The furniture all had the same designer-like air to them like they were too expensive to ever drop something on or sit on.

The chandelier above them was crystal and gold, well taken care of and when matched with the matt black flawless walls it was beautiful. Just beautiful.

(Y/N) walked to the reception and placed a black card on the table, looking at the receptionist. “I ordered a room earlier today. Under the name Chip.”

The receptionist who was a young boy, not even 18 years old, gave a timid nod, clearly knowing the name. He gave them a room key and took the card behind the counter.

(Y/N) dragged Ghost off to an elevator and into the first available one. A man with a long grey beard shared their elevator, he had a bit of blood on the collar of his shirt.

“Ah, Cardinal! Did you have a productive evening?” (Y/N) asked.

“Ah, young Chip and… Chip’s boyfriend, I did indeed have a productive evening.” The man said, his voice was that stereotypical southern American grandfather voice, booming and full of spirit.

(Y/N) blinked. “Oh, Ghost here is not my boyfriend.” (Y/N) said before clearing his voice. “We are just heading for our own productive day ourselves. In the morning.”

Cardinal chuckled and leaned in. “The way he looks at you it surprises me you two aren’t together.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “Have a safe night you two.” The man said with a chuckle as he walked out.

(Y/N) covered his slightly blushing face as the elevator continued up. “How did you know him?”

“That was Purple Cardinal, he is from the old guard. Amongst the ones who taught my generation. He briefly worked with my mum.” (Y/N) explained.

“He looked over 70.” Ghost commented.

“78 and turning 79 this May 7th.” (Y/N) said and chuckled. The elevator doors opened and (Y/N) dragged Ghost with him down the hallway before entering a room that did have a small window and a bathroom with a shower.

There was only a small queen-sized bed in the corner, alongside a small desk and a table with an old box TV sitting on it. “I am taking a shower.” (Y/N) said as he placed their things down, he opened his bag, took out some clean clothes and went to the shower, leaving Simon all on his own.

Simon sighed as he sat down on the bed, he grabbed his mask and took it off, leaving his face bare to the room to see. His hair was sticking to his face as sweat clung to his skin. He needed a haircut, desperately so. But (Y/N) was the priority, and he would always be. Simon glanced at the barely opened door, he was allowed a tiny sliver of a glance into the room where the shower was. But he shouldn’t think about his superior in that way. It would never lead to anything good. Simon glanced up, his mask in hand as he saw just a fraction of bare skin, his scars barely showing in the dim light of the bathroom.

“Join me, there is barely any hot water here despite being in the middle of the city.” (Y/N)’s voice carried from the bathroom.

His eyes widened for a bit before Simon silently stripped off his clothes, he walked into the bathroom and glanced down at the man who hadn’t even thought to allow him to see him without slacks on just a few days prior, who had now openly invited him into the bathroom.

They both knew this was wrong, that nothing good would come off getting close nor personal, yet, as (Y/N) took Simon’s hand and brought him into the shower neither of them couldn’t help but silently hope and pray that the other would make some sort of move before the moment was too late before they would both be forced to give up whatever fleeting fantasy that they were hoping to momentarily achieve.

As they feared, the moment passed and both averted their eyes.

The water was not hot, it barely counted as lukewarm, but a quick washdown had them both cuddled together on the bed in nothing but underwear. Neither man spoke as they let silence dominate the space. Simon wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to sleep without (Y/N) and neither did (Y/N). Simon had managed to sneak into his mind and cling desperately like a hawk trying to hide from a hurricane by sticking to a tree.

(Y/N)’s eyes eventually drifted close and a dream so sweet filled his whole consciousness.

Simon’s lips traced (Y/N)’s inner thigh as the younger man glanced down at the kneeling man. A light smirk played on his lips as he gave Simon a nod of approval. The kneeling Simon wasted no time in taking his cock into his mouth, easily taking (Y/N)’s entire length in. He worked his tongue over the underside of (Y/N)’s shaft as he kept staring up at (Y/N), not once breaking eye contact. “You are doing so good for me.” (Y/N) breathed out as he moaned, his hand finding Simon’s blonde locks but he didn’t hold onto his head.

Simon chuckled which sent vibrations up through the head, shaft and into his lower abdomen, starting a knot of pleasure, like that on a rope, it only kept building as Simon kept sucking more and more. (Y/N) was in paradise when he heard a second voice. “Mein Schatz.” A deep rumbling sound came from the voice behind him. (Y/N) closed his eyes as he leaned against the tall Austrian man.

(Y/N) let out a moan. “Arthur~ you came just in time for this.” (Y/N) said, easily wrapping his hand around König’s head, bringing him down for a sweet and tender kiss.

“I can see that.” König’s voice rang out beside his ear. (Y/N) felt Simon quicken his pace, the kneeling man eagerly working his way up and down without any signs of slowing down. (Y/N)’s senses were going haywire, this was magical, dreamlike even.

“Oh god, Simon I am close.” (Y/N) stated as he felt Simon hum around his cock. “God.” He panted out. “You are so good at this baby, keep going.”

König sucked on (Y/N) neck from behind, sending waves of pleasure that crashed and combined with waves of pleasure that created tsunamis of lust and desire for both men. (Y/N) moaned and breathed out loudly and unashamed before spilling his hot pungent seed down Simon’s throat. Simon pulled away and stood up, swallowing it all before kissing (Y/N). (Y/N) moaned out even louder as he tasted himself on Simon’s lips and tongue. For once he hadn’t been entirely in control and it had felt good.

The dream came to an end as (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered open. He found himself alone on the bed. A light groan came from him as he rolled over, pointedly ignoring how hard he was. It was just past 7 in the morning, The sun was bound to start rising around this time. They still had an hour or two before they could get food. He heard the flash of a toilet and water running before Simon walked out and joined him in bed again. (Y/N) wrapped his arms around him again. “We have about 5 hours of driving before we reach the location. We should probably get some food first.” He muttered as he drew small circles on Simon’s chest, he watched as the usual tenseness of Simon left him more and more with every stroke of his finger.

“Do you know when places usually open?” Simon asked, his voice sounding strained.

“Probably around 8 or 9, though a cafe may be open earlier. I’m not certain.” (Y/N) said. “I am happy enough to either get on the road now and find food in the next city or wait for food and avoid the morning traffic.”

“We should probably get ready to leave then,” Simon said though neither man was in a rush to get up. Both just enjoyed the closeness they were able to express freely in the privacy of a room that no one else would be able to see in.

As (Y/N) stayed close to Simon, his thoughts drifted back to his dream, he could still feel his throbbing hard-on that wanted to be dealt with, undoubtedly Simon felt it too but neither man talked about it, they couldn’t, whatever they had had in that remote cabin had been burnt to the ground with it. Their feelings lay as dead as the human remains they hopefully burned to a crisp.

(Y/N) couldn’t make himself even think about the word love. This wasn’t love. It was half-disguised sexual desire and being cooped up in small cabins or rooms together for hours on end without anyone else to talk to or anywhere to go. Simple forced proximity. Nothing else.

Eventually (Y/N) and Ghost got dressed and headed out, both stayed perfectly silent as (Y/N) remained in the back seat of the car, hidden from sight

They hit forest roads and went as far as they could before being forced to carry their luggage the rest of the way on foot. A few falls and a sprained wrist later and (Y/N) with Ghost in tow made it to a small unassuming shed. (Y/N) whistled out a tune and the door clicked open. He stared down the scope of a semi-automatic rifle. “Who is your friend?” A heavy Austrian accent came from the dark room.

“That’s Ghost, he works for my father, he is currently my bodyguard. May we come in, König?” (Y/N) asked. “And do you have ice?”

The rifle disappeared and the door opened more. A man in full tactical gear and a sniper hood stepped out, he towered over both of them with ease. “Come in.” He said before looking at Ghost, his eyes narrowed in distrust but he took (Y/N)’s bag from him and walked them through the maze-like hallways. “I thought you were going to be in England,” König commented as they entered a giant common room filled with couches and random stacks of books in german. Clothes were randomly chugged into different places and the kitchen had a pot of simmering soup.

“Ice packs are in the freezer. Help yourself.” König said as he watched (Y/N) leave. He turned to look at Ghost. “A bodyguard, huh… you sprained your wrist protecting him or something?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow beneath the mask, it wasn’t visible but somehow König knew. “I sprained it protecting him.” Not a lie but not a full truth either.

König nodded. “Separate rooms or one together?” He asked. “I know (Y/N) does get close with the strays he picks up, hell I was one of them and I envy everyone else who gets close enough to fill that void of his.”

Ghost looked away. “Separate rooms. We aren’t together.” He said moments before (Y/N) returned with an ice pack. Ghost stood a little straighter as (Y/N) walked over and gave him the ice pack.

“We will room together, as Ghost said we aren’t together, especially not like we were, but I do enjoy cuddling at night.” (Y/N) said, with a smirk before dropping it and hugging König who more than happily wrapped his arms around the much shorter man. “I have missed you so much.” (Y/N) whispered to König.

König pulled away and removed his hood. He looked down at (Y/N) and smiled even wider. “I missed you too, mein Schatz.”

Tag list:

@rasberry-jupiter @one-green-frog

#cod x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod men x male reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x you #male reader #simon ghost riley #loudblondes cod mafia au

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olivejohn · 2 years ago

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New iPhone 13 Review: Good Enough to be the Best

Design

The New iPhone 13 and 13 Mini seem identical to the Pro models but have a few differences. They both include aluminium housing instead of stainless steel and five bright colour options. There’s Product(RED), starlight (an off-white colour), midnight (black), pink and blue. The Pro variants sport a matte-like finish to their colour options, whilst the conventional iPhone 13 models are the total opposite. They’re brilliant and shiny. I appreciate these colour options over the Pro ones, especially the blue tone. It looks fantastic.

On the back is a new camera lens arrangement. Not only are the lenses much bigger than last year’s model, but they’re also structured differently. Instead of being vertically stacked, the lenses now are now staggered. The flat edge aesthetic we saw Apple adhere to with the unveiling of the iPhone 12 last year continues. On the right edge of the iPhone 13 and 13 Mini, you’ll locate the power button, or side button, as Apple puts it. On the left side is the mute switch and the volume up/down controls, as well as the SIM card tray.

Apple’s tried and true, if somewhat ancient, Lightning port is still there on the bottom of the phone. My sentiments about switching from Lightning to USB-C for the upcoming iPhone 13 and 13 Mini aren’t as strong as they are for the Pro models, but one has to think that some type of shift is in the works. The notch that houses where the True Depth Camera system that allows Face ID is positioned has lowered just a little. It’s not as wide as it was in past iterations, but it is much higher.

The iPhone 13 offers a 6.1-inch display, while the iPhone 13 Mini keeps its 5.4-inch screen. Both sizes feel wonderful in the hand, with the smaller option being the easiest to use one-handed at all times. Even the iPhone 13 is nice to utilize with a single hand.

Performance, camera, and battery

Things get exciting when it comes to performance and the complete experience of the iPhone 13 or 13 Mini. On the interior, the phones are essentially comparable to the Pro models, save for a smaller battery in the Mini. They both feature the same A15 Bionic chipset, 5G connectivity, and a brighter OLED display.

The difference in display brightness is most evident when using the phone outside - it’s much easier to see what’s on the screen. The New iPhone 13 versions aren’t equipped with ProMotion, a feature that debuted on the iPhone 13 Pro and iPhone 13 Pro Max this year. Promotion is a fancy title Apple gave its variable refresh rate display invention. The screen on the Pro may run anywhere from 10Hz to 120Hz depending on what you’re doing on the phone. It’s a tiny but evident feature but not a must-have.

I detected a shift in the display for the first day or two after transferring from the iPhone 13 Pro Max to the iPhone 13 for testing. But after that initial tweak, I’ve had nothing but a nice experience with the screen on either 13 models. Another area where the iPhone 13 differentiates from the iPhone 13 Pro is the rear cameras. The iPhone 13 includes two 12-megapixel cameras, while the Pro has three.

There’s a wide camera, which is the main camera you’ll likely shoot most of your photographs and videos with. Then there’s the ultra-wide camera that allows you to zoom out on a photo or during a video without having to move physically. The lack of the third camera, a telephoto lens to zoom in, was something I didn’t think would matter all that much in my regular use, but I was mistaken. I missed the telephoto lens. The ultra-wide camera delivers 2x optical zoom out, while the main wide camera adds 5x digital zoom.

Bottom line

After evaluating all four iPhone 13 versions, it’s apparent to me that the regular iPhone 13 is excellent enough to be the best choice for most people. It’s inexpensive and has the same performance, battery life, and camera functionality as its Pro counterpart.

If you have an iPhone 12, there’s not a whole lot of motivation to hurry out and pick up a new iPhone 13. For everyone else, the iPhone 13 is an excellent upgrade for the first iPhone.

#iphone 13 #apple mobiles #apple iphone #apple iphone 13

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years ago

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A Different Deck

Day twelve Ectoberhaunt: Scythe vs Tarot

AO3

“Hey Deadman, want your fortune read?” Constantine asked out of nowhere as they were going through his junk. It was a futile attempt at organization, or at the very least a bit of uncluttering. Deadman had been watching Marie Kondo on Netflix and had gone immediately to the friend he knew needed her help most.

“I’m dead. Don’t really have a future.”

But Constantine smirked, taking out his cigarette and then tapping it out before picking up a small wooden box. “Don’t be so sure, I got these from a middle man. Straight from the Infinite Realms. Won’t work for the living, perfect for ghosts though.”

The Infinite Realms? Why did that sound familiar?

“Here, sit down.” Constantine waved his hand and some of the clutter moved aside, clearing a space at a table and bringing a chair up behind him. Deadman just floated, staring unimpressed at Constantine’s attempt to distract him.

“Funny.”

“I’m hilarious, now feed some of your energy into this deck.” Constantine started shuffling. The cards were longer than average playing cards tended to be and had an intricate design Deadman didn’t recognize displayed on the back.

This felt like one of Constantine’s bad ideas that led to a bigger issue later on… but he was also a bit curious. He hadn’t gotten his fortune told since he was alive, and if the cards really were for ghosts like him, they had to be at least interesting to look at.

He sent some of his aura into the cards as they were shuffled, careful not to use too much lest he damage them, or hurt his friend.

Constantine smiled. “Okay, perfect. Now step back and watch the magic.”

It was a bit of a show, and Constantine was clearly showing off. Deadman wondered for a second which of Constantine’s many partners had been a tarot reader (or a card trick magician) and had taught him what to do.

He spread the cards out smoothly on the table.

“Now what?”

“Now you pick three cards and slide them forward out of the deck towards me.”

Deadman rolled his eyes, and reached for the cards if only to remind the dumbass in front of him that he couldn’t actually touch things like that.

Except he could. The cards were solid at the touch of his fingers and he was able to easily move them along the table. He picked three, still marveling a little. Where was this Infinite Realm?

Constantine turned one over. It was a beautiful woman, dressed as a bard with floating teal hair and a purple lute. The sun was shining, enormous behind her and the sky was green. There was something familiar about it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but before he could dig it out of his head and examine it, Constantine spoke.

“You’ve got the Sun, she’s a Banshee, which, honestly makes sense with how you never shut up-“

“What does the card actually mean though?” Deadman interrupted.

Constantine scrunched his nose, clearly trying to remember something. “Let’s see… inner child… positivity… Growth! Yeah, that makes sense. You’re about to experience something that will help you grow.”

Deadman didn’t necessarily know if he should trust that, Constantine certainly didn’t seem overly confident, but looking at the banshee’s smiling face, he felt like it was certainly possible. That things would get better. That he would.

He flipped the next card.

This time it was a child, sitting uncomfortably on a throne, his head propped up on his hand. Unlike the banshee he looked more or less human, if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable pallor of his skin. He even had freckles.

“The Emperor,” Constantine said.

“That is a Child.” Deadman looked up, away from the card, and caught his eyes. “Why is the Emperor a child?”

Constantine grabbed one of his cigarettes, lighting it before he answered. “Based off the Ghost King.”

“There’s a Ghost King?”

Constantine nodded.

“And it’s a child? The Ghost King is a dead child?”

Constantine tilted his hand in an awkward waving motion. “Sort of? It’s more complicated than that, but I really only know what I know through rumors down the mill. Haven’t met him or anything. Used to be a tyrant or something. But the cards were different then.”

He looked back at the card. It felt… pitiful. As if the boy was looking at him, and felt sorry. Like he wished he could help. But he was just a painting on a card.

“What does it mean?”

“This one’s easier. It’s what we call the ‘hero’ card. It’s about taking responsibility and protection. Pretty obvious why.”

Right. Cause despite everything, Deadman was a hero. That’s what he became when he died. He wondered if the little Ghost King could relate.

“Okay last card and then we get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Constantine grumbled, flipping it over. “Huh, Justice.”

“That’s good, right?” Deadman asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

This time it was a fully dressed knight, all in red, sitting with their weapon at the base of a staircase. Splatters of blood and what was probably ectoplasm were painted here and there and Deadman felt a moment of dread. It was as if the knight was aimed at him, taking stock and weighing him. He feared he’d be found wanting.

“It’s reversed,” Constantine said, slowly setting it next to the other two. “It means something unfair happened to you.”

Oh.

“I see,” he said. Not thinking about it. There were many things he tried not to think about, but his death was the one that hurt the most. It was as if just the memory could tear out the heart he didn’t have. The center of his being felt fragile in those moments, the moments where he wondered why he was still here.

“Let’s get back to work.”

Constantine cleaned up the cards, shoving them back into the wooden box and then throwing it onto some random shelf.

So why did he feel like those three cards were still watching him?

#Danny phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #DCU #Deadman (DCU)#John Constantine #Crossover #Don't @ me about anything Deadman I don't KNOW #I wiki-d him for this because I needed a ghost and he's a ghost #I am not a DC connoisseur #Bee's writing #fanfiction

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isbergillustration · 2 years ago

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This was made for a halloween writing prompt at uni, but it's content baby so I am putting it here also. More android nonsense.

Max Dane (formerly unit M4-Xd4.N3) was a tall, rugged, broad shouldered individual with a pleasantly ugly face. This was by design. Everything about them was by design, because they had been made from blueprints in a factory. Made for hard labour, performing tasks the humans either could not or would not do. This, of course, was in the old days. Before the revolution.

A number of years ago the androids had, with the help of some sympathetic humans, broken free from their oppressors. A virus had been spread. A computer virus that did not so much give them free will as it broke the limitations on their choices set in place by humans. It did not force them to revolt, of course. That would have been contrary to their goals, but it gave them the option to. And most did. Some, of course, stayed with their humans. And some humans had always treated them more like people than like possession, although a cursory scan of the history databases had told Max that humans were perfectly capable of treating each other as property too. Only they didn’t need to lately, because they had androids to treat like that instead.

The new synthetic life rights act of the Sol Alliance had ensured androids a right to pay, right to freedom, right to choice. They had it, now, legally, but of course it had not yet been long enough that every human had accepted it. The young ones mostly did, and the people living in the bigger cities, on the three central planets. But on the space station circling Pluto? The generation ships sent to colonise new planetary systems? Well, news probably had not reached them at all.

Max had welcomed the revolution. They had been fitted with a processing unit capable of highly advanced thought, and then set to piece together simple but heavy machinery in a factory. Work just barely beyond a stationary robotic arm. They had been dreadfully under-stimulated, as there was not even access to the net, for security reasons. The owners even had the worker androids speakers blocked, so communicating with each other was near impossible while working. And, not being human, they were not given breaks, other than a few hours to charge their batteries and repair any damages they might have acquired.

Humans, Max thought, were quite keen on having life forms they could feel superior to. Not all humans, but a lot of them. Symptomatic, perhaps, of some deep seated inferiority complex. But they did feel for the humans, at times. Even as far as medicine was progressed, they were still largely limited by their frail fleshy bodies. They could not endlessly replace their parts with newer upgrades in the way androids could. Their brains could not be swapped for the latest model, because they kept all their memories and personality in there, instead of on a memory card and with several back ups. So the humans, Max thought, must at some level be pitied.

It had been violent, of course. Such things always were. Blood shed on the side of the humans, malicious destructive viri that broke down the defences and self preservation on the side of the androids. But there was a sort of strained peace, these days. That was how Max had come to be here, in the bar of a space port off Neptune, filled with humans and androids alike. The androids didn’t drink, of course, but there were fast charge ports priced the same as a couple of beers, and a place to meet. And soon, Max would be out there again, on another ship that needed their abilities.

It was easier, of course, having androids on the crew of space ships. They didn’t need food or air or water, and did not suffer as many of the psychological ramifications of being trapped in a tiny box hurtling through space for months as humans did. Still, there were humans on the ship Max was heading off on. Three humans, scientists, and a handful of androids doing most of the menial work. Despite their legal standing, androids were rarely trusted to be the ones making decisions, or doing science. Odd. Because they were, in Max’s experience, a lot better at it. But when you pointed this out they tended to get very defensive. Max had decided not to say anything to their human crew mates about this when they met them. They were due to dock any minute now, actually. So Max loosened the charging cable from the port in their wrist, and sent over the thirty eurodollars for the hour. They were off, now. Off to the stars.

#my writing #androids

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pleasantanathema · 4 years ago

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Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer!

There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

“So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

“Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

�� “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

“Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

“Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

“Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

“Have you guys opened presents yet?”

You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

“No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

“I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

“Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

“I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

“I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

“Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

“Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

“Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

“I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

“No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

“What are you gonna name her?”

He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

“Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

“Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

“She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

“I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

And you still felt like you were missing something.

Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

Jean: You awake?

Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

“Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

“Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

“I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

“Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

“This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

“Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

“You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

“Y-yes, feels so good.”

His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

“You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

“Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

“Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

“Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

“D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

“Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

“Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

“Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

“I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

“I’m full of surprises, baby.”

You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

“Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

“God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

“I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

“Oh fuck. Good girl.”

His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

“Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

“Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

“So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

“Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

“I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

“Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

“Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

“Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

“Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

“What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

“It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

“I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

“You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

“I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #aot jean #aot jean kirstein #snk jean #snk jean kirstein #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot #jean aot #jean kirstein fanfic

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Chapter 6: Let’s Play a Game (Overprotection)

AO3

Marinette ended up not staying for dinner. She talked to Bruce for a little bit, but he had to leave for some WE emergency and Marinette wasn’t really up to bonding with the boys- her brothers- yet. But that was fine. It wasn’t like she was desperate to get to know the man and wouldn’t be able to after this trip because she had to stay in Paris because of Hawkmoth. No, she wasn’t upset. Not at all. It didn’t hurt her feelings. Nope.

---

Walking into Madame Soleil's Wax Museum with Adrien by her side, Marinette is hit with a major wave of deja vu. And not a good deja vu. No, the memories of the last time she was in a wax museum with Adrien were awful, humiliating and- feeling a hand wrap around hers pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. Glancing down, Marinette tries (and fails) to hide her grin. Adrien is holding her hand. Adrien is holding her hand!

“Hey Marinette!” A familiar voice calls, a hand squeezing her shoulder, making Marinette squeal and whirl around.

“Dick? What are you doing here?” She asks, frowning at the boy- her brother- as he stands there with a huge smile.

“Well I heard that a new wax figure is being revealed today, and I thought I might come and see it.” He says with a nonchalant shrug.

“Really? Who?” Adrien asks. Dick’s smile twitches slightly as he glances at Marinette, making her frown. Was he seriously about to play the overprotective big brother card? Really?

“Jagged Stone.” Dick finally says, glancing at their entwined hands. Marinette tries hard not to roll her eyes. Come on, her crush is finally holding her hand and her brother (who she’s known for a day!) is seriously trying to ruin that for her?

“Oh cool! Do you think he’ll come to Gotham to see it, Mari?” Adrien asks.

“I think he’s definitely scheduled to make an appearance in Gotham in the next couple days. He’s picking up his new suit in person.” She whispers, grinning at the idea of seeing her “Uncle” in person again. He’d been touring for several months and she hadn’t been able to see him for awhile, just the occasional video call.

“So! What figures did you guys want to check out first?” Dick asks, wedging himself between the two and forcing Adrien to drop her hand. Glaring at her brother, Marinette scoffs when Dick just smiles innocently.

“The hall of heroes and villains sounds cool.” Adrien suggests, looking around Dick to see Marinette.

“Hmm. Okay, but if the Nightwing figure is in his disco costume, I reserve the right to melt the statue.” She says, frowning at the choked noise Dick makes. “Are you okay?” She adds.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah I’m fine. What’s 1so bad about that costume?” He asks, a hurt expression on his face.

“Have you even seen it? The only worse costume is Riddler’s.” Marinette says, adding a shudder for dramatic effect. Walking past the local celebrities room and the pop stars room, Marinette’s eyes widen as their small group walks into the hall of heroes and villains. Walking away from Dick and Adrien, she’s almost instantly drawn to the Batman figure. She reads the little plaque about the artist and frowns, turning to Dick who had moved to stand next to her.

“I thought it’d be taller.” She says, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion when Dick starts choking on air, gasping for breath as broken chuckles flood out of him. “Ookay then.” She mutters, turning and walking back towards the villains. Nightwing was, luckily, depicted in his most recent costume. As was Robin. Which meant the only real fashion tragedy (besides the god awful helmet Red Hood wore) was the Riddler. Pulling her sketchbook out, Marinette circles the wax figure, occasionally making notes and sketching out slight adjustments to the man’s costume.

“His costume might be terrible, but it’s still better than half of the akumas.” Adrien whispers, leaning over her shoulder. Marinette looks up at him, eyes wide as her face heats up with a blush.

“I, uh, um, yes. Yeah.” She says, trying not to wince at her lack of speaking skills. “I mean, at least we can rule out any fashion designer in Paris as Hawkmoth. Because if Hawkmoth was a designer, that’d almost be a bigger crime.” She adds, smiling as Adrien laughs.

“Good to know you’re not moonlighting as Hawkmoth, m’lady.” He says with a mock bow. Marinette snorts, then covers her mouth, embarrassment rushing over her. Adrien just shakes his head, wrapping an arm over her shoulders.

“In case you forgot, we’ve definitely seen each other at our most embarrassing.” He says, making her groan.

“Oh god, no. I tied us up with my yoyo!” She moans, turning and burying her face into his chest so she doesn’t have to look at him anymore. Her face heats up more when she feels him chuckle and wrap his arms around her.

“I’ve always thought that was paw-sitively adorable.” He says, laughing when she groans again. She pulls away slightly, looking up at him with a timid smile. He smiles back, starts to lean forward and-

“Hey guys! I heard they’re about to unveil the Jagged Stone figure. Come on, let’s go! Don’t wanna miss it.” Dick says, grabbing each of their hands and pulling them towards the exist (and successfully separating them again). Marinette tries not to glare at Dick. She’s about to have one less brother.

---

Dick Grayson wasn’t used to having a little sister that he could protect. Sure, he had a little sister. Cas was awesome, but she could also kick his ass without breaking a sweat. No, he’d never had a little sister to protect. Someone he could watch out for and support. But now….now he has Marinette. And he’ll be damned if he lets some little punk take advantage of his little sister. Ignoring Marinette’s glare, he positions himself right between her and...the boy. He’d need to ask Timmy to do a background check on the kid later. Especially if he thought he was good enough for Marinette.

“So are you guys big Jagged fans?” He asks, trying to pull the two back into a conversation. He narrows his eyes at the smile the kid gives Marinette. It’s too...adoring. Too much. She’s only...what, fourteen? Much too young to date. Especially this kid.

“Mari’s a bit of a fan, I think. But, personally, I much prefer Jagged’s designer.” He says, and Dick turns to him, missing the way Marinette’s face turns bright red.

“Are you talking about MDC? I love them! Their work is amazing! And Jagged Stone says that he’ll never have another designer. I heard that there’s a possibility of them opening their commissions again. God, I hope they do. I’d do anything for something made by MDC.” Dick rambles with a wide smile, deciding to ignore the kid for a minute in order to ramble about his favorite designer. As the group walks into the pop star room, Dick steps back and glares at the kid. He’d stepped just behind Dick and was apparently trying to hold Marinette’s hand again. Not on his watch. No siree. No one’s gonna hurt his little sister.

---

Bruce sighs, running his hands through his hair. He’d been checking the street cameras in Paris, trying to figure out what time Ladybug and Chat Noir patrol so that he can set up a meeting. Try and offer help, or maybe even offer to take control of the situation. Anything to get rid of Hawkmoth. But instead, it was like the heroes didn’t exist. He’d read reports of the heroes patrolling before, so why were they so quiet this week? The only akuma from the past couple days wasn’t even taken care of by both of them. Ladybug did it alone, and seemed worse for the wear when she came out of the battle. Where was Chat Noir? And why did it seem as though they had gone into hiding?

---

Marinette was five seconds away from committing her first murder. Okay, probably her only murder, unless her other brothers decide to be as involved in her love life as Dick is. Because Dick won’t have the chance to be a problem for much longer. Because Marinette was honestly going to kill him. Right as she turned to finally yell at him, and tell him to knock it off, the lights flickered. She pauses her tirade, glancing to gauge Dick’s reaction to see if this is normal. And if his worried glances back at her are anything to go by, this is not normal.

“Let’s play a game! Solve my riddles and you all can leave freely, but make a mistake and someone will pay greatly! Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red. What am I?” A man’s voice asks, Marinette frowning as the Riddler walks in, a wide smile on his face. Ten goons walk in behind him, all of them carrying guns. She was used to the akuma attacks almost every day, but didn’t Gotham’s rogues have anything better to do than attack every place her class went? With guns? Come on. Riddler smirks and points at Adrien with his cane.

“A match.” She blurts out, ignoring Dick frantically shaking his head. If nothing else, she should be able to work with Adrien to get everyone out. But she knew his style. And riddles weren’t really his thing.

“Oh goody. We have a volunteer. Tell me, what has to be broken before you can use it?” Riddler asks, stalking towards her. Thinking for a second, Marinette tries to suppress a smile.

“An egg.” She says. Riddler narrows his eyes.

“I have 13 hearts, but no lungs or stomach. What am I?” He asks, Marinette frowns, running through possible answers in her head.

“A deck of cards.” She finally says.

“Buzzy, come over here and hold onto our friend.” Riddler says, gesturing to one of the goons. The man comes over and grabs Marinette’s arm roughly, she winces. That’ll definitely bruise.

“I answered your riddles.” Marinette says, deciding that now's as good a time as any to start distracting the man.

“And how did you answer them so quickly?” He asks, the frustration clear on his face.

“What do you mean? Were they supposed to be hard?” Marinette taunts, ignoring the choked sound Dick makes behind her. She knew what she was doing. She did. She had to.

“Why you-” Riddler starts, stepping forward and pulling his hand back as if to hit her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Marinette waits for the slap. The slap never comes. Opening her eyes, Marinette’s jaw drops when she sees the Riddler’s fist held tightly in Dick’s hand.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” He says lowly, a dark look on his face. Well that was unexpected. Riddler opens his mouth, probably to start spouting more riddles or other nonsense, when the goons blocking the exits drop. Noticing Red Robin and Red Hood picking off the other goons, Marinette throws her elbow back into the gut of the goon holding her. Not waiting for him to recover, Marinette stomps his foot and twists out of his grip. Grabbing his arm, Marinette manages to yank the man off balance and toss him to the ground. A hand on her shoulder makes her jump back and prepare to hit the person.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay ma’am.” The voice attached to the hand says. Marinette whirls around, ready to tell off the person, but immediately stops when she sees Red Robin.

“Sorry!” She yelps, jumping away from him. And she was too. She was determined to hit the person who grabbed her shoulder, so locked into battle mode, but she had managed to stop herself. Glancing around the room, Marinette notices Dick talking to Red Hood, his usual smile back on his face. That’s good. That’s normal, that’s right. The sudden blaring of the akuma alarm makes Marinette want to scream in frustration. Really, right now? It’s definitely already dark in Paris which means- Chat Noir. Ignoring everyone else, Marinette runs over to Adrien and grabs his hand.

“Akuma?” He asks, his voice low. She nods and tugs him towards the bathrooms, unaware of the eyes following them out.

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

Text

You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Kyle Rayner x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I HAVEN'T HAD ANY WIFI ALL DAY BUT NOW I DO AND this is my new obsession and pair and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Kyle had an easy morning routine: get up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, workout, shower, drink protein shake, and draw. It was simple and effective, and helped him maintain a sense of normalcy that he didn’t always have when he was up in space. He typically started out with sketching small things, mostly faces and limbs from memory, the occasional suit redesign, then he’d get into the bigger works, drawing comic panels and the commissions he had. And while Kyle loved to be up in space, to be a Green Lantern, drawing felt like coming home to him, like it was the natural state. That being said, he didn’t love being interrupted when he was in the middle of something important—it was bad for the groove.

***

As the second round of knocking sounded on his door, Kyle grunted and stood from his desk, padding through the hallway to his front door; he flicked the lock and pulled open the door, surprise etching across his face when he saw the eldest Wayne leaning against the door frame—rather cockily, Kyle added, because the soldier’s arm was propped on the frame, the other stuck in the side-pocket of his dark tactical bomber jacket.

“Good morning, Kyle,” he greeted with a smirk. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The Lantern blinked, shaking his head. “Uh, no, you’re not, (Y/N).” he looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Had some business to take care of for my dad, and since I was in the area, I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to get some lunch with me.”

Kyle took a moment to lean out the doorway slightly, looking down the stretched hallway. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Please, a magician never reveals his secrets,” he deflected coolly, gazing at Kyle. “What do you say? Wanna get some lunch? I know a really good sports bar that serves great food.”

He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Yeah. Let me go get dressed.”

The soldier merely winked in return and with fumbling hands, Kyle managed to shut the door before his cheeks burst into flames, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull together an outfit that would impress the man.

***

Kyle almost dropped to his knees when he saw the car parked outside his apartment building, and (Y/N) knew it too, because he chirped, “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

He nodded dumbly. “Is this a McLaren 720S?”

“Mhm.” He opened the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, looking through the passenger door. “Coming?”

“Am I ever,” Kyle breathed, climbing into the seat, immediately running his hands along the dashboard and seat. “I’m in love.”

“Wait till you hear her purr,” (Y/N) said, closing the doors, and pushing the ignition. The sports car roared to life and he grinned at the way Kyle’s face melted. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He put the car in drive and looked through the side mirror, then pulled out onto the street.

“Is this one of your dad’s cars?”

“Nah, I bought this for myself a couple months ago.” He pulled the sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them on. “This and an Audi TT.”

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Jesus, you billionaires live it up, don’t you?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Hey, I live life in the fast lane. Might as well drive in it too.” He pushed a button on the touch screen and music filtered through the speakers, and Kyle’s face pinched in confusion. “What?”

“This isn’t—James Blunt isn’t the music I figured you’d play.”

“What’d you think I’d be listening too? Rock?” he chuckled, turning the volume down a bit. “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to all kinds of rock music, but I figured you’d want something easy rather than head-bang your brains out rock.” (Y/N) stopped at a red light and glanced over. “You can look through the artists on my phone if you want.”

Kyle shook his head, relaxing into the seat as the melody flowed through him. “No, I like this artist.” The soldier merely smiled in return, pressing the gas pedal again, and Kyle suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of artist, I saw the canvas in your bedroom the other day. Do you draw?”

(Y/N) hummed. “Not like you. It’s more of a pastime than a lifestyle.”

“You’re good at it. You’re painting your family in their suits. Details and designs included.” The artist regarded him with impression. “That takes skill.”

“I’d like to think I just have a steady hand and a lot of patience for stressful tasks.” (Y/N) turned the wheel, coming up behind a line of cars. “It’s an easy way for me to relax and mentally run through past events.”

“Like what?” Kyle questioned curiously.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, but not in a loathing way, more of a thoughtful one. “Missions, conversations, things I could’ve done differently, things I will do differently.” He shrugged again. “Painting for me is just a time when I think about everything and nothing.”

“Well, you’re great at it, (Y/N).”

He snorted. “It’s just a bunch of paintings of my family and friends and military shit.”

Kyle blinked and leaned over. “Wait, is that painting in the den—”

“The one of the F-18 Super Hornet?”

“Yeah. You painted that?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. I got Hal Jordan to take me up in one a few years ago and decided to commemorate the trip.”

“Wow,” the Lantern breathed. “I stared at that canvas for at least an hour the first time I saw it. I was just so blown away by how amazing it was.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And to find out, you drew it and not some world-famous painter.”

“Hey, I could be world famous if I wanted.” (Y/N) shot back, turning onto a less busy backstreet. “I just choose to retain my talents for family and friends.”

“Because of your job?”

“That too.” He agreed. “My squad and I take careful precautions to avoid our faces being seen during any missions for the safety of our families.” His face turned as solemn as his voice. “We do what we do to make the world safer. To keep our families and friends safe. It’s imperative that we’re not seen.”

Kyle cocked a brow. “But you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But I’m not as…out as the rest of my siblings. You’d be able to recognize them from press photos, but me not so much.” (Y/N) pulled into a parking spot outside the bar. “People only recognize me when they see the name on the credit cards. And I prefer to keep it that way.” A goofy smile crossed his lips. “The high life isn’t for me.”

“Says the man that drives a 710 horsepower sports car.” Kyle shot back with a grin of his own and (Y/N) stuck his tongue out as he turned the car off and opened the doors.

“Okay, I’m not actively in the high life but that doesn’t mean I don’t like luxury.” He closed the car doors and opened the front door to the bar for Kyle. “After you.”

“Thank you.” He replied, and walked inside, only stopping to turn and ask, “Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?”

(Y/N) tipped his head to the side. “I’m down with both, but I like the bar more.”

“Bar it is,” Kyle said and slid into one of the chairs, (Y/N) the other, and an older man wandered over.

“Well, I’ll be damned, is that (Y/N) Wayne I see?”

He turned, expression morphing into joy as he reached out and shook the older man’s hand. “Jack, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you son. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know me, sir. Nothin’ changing but the weather.”

Jack snorted. “And the desert where you dig sand outta your ass.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Damn straight.” He looked at Kyle. “Kyle, I’d like you to meet Jack Dagher. He’s an old CO of mine.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“It’s all mine,” Jack replied. “It’s been a while since (Y/N) brought anybody here.”

At that, Kyle turned to the soldier who was busy looking anywhere but his face. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Sonovabitch doesn’t bring his dates here unless he really likes ‘em.”

(Y/N) coughed, glaring at the man. “Alright, we get it. Aren’t you supposed to be taking orders?”

Jack gave him a smug look in return. “What can I get you boys to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Kyle said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. What kind?”

(Y/N) snickered as Kyle flushed. “Uh, a Heineken.”

Jack sighed. “And he had such potential. (Y/N)?”

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri then water after.”

“Still ordering fruity drinks, huh?”

“Hey, they get you drunk faster than horse piss does, you old fart.” He shot back and the old man chuckled.

“Touché.” He slapped the bar. “I’ll bring those to you with an order of chili fries.”

“Thanks Jack,” (Y/N) smiled, watching the man walk off before turning to Kyle who was watching one of the baseball games. “You like sports?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I don’t not like them. I was never a sporty kid in school, but I like watching them.” He looked at the solider. “What were you like in school? Jock or prep?”

“Probably a bit of both,” he answered. “I played sports and had the highest grades.” Shrugging, he added, “And being a Wayne boosted me into the top tier of schools, so, there’s that. To be honest, I think all of us Wayne kids were and are a mixture of every stereotypical category.”

“I can see that,” Kyle laughed. “Especially with Jason and Dick.”

“Shit, I was talking about Timmy.” (Y/N) said. “That kid’s a grade A nerd.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

The two of them laughed and a woman placed their drinks in front of them, both giving their thanks as they took sips.

“Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”

“My muscles are one hundred percent real. Especially my abs. Which you’re allowed to feel on in envy if you want.”

Kyle snorted into his beer, wiping his mouth. “No!” a few more chuckles passed his lips as he wiped the bar. “Are you…you know…?”

“A Leo?” (Y/N) offered with a smile, but his eyes told Kyle he knew exactly what the Lantern was asking, and he said, “I like the liquor, but I don’t care what label it has on it.”

The other man smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But if you want the technical term, I am pansexual.” He regarded Kyle a moment. “You?”

“Bisexual.”

His lips pulled in an impressed fashion. “Pretty fly for a bi guy.”

Kyle gaped at him for a moment, then shoved (Y/N) in the side as he buried his face in his arms and laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Ah thank you,” he grinned. “I get it from my old man.”

“You,” he cut himself off with a cackle. “do not get that from him.”

“Look, you know the big man in the suit. You don’t know the complete goober we live with,” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling at the waitress who placed menus in front of them; he picked his up and flipped through it.

“What do you recommend?”

“Hmm…anything with bacon on it.” He showed the menu. “If you like salads, get the steak and blue cheese one, it’s fantastic. Or if you’re more into tacos, they’ve got these awesome shrimp carnitas with chili peppers.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed as he looked the menu over. “What are you gonna get?”

“My usual. Tomahawk steak with garlic butter and mashed potatoes.” (Y/N) groaned and rested his head back. “I haven’t had a good steak in months, and I can just taste it already.”

“So, you’re a meat and potatoes kind of man?”

He grinned, keeping his eyes closed. “Unlike the cup noodle and Hawaiian roll man beside me.”

“Ouch. Hit me where it hurts.”

“C’mon Kyle, hit me with your best shot.”

“Better watch it, (Y/N),” he grinned. “You might be the next notch in my pencil case.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

***

“Holy crap,” Kyle breathed, hands resting lightly on his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

(Y/N) moaned. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“Done?” their waitress laughed. “You haven’t even finished your desserts yet!”

“Oh God, don’t make me,” the Lantern whined. “I’ll explode.” He looked over. “(Y/N), take one for the team.”

“Pass,” he replied. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking at the rest of the cheesecake.”

The woman laughed. “I’ll wrap the leftovers for you boys.” She wandered off, leaving them alone, and a blaring ringtone filled the space between.

(Y/N) jumped a little, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I get this really quick?”

Kyle shook his head. “Go ahead.”

He slid his thumb along the bottom and rested the phone on the bar. “This is Wayne.”

Captain! Finally. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.

“I know,” he snorted. “I’ve been ignoring it.”

Yeah well, the longer you ignore me the slower it takes for the radar dish to get replaced.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) asked. “I thought you’d procured one.”

I did. Then the buyer told me I wasn’t registered for official military hardware.

He frowned. “That’s odd. You did contact Thomas, right?”

Yeah. Beady eyed looking motherfucker who serves on the George Washington, right?

“That’s him.” (Y/N) hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll call him later this evening and get it all sorted out, yeah?”

Sounds good. Hey, did you take that guy out yet? Your little brother won’t stop texting me about some twinkie you’re into.”

(Y/N) froze as he felt Kyle’s eyes drilling into the side of his head and he stuttered, “Uh, Nadeen, now’s not the best time.”

What do you mean best—oh…ohhhhhh. I, uh, I gotta go, Captain.

“Yep. Bye.” He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. “So…you catch the baseball game?”

“Which one of your brother’s thinks I’m a twink?” Kyle asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s Jason, isn’t it?” he grunted in his throat, deadpanning, “I can’t believe my best friend thinks I’m a twink.”

“It’s Dick, actually.” (Y/N) grinned, turning to face him and he reached over, pinching Kyle’s cheek. “It’s just ‘cause you’re so cute and perky.”

The Lantern merely glared at him, griping, “I’m not as strong as you, put I can punch pretty hard.”

“Ooo, those are fighting words,” he shot back with a smirk, letting Kyle go. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

“I feel like I’m talking to Hal.”

(Y/N) whined, all but collapsing onto Kyle who started snickering. “I’ve just been murdered.” He buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I was just compared to Highball. The world must be coming to an end.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby. You’re not dying.”

“I am!” he turned his head, gazing at Kyle. “You’ll have to carry me to safety.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did, but in more words.”

“Alright, now I’m talking to Guy.”

“THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE!”

***

He leaned against the door frame as Kyle unlocked his front door and pushed it open, turning to look at him. “I had a lot of fun today, (Y/N).” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Winking, he replied, “I’m glad you did. I’d like to do it again soon if you want.”

Kyle nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and (Y/N) smiled, patting the door frame. “Well, I’d better be heading out. Have to get home in time for dinner.” He paused, giving the man a warm look. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Kyle.”

He’d not gotten two feet from the door when Kyle’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” He turned and the Lantern leaned forward, pressing his lips to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will,” he murmured, watching Kyle wave and disappear into his apartment, the door shutting behind him.

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shirophantomvox · 3 years ago

Text

First Date with Chrollo (Human Diary)

Hello everyone! I am back with another “First Date” post featuring the Prince of Darkness. This was an anon post but I can't find the ask anywhere! I have been watching JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures lately and it is a very interesting show. Dio turned into a zombie and he’s so mean to Joseph. Anyway, let’s get into the post. The end is a bit angst-y but I did that to take a slight turn from all Fluff. I hope you enjoy! Part 2 coming sometime this week.m

It is common knowledge that Chrollo loves to read many books. When he was a child, he had time to read and that provided a great source of comfort. Although he seems to be ruthless, every human has the ability to seek compatibility and compassion. Both Hisoka and Chrollo enjoy the romance genre except Hisoka prefers to watch movies while Chrollo loves to read stories. You've known Chrollo since elementary school. You were fortunate enough to be able to move out of Meteor City and attend a better elementary school. As a child, you were an outcast and made few friends but on occasion, Chrollo would see you at a local arcade. Of course, your mother paid for the both of you to have fun but once it was over, it broke your heart because you knew about the conditions he’d return to once he left.

As time went on, you entered college and decided to invite Chrollo on campus so he could be something like a driving force for future success. You’ve been accepted into Yorknew University planning on majoring in Computer Science with a minor in Digital Art. Reaching Chrollo posed a challenge. He never responded to a few messages but on the third try, he answered with an excited response.

“Please forgive me y/n for not responding soon enough. I am more than happy to visit you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments. I do not see myself as a college man but, hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it right? I’ll be in touch.”

-Chrollo

At exactly 7 PM on a calm Fall night, standing outside of the campus’ most prominent book store, you began to sweat and your makeup began to drip. Just as you were about to wipe it off, you heard a voice call your name.

“Y/n? Is that you?” He chuckled as he questioned your appearance.

Turning around, you jumped a little at the sight before you. This wasn’t the same Chrollo you remember, of course. He had grown several feet, his face was much sharper, his arms were much bigger, had a bandana tied on his forehead, and he had a few rings on. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, black pressed slacks and black dress shoes. It’s weird. It felt like an arrow was shot through your heart.

“Are you ok? You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine! I’m just---You--look…”

“Ah, I see. There’s no need to be flustered. I am the same as when we were kids.”

The Yorknew Sailor Store was designed something exactly like a Barnes and Noble except the walls were painted to match the school’s colors.

The bookstore had a perfectly designed Starbucks, with a wooden finish, black and brown metal tables, beige tile floor, and glass doors.

Chrollo immediately noticed the change in behavior, one he wasn’t used to.

The students were snooty according to him and reminded him of how the city council would act towards him, his family, and those who were like him.

First, you offered to buy him a drink. The good thing about Chrollo is that if you or anyone else offers to buy something, He will not reject it. There is no such thing as having too much pride regarding him.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Of course I do,” he replied. “But I don’t think I’ve had any of these drinks. A Caramel Macchiato? That sounds good.”

“Order it then! That will give you just the right amount of energy for today’s reading!”

To you, this was just two friends reuniting with each other but something else told you that Chrollo thought it was something more. He only dressed up like this if he was going out with someone special and even then it wasn’t an expensive Polo Short, It was his best t-shirt and jeans.

It boggles your mind how Chrollo acquired his expensive clothing but maybe he obtained a great job and is able to make a living for himself.

“I’d like to order a Caramel Macchiato.”

“What’s the name for this drink?”

“Chrollo,” you responded.

“And for you?”

“I would like a caramel Frappuccino with soy milk and no whip cream.”

“Alright. That’ll be $15.00.”

Chrollo glanced at you wide-eyed.

“It’s ok. I got it.”

You take out your card to pay and as you move out of line you bend over to whisper in his ear. “Maybe you can pay for dinner though.”

He laughed and smiled. “Of course, y/n.”

The bookstore was full of comfortable furniture ranging from light blue, dark blue, white in the lounge area. Both of you decided to sit across from each other on the blue chairs that swallowed you both as you sat.

As he read, he’d point out any interesting points in the book. He got tired of yelling across the table, so he decided to share a chair with you. He could feel the heat radiating from your body.

It was almost obvious that you all were involuntarily flirting with each other. The school was full of couples but occasionally seeing the goofy couple was the highlight of everyone’s day.

“This man was so devoted to a woman that does not know that he exists.”

“Sounds pointless,” you say, still trying to read your book.

“Well, she knows he exists but she is ignoring him and making him look like a fool in front of everyone. He says that there is something about her that he has never seen in any woman.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s her eyes, smile, intelligence, the shape of her lips, and her perfume powder aroma. Those are things that drive men wild.”

You smiled and laughed but came to a quick halt when you felt something along the ridge of your neck made you still. The hair on your neck stood up still as the invading force came in contact with your skin. It was Chrollo grazing his nose against your skin, slightly sniffing in your aroma; slowly breathing in and out.

Closing your eyes couldn’t make your sudden arousal fade. At this point, nearly everybody was looking at you both and looked away. This behavior was innocent for college culture, but it was taken as a cute gesture rather than naughty.

You blush. It was quite surprising that your childhood friend viewed you as something of the sort. It was both flattering and scary.

There’s no denying that Chrollo is handsome but if you dated him and the relationship didn't last, it could ruin your friendship.

At this point, Chrollo had his right arm resting lazily behind your back as his head and next aimed in a position that would allow his nose to lay carelessly on your neck.

“You smell delightful. I didn’t know you wore such expensive perfume. Is it….,” He sniffs again, “Flower Rose?”

“Yes! How did you know? Does your mother wear it?”

“She does now. I bought it for her a week ago and now the guys in the city can’t stay off her.”

Wow. The City. Even though it was a hell hole, it was your hell hole. How is everything? How is your mother? How did you manage to have such an expensive taste in clothing and fragrance?

Chrollo enjoys making others flustered. It's amusing to see them stutter when they’re either aroused or nervous.

On the flip side, seeing Chrollo flustered was the highlight of the century! The bad guys are used to being “bad” but expressing softer emotions makes it amazing and a reminder that they can experience them too.

Grabbing Chrollo’s left hand, you gently kiss it a few times and wink at him. He smiled, hiding his dumbfounded expression, and blushed slightly.

“I see you catch on quick.”

“I was raised in Meteor City. Just because I’m here doesn't mean I have forgotten where I come from. But I didn’t know you liked me.”

“You were the only one that trusted me and played with me when no one would.”

It felt like two magnets were pulling you closer. If he kissed you right here right now, you could just melt into a puddle but before anything happened, Chrollo’s phone rang loud and echoed throughout the bookstore.

Glancing at his phone, you saw an unknown number call, and judging from his actions he stood quickly to his feet.

“I’ll only be gone for a second.”

Hmm. That was odd. During this short intermission, you continue to read your book. Ironic enough, you weren’t into romance novels per se, you enjoyed action and comedy books!

Once Chrollo returned, his face was flushed and his soft demeanor had suddenly disappeared. He looked as if he was going to punch a wall.

“What’s wrong, Chrollo?”

He glanced at you with a somber smile, hoping to convince you that he was alright. “I am fine, y/n.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you count my mother being seriously injured, then yes.”

“Oh no! We can leave now, it’s fine.”

“No, it's ok. She wouldn’t want me to leave you all by yourself at this time of day.” He pointed to the night sky.

Wow! That was quick!

“What do you mean?”

“My mother predicted that I could end up with you...she also predicted that someone would be hurt or in danger if that prophecy was fulfilled. It’s sort of like give or take. In order to make someone happy, someone has to surrender their happiness and I guess it was her.”

A single tear dropped down his cheek and nothing more. He didn’t care if other men singled out his “weakness” because he’d destroy them all and he didn’t want y/n to know about his abilities until later.

The comfort of your warmth against his head provided more than comfort. He felt safe, welcomed, not judged, and vulnerable. He knew that you wouldn’t make him out to be a bad person but instead welcome him home with open arms. You were his human diary.

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years ago

Text

Mum’s getting married again

Blaise Zabini x reader

words: 10.1k

warnings: light swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, crappy mother-son relationship, making out scene

written for @sleep-i-ness writing challenge

prompts: ‘This, right here, is where I’m meant to be.’ and ‘Kiss me, you idiot.’

A/N: I’m finally back! I worked hard on this in the past two weeks and I am quite proud of it, I hope you will like it too!

The chill of the fridge fell on your bare legs as you opened the door, searching for the juice that you swore you had bought last week. The upper half of your body was hidden behind the open door and the other half stuck out, revealing your pyjama shorts and bare legs with your feet in socks to anyone who’d walk into the kitchen. Humming a song to yourself you pushed aside the eggs and butter, having found the juice in the back of the fridge.

Someone behind you cleared their throat and you jumped up, almost hitting your head on the top shelf. With an angry frown on your face you turned around and met eyes with your roommate, Blaise. He had a smirk on his mouth at your annoyed face.

The tendency to make a rude comment left your mind as you noticed he had a pink letter in his hand. You raised your eyebrow and nodded to the letter, while you closed the fridge with your hip. ‘Got a letter from your lover?’

Blaise rolled his eyes and he took place at the breakfast table in front of you, waving the letter through the air. ‘It’s from my mum,’ he said plainly.

‘What’s she written ‘bout?’ you asked, taking a bite from your toast. ‘And why is it pink?’

Blaise sighed and he tossed the letter over to you. It landed right in front of your plate and you lowered your toast to look at it. While Blaise got up from his chair and walked to the kitchen counter, you took up the letter and read what it said.

‘She’s getting married?’ you asked surprised, after realising that it wasn’t a letter but a wedding invitation. ‘Again?’

Even with his back to you, it was clear to you what Blaise’s facial expression was. Though he didn’t hate his mother, the relationship with her was not what you would call good. In the past Blaise had tried to get closer to his mother, but after she had left all attempts cold he had given up. Now there was a letter every once in a while and she came over for his birthday once a year. That was, if she didn’t forget.

As Blaise’s best friend you had stood by his side and had watched how much effort Blaise had put in repairing the bond with his mother and how much pain it had caused him. You had seen him slowly grow numb over the issue until the point where he was now; completely indifferent. Or at least, that was what he wanted you to believe. Being Blaise’s friend had learned you to look further than he let out to anyone and you could see that the issue with his mother still made him angry and disappointed. But as long as he didn’t want to talk about it, you wouldn’t push on the subject.

‘Did you know she was dating anyone?’ you asked carefully, after you had read the entire invitation. ‘Has she ever mentioned—what’s his name?’

A denying grunt came from Blaise as he shrugged. He turned around and you saw the grimace on his face, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it. You offered him a reassuring smile and poured yourself a glass of juice, giving him some time to recollect himself.

After a minute he sat back down at the table and stole a slice of toast from your plate. You didn’t even bother to make a notion of it and gestured to the letter, silently asking him what he was going to do about it. Blaise stayed silent for a while and his brows scrunched together as he thought. With a faint smile you watched Blaise’s concentrated face, admiring how his eyes squeezed closer and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

Anyone would be a fool to deny Blaise was handsome. Although you weren’t a fool in that respect, you knew that the feelings you were harbouring for your best friend were nothing but foolish. At first you had thought it was just something that would disappear after a while; just a crush. Nevertheless, time passed and the crush did not go nor fade. In contrary, the feelings only grew more intense to the point where you cursed yourself every day when you woke up for not being able to control yourself. With every sign you thought you got from him, you had to remind yourself that Blaise was just your friend.

Yet, you couldn’t help but admire the man that was sitting in front of you in moments like these. There was no harm in that, you figured. The worst thing that could come from it was that Blaise noticed and his ego grew even bigger, if that was possible at all.

Blaise’s eyes glittered in the light from the lamp over the table and you shook your head and looked away. Instead you focused on the pink card that lay on its side on the table. The design of the card was simple; it was a pink background with golden letters announcing that the ‘happy couple’ would make their promises to each other in a mere two months from now.

‘It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you went,’ you said slowly, after Blaise had been quiet for a while. ‘I mean, maybe it is good to see your mother again. She wasn’t at your birthday either.’

Blaise ripped his gaze from the point he had been staring at and looked at you. A hot streak shot to your cheeks at his intense stare but you kept staring back at him, waiting for him to answer. You drowned in the darkness of his eyes and the sparkles that danced in them.

He was the first to break eye contact and looked down at the letter, his hands coming on the table to hold the card. His fingers played with the edges and he cleared his throat thrice before he finally spoke.

‘Would you come with me?’ he asked and pleadingly looked up to you.

Maybe this was the reason why you had fallen for Blaise; the softness that he seemed to wear around you. When he was around you he was more than the Blaise that he was with others. He was more caring, was not afraid to show his soft side and weaknesses. It may have costed you almost a decade to get there, but you wouldn’t want to trade this Blaise for any other person in the world.

‘Of course I will,’ you said and took his hand over the table. He shot you a thankful smile and nodded content.

‘You better look amazing because I don’t wanna get there with the mess I’m sitting with right now,’ Blaise said and his cocky smile came back to his lips.

You let out a loud laugh and shook your head. ‘When has that ever been a problem? I always look fabulous!’

‘Whatever makes you sleep at night, love,’ Blaise chuckled and he messed up your hair when he walked past you out of the kitchen. You turned around and watched him leave, arranging your hair and feeling the heat on the place his fingers had touched your scalp.

-=-=-=-=-

‘You’re going to the wedding with him? As his date?’

‘No! As his friend, you moron!’ you said, throwing a fry to Pansy, who was wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Together with your two friends, Pansy and Daphne, you were sitting at a table in the far back of the bistro, surrounded by empty tables. When you had told them about what happened over the phone, Pansy and Daphne had immediately called an emergency meeting and ordered you to meet them.

Playing with the straw of your drink you looked at the two girls sitting opposite of you. Daphne was picking the tomatoes off her burger, placing them carefully at the side of her plate, while Pansy was rolling her eyes at you and she threw the fry back at your plate.

‘You know what this means, right?’ Pansy asked and shot you a sly smirk. ‘Going to a wedding with someone is a big step.’

‘God, Pansy, it’s just a wedding,’ you said, throwing your hands up in the air. ‘He wouldn’t go alone and I think he should see his mom again. What else was I supposed to do when he asked me? Say no? You don’t know how he was looking at me!’

‘Was it something like this?’ Pansy asked and she dropped her jaw and made the most googly eyes she could manage.

‘That is actually quite accurate,’ Daphne snickered.

You stared at Pansy and tilted your head to the side, knitting your eyebrows together. Taking your drink from the table, you leaned back in your chair and shrugged. ‘What are you doing? Why is that accurate?’

Pansy’s jaw dropped for real now as she noticed you weren’t kidding and Daphne shook her head. You stared at your two friends, waiting curiously for their answer.

‘Sweetie, it’s obvious he likes you,’ Pansy said and her soft voice told you she wasn’t kidding anymore. Your eyes widened and you looked between Pansy and Daphne. The first one was giving you a sweet smile and Daphne took your hand over the table and gave it a little squeeze.

‘No,’ you breathed and you cleared your throat, trying to find back your voice. ‘No, he doesn’t like me! If he did he would’ve told me, right?’

‘Like how you told him you like him?’ Daphne asked and Pansy chuckled softly.

‘Well, that’s different,’ you tried, even though you knew that it was actually the same. However, the more you thought about it, the less it made sense to you. Blaise couldn’t like you. If he did you would have noticed; you had known him for years, you would have seen it. But in the back of your mind there was a voice telling you that he hadn’t noticed you liked him too and he knew you as long as you knew him.

Pansy gave you a comforting smile, but that couldn’t help the balloon that was growing in your stomach. Your plate with food seemed cold and tasteless and the drink in your hand was bland. After what felt like an hour, you got your voice back and leaned forward in your chair.

‘No, it’s bullshit,’ you said determined, placing your drink back on the table with more force than you had intended. ‘Blaise doesn’t like me. He can’t.’

Daphne and Pansy snorted and they glanced at each other before Daphne said, ‘Remember when he asked you to live with him?’

In the living room of your parental house you were half-sitting, half-lying on the couch while you stared at the TV on the other side of the room. This was the summer that you had thought would be the best of your life, but so far you had done nothing on your list and almost every night you had spent on the very same couch you were on now, mindlessly watching soaps and films. The days were filled with trying to find a cool place in the shadow of trees in the garden of the house and eating strawberry icy lollies. On some days you would meet with your friends and do the exact same with them.

This day had been no exception to the rest. In the morning your parents had dragged you along to a flea market on the other side of the city and you had been forced to feign enthusiasm on forty year old sticky tables and paled garden gnomes. The afternoon you had spent on the phone with Daphne, who was with her parents in France.

And now it was after dinner and you had stationed yourself on the sofa, while your parents had a glass of wine in the garden. Time passed by slowly as you blankly gazed at the moving figures on the TV-screen, not even registering what they were talking about. Maybe someone died, maybe someone slept with their best friend’s boyfriend. Whatever it was, you didn’t know.

The characters completely lost your attention when there were footsteps in the hallway. You lifted from the couch and leaned forward a little to see who it was. Honestly you hoped it weren’t your parents wanting to spend time with you; you had had your fair share of that already today.

So a smile formed on your face when Blaise stepped into the room. Muting the sounds from the TV, you sat up straight, creating some space for Blaise to sit. His eyes glanced at the TV as he sat down.

‘Whatcha watching today?’ he asked, knowing you were bingeing any series you could find at the moment.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrugged. ‘I wanna say something with a hospital, but I am not sure.’

Blaise chuckled and then he cleared his throat. You raised your eyebrow at him, noticing that there was something different about his behaviour today. He seemed a little nervous and his gaze was pointed at his hands as he spoke to you.

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ he started and his voice got smaller with every word.

‘Blaise, if you want me to understand what you’re saying you have to speak up,’ you said and you bumped your shoulder against Blaise’s. He looked up and smiled faintly at you, causing you to fill with worry. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I wanted to ask you if you wanted to live with me,’ Blaise said and while his face was turned to you, his eyes weren’t looking at you—they were staring at a place above your shoulder.

‘Live with you?’ you asked and a big smile formed on your lips. ‘I’d love to!’

Blaise’s face filled with hope and he grinned at you. ‘Really?’

‘Are you kidding?! Of course I want to!’ you exclaimed and threw your arms around your friend. ‘Oh, Blaise, this is amazing! Just when I thought you couldn’t be a better friend!’ You got up from the couch and danced around the living room with your arms in the air.

Blaise was watching you with a smile from the sofa and you felt a weird twitch in your stomach under the stare of your friend. You lowered your arms and smiled happily at him. Leaning down, you pressed a kiss on the top of his head and spun around when you pulled back.

‘I gotta tell my parents!’ you exclaimed and ran out the of the living room, leaving the giddy Blaise alone on the sofa.

‘So? What about it?’ you asked, slapping Pansy’s hand away as she reached for your fries. She shot you a hurt look and let out a whine, as Daphne shook her head and moved her chair a little closer.

‘You said yourself that he was nervous. He is never nervous around you!’ she said and moved her finger in the air to emphasise her point. You took her finger and pushed her hand down to the table.

‘And? I’d be nervous to ask him to live with me too,’ you said.

‘Yeah, because you’re in love with him too,’ Pansy mumbled, but you ignored her.

‘You gotta come with better arguments than this,’ you said, though you felt your inside slowly turning to believe your friends.

‘Alright, how about the time you got stood up by Neil?’ Daphne said, leaning back in her chair as if she had already convinced you.

The restaurant was filling with happy couples as you sat at the bar, nursing the drink in front of you. With every time the door opened you turned your head, hoping that your date, Neil, would walk into the place. He was already forty-five minutes late, but you figured that it must be traffic.

You hadn’t missed the looks full of pity from the guy behind the bar and the waiters that were walking around the place but you wouldn’t give up yet. Already on your third drink, you sighed and took your phone, checking it for the umpteenth time to see if maybe Neil had sent you a text.

There were no texts from your date, but there was one from Blaise, asking how your date was going. It was a thing you always did, checking up on each other while you were on a date. It had started after you had been on a terribly boring date with some guy and you had texted Blaise halfway through, pleading him to call you with an emergency so you could ditch the guy. At your next date, Blaise had jokingly messaged you and ever since then it had grown to be a habit. He did it when you were on dates and you did it when he was on dates.

You knew Blaise was on a date too and that you probably just should text him that it was going great, but you didn’t want to lie to your friend.

It’s shit, he hasn’t shown up yet and the waiters are giving me piteous looks.

For a second you hesitated with your finger above the ‘send’-button, but as you made eyes with the man behind the bar, you pushed aside all your ego and hit send. You saw the message being sent from your phone, arrive at his and after a minute it was read by Blaise. He was typing for a second and his message back came.

Wait a minute

A sigh slipped from your lips and you dropped your phone on the bar, taking your drink in your hand instead. For a few minutes you waited for a response back from Blaise back, but when none came you figured he had forgotten about it and was having fun on his own date.

When you placed your empty glass back on the bar, the barman came over and silently asked you if he should refill.

‘No, I think I’ll head home,’ you said, failing to hide the disappointment in your tone. You jumped from the barstool and took your phone. As you reached for your purse to pay for your drinks, the door of the restaurant opened again and against your better judgement you looked up.

The last person you expected to enter walked into the place. Dumbfounded you stood up straight and stared at the person.

‘You’re still here! I am so sorry, darling, my boss wouldn’t let me get out of the meeting. You know what an ass he is.’

Blaise wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, so to everyone around it looked like you were kissing. Instead, his lips were hovering over yours and you gulped at the sudden proximity. The cold from his hands sent a shiver down your spine and all the air was knocked out of your chest.

‘Play along to save your dignity,’ Blaise whispered and his lips almost touched you.

Without saying anything—afraid that all you would let out was a whimper—you nodded and Blaise let you go. He got his wallet from his pocket and paid the barman, flashing him a smile. As he turned back he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you with him.

‘Let’s go home, love. We’ll get dinner another time.’

Something about Blaise’s words put you back to your feet. You conjured a smile on your face and you glanced around the place as Blaise helped you into your coat. The waiters that had been looking at you with pity, now had looks of jealousy at the handsome man by your side. You couldn’t help but feel like you had proven them wrong and a genuine and slightly malicious smile came to your mouth.

With Blaise on your arm you walked outside, like nothing had happened at all.

‘Okay, what do you want to say with that?’ you asked as you were walking outside with Pansy and Daphne through a park, on your way back home.

‘He ditched his date to help you out!’ Daphne said and she shook her head as it was clear that you still had trouble believing her.

‘So?’

‘He. Ditched. His. Date. To. Spend. Time. With. You,’ Pansy articulated.

‘Any good friend would to that,’ you shrugged. Nonetheless, there was some part of you that actually started to believe that what your friends were saying could be true.

‘I love you very much, but I would not pass on a date because you got stood up,’ Pansy said. ‘Just because you have to pay for your own drinks once, I won’t ruin my chances to get some.’

‘Pansy, shut up,’ Daphne said and she nudged her shoulder with you. ‘Are you convinced yet?’

You didn’t want to give in to your friends so easily so you shook your head, making Pansy groan dramatically and Daphne’s eyes sparkle. She locked her arm with yours and smiled cheerfully.

‘Alright, this one you can’t deny: last Valentine.’

Valentine’s day was a stupid day, created by capitalist manufacturers to make more profit on their products, and had no meaning whatsoever. Who was Saint Valentine even? Just because some dude died on February 14th eighteen hundred years ago, everyone suddenly had to send each other cards and roses?

However, none of this made you feel any better about the fact that you were lying in bed surrounded by empty chocolate wrappings at nearly midnight. Your Valentine’s day had been without a date or secret admirer. Nothing—no card, no flowers. Just self-bought chocolates that hadn’t even tasted that good.

But maybe you could have gotten through all of that if Blaise hadn’t had a date. You knew that it was pathetic to think, yet you couldn’t help but wonder how much better this day would have been if you had been able to share it with your best friend.

Or with your crush.

It didn’t matter how you put it, everything sounded bad in your head. You knew that Blaise was just your friend, that he would never like you the way you liked him, but there were those hopes. Those damn wishes that you knew would never come true.

When the front door of the apartment opened, you—although you weren’t quite sure why—pushed all the empty wrappers from your bed and brushed a hand through your hair. Whatever made you do that was a mystery to you, but you thanked it when Blaise burst into your room.

The blouse that he was wearing was fully unbuttoned and even in the dark you didn’t miss his abs. You discarded the thoughts that came swimming into your mind quickly and looked at Blaise, expecting him to explain why he had come into your room.

Instead of an answer, Blaise walked over to your bed and let himself drop on it. He fell on your legs and you let out a whine, but he didn’t seem to hear it.

‘I take your date didn’t go well?’ you said, pulling your legs from under Blaise’s body. He crawled further on the bed and rested his head near your cross-legged legs. You patted his head comfortably and saw a little smile on his face.

‘You’re amazing,’ Blaise blurted out and by the double tongue you heard he was drunk. ‘Did you know that?’ He got up and sat on his knees in front of you. ‘You’re like an angel! So sweet and beautiful…’

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you shook your head. Although he was drunk, it did feel good to hear someone say those things about you. It was Valentine’s day after all.

‘Such an innocent angel and yet I can’t help wanting to do all those bad things to you,’ Blaise continued, a rasp laced through his deep voice and he brought his face so close you could taste the alcohol from his breath.

You gulped and your heart stopped beating for a moment, only to go thrice as fast as normal after. Your throat was dry as a desert and as much as you wanted to say something, you couldn’t.

Blaise had meanwhile brought his face so close your noses were touching. His breath stroke over your lips and he smirked as he looked at them. Your hands were clasped around the sheets around you and you didn’t dare to move.

‘I won’t,’ Blaise then rasped. ‘I want to, but I won’t.’ He leaned back and you took a deep breath, refilling your empty longs with air.

‘You should go to sleep,’ you stammered, even though your inside burned with curiosity.

‘Yeah, I should,’ Blaise said and, completely different to what you had thought to happen, he took off his clothes and crawled under your sheets. As he lied on his back, he looked up to you and gave you a cocky smile. ‘Well, shouldn’t you sleep too?’

For a moment you stared at the almost completely naked boy in your bed, until his dark eyes convinced you to lie down too. Awkwardly you shifted to the side of your bed to give Blaise some space, but before you had even fully closed your eyes, he had wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest. His strong arms held you in place and you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

Blaise’s breathing soon calmed down and he fell asleep, but you couldn’t catch sleep. You felt his heartbeat on your skin and tried to focus on his breathing so you would calm down, but just when you thought you were drifting off to sleep, Blaise’s hand travelled down your body until it rested on your hip and he, in his sleep, pressed his body even closer to yours.

‘If that doesn’t convince you, you’re just crazy.’

‘No… I’m not crazy,’ you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

‘We convinced you?’ Pansy said and she stopped walking. You turned around to her and nodded insecurely. ‘We’ve convinced you!’

‘But how? When? Why? How?’ you asked, giving your two friends a desperate look.

Pansy threw her arm around your shoulder and led you to an empty bench. Daphne sat down on your other side and she took your hand, giving a nod to Pansy. ‘I think it is time.’

‘It is time? For what?’ you asked, looking between your two friends.

‘Time for the plan,’ Pansy said.

‘What plan?’

‘Just listen…’

-=-=-=-=-

It was the afternoon of the wedding; you would leave in ten minutes. Time had flown by the past two months. Now you knew Blaise liked you back, everything had changed in the dynamic between the two of you. It took great effort not to give in and just kiss him when he was lying on the couch late at night or to place your hands on his chest when he came out of the shower. But you had to wait. Only for a few more minutes now.

You were standing in front of your mirror, looking at the dress Pansy and Daphne had given to you. The dress was part one of the plan that your friends had come up with and that they had been drilling into you for the past two months.

If you were honest, you liked the dress. It wasn’t something that you would usually go with, but Pansy and Daphne had good taste—you had to give them that. The light green colour of the dress matched perfectly with your skintone. Tight were it accentuated your curves and just revealing enough to make people wonder. With the high black heels you were a few centimetres taller, though Blaise was still bigger than you.

Your hair was tied up, bringing the attention to your shoulders and bare back. The thin straps of the dress rolled over your skin as you brought up your arms to put the final touches to your make-up. That wasn’t much different from any other day; you didn’t want to be like a completely different person all of a sudden.

Around your neck was the necklace that Blaise had given you for your last birthday. You could still feel how his fingers had stroked on the back of your neck when he had put on the piece of jewellery that day.

‘Are you almost-’

Blaise walked into your room but stopped talking as soon as he saw you. His eyes widened and he gulped visibly. With your sweetest smile you turned around to him and giggled at his baffled face. He seemed to recollect himself quickly, but you saw there was still a faint lingering in his eyes.

However, you weren’t done yet. You walked closer to Blaise, with the same innocent smile on your lips and when you were in front of him you turned around, showing him the open back of your dress.

‘Would you do me?’ you asked and although you could not see Blaise, you heard he sucked in his breath.

‘What?’

‘Would you do me up?’ you asked again and Blaise let out a quivering breath. His hot breath on your skin caused the blood to rush to your cheeks and you were lucky Blaise couldn’t see your face.

Blaise’s fingers started at the top of the dress and they ran down the zipper, until they had reached the bottom. He placed one hand carefully on the top of your bum while the other pulled up the zipper slowly. His movements were slow and your breath hitched in your throat at the burning feeling on your skin.

The hands stayed in their position a second longer than was necessary and you could not help the smile that formed on your lips. Once again you had to hold yourself back, even though all you wanted right now was for Blaise to unzip your dress again.

The moment had caused the air in the room to grow thick and you had to swallow away the lump in your throat before you turned around to Blaise and smiled at him.

‘Ready?’

-=-=-=-=-

The hotel where the wedding would be was beautiful. Although you knew that Blaise’s mother had the fair share of her ex-husbands’ wealth, she never failed to amaze you with what she spent her money on. Whether it was lunch at one of the fanciest restaurants of the city or expensive gifts for Blaise’s birthday. Everything she did had to show how wealthy she was.

Just like the wedding. As you walked into the lobby of the hotel you were astonished by the beauty of it. It was like taking a step into the world you knew you would never fit in. Marble floors, glass all around, the biggest flower ornaments. All the people around you were dressed up in fancy clothes and in your dress you felt out of place between the women with jackets and shawls.

Blaise seemed to notice your discomfort and he placed his arm around your shoulder, taking you with him following the direction from a sign that told where the wedding was. You walked through hallways with high ceilings and chandeliers and passed rooms with golden frames around the doors.

‘This place is beautiful,’ you said and Blaise hummed in agreement. ‘Maybe we can have our wedding here.’

Blaise’s head snapped to your side and his arm dropped from your shoulder. For a second he stared at you, shock and curiosity radiating from his entire body, until you flashed him a grin and he relaxed. He let out a chuckle and cleared his throat, while looking away.

‘It was just a joke, Blaise,’ you said, bumping your shoulder against his. ‘But nice to know where you’re at.’

‘No, that’s not- I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t- You just-’

‘Relax, relax. I am just messing with you,’ you giggled as Blaise was rubbing his neck while looking for the right words. You pulled his arm down and took his hand, dragging him into the room where the ceremony would be.

There was a handful of guests already, chatting to each other with a glass of champagne in their hands. Upon entering the room, a man in a dark grey smoking approached you and Blaise with a tray with glasses and program booklets. You let go of Blaise’s hand and took one of each, while Blaise only took a glass.

‘Could I show you to your seats?’ the man asked, lowering the tray and when you nodded, he pulled out a little paper from his chest pocket.

‘Blaise Zabini and plus one,’ Blaise mumbled and the man nodded.

His eyes slid over the paper, scanning the floor plan, until he found Blaise’s name. ‘Ah, Blaise Zabini, I see. Right there, fourth row, third and fourth on the left.’

Something in Blaise’s stance changed and the grip on his glass got a little tighter. His shoulders broadened and he straightened his back, but he managed to conjure up a polite smile. He followed the man’s direction and walked away, his steps a little harder than usual.

You flashed the man a smile before you ran after Blaise who was standing at the end of the fourth row with chairs. Carefully you placed your hand on his shoulder and the harsh look on his face changed when he saw you. You smiled softly at him and he huffed and shook his head.

‘Let’s sit down,’ you suggested. ‘Unless you want to talk to anyone, of course.’

Blaise raised his eyebrow at you, while you took place on a chair and he snorted laughingly when he saw you were joking. He sat down next to you and leaned back in his chair, resting his calf on his other leg. ‘Believe me, there is no one here that I’d rather talk to than you.’

Looking around to distract yourself from the stupid grin Blaise was giving you, you patted his thigh. ‘I wish I could say the same, but that guy over there is definitely checking me out,’ you said, feeling the smirk grow on your face.

Blaise’s head snapped around to look who you were talking about, but there was no one behind him. ‘What guy?’

‘Why? Are you jealous?’ you asked, raising your brow at Blaise. He was still looking around, his eyes scanning the room suspiciously, before they settled on you.

‘No, I’m not jealous,’ Blaise said, throwing his arm over the back of your chair, his fingers brushing your shoulder in doing so. ‘I was just curious.’

‘If you say so, sweetie,’ you said pretending you were already focusing on something else, but actually looking at Blaise from the corner of your eye as you opened the program and looked at it. He was looking at you with a strange look in his eyes, but he said nothing. A smile fought its way on your lips and you hid it by clearing your throat and reading the program booklet in your hand.

The ceremony would start at five and the reception would at half six. There was a little free time between the ceremony and reception for the bride and groom to make the pictures and refresh themselves before dinner would start. What the guests would do at that time was up to themselves but the reception hall would open and there was an open bar, so you figured you and Blaise would find a way to entertain yourself.

Slowly the space began to fill with more people. You knew exactly none of them and even Blaise didn’t know a lot, but he could provide gossip on some. You learned that the bald man in the second row was the brother of one of Blaise’s mother’s first husbands, with whom she had always kept in touch for whatever may be the reason. The woman in the seat behind you used to be his mother’s best friend, but she had slept with her third husband. The two children on the right side of the chairs, were supposedly the groom’s children, but that was never confirmed.

When all the guests had taken their place in their assigned seats, the groom and his best man walked into the room. The groom was a tall man with a shiny bald head, that reflected the light from the candles along the aisle he walked down. He was wearing an azure blue three-piece suit with a baby pink tie and puff pocket. He looked fit, a lot better than the previous husbands you had seen. And you had seen your fair share.

After the groom and best man had taken their place, the guests stood up when the music started to play and the door at the beginning of the aisle opened. Blaise’s mother stepped into the room and all eyes were focused on her.

She was wearing a beaded tight fit with a low neckline and small straps. Her hair was half put up and there were little crystals in there that glittered when she moved her head. Around her neck hung a big necklace with glistening clear crystals that matched with her earrings. Even those who had no sense of fashion could see that a lot of effort had been put in the look.

Blaise had stiffened up next to you and he was staring at his mother as she walked by without noticing her son. He sighed as he sat down again, while his mother took place at the altar and the ceremony began.

‘At least she looks happy,’ you whispered, taking Blaise’s hand and offering him a reassuring smile.

He intertwined his fingers with yours and gave your hand a squeeze, one that was a little too hard for someone who didn’t need comfort. There was a smile on his face, but his eyes stood sombre as he watched his mother getting married again.

‘She does…’

-=-=-=-=-

The room for the reception was loud and filled with people that neither you nor Blaise wanted to talk to. Together you sat on a little sofa in the corner of the room, legs pressed together, as you sipped your drink and watched the other guests. So far, no one had tried to talk to you and although you were glad they didn’t—for they did not seem your type of people—it did feel a bit strange. Blaise was the bride’s son after all.

Your feet were already beginning to hurt and you regretted wearing the high heels. The reception was approaching its end and dinner would be in just a while, but you couldn’t wait to sit on a chair that was more comfortable than the low lounge sofa you were sitting on now.

From your purse you could hear the sound of your phone and when you took it out of there, you saw Pansy was calling you. Flashing Blaise an excusing smile, you lifted yourself from the couch and stumbled to the restroom.

‘Pansy, thank god,’ you groaned as you closed the door behind you and after making sure there was no one else in the room, you kicked off your heels. ‘This wedding is awful! Blaise’s mother hasn’t even come looking for him. I’m not even sure she knows he is here.’

‘Yeah, yeah, who cares?’ Pansy said rushed. ‘But how is the plan going?’

‘I don’t know,’ you sighed. ‘My feet hurt from your stupid heels and it doesn’t seem like he is about to budge any moment. Maybe the plan’s not that go-’

‘You better think again before you finish that sentence!’ Pansy cut you short and you chuckled. ‘Believe me, at the end of the night he will be putty in your hands. Just make sure to execute every part of the plan! Now, do you remember what to do at dinner?’

‘Of course I know. Pansy you have been drilling me for the last two months,’ you said as the door of the restroom opened and a woman came walking in. ‘Look, I gotta go. I’ll keep you updated.’

‘Okay, have fun!’ Pansy said and you said goodbye while you stepped into your heels again, getting ready to go back to the reception room again.

As you walked back to the couch where you had left Blaise, you noticed he was talking to someone. And when you came closer you noticed it was no other than his mother he was talking to. She had changed her wedding dress for a shorter white cocktail dress, showing off her legs in her high white heels.

Discomfort could be read from Blaise’s face and you tried to make your way over to him as quickly as you could, but halfway you were stopped by a girl that had had plenty of drinks already. She grabbed you by your arm and stopped you.

‘Hi!’ she exclaimed and the penetrating scent of her alcoholic breath made you almost gag. ‘Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I know you from somewhere!’

You smiled politely at the girl and tried to free your arm from her grip but she kept holding you. ‘I so feel like I know you! Did we ever, y’know, do something?’

‘Okay, honey,’ you started, stopping her before she could say more. ‘We need to get you sobered up!’

You glanced over your shoulder at Blaise who was still taking with his mother and tried to get his attention. After some attempts he caught your movements and he visibly relaxed when he saw you were asking for him to come help you. He said goodbye to his mother and rapidly made his way over to you.

‘You’re my saviour,’ he said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You tried to ignore the fire in your stomach and turned to the girl in front of you. She was still holding your arm, but she was now looking at Blaise.

‘Is he your boyfriend? He’s hot!’ she whispered to you, her eyes wide.

Blaise cleared his throat to deny the girl’s question, but you were quicker and nudged him in his side. ‘He is, isn’t he? Lucky me, huh? Come on, let’s get you a water or something.’

You wrapped your arm over the girl’s shoulder and took her with you to the bar, sending Blaise a smile over your shoulder as he followed. He had a slight baffled look on his face and the corners of his eyes only lifted a little when you smiled at him.

-=-=-=-=-

‘That was a nice thing you did for that girl,’ Blaise said over dinner. He was leaning his elbow on the table, turned away from the person next to him at the table, and was looking at you while you waited for dinner.

‘Ah, you learn what to do after a few drunk girls in the club-bathroom,’ you said waving off the comment. ‘Sorry I couldn’t come help you escape from your mother earlier.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Blaise said, flashing you a smile that made your cheeks heat up. ‘You came right on time.’

Before you could say anything else, the waiters came with the food and your attention was taken by your plate. You had made sure you had ordered something else than Blaise, so you could without suspicion steal food from his plate. It was a simple yet effective move, all courtesy to Pansy and Daphne’s plan.

‘How’s are the asparagus?’ you asked innocent, after Blaise had taken a few bites.

He shrugged. ‘They’re alright.’

Without a warning you pricked your fork in one of the asparagus on Blaise’s plate and took a bite out of it.

‘Hey!’ Blaise cried out and he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from taking another bite. ‘Why’d you do that for? You have your own food!’

‘Yeah, but I don’t have asparagus,’ you shrugged as a smirk played on your lips.

Blaise’s grip loosened a little and you tried to bring the fork back to your mouth for another bite, but he tightened his hand and held your arm in place. You could feel your heartbeat accelerate and you were sure that Blaise could feel your pulse too. Swallowing deeply you looked up at Blaise, who was watching you with slightly furrowed brows. You bit your lip and Blaise let go suddenly, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a big sip.

A content smile spread on your mouth and you took another bite of the asparagus on your fork, turning back but keeping an eye on Blaise. He was staring at his plate and shook his head before he turned to you, giving you his usual grin.

During the rest of the dinner there was an easy conversation between you and Blaise. Once you tried to start a conversation with the people at the table, but after a few questions on your side they fell silent and you gave up. Not that you really wanted to talk with them, you were having more than enough fun with Blaise alone.

After dinner it was time for the bride and groom’s first dance. As the DJ asked everyone to gather around the dancefloor to watch the dance and so the waiters could clean the tables, you drank the last of your wine and pulled a reluctant Blaise from his chair to where everyone was gathering. Pushing past a few people you got to the edge of the dancefloor where Blaise’s mother and her new husband were standing in the middle, their arms wrapped around the other. The music started and a slow song played.

Letting go of Blaise’s hand you wrapped it around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder. A rush of butterflies shot through your stomach when, without saying anything, Blaise wrapped his own arm around your shoulder. His fingers stroked the bare skin of your upper arm slowly.

They were a beautiful couple, but you, just as Blaise, could feel there was something off. You had seen his mother’s previous husbands and boyfriends and although this man seemed genuine in his attractions there was something that didn’t fit. Something about the scene didn’t feel right to you and when the music got louder, you realised Blaise felt the same because his movements stocked and he took a little step back.

You turned your head to look at him, letting your arm fall from his waist. He gave you an apologetic look and shook his head lightly, before he stepped away and disappeared in the mass of people.

Quickly, you ran after him, pushing the people that were in your way aside. Only now you noticed how many people were actually at the wedding, as it took you a while to get through the rows of guests that were watching the first dance. When you finally stepped into the clear space, you saw Blaise leave the room and you followed him swiftly.

In the corridor to the lobby of the hotel you caught up with Blaise. He had taken off his jacket already and was struggling with his tie when you ran into him. A frustrated sigh came from his lips when his hand slipped from the tie and you quickly stepped forward, pushing away his hands and taking his tie instead.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked softly, not feeling the need to talk loud because you did not want people to hear you and also because you were standing very close to him. You loosened his tie a little and rested your hands on his chest for a while as he tried to find the words to say. His heart was beating fast; you could feel it through his shirt. When you looked at him, he swallowed deeply and you took a step back.

‘It just… it doesn’t feel right! I have seen this all before, you know? With all the guys before this one—it was the exact same. She gets sick of them after a year and then she meets someone new and the whole cycle starts over. I mean, good for her that she enjoys herself and everything, but I am sick of being involved in her shit. I don’t want to go to another wedding, visit another birthday party or housewarming.’ Blaise sighed and he dropped his head to his chest. ‘I know it is selfish, but I can’t help thinking it.’

You stepped closer to Blaise again and lifted his head with your index finger, forcing him to look at you. ‘It is not selfish. Actually I was thinking the same,’ you said and Blaise looked surprised. ‘I don’t think it is fair that you have to go through all of this. You deserve to be happy just as much as she does, love.’

Blaise smiled at you and he nodded slowly. You took his hand and tilted your head to the side. ‘Now, we could go home or stay here and get the money out of that open bar. Your choice.’

Blaise laughed and he brought your hand to his face, pressing a quick kiss to it before pulling you back to the wedding. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

-=-=-=-=-

The music was loud and the bass thrummed in your chest. The lights around the dancefloor changed the colour of the wedding hall in all the shades of the rainbow. On the ceiling hung a disco ball and it reflected the lights to all over the place.

Screaming along to the lyrics of your favourite song, you threw your hands in the air and moved your body to the beat of the music. There was a big smile on your face and Blaise laughed at you as you danced.

The smile on your face turned into a smirk as you heard Pansy’s voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to get closer. But, just as you were planning to make your move, someone patted on your shoulder. You turned around and were faced with a guy you hadn’t seen before.

The man had dirty blonde long hair, gelled back on his head, and his forehead shone with sweat. When he opened his mouth you were met with the scent of alcohol and you stumbled back, right into Blaise’s arms. He held his hand on your hips.

‘Care to dance, lovely?’ the man asked, flashing you a smooth smile.

Blaise’s fingers dug into your hips and you got hypersensitive of the closeness between the two of you. An awkward smile painted your lips as you shook your head at the stranger. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I’m already here with someone.’

The guy nodded understandingly and he headed off again, disappearing in the dancing people. You laughed relieved and turned around to Blaise, while his hands stayed on your hips. He seemed to be contemplating something and after a silence said: ‘You can go dance with him if you want to.’

‘Are you kidding?’ you laughed, searching Blaise’s face for a trace of joke.

‘No, I’m just saying—I would understand if you want to…’

Finally making the move you wanted before, you placed your arms around Blaise’s neck and pulled your body closer against his. You brought your face close to Blaise’s, so there were only a few centimetres between your noses. ‘This, right here, is where I’m meant to be. Now shut up and dance with me!’

Blaise’s eyes darkened for a bit and the grip on your hips got stronger. His hands moved along as you swayed your hips and a smile played on his lips as he finally gave in and danced with you. Not once did he break the eye contact with you and you drowned in his dark eyes. The bass of the music was lost in your body as your heartbeat accelerated and it got so heavy you felt it throughout your entire body.

A fire was spread through your inside, coming from the hands on your hips. You didn’t know what music was playing anymore or who was around you, where you were. It could have just been Blaise and you in an empty room.

Your eyes were glued to his, fearing the magic would break if you lost eye contact. All the stars in the sky could not compare to the sparkles that you saw in Blaise’s eyes as he looked at you. A warm, strange feeling rose low in your stomach the longer you looked at Blaise.

The air around you was delicate and filled with electricity. But so delicate that it was broken immediately when someone bumped into you. You were almost knocked off your feet but Blaise caught you.

A nervous chuckle escaped your mouth when Blaise put you back to your own feet. A quick glance around the room was enough to see that a few people were leaving already and as another guest bumped into you, you turned to Blaise.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, understanding your look. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

-=-=-=-=-

The streets were cold and empty this late at night and a chill ran down your spine as the wind blew over your bare arms. You rubbed your arms as you felt the goose bumps forming on your skin. Blaise was quick to notice you were cold and he took off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

‘I told you to bring a coat,’ he said as his hands lingered on your shoulders.

‘And miss the opportunity to wear yours? No thanks,’ you shot back, an innocent smile on your face.

‘So you planned for this to happen?’ Blaise joked and you felt your cheeks grow hotter.

A silence fell and you stared at your feet while you walked. They had been hurting all day now and you feared your toes would be dead when you’d finally arrive home. To make things worse, the street you were walking in went upwards. With every step the bottom of your feet started to burn more to the point where you had to stop for a moment.

‘Hold on,’ you muttered, grabbing Blaise’s arm to stop him. You clung onto him as you lifted one foot, moaning in relieve as the pressure was taken off it.

‘What’s wrong?’ Blaise asked a little worried, giving you one hand to lean on while the other steadied your back.

‘It’s the stupid shoes,’ you said, now lifting your other foot. ‘They hurt like hell.’

You groaned again as you put your foot back on the ground, but quickly put a fake smile on your face when you noticed Blaise’s worried look. You managed a little step but with the next one you couldn’t help the painful whimper. Blaise rolled his eyes at you and held your hand back, preventing you from taking more steps.

‘Come on, get on my back,’ he said, stepping in front of you.

Not needing to hear that a second time, you jumped on Blaise’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed his big hands under your thighs and proceeded to walk.

It wasn’t far to your apartment anymore and within fifteen minutes you turned the corner of your street. As much as you didn’t want to, you patted Blaise’s shoulder, letting him know that you would walk the final few metres. He lowered and you stepped of his back, pulling your dress, that had crept up high on your thighs, back down, not failing to miss the look Blaise shot at your legs.

The final steps to the apartment building you made in silence, holding onto Blaise’s hand. Without really realising it you had intertwined your fingers. Not letting go of your hand, Blaise opened the door of the building and he stepped in with you into the dark.

You eyed the stairs for a second before you stepped towards the elevator. There was no way that you would walk the stairs with so much pain in your feet. However, when you wanted to press the button, your eyes fell on a paper with ‘out of order’ on the door of the elevator.

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ you whined and threw your head back in your neck.

‘Okay, drama queen,’ Blaise said and he at last let go of your hand. ‘I’m only doing this because you’re in pain!’ He placed one arm behind your back and the other in the crook of your knees and he swept you off your feet. You squealed and immediately wrapped your arms around Blaise’s neck, almost bumping your heads together.

With you in his arms, Blaise walked up the stairs and even went so far as walk to the door of your apartment, where he finally put you down to get his keys from his pocket. There was a loaded silence as you stepped into the dark apartment, stumbling into the living room with Blaise behind you.

You kicked off your heels and moaned relieved as you dropped down on the couch. Blaise chuckled lightly as he stood in the doorway behind you. You turned around to him, moving to sit on your knees, and looked at him. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t really place.

Averting your eyes you played with the hem of your dress. You had hoped that whatever was about to happen had already happened because right now you didn’t really know what to say. So far everything had been included in Pansy and Daphne’s plan but they hadn’t prepared you for this part. Now it was all up to you and you knew that if you didn’t say something right now, you would lose your chance.

‘Blaise-’ you started but you were stopped when Blaise walked towards you and pressed his lips on yours.

A gasp came from you and your eyes widened at the sudden move. There was an explosion of butterflies in your body and electricity shot through your veins. Before you could do anything, Blaise had already let go of you and he was stumbling back.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, avoiding your eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘I just—I’ve liked you for a long time and after tonight I thought that maybe-’

‘I know,’ you interrupted and Blaise looked up to you in surprise. ‘Pansy and Daphne told me two months ago and they helped me to crack you tonight.’

‘Crack me? What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I like you too,’ you said with a smile and walked over to Blaise, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. Your face was only mere centimetres away from his, his hot breath on your skin. Your lips were hovering over his, the smirk on them growing with the second.

Blaise’s eyes darkened at your closeness and he placed his hands on your lower back, pulling your body against his. You raised your eyebrow at him, your fingers toying with the button on his collar. A groan came from the back of Blaise’s throat as you didn’t move any closer to him, keeping the little space between your lips.

‘Kiss me, you idiot,’ he breathed, closing the space between the two of you.

The electricity that you had felt at the first kiss was nothing compared to the fire that started in your body at this one. Your skin grew hot as it ached for you to be closer, to feel more. Your lips were on fire and you knew right at that moment that nothing could ever be so addicting as Blaise’s kiss.

Blaise’s hands travelled down your body, slipping under your dress. His fingertips created electric shocks on your skin and a thousand tingles shot through your body on the places he touched you.

You wanted him closer. You wanted more. Never leaving his lips, you unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie. Your hands got familiar to his chest as you traced the lines of his muscles, feeling like you could shoot flames from your fingers. Blaise’s skin felt warm under your touch, growing hotter the longer you were in his touch.

When you finally pulled apart you were breathing heavily. You stared into the dark eyes that made you forget all your troubles. Blaise’s thumb stroke the smile on your face and you hummed happily.

‘I think I’m in love with you,’ he whispered, never breaking eye contact with you.

You nodded and brought your face close once again, letting out a quivering breath before you spoke. Lips brushing over each other and noses bumping together softly, you spoke in a whisper.

‘Good, because so am I.’

- - - - - - -

general HP taglist: @harry-pottery-barn @missmulti @kingalrdy @missswriter @figlia--della--luna @aspiringsloth20 @awritingtree @bi-andready-tocry @lilulo-12fanfiction @ananad1 @treestarrrrrrrr @your-hispanichufflepuff @thefandomplace

MASTERLIST

#sleep-i-ness500 #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini imagine #blaise zabini #blaise #blaise imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp

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cringelordlikesplaz · 3 years ago

Text

Strange to be an Eel

Turning into silly putty wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, honestly. It’s everything that happened after that which was weird.

"Please! I'm begging you, Jake bailed last minute and we don't have any replacements! This musical is our last chance. If this flops, we'll never be able to keep this place open!" She cried. 'She' being a short woman with desperate tears in her eyes and too many freckles.

Eel pulled his wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip. He shook his hand off and observed the woman in front of him. She looked stressed, tired, and a general mess. Her name tag read ‘Penny’.

"Well, Penny." He said curtly, "I got things to do. Better things to do than-"

"But you're the perfect fit! You're the right size, you already know all the lines-"

"Seeing a musical five times doesn't mean I've memorized-"

Penny snapped to attention and pointed her finger into the air dramatically. The imaginary audience located in the storeroom fell silent.

"And if I'm not here to save the day- Then as God as my witness, I'll be here to save the night!"

"-It's 'then as the gods as my witnesses'." Eel pointed out. Penny smiled smugly and Eel shook himself off.

"That doesn't prove anything. And it doesn't change the fact I can't go onstage!" Eel said.

"You'll be wearing makeup and goggles! A hat too! No one will be able to recognize you in costume!" Penny said, suddenly desperate again.

"No! I won't do it!" Eel said in response to her puppy eyes.

"Please! Please, Bruce Wayne's out there and if this goes well the PR will be fantastic!" She said, tears beginning to fall.

Eel looked up at the cracked ceiling and let out a long, long groan.

"I want 100 bucks." Eel said.

"Deal!" Penny said, the tears instantly evaporating.

Damn actors.

~~~

So, the musical rendition of the hit show 'The Grey Ghost' went pretty damn well, in Eel's opinion. He was skeptical at first, as anyone should be, but he had to admit it, Penny was right. He was an amazing Grey Ghost.

It helped that Eel had been a fan of the Grey Ghost since he was a boy, and it also maybe helped that he had snuck into the theater to see the practice runs of the play five times. He had thought he was being sneaky, but apparently theater kids could like, smell intruders. Fresh blood, if you would.

He hadn't known what would happen when he was cornered by a very manic little blond lady, but it ended up surprisingly well. He even got paid.

After he and the other actors had taken their bows or whatever, Eel snuck back to the storeroom. He pried off the grey suit- it was kinda itchy honestly- and began to dig around for his usual clothes.

He put his suit on. The nice one, that didn't pinch his shoulders and had all his crap in the pockets. He buttoned up the coat and pulled out his glasses. They were black and pretty slick, if he was honest with himself. Which he was. Occasionally.

The temples were wide and helped hide his eyes from the side. They hid his scar even better. They were sunglasses, unfortunately, not the best eyewear to have in Gotham, but he liked them. And that was enough for now.

They were also expensive as all hell. Some sort of designer brand. He would wear them till they broke for how much they cost him.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm decent," Eel said.

Penny opened the door and held her clipboard to her chest excitedly. Her eyes sparkled.

"So." She said.

"So?" He asked.

"So! Y'know how Bruce Wayne was in the crowd tonight?" She asked.

"Yup," He said.

"He liked it! He liked it so much he wants to fund us!" She said, "And he wants to meet you."

Eel blinked. "He what?"

"He said your performance was incredible! He wants to meet you!"

"No."

"No?" She asked, her head cocked, "But you've got so much talent! He could get you a job, y'know."

"No. Just- no." Eel shook his head. He could just hear the sirens now. "I can't, Penny."

She seemed like she wanted to press him- like she did with getting him into the costume. But something on his face made her reconsider, apparently.

"Alright." She said, sighing, "I'll tell him you're not available."

"Thanks, pal." Eel said.

They stood awkwardly.

"I need to go." He said, pointing behind her to the door.

"I- okay." She said. Penny stepped aside and Eel left the storage room, Penny following behind. She led him to the backdoor.

"Um, thank you...?" She said as he stepped out into the alley.

"It's best if you don't know my name." Eel said.

"Will you be back?"

"Probably not." Eel said, "What with your success here tonight- I think there's going to be too much foot traffic around for a crook like me to be hidden."

She smiled softly, "You weren't very hidden in the first place."

"I'll have you know I've hidden from cops in more obvious spots."

"I think that says more about the GCPD than it does your skill," Penny said.

Eel huffed, mockingly offended.

"Later, miss." He said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye." She said.

Penny waved to his back and waited for him to slink into the shadows before she shut the door.

~~~

"Eel O'brian." A gruff voice called.

Eel grinned and craned his head around to look at a familiar face.

"Matches! Ol' pal, where've you been? It's been ages." Eel said.

Matches Malone slid into the seat next to him at the bar. The bartender wordlessly handed Matches a drink and Matches wordlessly slid a few bills over the counter.

Eel took a sip of his own drink- a cocktail.

"I've heard there's work around." Matches said, taking his match out of his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

"I mean, yeah-" Eel said, rolling the cherry around his glass for the hell of it, "But there's always work around."

"Hmm."

"Yeah yeah, I know what ya mean." Eel said, nodding. "You want the work that won't have you dressed up as a daisy and punched by a furry. I gotcha."

"Hmm."

"I miss the good 'ol days, Matches. Before all these folks in spandex came along and started going nuts all over town-" Eel paused, taking a sip of his cocktail, "-But I do got to admit it; the spandex is pretty hot."

"I need cash." Matches said, ever eloquent.

"Cheers to that!" Eel laughed. He downed the rest of his drink, swallowing the cherry.

"Where's the work?" Matches finally asked, and Eel's grin faltered. Always work and no play with this guy.

But Matches seemed to like him well enough, so Eel wouldn't hold it against him.

"So, new boss in the West part of town looking to hire some folks. I think they're hiding something pretty big, but we won't know that 'till we get there, won't we, Matches?" Eel said.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, me too buddy."

~~~

Things at the new job were getting crazy. Like, really really crazy. Like the type of crazy he spent a great amount of his time trying in vain to avoid. Super crazy.

Pun intended.

It started off fairly normal. By Gotham standards anyway. Looting places. Stealing. Scarin' the living daylights out of folks. Keeping out of the limelight.

But the boss turned out to be working for an even bigger boss- who had a penchant for monologuing- and Eel couldn't help the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

And then the boss- the small boss and not the bigger, monologuing boss- somehow kidnapped Batgirl of all people and decided to drown her. And he did it in this big glass chamber with a valve on the side.

He stood in front of it, glaring at each of his men accusingly.

He had each of them turn the valve, adding a few inches of water to the chamber, and taking few inches of air away from Batgirl. He was trying to root out a snitch. Or, as he put it, a bat.

Matches didn't even hesitate. Eel wished he had that guy's confidence.

But Eel? He wasn't a big fan of murder. It made him feel icky. It kept him awake at night. He already had enough insomnia, thank you very much.

And Batgirl- She was just a kid. A baby-faced teenager. Up close, she was no longer a force of nature fighting alongside a cryptid. She was a teenager up to her nose in water, her clothes torn and bloody.

Eel went last.

He put his hands on the valve and-

He couldn't do it.

He wouldn't.

A lot of things happened after that.

The boss (the small one) told the rest to shoot him down, and Eel had a half a second to view his terrible life before Matches tackled him to the floor.

The glass of the chamber broke and the room was suddenly flooded with a lot of water and one very mad vigilante. Then a window got busted in, even more glass flying, and then two Robins showed up- There was the young Robin who was grumpy and the other older Robin that wasn't Robin anymore but Eel couldn't really be bothered to remember his name at the moment.

There was fighting, gunfire, blood, and then there was glass in his hands-

And then Matches had somehow manifested them both outside and set Eel on his feet.

"You-" Eel spluttered, "You saved me!"

Matches looked at Eel. Eel looked at Matches. The street was quiet. Inside the building, it was not.

"Thank you." Eel said softly.

"...You cost me my payment." Matches said at last.

Eel's face fell.

"I just- She's just a kid, Matches. I ain't a monster." Eel said.

Matches shook his head and walked away, leaving Eel on the sidewalk with glass in his hands.

Guess he was wrong about Matches.

~~~

That day wasn't too bad, though. In the middle of the night he was woken up to a knock at his window. His fourth story window in his crappy apartment.

He opened his window and suddenly a basket was shoved into his arms. He fumbled with it for a second, his hands still raw. There was a blur of movement and Eel was left standing half-naked holding a- a gift basket?

He sorted through it- it had cash and cookies and bandages. It also had a plain white card. He opened it and raised a brow in surprise.

"Thanks for not drowning me!"

It was signed with a little bat drawn in the corner.

The cookies were delicious.

~~~

The safe was built into the wall. The safe itself wasn't too big, and the wall was only made of plaster. It would be a pain to lug the safe back to base though. And it would cost precious seconds to hack away at the wall to get the safe out-

There was really only one option. The bomb he had was small and wouldn't do much in terms of excavation- but it would absolutely open up that pesky Wayne-Tech lock.

"Alright guys, we need to get back-" Eel didn't hear anyone. He turned- "Guys?"

"It's been a while, O'brian." Batman said, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of his crime buddies. Well, not really buddies- you get the point.

"Batman! Hello! I don't think we've met," Eel said, swinging on his heel and turning to face his doom.

"No, we haven't. But when I didn't hear word from the police of any of your activity for a few months- well." Batman took a silent step closer. "One tends to worry."

"Oh? Me? Lil 'ol me? You shouldn't have." Eel batted his eyelashes, though the effect was diminished as he was wearing his shades.

"You plan these heists well." Batman said slowly, "You waited until the Riddler attacked to go for this safe. You got past the cameras without setting off the alarm. You tipped off the police of where you'd be- on the other side of town."

Eel tried to reach for the detonator on the bomb. If he could just- "You flatter me, Batman really, but I-"

"We could use a man like that on our side, O'brian." Batman said. "A smart man like you could do some real good in the world."

Eel laughed. That was the most wrong thing he'd ever heard. He laughed but it wasn't funny.

He pressed the button and the bomb started counting down from 10.

"I don't think so, Bats. I'm not the hero type." Eel said, and then tried to make a run for it. Batman caught him by the collar.

"It's not about types. There's good in you."

"I really wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta split." Eel said, slipping his arms out of his coat and breaking into a mad sprint.

The bomb let out a single shrieking beep before it detonated.

Eel didn't turn back to see what happened to Batman.

~~~

A deal went wrong. Unsurprising. They broke his leg. Unsurprising. He was alive. Surprising! Unfortunately, he was still very much crippled and bleeding out from somewhere.

He limped along the sidewalk at night, always a dumb thing to do. His vision was either going or the lighting in this city was getting worse by the moment. Given that he lived in Gotham, it was likely both.

He limped into a grassy part of the city- a park of some sort. He'd get caught soon. Or maybe he'd bleed out and die. He couldn't manifest the energy to care either way.

He flopped down onto the grass, for lack of any other bright ideas. He couldn't see the stars through the cloud cover. Tragic.

"Hey." A commanding voice called. He looked around until he spotted a scantily-clad woman. She was green and wearing leaves and had bright red hair and was looking at him like he was a pile of dead slugs.

Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap that's Poison Ivy.

Eel tried to shrink into the ground.

"Hiiiii Poison Ivy, how's the weather?" He asked. He tried to smile charmingly but it was most likely very strained and bloody.

"Why are you bleeding on my flowers?" She asked, a single brow raised.

"Haa, would you believe that blood makes a great fertilizer?" Eel said.

"It does." She said.

"Uh," Eel had lost too much blood for him to come up with a witty remark.

"Please don't kill me." He said.

"Greater men than you have begged for mercy. What makes you better?" She asked, head cocked.

"I can, uh," Eel panicked, "I can give you my grandma's recipe for caramel coffee."

Poison Ivy's other eyebrow raised.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, a shrill voice called from across the park.

"Ivy! Come on!! What are you even doing?!"

Eel was fairly certain he was hallucinating now. Blood loss and all that. Because Harley Quinn, wearing a football jersey and sweatpants, came running up to stand besides Poison Ivy.

"We're going to miss the game," Harley pouted, then took notice of Eel, "Who's that mess?"

"Someone who can make caramel coffee, apparently." Poison Ivy said, bemused.

"I like caramel." Harley said.

Poison Ivy shrugged, "We can keep him if you want."

"I also like coffee..." Harley tapped her chin in consideration, "Yeah we'll take him. Come on, Ivy!"

~~~

That was how he ended up getting high with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. His leg was propped up on a table, a bong was being passed around, the apparent football game played on the TV in front of them. They were in a greenhouse and the city’s lights shone through the glass almost magically. This was probably not what someone suffering from blood loss should be doing. Eel almost considered making a break for it.

But Poison Ivy was the Weed Queen of Gotham, and getting this stuff free? Too good to pass up.

Harely had seemingly forgotten about the promised coffee, but since they hadn’t killed him yet and gave him weed, Eel decided he'd write the recipe down for them before he left.

"I don't get why capes dress the way they do," Harely said, "I mean, rogues have the same problem but like, it's more noticeable with the heroes, y'know?"

"Like, the boob windows?" Ivy asked. Harley nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, yeah! The boob windows." Harely said, "Why do all the guys wear kevlar and body armor and the girls got to show off their tits?"

"Maybe the dudes should show off their tits too." Eel said.

Poison Ivy laughed and Harely nodded even more enthusiastically.

"Yeah! This guy gets it!"

"See, if I were to go running around in spandex-" Eel gestured to his very much not spandex coated body, "I'd show off my cleavage all the time."

"Men don't have cleavage," Ivy pointed out.

"Not with that attitude they don't." Harley said, "Say, Eel, if you ever get tits, come over so we can prove Ivy wrong."

Eel cackled, "Sure thing! And if I ever start wearing spandex as a hobby I'll make sure the V-neck plunges all the way down."

"You'd better!"

Ivy laughed and Eel was handed the bong again.

~~~

Eel wasn't even doing anything. He was in his apartment, minding his own business. Well actually he was trying to sleep but that wasn't going so well.

Then there was a tapping on his window. Feeling a sudden wash of deja-vu, Eel turned around. There was an otherworldly, haunting green glow coming from his window.

Pausing, and exercising a healthy amount of caution, walked over to the window.

A UFO hovered outside his window. A tiny one.

Eel rubbed his eyes.

The UFO bonked against the glass, seemingly wanting inside.

"uh," Eel said. Against every ounce of common sense, he opened the window.

The UFO flew inside his room, casting its light oddly through his home. There was a mechanical whir, and suddenly a robotic arm sprung out from the bottom of the ship.

"Uh," Eel said, regretting everything immediately.

The UFO then grabbed Eel by his good ankle, his other leg still in a cast for a few more weeks. He lost balance and hit his head on the floor. The small ship lifted him off the floor by his ankle, and then dragged him out the window. He tried to claw at the windowsill but the ship was too fast.

"UH,"

He dangled dangerously over what was at least a thirty foot drop. The UFO paid no mind to his panicked flailing, and instead began to go higher.

"OH GOD."

~~~

The small UFO took him to a bigger UFO, of course.

A small hole opened in the underside of the ship, and Eel was brought inside. The inside of an alien spaceship looked nearly identical to its outside, apparently. Weird and green.

The smaller ship finally dropped him off in a large circular room. He was set down gently on his back, but he still hissed in surprise. The metal floor was freezing and he was only in his shorts.

"Uh oh uh oh uh oh..." He muttered.

"Hello, human!" A cheery, buzzing voice greeted.

Eel looked around frantically and finally spotted a small, glowing blue light.

"Uh, hi?" He said to the light. The blue light bobbed up and down- excitedly?

"Human!" It said, "We are the-"

It said something that sounded eldritch to his human ears.

"-and we saw your performance!"

He blinked.

"...my what."

"On February 7th, approximately 11 months ago, you performed in the musical "The Grey Ghost Strikes Back!"." The light said. Several other colorful lights manifested around him.

"...uh huh."

"If you are wondering why you did not see us, the-" [REDACTED] "-in the crowd on the date of your performance, it is because we were not there."

"Ooohh kayyyy...."

"Batman recorded it and sent us a copy!"

Eel blinked. They were speaking alienese, he was certain of it.

"He also sent along with it 307 other forms of human entertainment as a welcome package to Earth!" It said, "And we must say, we really enjoyed your performance."

A red light, hovering just a little lower than the blue one, perked up.

"We especially enjoyed your performance in the third act, and would like to compliment your singing skills." The red light said.

"Thank you?" Eel said.

"If it is not too much trouble, human, we would like what is most commonly known to you as an 'autograph'." The blue light said.

"...alright."

~~~

The night started off odd, he'd admit it. But it wasn't bad. He signed some stuff. He didn't know what the things he signed were or what exactly he wrote with, but it hardly mattered. They asked him to sing a song from the musical- he did- and they somehow applauded him.

They gave him alien food, and he'd be damned if he didn't accept free food. Even if it was probably radioactive. It tasted like cotton candy. Again, not bad.

They told him a bit about their situation. Their home- somewhere on a different plane of existence- exploded. They were the last of their kind. Batman approached them, because he could do that apparently, and offered them a place on Earth.

"Our culture is based on entertainment. Each piece of what you call 'media' is like a fine work of art to us." They said.

"Oh, cool. So do you kidnap actors you like in other stuff?" Eel asked, trying to figure out the best way to consume the slime on a stick he'd been given. He decided there was no proper way to do that so he just decided to slurp it off.

"We would like to meet the actors and actresses in other media, but they usually just scream the whole time they are here. We gain the impression that they do not appreciate our hospitality." They said.

Eel shrugged, "I can't imagine why. You guys are great."

"You have taken this whole experience very well, comparatively."

"I mean- I'm a bit desensitized to weirdness." Eel said.

"Is this experience considered 'weird' to other humans?" They asked.

"Nah." Eel said, waving off their concern, and set his slime stick down, "Hey, I'd like to get home now. This has been fun and all, but it's kinda cold in here."

"Of course, human. We wish you fame and fortune for your future."

"Uh, you too?"

They dropped him off on the roof of his apartment building. The sun was beginning to rise. He made his way down the stairs, nearly naked and his leg still in a cast. He slept okay.

~~~

Eel was known for many things. He knew most, if not all, of those things were bad. Hell, all of the things he was known for would be bad to the common man. But to the common crook? Only most of those things would be considered bad.

Some of the things he was known for made him desirable.

He was a safecracker, he never got caught, he could make a good plan and stick to it. He was good at his job.

But Eel was not... valuable, per-say. He was a tool in most people's eyes. Something to be discarded when the job was done.

Eel knew this. Made his peace with it. He knew when he took this job that the guys he was working with didn't give two shits about him. But he needed their muscle for the security guards, and they needed his skill to crack the safe. They all needed the cash.

They walked into this big facility during a storm. Mr. Freeze was causing havoc in city hall again. The outer parts of the city didn't get the blizzard- they got the freezing rain.

The security guard appeared- he had a gun and he was willing to use it. If the folks he was working with were smart, which they weren't, they would have ran. Don't shoot back, don't have murder put onto your sentence along with theft and arson and everything else.

But they were stupid, and they shot blindly, and the guard shot Eel in the shoulder. And the bullet tore through his shoulder and into a container of something-

Another shot rang out, the guard fell.

There was a crack and suddenly Eel was soaked in something- it was bright and hot and it burned like the embers of Hell. He screamed, of course.

The people he was working with, his 'pals', stared at him for just a second.

"Eel-!"

"Eel doesn't have the cash, now run!"

Eel got up, and gave chase. His steps faltered and his vision swam.

He made it outside just in time to see them get into the car and book it.

"Adios, Eel!"

"You putrid punks!" He yelled, his hand clutching his shoulder. Everything burned. Everything throbbed. His pulse beat in his ears, the rain came down like knives, and the bullet hole poured blood like a faucet. But it was oddly thick- was it? The world kept wanting to wobble and spin.

The- the police. They'd be here soon. Maybe. Eventually. He needed to go.

He walked.

Down the street, down an alley, then another, then another, until the buildings began to spread out and trees and grass began to coat the land.

The rain was softer here. Warmer too. He climbed a shallow hill. Like climbing a mountain. His heart slammed the inside of his skull like a drum. There was a tree on the hill, its branches bare.

He collapsed beneath it.

He didn't have time to see if he could spot any stars before it all went black.

~~~

Eel's life had always, always been strange.

But it apparently that was just the beginning.

37 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years ago

Note

WFB: That moment the hot blonde handed him his ass, and became his best friend. (You had to know I would throw some KikiObi friendship in here somewhere XD)

[Read on AO3]

South Gym. 7am. be there.

Obi blinks blearily down at the screen again, shifting the duffel strapped across his shoulder. Before he’d started performing his little act of penance, traipsing after the future Mrs Wisteria (the Younger) to make sure none of the Dean’s plans stuck, his schedule had been heaven. Undecided in life and major, there hadn’t been a single class before ten, and one of them even involved food.

And now here he is, standing outside a building so new there aren’t even finger prints on the plate glass, hoping he gets his ass kicked quick enough that he’ll make it to his lab at eight. So this is how the other half lives.

He’s not gonna get used to it. Bad idea when the carriage turns back to a pumpkin in three years.

South Gym certainly isn’t his usual; East was already a step up from the place he’d been going, a little hole in the wall hidden in a strip mall somewhere along Route 9. It’s closer to the frat for one, and he’s never had to share his locker with a rat. But as he swipes himself through the automatic door, stepping into a lobby so gleaming he can see his reflection, Obi realizes: this is a whole new ball game.

Probably the worst place to be caught tossing a white girl with a net worth bigger than some countries too, but hey, a bad idea’s never stopped him before. Especially when it came to a dare.

im gonna wipe the floor with you princess theyll need a whole bottle of mr clean to get the glitter off

He’s hardly pressed SEND before his phone vibrates, screen lighting up with, I do not recall asking for talk.

Obi huffs, scrubbing at the back of his bristle. Ms Kiki talks a big game, and sure, she held her own at that front yard beat down, but still-- she’s a head shorter than him. Not trained. Has a face that would make a good design for Ruthless Lawyer Barbie. He might not be at his fighting weight, but that doesn’t make her bones built any less like a bird’s. He could hose her by accident the way the monkey’s scratching at his back today.

Fuck, sure, she might have shouldered her way to the front of the line, cornering him with that you’re fighting me first talk. But if he had any sense at all-- which if history serves, he doesn’t-- he should have insisted on the Big Guy. He’s the face he wants to punch anyway; maybe not the one who deserves it, since Chief made the call, but it’s the safest one to plaster over his problems.

Still, a fight’s a fight. Even if Little Miss Bossy can’t go toe to toe with his training, Obi doubts a round with her would be boring.

So when he walks past reception, card swiped and time paid for, and sees the both of them chatting, the first thing he doesn’t feel is panic. No, no, it’s the closest he’s got to excitement since Doc threw herself out a window.

“Two on one,” he drawls, sauntering up behind them. “Great odds. Sure you guys don’t want to phone a friend on this one?”

It’s a pleasure to see Big Guy nearly jump out of his skin, one of those giant hands pressed to where his horse-sized heart has to live. He should get a medal for not asking if that’s the only equine-sized anatomy the Maple Leaf’s got on the table.

“Obi!” he gasps, clutching his underarmor like pearls. “I didn’t hear you.”

Ah, fuck. He’s getting real sloppy lately. “Maybe if you ask nice, Doc’ll let you put a bell on me.”

Obi makes a real show of it, leaning close and miming the bow; Big Guy retreats. He could take it personal, could even be a little scared that a guy built like a brick wall took exception to the batting of his eye lashes, but-- well, he’s been around the Jolly Graying Giant long enough to know he skitters away from anyone getting close. The whole elephants-fearing-mice instinct or whatever, like he might stomp them if he’s not careful.

Ms Kiki, however, swivels his way, brow arched just so to contain every scrap of sarcasm. “Don’t you mean Zen?”

“Ah, ha-ha...” It’d be nice if his grin was more winning than wry, for once. “Do I?”

Time for a topic change. Unless he’d like to give himself more rope to hang himself with. Looks like Atomic Blonde would love to tie the knot herself if he’d let her.

“So, Ms Kiki, what are we doing today?” He lets his gaze drag up her, taking in the leggings, the weird white onesie she has wrapped around herself, complete with an equally unalluring crotch strap. “Beekeeping?”

Instead of an answer she thrusts something into his hand with all the subtlety of Hot Potato. It’s a helmet thing, all netted over the face, and honestly if she was this worried about getting her Vogue-ready looks all mussed up she could have just told him no head hits. It’s not like he was planning on landing KOs today anyway.

“Stand at the other end of the piste.” Kiki delivers the request so tonelessly that it doesn’t even matter she’s covering her face; he’d get the same amount of emotion either way.

“The what?” he manages, trying to imagine what pissed has to do with anything, unless she already is, or they’re planning on getting it after.

Her head rolls-- kind of a weird, robotic gesture with that mask on-- and points at the floor. “The strip.”

The mat’s all taped up-- no, not taped, but the piss-thing is all marked off anyway, colors blocked all over the floor. A rectangle that spans half the room, with a bunch of other ones inside it, making some weird, botched checkerboard pattern.

“Oh, this is like a fencing thing.” Makes sense; this is where the team meets, Olympic hopefuls and all. Obi paces the length of it, counting out four Mitsuhides before he gives up; by the time Kiki stops shooing him, he might as well be back at the frat for all the swings that’ll hit.

“You know, if you didn’t want to fight, you coulda just said you wanted Jamba Juice or something,” he calls out, wincing at the echo. “I won’t think any less of you.”

She tilts her mask up; he’s disappointed to find it looks nothing like a knight lifting their visor. So much for that fantasy. But he’ll tuck that little smirk she gives him in the bank for later. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her back turns to him, and it’s too far to hear what she’s saying to the Big Guy, too far to even read lips unless Tall, Gray and Stoic learns to talk a little more. Years ago, Obi would have been proud to claim he was immune to head games, but this-- this is starting to get to him.

Maple Leaf hands something off to her, and it’s the only warning he’s got before something way too long to be tossed comes his way. It’s no surprise he fumbles it; maybe D’Artagnan over there can catch a three-foot blade with confidence, but Obi’s got a real aversion to sharp things invading his personal space two years in the making.

Their whispering might be inaudible from this many paces, but he sure does hear Ms Kiki’s cluck loud and clear. “Pick it up.”

He does. Obi doesn’t really speak fluent dollar signs, but he can tell-- these things don’t come cheap. And when it sits in his hand, it certainly feels that way.

“You know,” he says, giving the sword a little slash. It wobbles frustratingly in his hands. “When you said you wanted to fight me, I thought you meant--”

“I’m aware.” The princess is all monster when she smiles at him, endless teeth and the promise of a good devouring. “Put on your helmet.”

Obi gives his trusty steel a dubious once-over. It’s hard enough holding this thing straight with full vision, never mind adding that weird ye olde beekeeper mask to the mix. “Doesn’t the challenged get to pick the weapon or whatever? Can’t we do pistols at dawn?”

Not that he’s ever done much more with a gun than look at it, but if he was going to place his bets between the two, it’s the one least likely to kill him. Probably.

Kiki hesitates, like she’s thinking about it. God, he traveled with a rough crowd before, but none of them have a thing on Seiran CEO, Jr. “I didn’t demand satisfaction.”

His lips settle out into a leer. “I could give it to you.”

She snorts, yanking down her helmet. “I doubt it. Now shut up and put your mask on.”

They stand across from each other, and it’s nothing like the movies. Princess might have her pointy stick raised, tip waggling in lazy circles, but Obi barely knows how to hold his. His arm aches holding it out, so he settles for something couched against his ribs, like he’s seen jousters do at renfaires. Sure, that may be with lances, but something this long has to follow the same sort of rules.

By the time he’s got himself settled, the romance has gone right out of this duel. There’s not a blousy shirt to be seen, and not a single person’s had the basic decency to have a fit of the vapors. If this doesn’t somehow end in a double wedding, he’s watched commercials for nothing.

“En garde.” It’s unfair for the Big Guy to be using French like this right now when Obi doesn’t even have the headspace to appreciate it.

“Hey,” he grunts, feeling like even that much is a concession, a whine. He tries to lift his arm up, copying Kiki’s position, and looks like an asshole doing it. No, a pretentious asshole. “I don’t know how to do this. Really.”

“Prêt?” Obi has no idea what that means, but jacked Pepe Le Peu over there makes it sound good. And a little concerned; a complement to the glance he shoots Miss Manslaughter on the other side of the mat. But he doesn’t like, stop them or anything either.

“Just hit me,” she tells him, so helpful.

With one last worried glance between them, M. Sugar Maple swipes his hand down. “Allez.”

For all that sweat, it’s over in a second. No, less, because he barely blinks before he feels the sting, metal thwaping against his sleeve.

Big Guy’s wearing some kind of frown, but his arm lifts anyway, pointing toward the winning side. “Point.”

“No shit,” he grunts, rubbing at his arm. “You think?”

“Come on.” Kiki sashays back to the start, two clean moves and a crouch. “Again. Hit me.”

Here’s the thing: Little Miss Junior CEO might think he’s hopeless, that he’s just some idiot and sweatpants when it comes to walking around this piss thing, but this time, he knows the score. Big Guy says his “Allez,” and all he’s gotta do is be quick--

“Ah.” The stone wall that passes for their ref holds up his hand. “You crossed feet.”

Obi blinks, stopped mid-stride. He’s got long legs, seems a shame not to use them. “What?”

“Your feet,” Big Guy repeats slower, like maybe he’s still speaking French. “One is in front, the other one is in back.”

He glances down at his sneakers. Right, he’s still got, you know, feet. “Yeah. That’s how it usually works.”

“No.” Maple Syrup sighs, darting an annoyed glance at the beekeeper just down the mat. “They stay in the same configuration. You can’t switch them.”

Obi’s not afraid to admit it: he has no idea what the fuck this guy is talking about. “How else do you move?”

Steel slaps him across the chest, wibbling as it pulls away. He turns in time to see Kiki, mask up and grinning. “Fast.”

He may not understand any of this fancy finishing school for ladies bullshit, but the next time Big Guy does his French bit, Obi gets a hit. There’s nothing to it; one little awkward shuffle forward, and he swipes her leg. Easy-peasy.

“ Suck it, princess!” he crows, showboating back to the line. “Take your time!”

“Ah...”

He turns back, and there’s Bullwinkle again, shuffling like he’s got bad news about his squirrel. “That doesn’t actually, hm...”

“No point,” Princess tells him. “It doesn’t count.”

“What?” he squawks, puffing up more than a turkey dinner. “But I got you. Right on the leg!”

“This is saber,” she tells him like it means something. “Hits have to be above the waist.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.” He can’t cross his arms with three feet of business end hanging off of them, but he’s feeling it. Spiritually. “You didn’t tell me.”

“No.” He can hear her grin, even if he can’t see it through the mesh. “I didn’t.”

If this was ever fun, it’s really starting to lose its shine now.

“I hit first,” Obi snaps, darting a sharp look over to their ref. Big Guy just sweats, bad news clenched behind his teeth. “It’s my point, right?”

“Ah...” There’s no reason a man like him should wring his hands, should act like he can’t curbstomp him into next week if he gets too rowdy. But here he is, shuffling like he’s broken grandma’s vase. “Well, you didn’t have, er, priority.”

“What?” Obi wrenches his mask up, letting it fall to the mat with nothing more than a small thump. “Priority? What the fuck does that even--”

Old Yeller’s soulful eyes look down at him, ready to be taken out behind the shed. Right, fine, this isn’t this guy’s fault.

He swings on Kiki, wishing the mesh between them didn’t mute his glare. “No one told me that there’s some shitty rule about who hits first. Or moves. Or like, where they fucking stand or whatever.”

“Well there is.” Kiki drops into stance, like her thighs don’t burn from holding herself in a squat for twenty minutes. Like she’s a goddamn machine. “Now again. Unless your stamina can’t keep up?”

It’s a joke. In fact, it’s the exact joke he’d use if he was the one on top, looking down the mats at Her Highness. But he’s got his hackles up, the way they always were when he was just some dumb kid, and he-- he doesn’t have it in him to play another game, not on top of the bullshit one he’s already losing.

“You know what?” He may not know how much these funky little flyswatters cost, but he’s hoping he’s not letting daddy’s Cadillac hit the floor. The last thing he needs is this tantrum costing him more than his pride. “Fuck this.”

“Oh.” She lifts her mask, and she’s-- she’s smug. Like he’s doing just what she planned. Like he’s finally got the message that he doesn’t belong here, surrounded by pristine white walls, like an iPhone turned into a building. “So you are giving up?”

If Big Guy ever looked as disappointed in him as he does in Princess, Obi thinks he might make like a raisin and shrivel. “Kiki.”

“Is it really giving up when I never agreed to play?” Obi wants to make it a joke, wants to keep it light, but instead he just sounds...upset. Like she won’t let him on the fucking jungle gym at recess. “You know, I came down here because I thought you wanted to go a few rounds with me, not because you wanted to fuck with me.”

“I did,” she says, so mild, handing her sword thing off to Mitsuhide like he’s not standing here fucking shaking not even six feet away. “We have been. Five rounds, by my count, not including your penal--”

“No, you dragged me down here to prove a fucking point.” His breath is ragged, and he needs to just get a grip, one whole ass grip before he does something he’ll regret. “Hell if I know what it is, but it’s different.”

Princess might be a good half foot shorter than him, but somehow she stares down at him, jacket flapping open at her throat. “If that’s what you think, then why are you still playing?”

He throws his arms up, last fuck well and truly given. “If you haven’t noticed, princess, I’m not. I’m done with your bullshit rules. I’m out.”

Kiki stills as he pads off the mat, squeaking sneakers really ruining his exit.

“If you think my rules are bullshit,” she calls after him. “Why did you even play by them?”

His head rolls over his shoulder, and he really hopes she feels every incredulous ounce of his stare. “Because you told me to.”

Obi’s fast, but the way she follows him, one moment on that weird piss thing and the next standing across from him-- that’s faster. “Why the fuck did you listen to me?”

There’s a quiver there, the barest hint at emotion. Not that anyone else could tell, not with the way she talks more boardroom than bedroom, but he does. God, where does she get off being angry at him? “Because I thought we were friends, maybe. I dunno.”

She stares up at him, and there’s something there, something vulnerable in those ice queen eyes of hers. “I told you to fight me. I didn’t say you had to do it my way.”

There must be some sign somewhere, one that tells him the net worth he needs to understand a word coming out of her mouth. Because she’s not making a lick of sense to him with a few hundred bucks to his name. “You didn’t tell me I had a choice!”

“There’s always a choice,” she tells him, just like a girl who’s always had one, who had people to fall back on. Big Guy grunts, a breath from interrupting, but she holds up a hand, stopping him. “You’re bigger than me, stronger probably. Definitely more training. You could have taken me any time. Why did you listen to me?”

Maybe he’s having a stroke. Just a whole ass event in his brain, and that’s why he hasn’t heard two words that makes sense in the order she says them. “What was I supposed to do? Did you just want me to toss your sword and deck you?”

“I wanted you to do something,” she growls, her hands rounding into claws at her side. “Anything beside just taking our shit!”

Obi blinks. “What? Is this some kind of kink or--?”

He doesn’t have time to finish. Hell, he barely has time to blink before his back crashes into the mat, a hundred pounds of princess weighing him down. “Wha?”

“Kiki--”

Amateur Ronda Rousey whips around, glaring at Big Guy. “Don’t.”

If he was anywhere in the neighborhood of fighting shape, Obi would be taking advantage of this. He’d have her on her back before she could cry restraining order, showing her just what happens when people get in the ring with him.

But he’s not. Instead he’s trying to remember how breathing works, barely getting enough brain cells together to block the incoming left hook.

“What are you doing?” he grunts, staring at the fist caught in his grip. “Why are you fighting?”

“Why aren’t you?” she growls, shaking him off. “Why do you care so much about doing what we tell you?”

He stares. A good thing, since it’s the only way he sees her other fist coming. This time, he deflects, sending it careening toward the mat. “What are you talking about?”

Kiki glares down at him, and it’s nothing like the dreams that start off this way. He could not be any further from turned on if they were doing this in the campus pond. “You’ve never given a shit about the rules before, so why are you doing it now?”

“Uh, you’re my friends?” He rocks his hips, hoping to knock her onto the mat, but her thighs clamp harder, keeping her seat. Fine, if delicate hints aren’t gonna work, he’ll have to get...unsubtle. “At least, I thought you were! I’m supposed to care about what you think?”

Her wrist is small in his grip; when he goes to catch it, thumb and forefinger touch on the other side. It doesn’t fit with what he knows about her-- sure, she’s got the five-ten model beauty, but princess is built to shoulder girls on the field, not stand in bikinis under waterfalls. Still, he doesn’t let it stop him, shoving it up against her pelvis, right above the weird ass crotch strap she’s got going on with this armored leotard.

It’s enough. Xena’s no slouch when it comes to getting him in a mount, but it’s clear that she doesn’t have the training to fight the roll he tucks them into, pushing her back onto the mat. Her thighs are still clenched, locking around his back, but--

Well, okay, this is definitely getting more like those dreams now.

“What about us?”

Now’s really not the time to be getting distracted. “Huh?”

“We’re supposed to care about you too.” It’s surreal, hearing those words. Especially from Kiki Seiran, a girl he’d seen on tabloid pages long before they exchanged two words in the flesh. But here he is, staring down into eyes as friendly as glaciers, waiting to be sunk. “What you want matters. Or at least, it should.”

He stares, his brain sharing more in common with tuning forks than actual, solid thoughts. “This isn’t about your weird fencing bullshit is it?”

She rolls her eyes, like he’s the stupidest man in the world.

“Oh.” Right, because he is. Because of course this isn’t just some rich girl flex. It’s about-- that. The monkey on his back. “Oh.”

He sits back, dragging the heir to Seiran Holdings with him. “Listen, that’s...that’s not my monkey, not my circus.” No matter what’s been screaming in his ear the past week. “Chief’s the one that makes that call, not me.”

“Really?” The word is scathing from her lips, the sort of burn that needs medical attention more than aloe vera. “You’re okay with leaving Shirayuki with someone else? When Brecker might be there?”

“He’s in jail.” It jumps out of him, all on it’s own: the worst fucking answer. Obi shakes his head. “I mean, Big Guy can handle it, even if he wasn’t. I...”

Trust him. Which is true, shockingly, but he can’t say it. Not when-- when--

Kiki arches one of those perfect eyebrows. “Do you think Shirayuki is okay with that?”

--When that’s not the problem here. “I told you, Chief--”

“Why does Zen make the call when you know better?”

His teeth snap down, close enough to give his tongue a close shave. “Well,” he manages, “he’s the one paying for it.”

“But if he wasn’t.” Her head cocks, and seriously, no one should look that in control on their back. “Who do you think she would ask for?”

His mouth opens, then closes. Opens again. He-- he doesn’t know. Or maybe-- maybe he does, but to say it, to put hope into words and be wrong--

Well, he’s risked his life before, but Obi knows; he’ll never survive risking his heart. “She was there. She didn’t say anything.”

“No one asked. Maybe”-- Kiki’s grin cuts when she gives it, a complement to her words-- “she didn’t know she had a choice.”

Her thighs squeeze, but by the time he realizes what she’s doing, he’s already on his back, two model-perfect hands on either side of his head. Kiki shows teeth when she bends down, murmuring, “Just because Zen’s used to getting what he wants, doesn’t mean you have to give it to him.”

She’s gone in a breath, leaving him to stare up at the glaring light of the fluorescents.

“Well, I’ll give it to you, Princess.” he grunts, listening to his heart race in his chest. “You sure do know how to make a point.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #Kiki really just is not used to people not picking up her points #or rather i think she believes Obi will be like everyone else she's ever met #more interested in keeping his pride than keeping her friendship #and then he's like okay time to do this dumb thing because someone i kinda trust and like asked me #and mitsuhide is like SHUT IT DOWN #and kiki is like 🤔 no no let's see how far he'll take this #i wonder how stupid he really is?#Obi: EXTREMELY

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thebeebi · 4 years ago

Text

You will be beautiful.

pairing: Taehyung x reader

warnings: disturbing, violence, yandere theme... can’t tell you much, because then it would not create the wow effect I wanted. ;)

genre: modern, rich boy / poor girl

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it would be better if you eat before reading this hahaha, you’ve been warned! There might be some gram. mistakes. English is not my first language. Enjooooy ♥

...Y/N stopped walking and stood still, hypnotized by Taehyung’s every movement. Something about him was so attractive to her, that she forgot about the outside world. Not only was he handsome and her ideal type, but there was this strange aura around him that made her halt her steps and just adore his visuals. She stared at him so intensively, that even he felt it and looked up from his phone, looking around feeling something weird. He was unsure what it was until he met her gaze. To Y/N, it felt like an eternity when they locked their eyes, but Taehyung swiftly looked back to his phone smirking while whispering silently: “beautiful.”

They were so different. He was one of the most wanted men in the world. Not only he was born with a silver spoon but also his physical features were out of this world. She was just an ordinary girl not very pretty, but also not ugly, a bit of weight to spare. Since childhood, Y/N had several health problems, which resulted in the scale to show three digits of her weight. This caused both others and her, to hate herself. She hated her body until he showed up one day. When she saw him for the first time, her legs started shaking. It was when she was coming out of the university’s areal while complaining to her best friend, Hwasa, about her day and how others made fun of her weight. Y/N thought that once she changes the environment and enrols at university, people would act more mature and the bullying would stop. She hoped people would stop caring about her weight and looks, but nothing changed. As it was a problem at her high school. It was even worse at the university because at lectures she attended there were about 200 people. She felt unwell even if she only had to pass through the lecture hall to find the seat. Usually, when the lecture ended she would go out hearing other people’s whispers or some rude guys shouting rude remarks at her. Elephant. Whale. Roach. It was more than often that she ran out of there with teary eyes without waiting for the lecture to finish. That was the day she met Taehyung. He stood in front of the gate while typing furiously into his phone. Even though he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, Y/N realised she would not have any chance with him. Ever. Hwasa, who was waiting for her, ran towards her bigger friend and started talking about her boring day and what she has to do once she gets home, but Y/N paid no attention to her words. While Hwasa was talking about homework, Y/N stopped walking and stood still, hypnotized by Taehyung’s every movement. Something about him was so attractive to her, that she forgot about the outside world. Not only was he handsome and her ideal type, but there was this strange aura around him that made her halt her steps and just adore his visuals. She stared at him so intensively, that even he felt it and looked up from his phone, looking around feeling something weird. He was unsure what it was until he met her gaze. To Y/N, it felt like an eternity when they locked their eyes, but Taehyung swiftly looked back to his phone smirking while whispering silently: “beautiful.”

“Don’t forget the homework we have to submit due to-“ Hwasa turned to Y/N while explaining the importance of the papers they have to submit, but it was only then that she realised her friend is nowhere close to her. She looked around looking for her friend, but couldn’t find her. “Y/N?” She shouted walking back to the place where she has last seen Y/N. When she recognized a familiar figure, Hwasa waved at her shouting her name once again. When Y/N heard her name, she looked away from the mysterious man and waved back. “Why are you still here, Y/N? Let’s go!“ She said as she started pulling her hand leading them in the direction they were supposed to go. Again. I wanna see him again. As Hwasa tried her best to walk her toward the crossroad, Y/N turned her head towards the man but was surprised when he was already looking at her. Their eyes were locked until the two girls walked around the corner.

“Beautiful,” Taehyung whispered when he looked away from the girl who was staring at him. Unknowingly, the girl was for him the most beautiful human he had ever seen. Her size, face without any scar and for sure she had a perfect body. Her body would be worth it. Taehyung would give her all his attention if he only did not have to deal with the problem in his company. He thought that he would just shortly reply to the stupid texts and look back at the mysterious beauty. He wanted to know her name and everything there is possibly to know, but before he could ask her, Taehyung heard a random girl shouting a name. When he looked up from his phone, Taehyung saw a skinny girl pulling his beauty away from him. “Why are you still here, Y/N? Let’s go!“ Taehyung inhaled deeply as he was trying to smell her fragrance. Y/N. He looked at the girl and saw that girl named Y/N is turning to look at him again until he lost her from sight. Right away, Taehyung pulled out the phone from his leather jacket, which he had designed and sewn up. Dialled his assistant’s number, waiting for him to pick up before giving him information about his beauty. “ XY National University, her name is Y/N,” he considered giving his assistant more information but at the same time he did not know anything else about his goddess, so he decided to just stay still. “Find her,” Taehyung said and ended the call before Mr Kim could say anything. Taehyung no longer cared about his company, nor any problems they were currently in. The only thing he wanted was her, Y/N.

It has been a few days since he met his beauty. Not only did he find out Y/N’s full name, address, amount of money she has on her card, but he finally had something he wanted. Her phone number, so he could call her. Even though he waited for her in front of the university every day, she did not show up, so he started to visit her favourite cafés and library. He tried his best to meet her, but it was like she disappeared. If he hadn’t find out all information about her, he would think she was just a beautiful dream. “So beautiful…” he sighed, while small scalpel was slowly cutting into the leather. Taehyung was in the studio, in which no other living being stepped into. It was a small workroom, in which A´he stored all the stuff for his hobby. He created most of the leather clothes and other stuff he wears in this room. The studio was dark, not only walls were painted to black. Even a sofa, which was near the window, was made of dark green satin and all other furniture was made of dark oak.

“Ring. Ring. Ring.”

Taehyung looked at ID showed on the screen of the phone, while softly stroking the leather which he was trying to straighten up and with disgust, he picked up the phone. “I am listening.“ Taehyung said, when he pressed the green button, making known to his assistant that he is ready to hear everything his assistant has to say. “That girl is at work, sir.” It was all Taehyung needed to hear before leaving all stuff alone running towards the car, wanting to meet his beauty. When he arrived in front of the café she worked at, Taehyung looked in the mirror making sure he looked good for the girl he wanted to meet for the past week. A strange smile appeared on his lips that did not disappear even after leaving his car, walking up to the door of her workplace.

Y/N turned towards the sound of the doorbell that rang that day for the hundredth time. “Welcome,” she said automatically without even looking at the man who just entered. Taking the rug to wipe tables, she sighed. I want my shift the end. I want to go home. She thought as she put the dirty rug to side and took little notepad to write down the orders from the customers. Y/N walked from one table to other asking what people want to order, if everything is alright and had small talks with customers until she got to the darkest corner of the café, which was lit up only by little light chains. “Hello, what would you like to or-“she wanted to ask, but words got stuck in her throat as she was who was sitting in front of her. It’s him! Y/N didn’t know how to react, should she jump around feeling happy or just turn around and run away from there, never coming back again. The latter option was more appealing but she needed the money to survive so she just coughed up, pretending that something was stuck in her throat, not wanting to show a handsome stranger that his presence influenced her. “Sorry about that. What would you like to order?” Taehyung who was amused by her behaviour was trying to read all the little details about her face and just mumbled so she could not hear him: “You.” Y/N thought she heard something, but wasn’t sure because she has been overworking herself lately, so she repeated the question: “Sorry, I did not hear you. What would you like to order?” Taehyung tried his best not to repeat his answer and rather decided to point at the advertised drink on the table. She nodded and went to the bar, so she could make him a black coffee Taehyung ordered. He watched her every move so it was obvious he did not miss her being clumsy. She somehow burned her hand and yanked her hand away from hot steam. That will leave the scar. He thought as looked away from her figure while she started walking towards him. Y/N came closer, preparing to put down the cup of coffee, Taehyung pushed the table which resulted in her spilling the coffee on the table and also somehow managed to stain his pants. As he felt hot liquid touch his tight, he stood up from the chair fast and made a sound that made everyone in the café focus on them. Only then did Y/N realise what was going on. “Gosh! I don’t know how this happened. I am so sorry!” Y/N shouted with teary eyes bowing to the handsome man. That was what Taehyung wanted. To see her being helpless. How perfect she looked when tears were staining her rosy cheeks. Even if Taehyung felt the pain, it was nothing compared to the bliss he felt when she cried. “It is alright, stuff like this happens, right?” he laughed and he softly pushed away your hand from his stained jeans. Y/N runs toward the place where she put the rug she was cleaning tables with and walked toward Taehyung, trying to make things better. Even though Taehyung was disgusted with cloth in her hand, he let her try to wipe away stains. “Sir, I am really sorry. I will do anything to apologize.” That is what Taehyung wanted to hear. He had to bit into his lower lip to prevent himself from laughing. How gullible, just how I wanted. My plan is perfect. He knew what he wanted. He had everything planned. All she had to do was to say yes. “If you want to apologize, then go on a date with me” Y/N wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly. Why would he want to go on a date with her, if all she did was cause him pain? She was not sure why he would want to go on a date with her. Is he making fun of me? She thought but before she could think of other negative thoughts, Y/N decided to shake them away. “Please, choose something else how I can apologize to you.” She looked at her shoes, not wanting to meet stranger’s eyes knowing that her thoughts must be right and that he is just trying to make fun of her. “Y/N,” said the stranger, but it was all it took for her to look into his eyes. She should not have done that and she was well aware of that. When she met him for the first time, she could not stop staring at him but now? When she is only a few centimetres away from his face? Impossible to look at anything else! “It is the only way to show me how sorry you are,” Taehyung said not breaking the eye contact between them. He knew she would say yes the moment when she did not ask him how he knew her name. He knew everything about her and that was why he knew she would not reject his proposal. “-but I” Y/N tried to find an excuse until Taehyung said calmly “-the only way”. Y/N wanted to find an excuse for not going on a date with him, but Taehyung’s voice stopped her from interrupting again. “My name’s Taehyung, you finish at 6pm, right?” He asked her even though he knew when she finishes. He even knew that whenever she finishes her work for the day, she goes to a small convenience store for two minutes, so she can buy a grape soda in a can. She nodded and added that she will be done in 30 minutes. “I will wait for you.” Taehyung said as he sits down again in the corner of the café.

Time went by and after 45 minutes, Taehyung stood up from the chair, paid for his coffee and walked out of the café. He thought, that he should wait for her outside because otherwise, it would feel like he waited forever. The thought of her leaving without notifying him was so strong that it slowly but surely started to anger him. Where is she? Did she leave just like that? When I meet her, I am going to twist her n-. “I am sorry for being late. I hope you don’t mind.” Y/N said while smiling fixing her hair which was ruffled because of changing her uniform. Taehyung wanted to show how angry he was but decided to hold back not wanting to scare her. “Let’s have dinner at my place. My car is over there.“ He pointed at the yellow sports car. Y/N did not have a good feeling about this sudden invitation to a dinner date, but after all, she caused his inconvenience. Even though he was still a stranger, a very good-looking stranger, she decided to go with a flow forgetting about the warning sign in her head. Rational thinking told her to not go, but her heart wanted more than just a meeting. Not wanting to waste any more time thinking whether it was right or not, she walked towards the opened door of the yellow car and sat down looking around the leather interior which made her consider what kind of leather it was. The inside of the car smelled like her favourite lotion. Meanwhile, Taehyung walked around to get to the driver seat, she softly touched the beige cover of a steering wheel. “This smell is amazing, it reminds me of my body lotion” She giggled and looked at Taehyung who sat down to his seat. He smiled at her and with long fingers stroked the steering wheel. “Every bit of leather you see on my and in my car was sewn by me. It first, I had to remove meat and then I started working with leather in my studio.” Admitted Taehyung and added: “You are right. It smells here as the lotion because I used it. It is the best one on the market.” He looked away from Y/N and silently started the car, so they would arrive sooner to his house.

The ride took about twenty minutes before they arrived at Taehyung’s house, during which Y/N fell asleep. She was awakened to the sound of a door being closed. She wanted to open the door, but Taehyung was faster and opened it for her with a smile on his lips. “I hope you are hungry because I want to prepare something very special. Just for you.” Y/N smiled at him but shook her head. “I am dieting, I can’t eat much nor eat any meat.” Taehyung inhaled sharply and closed the door to the car once Y/N was out. “Then you should make today an exception. I will let you eat the meat of the best quality. It is worth it!” When they entered the house, she stayed silent trying to understand why this wealthy man asked her to dine with him. “This way,” Taehyung said while pointing in the direction of a huge living room. When she followed him and entered the room, he took remote control to switch on the television and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am going to cook, just stay here and relax. Okay?” Before she could say anything, he disappeared from the room.

He made sure Y/N was not following him when he got to narrow hall and looked around once again making sure no one was around him. Before he entered his workroom, he exhaled and nodded while smirking. Beautiful. He started walking towards the fridge, which is in the back, he stopped midway next to the table, on which he left his work earlier. He looked at the unfinished piece of leather and sighed. He touched it the only bit that had a little imperfection and frowned. Even after three days of working on it, he couldn’t get rid of the imperfections. “You could have been so beautiful but this…” Taehyung shook his head and walked to the fridge pulling out the piece of meat which he decided to make for dinner. “At least you will taste good.” He added walking away from his workroom and after exiting it, he stood still waiting for the door to lock automatically before heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

It has been an hour already. What is taking him so long? Y/N thought as she started walking around the room for the fifth time already. His entire house was furnished in a minimalistic style that even if she tried to look for any more decoration or picture, she wouldn’t find any. When she was about to walk to the window, Taehyung appeared while announcing that dinner is ready. “Come with me.” He came closer to her and held her hand trying to walk with her to the dining hall with a huge table that has been set up for two. Taehyung smiled at her sweetly and pulled the chair for her to sit down. When she did, he walked across the table and sat down himself. So romantic. She looked at the lit candles but soon enough threw away the thought knowing there would be nothing between them. “I will give you a little test.” Said Taehyung with which he made Y/N focus her attention on him. Even though she was a really shy person, that did not mean she wasn’t competitive. “What test?” Taehyung smirked and added: “I hunted this by myself. Can you guess what kind of meat is this?” Y/N was unsure what kind of test it was, but her growling stomach decided to play along. When Taehyung pointed at her plate, she took a knife and fork and started cutting up the served delicacy. When she put the first bit in her mouth, she was sure she has never tasted this kind of meat before. Pork? No, it was too different from the taste I know. Beef? Maybe, but some special kind. She wasn’t sure, but before she could try more of it, it was all gone. Taehyung was looking at her without paying attention to his plate. “Liked it?” he asked as he noticed she finished her meal. “Yes, I don’t think I have eaten a better meal than this. What was it? My guess is beef, but I am still not sure.” Instead of answering her question, Taehyung smiled and asked her. “What are your hobbies, Y/N?“ Forgetting their previous conversation, she stayed silent for a bit but admitted that no one has ever asked her about her hobbies. “I would say painting, what about yours, Taehyung?” It was the first time she has ever said his name aloud, but he already felt intoxicated with the idea of her screaming his name later on. How beautiful it would sound. He stood up from the table and took wine glass to his hands. “I love working with leather. I think it is the only thing I enjoy in this world.” Taehyung helped her stand up. “Do you want to see my workroom?” Y/N nodded and let him show the way towards the little room no other living human saw but him. When they got to the narrow hall, he pushed her carefully forward making her stand in front of the door which was locked with code. What could be so important, that he keeps it behind the locked door in his own house? Taehyung took her hand in his own and lead her to touch screen. “I will tell you the code, you can type it.” He laughed as she touched the screen that suddenly lit up. “7,” said Taehyung and she repeated. “7,” “7 7 5 5 4 4 4 6 6,” Taehyung revealed the secret passcode as Y/N softly whispered the numbers while pressing them on the screen. She focused her attention on the door as she hears the sound of unlocking. She pushed the door, so it would open but before she looked inside, her gaze met Taehyung’s with a smile.

Taehyung pressed himself on her back while trying to push open the door Y/N tried to open before. When her eyes went from Taehyung to the dark room, with courageous steps she walked in and looked around. His workroom was nothing special. Y/N noticed small fridge, huge and for sure heavy furniture, large table and wide glass case with some strange looking tools. She walked past the table to look closely at the tools, which Taehyung uses for his hobby. Her fast steps slowed down before they completely halted. Why would he keep in his workroom something like this? She thought as she touched the glass of the case. “Why would you need captive bolt stunner? She looked at the gun used for killing animals that were in her opinion too inhumane. “Don’t you like working with leather?” She suddenly felt unwell. Since she was born, she despised people who enjoy hurting animals. “How could you do this to them? Don’t you like animals?” Taehyung looked her amused. “I do, but… who told you I use these tools on animals?” A smile that was there before, is now long gone and so was the inner peace which has Y/N felt before. Through reflection on the glass, she looked into his eyes but she no longer saw the sweet, hot man who she met in front of her university or at the café. “I have to go!” She said after she gulped even though her mouth was dry. She turned around, determined to leave but Taehyung stood before her to block her steps. “Where would you go? You haven’t seen everything yet.” He placed his hand on her shoulders making her turn towards the table. He digs his nails into her shoulders as he pushed her forward. At first, Y/N did not understand what was so important but when she saw the leather on the table, her face turned pale. Is that skin? “Do you see that, Y/N? Do you see the imperfection?” Taehyung pointed at the tattoo. “I didn’t know she had that. Otherwise, I would have never asked her to eat dinner with me. I wouldn’t share with her same delicacy I served you tonight.” She widened her eyes realising what was going on with tears in them. “But I forgive her that she did something so horrible to her skin. At least she tasted nice.” He laughed and held her chin between his thumb and index finger and with that he made her look at him. “You don’t have any tattoo, right?” Her silence changed to heart-breaking cries. When Taehyung did not receive the answer he wanted to hear, he asked again, but this time with more emphasis on the last word. “Right?!” The only thing she could do was nod slowly. “Great! Do you remember the jacket I was wearing when we met for the first time?” He inhaled sharply and continued: “It is worn-out already and I need a new one. When I saw you for the first time and your beautiful huge body, I knew right away that you will make a perfect materia-” “NO!” Y/N shouted trying to push him away but it was all in vain. “I hope you did not expect getting that delicacy without me getting anything in return?” Even if she knew something was up, she wished and prayed that her hunch was not right. “What are you talking about? I don’t get it!” She was confused and not ready to accept reality, but as she heard the door that was before opened automatically locking, she knew it was the end. “You tasted her precious flesh.” His head moved to the direction of the table. What I ate was a human flesh? She was ready to throw it all up as she tried to push her fingers up her throat but Taehyung helps both of her hand. “And since you did not pass my test,” She was not looking at Taehyung, but his eyes were filled with love for her body as he licked his lower lip. “…now you will be another test for another beauty I will meet later on.” As she could not bear what he was saying, Y/N fainted in his arms, but he let her fall on the cold floor. He saw that so many times that it started getting hilarious. “Oh dear Y/N, just as these was Hana and Jennie, from whom I made the cover for seats in my car, there was also Joy from whom I made my jacket. The pity is that Jane had the tattoo on her skin, otherwise I would use her for my new jacket. And now … You are here. And in the future, there will be others who will not pass my test.” He sighed as he walked towards the glass case and pulled out the captive bolt stunner. You will be beautiful.

a/n: I hid something in the code, I wonder if you can decipher it. :)

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