#they are HANDSOME and PRETTY and i will BITE if anyone disagrees

[m0thisonfire]

I am not immune to pretty evil princes and counts with sharp features, cutting eyes, and beautiful hooked noses.

This is about Vedan, Lucio, and Aemond btw.

Kissingthemkissingthemkissingthem

Will add to the list as I remember more characters with such features I love.

[shinestarhwaa]

NEW WORLD || OT8 ATEEZ

Dedicated to @bratty-tingz ♡♡♡♡ ateez learns about your break-up with your sucky boyfriend and opens up a new world of experiences and pleasure.

Genre: Smut

Pairing: OT8 Ateez x bff!Fem reader

Word Count: 3K

Tags/Warnings: Gangbang, dirty language, fxm, mxm, breast/nippleplay, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise, degrading, voyeurism, biting, slight masturbation, humping, cumplay, breeding kink

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

''And that is how the guy broke up with you?'' Yunho asks as his eyes widen. ''Pretty much,'' you sigh, nodding. You just told your guy friends about the boy troubles that went down over the past month. The break-up was pretty rough on you and the guys were determined you needed a fun night with them to let go of him.

''What a dick. I bet he didn't even give good dick,'' Hongjoong scoffs. ''I'm sure he didn't give her head either, he's probably a selfish and arrogant prick who only cares about his own pleasure,'' Seonghwa adds. ''Guys, please you do not have to shit-talk him just because he broke up with me,'' you say.

''Why are you defending him?'' Wooyoung asks, ''He wasn't that great and as the guys said, he probably didn't care about you. He never deserved you anyway. You know who could make you scream louder and cum harder than he ever could? Literally all of us.''

Suddenly the room went silent. Your cheeks heated up as the words Wooyoung spoke echoed in your mind. ''You... what?'' ''It's true, isn't it? You told me he didn't make you cum. You told me that.'' ''Wooyoung!'' you yell, punching his bicep, ''Did you have to say that out loud?'' ''Well I deserve a pretty girl like you deserves good dick, good head and a thousand orgasms. Does anyone here disagree with me?''

The boys all shook their heads at that and murmured little ''no's'', some a little more embarrassed than others. You're sure your cheeks are bright red around now. ''Wooyoung, please, what are you saying?'' You squirm in your seat, weirdly turned on by the idea of them trying to please you. ''Would you let us?'' Jongho suddenly remarks. Your eyes shift over to him and you eye him up and down. He's seated across the room, his legs slightly spread and his hand is resting on his thigh. God, the things you would do on that thigh.

Before you knew it you agreed. ''Yes.''

You never expected this to happen and you definitely never expected Jongho to be the one to step up before the others. Not literally though, because you actually stood up. Before you realized it you were walking over to him, straddling him. The skirt you're wearing slides up slightly as his hands glide over your thighs towards your hips.

''Is this really happening?'' San remarks, cheeks bright red, possibly redder than your own. ''You bet,'' Wooyoung says with a smirk plastered on his face. He spreads his legs slightly to get comfortable and his hand hovers around his crotch area.

You don't focus on them, though, you focus on the handsome man beneath you. He gently presses kisses down your jaw and neck onto your collarbone, where he traces your skin slightly. He unbuttons two of the four buttons on the shirt you're wearing, just to give him a view of your cleavage. Then, he kisses you.

The kiss is passionate but it's slow and calculated. He might be the youngest of the guys but he knows what he is doing. While Jongho's kissing you, Mingi stands behind you. You moan into Jongho's mouth when you can feel his erection pressed against your back and it makes you feel strangely powerful when you realize you got him hard in a matter of two minutes. Mingi bends over your shoulder slightly and his hands reach for your chest.

Mingi pulls down the top you're wearing, to reveal your breasts sitting nicely in your lacy bra. ''Fucking perfect tits... I can't believe I can finally touch them,'' he grunts in your ear as he massages them slowly, but firmly, playing with your nipples. You moan into Jongho's mouth and slightly roll your hips against his own, earning a small groan from him as well.

Jongho breaks off the kiss and takes your top off. Immediately, Mingi unclasps your bra and tosses it on the floor. Jongho and Mingi's hands groped, massages and played with your tits, earning small moans from you.

''Did he ever play with your gorgeous, perfect tits? I bet he went straight to your little pussy, didn't he? Gosh, he was probably such a jerk to you, not taking his sweet time riling you up first,'' Mingi whispers in your ear as he tweaks your right nipple. Jongho focussed on the left, taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

''He n-never touched my breasts properly, he just stripped me and used his fingers on me for 2 minutes before fucking me chasing his own release,'' you whine as you grind yourself on Jongho's lap. ''What a nasty guy, hm? What a shame that he treated you this way. We'll make you forget all about him, baby, don't you worry. We'll make you come and scream our names, won't we?'' Jongho says with a smirk. The guys enthusiastically join in immediately.

You notice some of them have taken off their shirts, some of them are palming their crotches or even have their hand inside their pants. It truly is a sight to behold. San watches Wooyoung push down his Adidas shorts with flushed cheeks, his rigid cock springing free. ''It's okay Sanie, don't overthink now. Let's just all let everything happen,'' Wooyoung said with a wink.

On the other side of the room you notice Yunho sitting naked on the couch with his big, fat dick in his large hand, slowly stroking it while watching Mingi and Jongho still playing with your chest. You lick your lips and gently push the boys off you. You stand up and pull down your skirt in panties in one go, leaving you butt-naked for all eight men to see.

Your eyes are fixated on Yunho and his mighty cock and before you know it you drop to your knees for him. ''Hey, princess, you know this is about pleasing you, right?'' ''It'll pleasure me so much more if everyone's getting pleasured Yunie. And how can I resist a cock like this? It might just be the biggest, most juicy cock I've ever laid my eyes on. And I want it in. My. Mouth.''

Yunho smirks and cocks his head to the side slightly. ''Well I can't take that away from you, hm? Have at it babygirl.'' You take his cock into your hands and you feel so much smaller than before. You lick a stripe from the base of his shaft all the way to the sensitive tip before taking his member into your mouth. Hongjoong hurries over soon enough, taking your hand in his before putting it on his bare cock.

Mingi is the next to become impatient, undoing his clothes and following Hongjoong's lead. Before you know it you've got two cocks in your hand while you're still sucking Yunho's. ''This may be the sexiest thing I've ever seen,'' Seonghwa pants out, finally taking off his underwear. ''You like that view, hyung?'' Wooyoung smirks, sitting beside him.

While Seonghwa has his eyes on you handling three different cocks at once, Wooyoung's hand suddenly reaches for Seonghwa's. He whimpers softly when Wooyoung starts to jerk him off and he throw back his head. ''W-Wooyoung,'' he cries out softly when the younger plays with his balls as well. ''I fucking love the way you moan,'' curses Wooyoung. ''Sanie, don't you think it's a good idea to get Seonghwa's cock ready to fuck our precious Y/N?''

San is the last member still wearing his underwear but his straining erection is impossible to hide. Swallowing thickly, he gets up from his seat and sits in front of Seonghwa. San has a perfect view of you sucking off Yunho and San tries his best to copy your movements, but he's thrown off by Jongho standing behind him, pushing down his head onto Seonghwa's cock. San gags and cries out, moans muffled by Seonghwa's dick and Seonghwa bucks his hips into San's mouth.

The boy is drooling and gagging around Seonghwa's cock while Jongho keeps pushing him down. ''That's it, take his cock. Make yourself useful instead of sitting around doing nothing.'' Hearing that, Yeosang gets up and positions himself behind you. ''I'm gonna lay down underneath you, Y/N, Yes? I'll eat your pussy since these guys apparently also only care about their own pleasure before pleasing you.''

The guys groan in protest but you have already widened your legs slightly for Yeosang. He lays down on the floor, wiggling his head underneath you. You carefully move down until you're sitting on his face, feeling the warmth of his mouth on your begging, pleading pussy.

The way Yeosang's tongue slid through your folds made you shiver. Goosebumps rise on your body as Yeosang's teeth lightly graze your clit before sucking on it. You whine around Yunho's dick before pulling off of it, gasping for air. ''Such a good girl,'' Yunho praises you, carressing your face lightly.

''Y-Yes, yes, yes!'' you cried out. Yeosang's hands grope your ass while he goes to town on your clit. You keep moving your hands on Mingi and Hongjoong's cocks, causing your breasts to jiggle up and down. ''Fuck, you are so hot,'' Mingi curses, twitching in your hand. ''A-are you gonna come, Mingi?'' you whine softly. ''I-I can hold it.''

''Come on my chest,'' you pant, riding Yeosang's tongue. You did not have to say that twice. Mingi takes ahold of his own cock and pumps it up and down until he spurts his load all over your breasts. ''F-fuck, please, Hongjoongie, you too, please!''

''Y-Yes princess, I'll give you my cum,'' he moans before doing so. A mixture of cum drips down your chest onto your stomach. You look into Yunho's eyes as you cry out, gripping his thighs. ''You're being such a good girl... Yeosangie is taking such good care of you now isn't he? Look at you just falling apart from having his tongue shoved into your pussy.''

It's the combination of dirty talk and Yeosang's tongue that send you over the edge. In a matter of seconds you're coming on his tongue and crying out his name. ''O-Oh my God, Yeosang yes, that's it!''

When you come down from your high you suddenly notice the sounds coming from behind you. Yeosang removes himself from you and you sit down, watching the other four going at it together.

Yeosang sits down and pulls you in his lap and without him asking you sink down on his cock. He moans softly and plays with your clit while you ride him in reverse cowgirl style. ''You got such a pretty little pussy, so tight and pretty all for us, huh?'' ''Y-Yes fuck, It is all yours, yours to fuck, to touch. Fuck, yes,'' you moan while bouncing on his shaft. As you're fucking yourself on him you're watching the guys now in front of you.

Seonghwa's brows are furrowed and his mouth falls open occasionally, letting out loud moans while Jongho forces San down on his shaft. San's cheeks and chin are wet with tears and spit and his body trembles. Wooyoung sits next to the three of them with a smirk on his face while he touches his own cock and sucks on Seonghwa's neck every few seconds.

The sight is so erotic you think you could just come right there and unexpectedly, you do. Yeosang's cock feels so good inside you, you feel yourself coming on it in a matter of minutes. ''Fuck, baby, look at that... Are you coming from watching Sanie getting used as a cocksleeve? Bet you'd love that too... This won't be the last time we're fucking you. Next time we won't go so easy on you,'' he speaks before he came with a quiet groan, filling your pussy up. You moan and nodd enthusiastically. ''Y-Yes, I want that,'' you sigh, getting off his dick.

When Seonghwa's visibly getting close to orgasming Jongho roughly pulls San off his long shaft. San breathes heavily and graps onto Jongho who tells him he's a good boy getting Seonghwa ready for you. The thought of having Seonghwa inside you makes your pussy clench around nothing.

You stand up, legs wobbling slightly before locking eyes with the eldest. ''Come here,'' you tell him, and he walks up to you immediately. You bend yourself over the armrest of one of the chairs, legs spread for him. ''Fuck my wet pussy, please, I really need you to fill up my pussy, pretty please?''

''You don't have to beg baby, I'll give you anything you want from me,'' he says, positioning himself behind you. The air in the room was so heavy with the seven other men watching you give yourself over to Seonghwa, who carefully slids his cock into your warm, wet pussy. You let out a long moan as he pushes in all the way a few times, easing you in.

Your pussy throbs around his cock when he picks up his pace, pounding into you. Wooyoung positions himself in front of you, tapping his cock on your lips. ''You'll be good and suck my cock, right, dear?'' Wooyoung's voice is so sweet you couldn't possibly say no to that. You opened your mouth and Wooyoung slides his cock in.

The position the three of you have on the chair is slightly awkward but in the moment you just couldn't care less about what it looks like. All you care about is how it feels and God, it feels good.

While Seonghwa is currently fucking you into oblivion, he indirectly pushes you further down Wooyoung's cock. Wooyoung keeps bucking his hips and fucking into your mouth, occasionally hitting the back of your throat. The back and forth is driving you insane and you feel like you're floating. Call it slutty, but you love getting used like a sextoy, it actually does give you pleasure when you pleasure others.

Your ex was never like this, you never even got time to truly pleasure him because it never took him over three minutes to have an orgasm. But with these guys it's different. They keep going at it, fucking you, or touching you, or doing anything and it feels. too. good.

Soon enough, Seonghwa starts moaning like a bitch - as Mingi says - signaling that he's coming really soon. ''Let's come inside her at the same time Hyung, I fill that pretty mouth of hers, you fill that little pussy, breed that pussy,'' he grunts. You feel the first drops of salty cum on your tongue before your mouth floods with it. Wooyoung is loud when he comes in your mouth, fucking every little bit of his seeds into you. Seonghwa reaches down for your clit and unexpectedly abuses it until you come on his cock.

The way your pussy clenches around his shaft makes Seonghwa come too and he fucks your pussy nice and full, making sure you've taken every drop of his semen. When you clear your mind and your voice you stand up, looking at the other guys. ''I believe there are still some gentlemen who haven't had their turns cumming yet, isn't that right? Yunie, Jongho, San, what is it that you want?''

''No, it's your choice,'' San says, looking at you with a sweet smile. ''I might have an idea,'' Yunho says with the filthiest smirk known to man playing on his mouth.

A few minutes later you're in San's lap on the floor, his flushed cock inside you, while Yunho positions himself behind you. Jongho stands in front of you, feet on either side of you and san as he slowly enters your mouth with his length. Finally, Yunho pushes in from behind.

Tears burn in your eyes when you feel your holes getting abused like this. The pleasure is overbearing and your thighs are trembling. Your pussy is so sensitive but the way San and Yunho's cocks are hitting the right spots send you right over the edge again. You're coming on their cocks, moaning around Jongho's length when you hear the guys cursing.

''Look at that, squirting all over their cocks like a fucking waterfountain. Fucking wish that was on my face,'' Mingi sulks. You gag around Jongho's cock, who's pounding into your throat, chasing his orgasm.

''I'm not gonna last, fuck!'' Yunho curses before coming into your pussy, stuffing you full with more cum. San's doing his best not to come yet, but he's breathing so heavily you think he could explode any minute.

Suddenly Jongho pulls out and replaces Yunho, sliding inside you quickly. Before you can even say anything about it his cock's inside you and he comes instantly from feeling your warmth around him. He comes with a low groan and he pulls out again, watching the mixture of your cum and the other's cum drip down his dick.

There's only one left who hasn't had their orgasm yet and that's San. Now you're bouncing on his cock alone he's moaning your name, groping your sticky breasts. He tweaks your nipples and you feel your thighs tremble again. ''P-Please San, I can't- I- Please come, please give it to me, please!''

San nodded and touches your clit with his fingers, tears now rolling down your cheek out of pleasure. You can't even hear or see San coming anymore but you feel it, you feel his fat cock twitch inside you. You feel him fuck his cum into you and you feel his fingers on your clit.

Your head falls back, mouth opening while letting out a loud moan. Your hair falls back as you come a final time, squirting down on San's member for the second time. You whine and whimper as you come down from your high and quickly, San pulls you down to lay on his chest.

''That was insane... Wow,'' Hongjoong says, genuinely impressed with your 'performance'. ''I feel like I am in a new world or something,'' You giggle slightly, but your voice is hoarse and tired and you feel like you could just pass out on San's chest. Everyone finally starts to calm down when Wooyoung suddenly giggles.

''Can we bring toys next time?''

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

From Batman: Wayne Family Adventures #67-69 on Webtoon; Artist Inker Starbite

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are meeting the whole family for the first time. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, knife injury

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Part Four: Dinner and a Show

Anxiously, I took the napkin from the table and began twisting it vigorously. I felt Alfred leave his seat as he rose to meet his family. I swallowed hard, not wanting to look at all of the people that were entering the room. They just seemed to keep coming. How many people were in Bruce’s family? 

Before I had time to register it a hand was outstretched near me. It nearly made me jump. The stranger cleared his throat and smiled, “Hello, I am Dick Grayson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

In an ungraceful motion, I put the napkin on the table and stood up to greet him properly. I took his hand in mine and firmly shook it. His hands were large, calloused, and a little clammy. It was almost like he was a little nervous to meet me. But that couldn’t be right. 

“Nice to meet you, Dick Grayson. I am y/f/n y/l/n,” I said, trying to make eye contact with him. Dick was an extremely handsome man. He was almost achingly pretty. With his soft blue eyes, dimples, and dark curly hair, he could definitely charm the pants off anyone if he really wanted to. 

His smile grew when our hands met. He just stood there for a moment looking at me, and then he pivoted to the side. He introduced Tim Drake and Duke Thomas. Tim was cordial and did the customary new person greeting, Duke was somewhat rambling. 

“Your powers are truly something to be admired, thank you so much for everything you have done,” Duke said as he excitedly shook my hand. 

I smiled at him and rubbed the back of my neck, “It’s really not that big of a deal but thank you, Duke. You guys are the ones that make the real change.”

Duke opened his mouth as if he were going to disagree, but a red-headed woman with glasses wheeled up to us and joined the conversation. 

“You boys are hogging her. Hello, I am Barbara Gordon. This is Cass, she doesn’t say much, and this is Stephanie, she says too much.”

I greeted them both, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of new people. I was trying my best to act ‘normal’ and be as social and charming as I could be. A younger boy who strongly resembled Bruce stood far away from me. He surveyed the room, taking in the reactions. He seemed so serious for his age. I wasn’t sure if I should make the introduction or not. 

“Where is Jason?” Bruce asked the room. 

“He is running late,” Dick said, “he said he had some ‘other shit that needed to get done first.’”

Faintly, I saw Bruce tense, but just as quickly as it came, it went. “Alright, everyone leave y/n alone and go sit down.”

On my right, there was Alfred, who felt my anchor to the world. On my left, there was Dick Grayson, who felt like he was trying to get me to smile and laugh every chance he got. 

The table soon became loud with conversations that finally were not about me. However, I felt eyes on me the whole night. Damian Wayne was across from me, staring at me the whole time like I was an intruder. 

“So, you are a healer,” Damian said, skeptically. 

I swallowed a bite of food and nodded, “I am.”

“What can you heal?” Damian asked, twirling his dinner knife in the air. 

“Flesh wounds, broken bones, blood loss, head injury, organ injury,” I trailed off not knowing what else to say. 

“How does it work?” His eyes narrowed at me.

“I’m not really sure. It’s as natural for me as breathing or blinking.”

“What are your–” Damien asked but then Bruce interrupted. 

“Son, you do not need to vet our guest. Let her enjoy herself.” 

Damien was suspicious of me and curious I wanted the boy to feel comfortable, “It’s okay, Bruce. It’s natural to be curious about it. What other questions do you have for me, Damien?’

“What are your limits?” Damien asked.

I felt the table go quiet. They all were curious and wanted to know my weaknesses. I instinctually did not want to answer, but I knew that if I wanted to be accepted I would need to be vulnerable and honest. 

“I cannot heal a majority of terminal illnesses. Spinal injuries can go one way or the other it depends on the severity. I cannot heal tumors. And…. and healing is draining. If I am not smart about it, I can make myself sick.”

“Sick how?” Dick asked, leaning in. 

“Well, it’s hard to explain. When I healed Bruce, it was after my shift at the hospital, I barely ate that day or slept the night before. So, when I put all that energy into healing him, it was exhausting. I nearly passed out on the ground next to him. When I got home, I slept for 16 hours straight. That is a more mild case though, it can get more… severe.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Bruce mumbled. 

The boyish charm on Dick’s face vanished, “How severe can it get?”

“Oh, you know tremors, fever, bloody noses, vomiting, seizures. It can get bad. I’ve learned my limits the hard way, but I’ve learned them. Growing up my limits were more extreme. I couldn’t heal a paper cut without getting a headache. Small stuff like cuts and bruises doesn’t bother me at all now though. It barely scratches the surface of my limits.”

“Prove it,” Damien said. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, annoyance filling my tone. I can handle his constant questions, but being told to prove it vexed me. 

“You say you can heal cuts and bruises without it ‘scratching the surface.’ Prove it. Prove you’re not a charlatan witch.” It was a movement for a boy too quick for his age he took his dinner knife and sliced along his own arm.

“Damien!” Barbara yelled. Dick leaped across the table but it was too late, blood was already pooling. Bruce and Alfred cursed. 

“Why did we allow Damien to have a knife at dinner?” Tim asked over the yelling. 

“Tim, do you really think we gave him that knife?” Bruce asked, incredulously. 

Anger surged as I slowly made my way around the table full of people yelling until I was in front of Damien. I glared at him as I rested my hands just above his cut. The room became silent as I healed him. The cut closed, and I replenished the blood that he lost. 

Damien looked at me, dumbfounded. The whole room did expect for Bruce and Alfred.

“It’s one thing to hear about it, but to see it… you really are a miracle.” Duke said the words and I flinched from them. 

I looked at Damien and let my anger show through. “I will not heal you if you pull something like this again. I don’t care how much your father pays me. I am not a monkey that will dance for you on a whim. Do not harm yourself to make a point or prove something again.” Damien angrily ripped his arm away from me. I didn’t care. It was unacceptable. He should never hurt himself intentionally like that just because he knows I can heal him. I turned and faced the room, “It was lovely meeting all of you. I hope you all have a nice evening, good night.”

And with that, I turned around and left for the night. Maybe I shouldn’t be as mad as I am right now, but I know I need a moment to myself. I heard light footsteps beside me as someone lightly jogged to catch up.

“I’m sorry about Damien we are still house-training him,” Dick said, trying his best to lighten the mood. 

I didn’t crack a smile, “It’s okay, Dick, really.”

“He can be intense sometimes, well we all can,” ever so lightly he reached up and grabbed my elbow, turning me so I faced him. “We are a lot. We are loud. We are sarcastic. We all think we are right all the time. We fight. We can be obsessive, protective, and socially inept. You will constantly have to patch us up–”

I shook my head, my eyebrows pinched in confusion, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You need to know exactly what you are getting into. It won’t be fair to you if you don’t know,” he said, absent-mindedly his thumb stroking the inner part of my elbow. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but I was acutely aware of it.

I just nodded, “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate the honesty. Besides, if I can handle my family, I can handle yours. Good night, Dick.”

“Of course, good night, y/n.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but I didn’t have the energy for it. 

I walked toward my room, suddenly so exhausted. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, and accidentally ran into a wall. 

“Um excuse you,” a deep voice said.

Taglist: I am just starting a taglist; if you would like to be included please comment :)

@soundsfunbutno

Also please vote below for what you would prefer

Thank you guys

[shiorimakibawrites]

Image Credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Greta Punch (Unsplash) / Stephanie Harvey (Unsplash)

A Tale of Two Men (Part 1 of Cozy Corners)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 6,595 Summary: One week after you open your cafe, you meet two handsome men - defense attorney Matt Murdock and the vigilante Daredevil. Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, description of anxiety and panic attacks, referenced oral sex (f receiving), referenced p in v sex, referenced masturbation, dirty thoughts, female gaze Cozy Corners Masterlist Shiori's Masterlist A03 link Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @danzer8705 Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics

A Tale of Two Men

You couldn’t stop smiling. Owning your own cafe had been the dream of you and your best friend Dora Morales since high school. And now, after years of hard work, it had finally happened. One week ago, you had opened your doors for the first time. You looked around. You and Dora had done everything you could, within the limitations of your lease and budget, to make Cozy Corners to live up to its name. Warm, comfortable, and inviting.

You were especially pleased with the little nook, tucked away from the main bustle of the cafe where people could read and study in relative quiet. You had found some nice chairs in a secondhand store, their brown leather the color of chocolate and butter soft. The little library of reference books and fiction was small but you hoped that over time it would grow. Yes, people were more likely to use the internet to look things up these days but you liked having analog back-ups. Just in case something got broken. Or the city was invaded by aliens. Again.

You found having back-up plans helped calm your nerves, made the anxiety gremlin in your head less loud. You were a big fan of keeping that gremlin quiet. You didn’t like it when the gremlin got loud. It was mean.

Hearing the bell on the front door chime, you looked up to greet your new customer. And immediately felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Because one of the most beautiful men you had ever laid eyes on had just walked into your cafe. Dark brown – no, dark auburn, you could see the glint of red in the sunlight – hair that looked like it would be very enjoyable to run your fingers through, excellent bone structure, and a mouth practically begging to be kissed. Round sunglasses with dark red lenses hide his eyes from view. Which was unfortunate. Especially if they were just as pretty as the rest of him.

The brown suit he worn, by contrast, did very little to disguise how well-built he was. Which was very, if the strain on buttons of his dress shirt was any indication. He moved an enviable grace as he walked toward the counter, his long white cane sweeping in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” you said. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning,” he replied. His voice was pretty too, nice and deep. The kind you could easily imagine whispering everything from sweet nothings to dirty promises in your ear. The thought made your cheeks warm and your heart beat at little faster.

His lips twitched into something like a smirk before he asked, “Do you have a menu in braille?”

You sighed, then said, “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side.

“I have something in braille. The printing service claims that it’s my menu.”

“I take it that you disagree?”

“I don’t sell a cinematic rainbow muffler.”

“What?”

The sheer disbelief and confusion put into that single ‘what’ had you biting your lip to not laugh. You didn’t want him to think you were joking or making fun of him.

“Cinematic rainbow muffler,” you repeated. “Not something we sell here at Cozy Corners.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t think anyone does. What was it supposed to be?”

“Cinnamon raisin muffin.”

His brow furrowed. “That . . . doesn’t even have the same amount of letters. How did they manage get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” you said, shaking your head. “The whole thing is like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you said, pulling out the copy you had left under the counter in case you needed a laugh. Which was about the only thing it was good for. You sat it down in front of him. “It’s at your twelve o’clock if you want to see for yourself.”

Mr. Handsome took you up on that offer. While he read – or rather attempted to read since you knew sections were completely unintelligible – you idly wondered if the dark facial hair dusting his face was the start of a beard or if he just didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . you had the feeling he would look good either way . . .

Case in point, all that look of utter befuddlement like he didn’t whether to laugh or to be irritated by what he was reading did was make him look adorable. You needed to be careful. This guy was dangerously pretty.

“What is 78554.051?” He asked, looking like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What?”

“It’s listed as one of the drinks. I think. I assume you don’t serve dribbles.”

“No, sir,” you said, thinking. “My best guess is that someone put the number sign where it didn’t belong.”

Mr. Handsome hummed thoughtfully, re-running his fingers over one section of the menu of nonsense. “Green tea.”

“Now that I do have,” you said. “Speaking of which, would you like to order a drink?”

“I don’t know . . . ,” he said with a teasing grin. “Drinking a coffin sounds dangerous.”

“It does,” you agreed, ignoring the continued presence of the butterflies to go along with the banter. “Does coffee sound better?”

“Infinitely.”

You gave him a quick rundown of the coffee options. He ordered a red eye for himself, which always sounded like a lot of caffeine to you but you didn’t know this man’s life. While he didn’t look tired, maybe he had been working a lot of hours lately and needed the extra oomph. Apparently he didn’t think his coworkers needed extra caffeine as they got a cappuccino and a dirty chai.

“What’s the name?” you asked. Mr. Handsome might be the only customer right now but that could change any minute. It was only a little after nine. Plenty of people might still be heading toward school or work, people who might decide to grab a coffee (and maybe some food) on their way.

“Matt.”

“Matt,” you repeated, both to make sure that you had heard him correctly and because you wanted to say it. If for no other reason so you wouldn’t accidentally call him Mr. Handsome outloud. He nodded in confirmation. “Just coffee this morning?”

He made another thoughtful hum. “I probably shouldn’t have just coffee for breakfast. What’s on offer?”

“We have bagels, muffins, croissants, turnovers, doughnuts, frittatas, and breakfast sandwiches.”

“Hmmm, those all sound great,” he said.

“Take your time,” you said, “Think about it while I make your drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You turned to start making the coffee. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flinch a little when the machine started grinding the beans. Which you couldn’t really blame him for. It wasn’t a nice sound. Easily one of your least favorite. But Dora, who was a coffee aficionado, might actually kill you if you even thought about using anything other than freshly ground coffee for espresso.

She had explained why it mattered. And demonstrated how changing how fine the grind was effected the drink. But that didn’t make the noise any less unpleasant. Which was probably why she hadn’t been able to talk you into freshly grinding your coffee at home. Not yet anyway. You were getting worn down on the issue. Agreeing would at least mean she would stop giving you that look of actual pain everytime she saw your can of already-ground coffee.

Pulling the shot part of the espresso was a lot more pleasant on the ears. With the added bonus of putting out that nice fresh coffee smell. You poured the shot into the waiting to-go cup of the house brew. You knew some places poured the hot coffee into the espresso but Dora thought that method disturbed the crèma too much.

You were pouring in the frothed milk with the chai concentrate into the double-shot of espresso for his coworkers’ dirty chai when Matt spoke again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did but you can ask another one,” you said, feeling a little bold from his earlier friendliness, as you put the finished drink into the carrier alongside it’s companions.

He chuckled. “Left myself wide open for that one . . . Are you the owner?”

“Co-owner with my best friend, Dora,” you answered, tapping the used grounds into the knock box.

“Dora and who?” Matt asked with a charming smile. You felt your heart sped up. Something about smiling transformed his already handsome face into something breathtakingly beautiful. You had no resistant to something like that. You told him your name.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“And that was a line,” you said. One that you had heard numerous times. Through never from someone this good looking.

“It can be,” he acknowledged before subtly shifting his posture. He hadn’t been slouching before but there had been a relaxed air to the way he carried himself. Now he was standing there, straight-backed and shoulders square, his hands resting on the white cane held upright between his feet like it was some medieval courtiers’ staff of office. He had a presence. One that you suddenly realized had been there all along. It was just front and center now.

When he spoke again, there had also been a subtle shift to his voice. Easy self-assurance had been replaced with rock-solid confidence and conviction. Not thundering like an angry priest, just the calm, even voice of someone who knows they are correct, that the facts were on their side.

“Does that phrase being used as a pick-up line mean that a name cannot be pretty?”

“No,” you said. “A name can still be pretty.”

“Generally speaking, is your name one of the pretty ones?”

“Yes?” you said slowly. Why did you feel like you had just walked into a trap? Maybe it was that little edge of sharpness to his smile? . . . .

“Well, if names can be pretty and your name is one of those pretty names, then you have a pretty name.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. It was hard to argue with that logic. Especially when you didn’t actually want to argue that your name was ugly. You liked your name. And it was nice to hear something about you called pretty. Even if it was just your name.

“A pretty name for a beautiful girl.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks. That smile should be illegal. As for the words . . . he probably didn’t mean them. He was obviously something of a flirt. Regardless . . . it was still nice to hear. Still made your heart flutter.

“And that was absolutely a line,” you said, fidgeting with the ties on your apron. “Flattery is not going get you a free muffin.”

“It’s not flattery if it is true,” he said. Which did nothing to lessen the warmth in your face. “And since muffins are off the table, what about the doughnuts? Or the turnovers?”

You laughed. “Sorry. As much as I would like to give out free coffee and food, unfortunately there are all these places that expect me to pay them with money.”

“Instead of an excellent pie, like a sensible person?”

“Exactly,” you said, once again finding yourself drawn into the banter in spite of your nerves. You knew one thing for certain about Matt – he was definitely charming.

He nodded solemnly, like this was a serious conversation. “I’ve encountered the same problem with my small business.”

“You did?” you said. Then, feeling genuinely curious, you asked him, “What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who wants to get paid in pie?” you said, feeling a little skeptical. Didn’t lawyers usually work in big offices that paid them big money? Granted your experience with lawyers was largely limited to baby-faced ones who were grabbing coffee for the office or law students who looked like they had forgotten what sleep was . . .

“I like pie,” he said mildly. “But, as you said, since so many people want money instead of pie, my partner insists that’s what we charge for our services.”

“That’s a shame,” you said.

“It is,” Matt agreed solemnly. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “What to know a secret? If you ever need to bribe Foggy, try bagels. He can resist pie but never a good bagel.”

“Duly noted,” you said. “I assume Foggy is your partner?”

“Yep,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.”

“Nelson?” you repeated. “Any relation to Nelson’s Meats?”

You expected the answer to be no. This was New York City, after all, not a small town. But, to your surprise, Matt nodded and said, “Yes, it’s his family’s butcher shop. How do you know Nelson’s?”

“We buy the meat for the cafe from them,” you explained as you placed the to-go carrier by the cash register. “Did you ever reach a verdict on breakfast?”

He chuckled. “Jury is still out, I’m afraid. It all smells so good. Can you give me a recommendation?”

Your heart gave another excited flutter at the compliment as you thought about it. Then, with a little hesitation, said, “Maybe bagels? That way, if I need to bribe your partner, he knows what he’s getting out of the deal?”

“Good idea,” Matt said with a smile. “What favors do you have?”

After being given his options, he opted for a plain for himself and an everything for Foggy. After some further consideration an apple turnover for Karen, the third person at his office. He thought the sweetness of the turnover would compliment the spices of her dirty chai better than a bagel.

Soon the rest of his order was bagged up and paid for. Before he left, he tapped the menu of nonsense with his finger. “Can I have a copy of this? Otherwise I’m pretty sure Foggy will think I’m making it up.”

“Go ahead,” you said. “I’ve got other copies.”

He smiled, then tucked the menu into the bag with the food. He feed his arm through the handles of the bag, then picked up the drinks carrier. Considering his left hand was occupied with his cane . . .

“Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“Please.”

On the downside, Cozy Corners wasn’t very big so that particular journey didn’t take very long. But on the upside, you got to watch him walk down the street, discovering that he had a perfect ass. Because of course he did. You sighed. Why was everything about this man so attractive . . .

“I saw that.”

You jumped with a small shriek and whirled around. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Dora. How long had she been standing there?

“Saw what?” you demanded, walking back over to the counter.

“So many things,” she said with a knowing grin. “You flirting with Mr. Matthew Murdock, Esquire? Undressing him with your eyes? Checking out his ass? I saw it all.”

Warmth flooded your face. “I wasn’t undressing him with my eyes!”

“Yes, you were,” Dora said with the utter confidence of someone who had known you since you were ten and therefore knew all of your tells.

“Maybe I was,” you muttered as you tidied up the work station. It needed to be done but also gave you an excuse not to see that knowing grin. Which you knew, without even looking, had just gotten bigger.

“And now you are thinking about how loudly he could make you scream.”

“Dora!” You exclaimed, your head whipping around to make sure the cafe was still as empty as it was the last time you looked. It was. “Is this really the time for that? We’re at work!”

“That wasn’t a denial,” she pointed out in a sing-song voice. “I’m betting on very loud.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked, suspicion in your voice. “Did you sleep with him?”

The very thought sparked a little flame of jealousy inside you. Which you hated. You didn’t want feel jealous of your best friend . . .

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know someone who did. She said Murdock loves eating pussy. That he fucked her better with his tongue than any man ever had with their dick.”

“Dora!” You whined. Because now you were thinking about it. Now you were trying to imagine that handsome face buried between your thighs. It was an appealing image. Very appealing. But one you would rather not have when you could do nothing to quench the heat growing between your legs. “Why are you telling me this?!”

“You’ve been under way too much stress lately. Orgasms are wonderful stress relief.”

“Matt Murdock isn’t a requirement for me to have an orgasm,” you said mulishly. You had hands. And a vibrator. Both had served you well in that department. Often better than men had.

“Perhaps not,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment before flashing you a wicked smile. “But that’s who you are going to imagine fucking you senseless while you flick the bean, isn’t it?”

You were spared from having to answer that question by the arrival of new customers.

You managed to avoid any further conversation about Matt Murdock and what he could do with his tongue. Or other body parts. You put that down to two things. First, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you both busy. Most had been simply curious about the new business in the neighborhood or tourists needing a quick break. The latter made you a little nostalgic, remembering your first days in the city and how overwhelmed you had felt. But some of the customers were repeats from earlier visits. Something that you hoped would continue.

Second, while you were still working on hiring, you did have some staff. Staff that had come in around lunch time and were there until final clean-up. It was one thing for Dora to speak so frankly about your sex life (or the lack thereof) when it was just the two of you but in front of others? Others who were your employees? Who likely would be very uncomfortable with that conversation? That was an entirely different kettle of fish. Not one that Dora or you had any desire to partake in.

By the time you were locking up the cafe and setting the alarm, Dora had seemingly forgotten all about Matt Murdock and how you had – allegedly – been undressing him with your eyes. It might only be temporary reprieve. Assuming he didn’t hate the coffee and food, Matt would be back. Despite the certainty of teasing from your best friend, you hoped that he came back.

Not because you thought had any chance with him. You weren’t delusional. Men that good-looking didn’t go for people like you . . . but if he was a regular, you could at least look at him. You’d get to talk to him. Though seeing him with girlfriends was going to suck . . .

“Are you sure that you don’t want me and Steve to walk you home?” Dora asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” you said, looking over at your best friend and her steady boyfriend. He had come to pick her up as usual. “I’m in the opposite direction of you guys.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. You knew that he didn’t. He made similar offers since he and Dora had started dating. And never complained or acted annoyed when you accepted the offer. But your apartment was much closer to Cozy Corners than their place, which weren’t even in the Kitchen. The only time you had accepted the offer since the cafe opened was the day before and only because you were dropping off the deposit at the bank. Then, carrying your opening week’s worth of cash, you felt like you had needed some extra security. Steve was a very sweet guy but he was also a tall man with large muscles. Not exactly the easy target that most criminals are looking for.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s not that late and my place isn’t far.”

“Okay,” Dora said. “If you are sure?”

“I am.”

Mollified by your conviction, Steve and Dora left. You watched them go around the corner before heading off yourself. You walked swiftly. Because rain had been predicted tonight and it was starting to get chilly at night. It wasn’t quite cold yet but brisk enough that you needed a jacket and didn’t fancy getting soaked. You couldn’t afford to get sick right now. Your business was too new . . . and Lady Who Sneezes A Lot wasn’t exactly the second impression you wanted to give Matt.

You might have very few hopes of attracting his interest but that didn’t mean you wanted to completely tank what little chance you had . . . You shook your head. You needed to stop the daydreaming. This wasn’t the time for it. Daredevil was back from wherever he had disappeared to but the vigilante only made things safer, not safe . . .

There was no warning. You were walking, almost home. Then you were grabbed from behind. You screamed as you were dragged toward the gap between two buildings. You dropped the sack holding your dinner and tried to struggle, to resist, but your attacker was too strong for you. You were pulled into the shadows and slammed into the side of a building. It knocked the wind of you.

Heart pounding, you desperately tried to suck in air. To get your breath back. You needed to scream again. Scream in the Kitchen and the Devil came. That was the story. That was the hope. But was one scream enough? You didn’t know. So you had to scream. Scream and pray all those stories were true . . .

You started to scream . . . then agony exploded on the left side of your face, transforming that scream into a cry of pain. Everything from your cheek down to your jaw immediately began to throb. It hurt. Worse than the time your sister Alex had accidentally given you a black eye with a softball. The bruising grip on your shoulder that kept you pinned against the wall barely even registered.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man ordered in a low hiss. “Make another sound and I’ll slit your throat.”

Tears were blurring your vision but you could see the knife he was brandishing. It wasn’t a small pocket knife. It was a chef’s knife. Like the one you had at home and at the cafe. And it was stained with something. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to stop a terrified whimper. It was too dark for you to tell with what but you feared that it was blood.

Apparently satisfied that you were too frightened to be anything but compliant, the man released your shoulder.

“Purse,” the man demanded. “Watch. Jewelry.”

Trembling, you removed your crossbody bag and held it out. It was taken and slung onto his shoulder. You ignore the watch directive since you weren’t wearing one. It was when you tried to remove your jewelry that things went wrong. The only piece of jewelry that you were wearing, a necklace, had a very delicate chain with a tiny clasp. Your hands were shaking too much for you to get a good grip on the lobster clasp, let alone open it and slip out the ring. The chain wasn’t big enough to pull the whole necklace over your head. Every time, the clasp slipped out of your fingers, your panic grew. Which only made the trembling worse.

It didn’t take long for the mugger to lose patience. His hand darted out and grabbed the necklace. He yanked hard, snapping the chain. More tears filled your eyes. It was bad enough that he was stealing your favorite necklace. Did he have to break it too? Then, to your horror, he raised the knife. You screamed, instinctively throwing up your arms to try to protect yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the pain that you knew was coming.

Except it never came.

What came was a growl, low and furious. It was accompanied by the sound of something flying through the air. You heard a pained yelp and something metal clattering to the ground. You cautiously opened your eyes just in time to see someone put himself between you and the mugger.

Someone dressed entirely in black, save for the thick white ropes tied around his forearms and hands. Someone wearing a mask. Daredevil, you realized with a dizzying sense of relief. It might not be the more distinctive red outfit and its horned helmet but you were sure it was him . . . the stories were true. Scream in Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil will come to save you.

“You made a big mistake,” Daredevil snarled at the mugger, each word dripping with fury and utter contempt. “By not fleeing when you had the chance.”

Then he threw himself at the man.

Your legs turned to liquid. You fell back against the wall and slide down. You didn’t care the street was getting your pants dirty. You had to sit. While your legs were uninterested in supporting your weight, you could pull them up and wrap your arms around them. So you did. It was almost like a hug and you could use one right now.

You couldn’t stop shaking. The sound of breaking bones, meaty thwacks, and a man’s screams were oddly distant. Like you were listening to something through a well instead something happening just a few feet away. Scent, however, was viscerally and intensely present. Acrid car exhaust, rotting garbage, coopery blood, sweet peaches, and sour sweat filled your nose. You gagged, then tried to breathe through your mouth to lessen the nauseating combination. But you couldn’t get your throat to work . . . you couldn’t get enough air . . . your vision darkened . . . . you couldn’t breathe . . .

You weren’t sure which penetrated past the panic first – the hands massaging your shoulders or the deep voice speaking. But once it did, you were suddenly aware of both. You almost couldn’t believe your own eyes and ears. Was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really kneeling in front of your huddled body? Were those gloved hands gently gripped your shoulders, really the same ones that had just literally beaten a man bloody?

“You’re safe, it’s okay . . .”

The soft, quiet voice was completely at odds with his grim reputation. It also sounded a little familiar but you were too exhausted to try remembering where you had heard it. It had been a long day and panic attacks always took a lot out of you.

You weren’t so tired that you missed that the Devil was a good-looking man. And not just in the face. Those grainy surveillance photos in the newspaper hadn’t conveyed just how tight his clothing was. Which was very tight. His shirt, for example, was practically painted on. You could see his muscles. His many, many muscles. He had clearly hit the muscle store during a clearance sale . . .

The thought made you giggle. It sounded more like a wheeze and more than a little hysterical but still a giggle. But you needed a laugh. You were alive. You had been sure that you were about to die. That you were going to be stabbed to death in a robbery gone bad . . . you started to tremble again, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather . . . you could have died . . . your bottom lip quivered . . .

Hands squeezed your shoulders, “Hey, hey, look at me.”

That didn’t sound too hard. Only half of his face was visible but what you could see was mighty fine.

A deep chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment.”

‘Note to self – abject terror followed by panic attack completely dissolves your brain-to-mouth filter. Shut up before you ask if it is actually possible to bounce a quarter off of his abs.’

Another deep chuckle alerted you that you might have also said that outloud. A theory confirmed by his statement, “I’ve never tried. Can you do something for me?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled at you. It was a nice smile. “Follow my lead? Deep breathe in . . .”

You mimicked the inhale, the short hold, then slow release out.

“Good! Now again . . .”

It seemed like forever but eventually you felt calm. Or at least not like you were about to have another panic attack. That was good. Panicking was exhausting. Daredevil seemed to agree with your self-assessment as he had stopped instructing you to take deep breathes. After one more reassuring squeeze, his hands slid off of your shoulders. He sat back on his heels.

“Feeling better now?” he asked, his voice returning to what you assumed was his Daredevil speaking voice – low, deep, with a growling rasp. It was possible he sounded like this all the time. It wasn’t like you had ever meet him outside the mask. Well, as far you knew. You supposed that you could have but how would you know . . .

“Yes,” you said, when you remembered that you had been asked a question. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not from a certain point of view. You were feeling better now that you were no longer teetering on the edge of a second panic attack in a short space of time. You knew this calm, almost numb, feeling was fragile. It would shatter instantly if pressed too hard. But that was the best you could hope for right now. Feeling any better than this would require things that weren’t here – like your most comfortable clothes and your pets – along with time.

Daredevil frowned, tilting his head slightly to one side. It was hard to interpret the expression on his face since you couldn’t see most of it. But it seemed like he was staring at you (through how he saw anything through that mask was a mystery) as if you were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Or maybe he was simply skeptical. That was possible. You had seen how you looked after panic attacks. In his shoes, you wouldn’t believe you about being fine either.

“I’m as fine as I’m going to get tonight,” you amended.

That answer, at least, was deemed plausible to him. He nodded, then pulled something about the little pouch attached to his belt. A cellphone. Who was he calling? Since you had no energy for guessing games, you simply asked.

“The police,” he said.

Well that was your cue to get out of here. You couldn’t think of something you would rather deal with less right now. Your usual post-panic attack headache was already growing – no need to kick it into migraine territory with sirens and flashing lights. You shifted onto your knees so you could get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Daredevil asked.

“Going home.”

“Home? Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital?”

Amazing, he had found something worse than the police. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t wanna.”

His lips twitched. “You don’t wanna?”

“What are you, a parrot?” you demanded, feeling your temper flare. If you had been less tired or not in pain, that question would have playful. But you were tired and hurting so that question was grouchy. So was the rest of your statement. “Yes, I don’t wanna. No, I don’t care that is whinny. I’ve had a shitty night! I’ll whine if I want to!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, spitfire. No hospital.”

As the anger drained, you felt a swell of guilt for yelling at him after he just saved your life. This was why you did your best to avoid people when your social batteries were running too low to manage basic human interaction. It seemed like you always ended up biting someone’s head off for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shifting back onto your bottom. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your knees. You didn’t care that your pants were dirty. You needed to hide. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just too tired to be peopling right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I understand.”

You cracked up an eye and turned your face to peer at him with that one eye. Again, it was almost impossible to get a read on his expression but he didn’t seem bothered. And vigilante like him probably did know a thing or too about having a temper. Suddenly feeling curious, you asked, “How good does it feel to punch crime in the face?”

A wolfish smirk spread across his face before he answered, “Sometimes very good. Why?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for a career change. Punching bad guys sounds more fun than getting punched by bad guys.”

You got the impression he was giving you a very stern look from behind that mask. That mouth pressed together in a thin line was all disapproval. “How about you leave the punching bad guys to me and I’ll leave the baking to you?”

“How did you know I’m a baker?” you asked. Then felt a little stupid for asking. You were still wearing your chef’s jacket and an apron. It was pretty obvious that you worked with food . . .

“You smell like flour, yeast, butter, sugar, and spices which all says baker to me,” he said. “Through you also smell like peaches. The fruit, not the flowers.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. You also hadn’t realized that the scent of your peach beauty products were that strong. They smelled pretty light to you. But before you could think of a response to that, Daredevil rose to his feet. Which gave you a nice look at his legs which like his torso and arms was muscles for days barely contained by tight clothes. The black trousers weren’t quite as painted on as the shirt but they were snug enough. The naughtier parts of your mind wondered what it would be like to ride him, feeling those powerful thighs under you as he thrust up . . .

“Spitfire?”

Embarrassed warmth flood your face. While you were distracted, Daredevil had held out his hands and obviously asked if you wanted help standing. More than once if that amused smirk was any indication. You put your hands into his before you could embarrass yourself any further. A goal immediately challenged by watching the muscles in his arms flex as he helped pull you up onto your feet without a hint of strain. Because damn if that wasn’t hot . . .

Thankfully this time you managed not to become so distracted by the sexy vigilante that you just stood like there drooling like an idiot. You slide your hands out of his and then, to prevent yourself from staring at all those muscles (again), started looking for your crossbody bag. You hoped that the mugger had dropped it during the fight with Daredevil. Because as much as you wanted and needed your things back, you also would rather not get any closer to that man than you had to.

It didn’t matter that mugger was (probably) unconscious and (very probably) too beaten up to be a threat anymore. Not to anxiety brain. Anxiety brain was seldom appeased by such frivolities as fact and logic. So when you spied the large, still shape on the ground, your heart started racing again.

“Don’t worry about him.”

You looked over at Daredevil. He wasn’t even looking in the same direction that you were but still seemed to know what you were looking at. Almost like he read your mind . . . could he read your minds? God, you hoped not . . .

“I promise he’s not going anywhere soon,” Daredevil continued, his earlier rage coloring his voice a little. Part of you wanted to know what the mugger had done to make him so angry but most of you decided that you were better off not knowing. Your brain did not need help coming up with nightmares.

Feeling reassured by Daredevil’s confidence (and the knowledge that he was still between you and the mugger), you looked for your bag again . . . there it was. It was closer than you expected. You started to move closer but your foot encountered something. Something metal judging by the sound against the concrete. You looked, hoping it wasn’t the knife.

It wasn’t . . . too small . . . you knelt down and discovered your necklace. You picked it up, glad that you wouldn’t have to try to find something so small in such poor lighting or run the risk of it being gone by morning. Which it probably would have been. Aside from the broken chain, you hoped the rest of it was undamaged. You ran your thumb across the surface . . . it didn’t feel like any of stones had gotten chipped or cracked . . . the engraving could still be read . . .

“What are you doing?”

You jumped a little at the voice before remembering Daredevil. You were surprised he was still here. Weren’t there other damsels in distress he needed to be rescuing?

“Not at the moment.”

Either you were still saying things outloud without realizing it or Daredevil could absolutely read minds. You decided to believe the former because the latter was too mortifying to contemplate.

“Checking my favorite necklace,” you said as you darted forward and grabbed your bag. “Doesn’t feel like anything but the chain got broken.”

He nodded. “Ice those bruises when you get home – ten minutes on, twenty off. And try to keep your head elevated. After two days, you can use a heat compress.”

“Ice and prop up tonight, heat in a couple days,” you repeated. At his confirming nod, you asked, “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Just familiar with bruises” he said. “Trust me, spitfire, the bad guys often hit back when you’re punching them.”

You nodded, then realized that any further delay was just stalling. But as much as part of you wanted to keep talking – how often did you get a chance to talk to one of the city’s heroes? – the rest of you was still tired, still feeling jittery-numb from the panic attacks, and still hurting. And you had work tomorrow. It was time to call it a night.

“I guess this is good night,” you said, taking one last look at the vigilante. Odds were, the only time you’d see him again was in the newspaper.

“Good night, spitfire,” Daredevil said. Maybe it was projection but his smile looked a little sad. Like he also knew this was probably the first and only time you would ever see each other.

You paused when you reached the street to pick up your bag of food. It was probably a mess but you were definitely weren’t going to cook when you got home. As you walked away, you faintly heard the low rumble of Daredevil’s voice, presumably talking to the police on that phone.

Notes:

A Tale of Two Men is a reference to A Tale of Two Cities, an 1859 novel by Charles Dickens. I’m thinking about making all of the titles for this series reference book titles.

It occurred to me recently that my Reader characters in the series all are some level of anxious. Probably because I have anxiety and that colors how I perceive the world. Hence the Reader with anxiety.

The alien invasion is a reference to the events of Avengers I. Fair warning that some of the larger events of the MCU will not be depicted same as they were in canon. Accept that this is an alternate universe and move on.

I know Charlie Cox has brown hair but in some lighting for Matt Murdock, his hair does have reddish tint . . . and Matt in the comics is (generally speaking) a redhead so I’ve compromised by making Matt Murdock have dark auburn hair, the kind that looks brown unless the light hits it right and brings out the red.

Reader is sighted but knows how to read braille. The story behind this will be revealed later.

This knowledge is only reason Reader considers the misprinted menu of nonsense to be funny. She would have not find it funny if she found out about the misspellings and such after handing it to customers.

From my understanding, using the hands of a clock is the best way to tell a blind person where something is relative to their position. The menu of nonsense was right in front of Matt so at his 12 o’clock. Directly behind would have been his 6 o’clock, etc.

In braille, the symbols for numbers 1 – 9 and the letters A – I are the same along with J and 0. The number sign is written before tells you those symbols are meant to be read as numbers instead of letters. So 123 instead of ABC. If I have the information right, a second number sign is used to indict the end of the numbers and return to letters.

But all of my knowledge of braille is self-taught so don’t take my words as gospel here.

A red eye is a 12 oz (340 g) cup of drip coffee topped with a single or double shot of espresso.

A cappuccino is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso topped with a very frothy milk. It is slightly stronger than a latte because it has less milk.

A dirty chai latte is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso, then a chai concentrate is poured into the milk which is frothed. Finally the milk and espresso are combined.

Crèma is a dense layer of foam that forms the top of an espresso shot and is a unique characteristic to the brewing method (forcing very hot water under pressure through finely ground compacted coffee).

At least in this fic, Matt Murdock is a proud member of The Pie Appreciation Society. The Society ranks include its long serving president Dean Winchester.

How much a lawyer makes a year depends on where they work and what kind of law they practice. People who work in public sector offices like a public defender or a state prosecutor generally make a comfortable living but they are never going to get wealthy doing that job. There are some lawyers who charge six figures or more per billable hour but those seem to be litigators and they aren’t as common as the associates who charge something less crazy (through probably still an eye-watering amount of money to some).

It’s Nelson & Murdock because (1) this takes place not too longer after the 3rd Season so they are still working out of the back of Nelson’s Meats and (2) New York law prohibits the formation of the Law Firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page unless all three are attorneys. So if Karen wants her name on the sign, she has a law degree to earn and a bar exam to pass. Which she just might do in this universe.

The white cane is held in one’s dominant hand. I picked the left hand for Matt as another nod to his comic book counterpart who is (again usually) left-handed.

Esquire is an honorific title that is only used in the United States for lawyers for . . . reasons. No one seems to know why.

‘Flick the bean’ is a euphemism for female masturbation.

A chef's knife is a knife about 8 inches (20 cm) long used for chopping, slicing, and dicing meat and vegetables. Unless you have something like a meat cleaver, it is probably the biggest knife in your kitchen.

The favorite necklace is part of some story elements so this is not a generic favorite necklace but a specific favorite necklace. But if you want to mentally change the specific elements of its later description to better suit yourself, go right ahead.

A lobster clasp is the one that looks a like a lobster claw.

Matt is in the Black Suit since he has yet to replace the Red Suit – the old one being too damaged by the Midland Circle and only other one in existence was worn by the impostor who murdered people. A version of the Red Suit will eventually appear (since as hot as the black suit is, the guy without a healing factor needs body armor) but I’m still working out how.

The description of the panic attack (shortness of breath, sensory overload, etc) along with its aftereffects (exhaustion, mood swings, etc) are based on my experiences.

Spitfire is nickname for someone with a temper, possibly referencing the WW2 plane.

The treatment for bruises comes from internet so grains of salt are advised.

A chef's jacket is a double-breasted jacket with mandarin collar commonly worn by chefs and bakers, traditionally made from thick, white cotton cloth but can be made in different colors these days. The thickness of the jacket is meant to help protect the chef or baker from heat, steam, and splashing liquids in a busy kitchen. Frequently the jacket has long sleeves to help protect arms while reaching into the ovens.

[ramonadecember]

For Nikka:

Eros 2, 5

Philia 3, 4

Storge 5

Agape 2, 5

Ludus 5

Pragma 2

Philautia 1, 3, 5

oc love asks.

like I was telling you, I feel like I over-answered all of these cause I was trying hard not to make Nikka sound like a total prick lmfao.

—

Eros/2: sex in a relationship is pretty important to Nikka in the sense that like… that’s pretty much the basis of his relationships, ha. they sure aren’t feelings-based, Nik won’t allow for that. it was too complicated and risky when he was in the Circles (or… bouncing around them). since then, he’s also found it to be a good way to convey words and feelings that he can’t make himself express/let himself actually have (see: his entire relationship with Cullen). but the more he distance himself from his years in a Circle, and the more he grows… I don’t think he’d see it as quite as ‘vital’ anymore, because there finally is more to relationships. 

Eros/5: Nikka doesn’t put too much thought into his looks, so it doesn’t factor in a whole lot to his self-confidence. he knows he’s a fairly handsome guy, and that’s nice and all, but it doesn’t really matter. the only time his confidence in his appearance kind of take a hit is when he starts getting with Cullen who’s like… 10-15 years (haven’t settle on an exact age) his junior. Cullen is like the human embodiment meant of heroic carved statue and, and he is… an old mage who shows how much he’s been beaten down by the world. but even then, there’s bigger issues in their relationship than if he’s hot enough for Cullen and it still doesn’t factor in a whole lot, ha. 

Philia/3: patience and understanding are probably things that Nikka, even if he isn’t specifically looking for that, could use in his friendships. surprising absolutely no one, Nikka has a bad habit of saying or doing the exact wrong thing or making situations worse, but the thing is… for the most part, he is really trying. yeah, he definitely sometimes purposefully says bitchy, biting things as a defensive mechanism, but that’s a whole separate issue. this is just… Nik trying his best in social situations and still not quite getting there/coming off in ways he doesn’t intend. it’s why he really really appreciates people like Iron Bull who, for some reason unbeknownst to everyone, including Nik, thinks Nikka is absolutely hilarious. bff’s.

Philia/4: Nikka has a hard time making friends with anyone, but definitely with people really different from him, at least like… when it comes to their views. this kinda goes with Philautia/3, in that he’s… kinda judgmental, so if he doesn’t have people on the same page as him, he tends to struggle more than usual, mostly because he just uhhh. doesn’t try. you know that like ‘this isn’t a disagreement over pizza toppings’ thing re: when you can disagree about things and still be friends? there’s very few of Nik’s beliefs that he sees as trivial enough to be on that level. 

Storge/5: it’s not a singular person that Nikka has loved unconditionally, but a group—any of the young mages that found themselves in the circle. Nik may act like his heart is made of ice, but he has such a soft spot them, loves them like they are his own kin, wants to care for them and protect them at all costs, and he has no expectation of anything back from any of them in return. they can hate him for all he cares (and I’m sure some of them do—loving them also means calling them out on shit, and we know Nikka can be fairly… blunt, to put it nicely), so long as they’re safe. it’s probably a reflection of the type of love he didn’t feel he got. and it’s also not something he has afforded to others besides the little magelings.

Agape/2: I know what you’re getting at here because I’ve shared the ‘Nikka loves weather’ fact recently lol, and he does, and he loves nature, and all things outside in general, but I dunno that he considers that a necessarily ~spiritual~ connection (mostly because he doesn’t consider himself much or a spritual person, period), just a byproduct of a few decades of captivity. the feelings that it inspires though, the thrill and sense of freedom and peace that comes from simple things like lying in tall grass or feeling mud between his toes or snowflakes sticking in his eyelashes… it probably is akin to something spiritual.

Agape/5: Nikka really does not even try to empathize with his enemies. if you are against him, or he perceives you as against him, then that’s that. he can maybe be a little too black and white on things like that, refusing to acknowledge nuance or exceptions to rules (rules which he has determined, which aren’t always fair). it takes a lot of outside coercion/convincing to convince Nikka to like, maybe not be so harsh in his judgment at all times. sometimes the enemy perceives is not nearly as great as he makes it out to be (see: his detestation for all Templars on principle, for one example).

Ludus/5: answered heeere.

Pragma/2: the biggest challenge Nikka has had to overcome while in a relationship is probably like… what made that same relationship such a struggle in the first place, and that’s his distrust (and honestly, hate) that he has for Templars on principle. as I’ve said before, Cullen and him have history, and just about none of it good, and so when you combine those things, then… it was a big struggle. Nikka needed to work through lot of biases/prejudices and uhhh, stop lashing out at Cullen unjustifiably (it…wasn’t a good relationship at first, if you could even call it that) and decide if he wanted to try to make a relationship actually work. believe it or not it was also a Templar who helped Nikka through a lot of it, because despite the positions they find themselves in now, in now, Samson was once the one Templar Nik ever trusted, and now he’s sitting in the Inquisiton’s dungeon…

Philautia/1+5: putting these together because they’re really similar in this case. when Nikka was younger, his view of his own worth/value was a little skewed… he’d been willingly given up by his parents, he’d been told verything about him was bad and wrong simply because he’d developed magic, he learned that at best he was a tool to serve others. Nikka was so angry about all of that, and he stewed in that anger. and over time, that opinion of himself changed over time, learning that being a mage didn’t make him any lesser, refusing to see himself that way or to let anyone make him feel like less than he is. it’s why, after he decides that he’s actually going to stay with the Inquisition and not flee into the night, he has to put some work into not going on a power trip. because it’s be really great to show people how powerful he is and how he’s not to be messed with. 

Philautia/3: Nikka is definitely a little judgey, and a little hypocritical in that judgment. he seems to have excuses/justifications for all of his behavior (I have never done anything wrong in my life.jpg) and why it should be acceptable/why it isn’t that bad. Nik has a bit of a complex about how like… he’s earnedsome leeway after how much shit he’s been through. but he doesn’t tend to afford the same to other people, and Nik can be pretty… harsh in response. it’s something he’s working on, even if it doesn’t seem like it/seem like it’s going well lmao. 

[andysbubba]

home to me

↳ andy let you go once, he doesn't wanna lose you again

a/n: a little series? this one's probably gonna have another chapter or two hehe <3

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

---

Andy's stomach churned when he sees you. In a very good way. It's been a good two years since the break up and he can barely believe that he's seeing you right then and there— in the corner of the cafe that Andy knows you love going to. Your voice made his heart flip. It's so goddamn beautiful and Andy misses it so damn much.

He doesn't even know why he's so stunned at the sight of you. It's the only reason why he's there— why he's always going there almost every weekend, hoping to get a glimpse of you sometime. You're in the fuzzy, furry jacket that you're always wearing on chilly days, your hair pulled up with a claw clip and your laptop right in front of you with a cup of coffee right by the side.

He tried to get over you, he really did. But even after all the women he met after you, no one made him feel the same way you did. The butterflies in his stomach he gets just talking to you like some teenager, or how his heart just flutters when you smiled at him with that beautiful grin.

Andy couldn't help but look at you every two minutes, while he's waiting in the queue for his turn. He's thinking of what to say if he even has the guts to walk up to you and say hi.

The break up wasn't necessarily bad... it was mutual. Kinda. You were in the middle of your studies and you just wanted to focus on doing well and getting your masters. It's not that Andy was a distraction— really, he actually helped a lot. But between studying and trying to make sure you don't abandon Andy, you realised that taking a break would be good for the both of you.

You were young, only 24 while Andy was 14 years older than you are. He's so mature and wise that you just felt that you just wanted to grow as your own person before you and Andy took it any further and got more serious. You thought that you'd work on yourself, fixing up your flaws and make yourself just grow into a better version of yourself. And as much as Andy disagreed, he didn't want to force you to keep being with him. He thought that maybe, you both could just grow as time passes, and that you can change right next to him.

But he just agreed with you, because he definitely does not want to pressure you into being in a relationship with him no matter how much he actually wants you to stay with him. So technically, it was a mutual break-up to you. But he didn't really feel the same.

And unsurprisingly, Andy simply cannot get over you. Two years passed, and he just wishes that you're by his side again.

"Hi! What can I get for you?"

Andy snaps out of his trance, stepping towards the cashier and ordering his coffee to-go with a bagel as well. He takes a quick glance at you before he decides to change his mind. "Actually— I'll just have those here."

Wait— you recognise that voice.

You instantly glance up from the screen of your laptop, watching the familiar back and broad shoulders standing at the cashier. Holy fuck- Andy?

Your gaze turns back down to your laptop, your mind trying to decide between approaching him or just letting him go... again... like you did 2 years ago. He still fits into those polo tees like a glove, the jeans barely doing his ass justice but it really accentuates his goddamn thighs.

Fuck. Two damn years and you still have it bad for him.

"Can I join?" Andy glances down at some blueprint or floor-plan thing you have on your laptop. "Unless I'm interrupting— you look busy."

"Andy—" You turned to him and back to the opened floor-plan on the screen. "No, no. Hey-" You lowered the screen and put it aside, leaving some space for Andy. You gestured at him to join you in the booth.

Andy takes up the offer, setting the cup in his hand and the bagel right in front of you before he slides in. "Hey,"

You let out a breathy laugh as you look at him, fidgeting with your fingers underneath the table. "Been a long time."

"Yeah," He nods, offering you one of his adorable smiles as he rests his forearms on the table. "I stopped seeing you around, thought you moved away."

"I thought you did— till I heard the news talking about one of your cases." You retort, lips curling into a soft smile. "How've you been, Andy?"

"Same old, y'know. Long hours at the office and takeout nights. Nothing really changed." Andy grins, "How's everything goin' for ya?"

Oh— and he definitely isn't wrong when he said 'nothing really changed'. For this 40-year-old man to still look like the Andrew Stephen Barber you met like 4 years ago? Phew.

"Uhm- pretty good! I'm uh- I just signed a contract with Perkins and Will."

Andy's lips curled into a wide grin. "You did it!"

He remembers?

Your head tilts as you look at him. "You remember?"

"Of course, hon. That's your dream firm." He reaches over table and pats your hand. "I'm happy for you, Y/n."

"Thank you, Andy," You brush a hand through your hair, eyeing Andy in his whole polo tee and jeans glory. "I'm surprised you aren't working on a Saturday morning,"

Andy lets out a laugh at your words, "Yeah- I just thought, y'know. Uh- I'm old enough to stop being such a workaholic."

You raised a brow at that, "Andy, you aren't old." You give him a suggestive glance as your eyes trace his whole figure. "Definitely don't look like it."

"I'll say the same thing for ya, Y/n." Andy didn't bother hiding his gaze either, eyes trailing down your body till it's back up to your face. "Two damn years and you still look as gorgeous as ever, sweetheart."

A breathy laugh leaves your lips. "Always as flattering as ever, Mr Barber."

"You know I'm an honest person, sweetheart." Andy winks before he takes a sip of his coffee.

You hum as you run your finger on the edge of your own cup. "I remember you telling me that all lawyers are really good liars."

You love how familiar this feels. It's like nothing has changed and both of you are back in 2019. Good, good days. Letting Andy go was a dumb move on your side, you realised that pretty soon after the break-up. You should've known that you and Andy would've made it work someway, somehow.

"C'mon, honey. Y'know I can never lie to you." The wide smile he has on his lips is as charming as ever and god if it doesn't just make you fall in love again- as if you ever fell out of love with him in the first place. Andy clears his throat, a hand inching to the back of his neck and softly rubbing the spot. You instantly realised that he's a little nervous. "You dating anyone?"

You let out an almost silent snort, scoffing at his question. "Ya think? I just called you hot five minutes ago, handsome."

Andy takes a bite of his bagel, looking up at you through those goddamn long eyelashes as his mouth moves to chew the food and those fucking pink lips making you stare at him like a horny teenager.

"You've got to stop staring at me like that, sweetheart." He warns, but the glint in his eyes is telling you that he really doesn't mind you staring him up like that.

Your brows raised immediately in defence. "Like what?"

You tried your best to fight the grin fighting its way to form on your lips. But Andy is a goddamn lawyer, after all. He knows his shit and he knows that you're just being a tease.

He huffs, brow arched as he looks at you. "Like you wanna eat me." He replies shortly, lips curling into a smirk. "Cause I was planning to take this slow after 2 whole years. And you aren't helping."

You hum, picking your cup up and taking a sip from it, hiding the grin forming on your lips behind the cup. "You can still wine and dine me if you wanna." You set the cup down and lean forward, head tilted to one side with your head resting in your palm. "But y'know, I'm pretty impatient."

Andy laughs, backing away from you and resting back against his seat. "Guess it's good that I've got enough patience for both of us, huh?"

You laugh at his words. "We'll see, Mr Barber."

He takes your words as an invite to ask you out. "Dinner tonight? My place."

You playfully rolls your eyes, ignoring the little flutter in your heart. "Who's impatient now?"

"It's a yes or no question, sweetheart."

"Still that cute little loft?"

"I'll text you my new address later."

You couldn't fight the grin forming on your lips. "It's a date."

---

He was at the grocery store when he pulled out his phone and goes to your contact to shoot you a text. It has always been there, saved and never deleted. He didn't want to get rid of the hope that he might have you back.

Andy: 242 Warren St [sent 3.24pm]

Andy: See you tonight, sweetheart. [sent 3.25pm]

You didn't reply so Andy just assumed that you read it. He's looking forward to seeing you again tonight and he's excited.

---

It wasn't till you got home that you realised that Andy doesn't have your new number.

-

LOL I LOVE CLIFFHANGERS.

thanks for reading and uhm come join my taglist if you liked this little chapter? I'm definitely looking forward to writing this one.

do tell me what you think about this, lovelies! i'm kinda excited to see where this goes

-haney

taglist: @milea @ajeff855 @fanofalltheficsx @justile @christowhore @amelia-song-pond @melissad1974 @thegirlwiththeimpala @bval-1 @suchababie @ephemeralfics@franzliszts-wife @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hallecarey1@paintdripsandbrownies-blog @notbrooklynsblog @perfect-peter@alwaysclassyeagle @coffeebooksandfandom @gitasor @mansaaay @iguess-vall @feralherbs @kaiparker-avengerssmut

[sorcererrezan]

golden hour

prompt fill for @ataleofcrowns. congratulations on the chapter 6 release cherry! 💛

prompt: facade pairing: navid/xelef  rating: T word count: 2,042 warning: spoilers for X’s scene during chapter 6!

—

Xelef is rather partial to the color gold.

Gold meant a full belly. Gold meant a job well done. Gold meant having survived yet another battle.

Gold motivated him and the people around him. Gold got him into trouble as easily as it got him out of it.

So when gold eyes looked defiantly into his, a spark of light brightening that nebulous place where his intuition resides, and dropped a heavy sack clinking with a familiar sound, there was no other option but to say yes.

Xelef’s not quite sure when he starts thinking of the flash of cleverness in Navid’s eyes more than the sparkle of coin. 

Just the night before, Heval forced him to examine this new tendency and why they haven’t yet moved on from Marabad. He’d resisted giving Heval the satisfaction of his admission at the time, but that was before his tendency powered his sprint to the tunnels and the burst of fire that kept Navid safe. 

If Xelef’s urgency directed his aim closer to the kill than he intended, it was only because he wanted to do a thorough job. Certainly not because for a split second, the jagged edges of fear pierced through the hard acceptance that has fused with the shell of his heart. 

That was before he discovered just how common of an enemy he and Navid have. Before gold also became something to defend instead of just throw at his leisure.

He didn’t divulge anything to the Blades besides the public warning that the Palace issued—which he still disagrees with, but spirits know there’s a reason it’s not him making those decisions. 

Xelef felt Heval’s questioning suspicion curb somewhat, as well as the Blades’ recommitment to Navid. It helped him regain some stability in himself. As long as he’s not the only one with a soft spot for the newfound Crown he can tell himself that the way Navid affects him isn’t unique. 

None of them had embraced Navid until his tears and the grip of his nightmare dissipated though. The intensity of Navid’s vulnerability had stunned him that night. Xelef thinks he might be able to relate to the way that his walls must have crumbled under their own weight during that moment, when the relief of a mission accomplished finally gave way to exhaustion. If he ever experiences it for himself, that is. 

Instead of being unsettled by the raw display of emotion he’d had to insist on leaving Navid behind, lest the way his eyes wavered like coins at the bottom of a fountain compelled him to do something neither of them were ready for. 

Despite the magnetic tension between them, he knows that they don’t trust each other. He’d considered Navid’s feelings only briefly when he conceived his plan before deciding to just deal with the consequences. 

Well, now here they are. He’d anticipated how Navid might feel once his shrewd mind pieced it all together, but Xelef hadn’t foreseen how much he’d care. 

It needles at him, the way Navid takes his motivations regarding coin at face value when they discuss the coronation. And it needles at him that it needles at him. That’s what he wants the Crown to believe anyway, right? 

The dissonance isn’t really something he wants to entertain so he distracts himself by distracting Navid. 

It’s rather more fun to catch the Crown staring at him than contemplate why there’s a kernel of him that anticipates an opportunity to be seen. Not just looked at as he so often is, up for strangers’ interpretation as he is now so used to, but seen. 

The gold in Navid’s eyes is alive in a way coin could never be. There’s a playfulness that seems to live in Navid’s irises, which Xelef’s learning is partly a diversion for the cunning survivalist underneath. 

Xelef stares right back, shameless in the way he parts the seam of his lips to drag his tongue across the bottom before letting Navid see how the plump softness of it gives under his thumb. He delights in darkening that sparkling mischief into something imaginative and promising and it’s not long before he gives the two of them a reason to leave the room together. The indulgently sly way that Navid looks at him insists that Xelef get him alone. 

Awareness thrums between them as they walk together, but he can sense a contemplative mix of emotions from the man next to him. It’s enough to make him curious. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Oh, nothing much, only the fact that I’m now responsible for millions of lives,” Navid is just as practiced as he is at showing who he’s supposed to be. If Xelef couldn’t sense his anxiety he might’ve believed his blithe tone.

The stakes are high and Xelef can feel the weight of that reality on Navid’s shoulders as if it sits on him like a pauldron. It’d be a flattering and dashing pauldron the way Navid wears it, but a symbol of conflict and its inevitable consequences nonetheless. 

Xelef meets the slight bite of Navid’s sarcasm with his pragmatism, forged in fire and quenched to harden like steel. “If you obsess over the weight of your choices, you’ll become paralyzed by fear, and in that state you’re of no use to anyone.”

Navid eyes are sharp as he seems to consider not just his words but also his intent. Whatever he decides to himself seems to satisfy him because some of the spark in his eyes returns. Xelef wonders what conclusion Navid came to, to look at him like he knows something Xelef doesn’t. 

He thinks he sees some relief in there too, and Xelef tells himself it relieves him in turn because he needs the Crown to be clear-headed and not because of the possibility that sharing his genuine perspective might have made him rise in Navid’s esteem.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Xelef steers them back into familiar waters with a self-satisfied twist of his lips. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Navid lets out a huff of a chuckle. He must be more exhausted than he let on because they slide into silence again. Xelef’s attempt at distracting Navid is successful though and soon enough he’s unable to contain his amusement. Xelef puffs up at the suggestion of his altruism, sliding back into the easy role of carefree rogue. 

“Altruistic? Pah! Disgusting.”

But Navid promptly tugs at his facade. “You can drop the act, you know. I know you’re not wholly selfish at heart.”

“Is that what you really think, or is that what you hope for?” A devious rhythm softens the quick reflexes of his defenses even as his heart starts to race. Being exposed is terrifyingly thrilling. Or thrillingly terrifying. Both? 

“You do like to perform. The role of carefree mercenary suits you well, I admit. But that can’t be all that there is to you.”

Navid pins him with piercing gold and Xelef hardly realizes as he’s backed against a window. It’s been a long time since anyone cared to find out who he really is as much as Navid ostensibly does. 

Navid steps close enough that he has to tilt his chin down to hold his gaze and even he can’t deny that the proximity makes him feel like a live wire, like his pulse itself might jump out of his skin so it can press against the man who’s always so tantalizingly near.

Xelef considers that he might have met his match in Navid with a smirk.

Navid already has a decently apt approximation of him, despite Xelef’s penchant for misdirection and the fact that they’ve only really known each other a handful of days. Xelef’s moved quickly in the past but never quite like this. 

But then again, nothing gets him into trouble as easily as gold.

“Navid.” 

Xelef reaches a hand out, soothing a knuckle against the slightly puckered scar on Navid’s cheek. He’ll have to ask him the story behind it soon.

“If you wish for me to treat you tenderly, you need only ask.”

It comes out as a gentler murmur than he intends. Xelef doesn’t need to speak up to be heard after all, with how much closer Navid gets as he anchors a rough hand on top of his. It’s as close to an acknowledgement of Xelef’s complex and often contradictory thoughts and emotions about the man in front of him—the ones he prefers to leave unaddressed because they leave him feeling uncomfortably bare.

“Don’t tempt me, Xelef,” Navid’s voice is rough with restraint as his thick brows furrow with caution. “I’ll start believing you.”

“I lie about a lot of things, my dark-haired beauty, but never about this.”

“That’s a lie,” Navid purses his lips, eyes narrowing even as he considers his own assertion. It’s a look that Xelef has seen on him before, usually around a table with others, as Navid weighs the reality of what he knows against the possibilities of what he doesn’t to figure out how to move forward.

Just like earlier, Xelef feels the foreign compulsion for Navid to have confidence in him. It’s been a while since he cared to prove himself to anyone, and even now his better sense is reminding him that the distance he places between himself and others is there out of necessity. If he weren’t deep in the shit of it he’d find it amusingly fitting that they can both see glimpses past each other’s bravado. Of course the person that interests him most is also the one that directly challenges him to leave the familiarity of his facade.

“Perhaps.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny it, though it’s getting harder and harder to ignore his hope that Navid will just figure it out and acknowledge it for both of their sakes. Whether his evasiveness is a test of Navid’s understanding of him or his own hesitation to be understood, he can’t determine. 

Neither can Navid it seems, because he redirects them to less murky waters. “And what is this, exactly?”

Xelef doesn’t answer immediately, taking his time to admire the sharp lines of Navid’s handsome face to reinforce his memory of it for later, after they part for the night.

“Right now? I would call this a flirtation,” this part is easy to admit. Flirtation comes naturally to both of them. He’s noticed the easy compliments Navid gives to others, how he effortlessly keeps those he thinks he might have use for close. His motives seem genuine enough—Xelef himself knows what the line between manipulation and exploitation looks like—though his charisma certainly has a craftily calculating edge to it. 

“But we can make it anything you want it to be.”

Xelef leaves the rest up to Navid’s astute interpretation. An acute sense of anticipation holds him in place as Navid opens his mouth to respond and Xelef internally wills him to see—

—Magic displaces above Navid’s head, and the breath Xelef had been holding spills out as a laugh. Whatever Navid was about to say is swept up in him trying to recover from the spirits giving him away. 

Ah well. At least he’ll have something to tease Navid about later.

Xelef doesn’t question how easy it is to insist that he keep his dagger with him. What would it mean if he and Navid use the same blade the first time they have to kill? Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything at all, but it reassures him that even if he’s away he can still be there for Navid when it happens, when the world inexorably reminds him of why he’ll always have to protect himself.

Is that altruism? When he tries to correct his own buried regrets by helping someone else avoid having the same ones?

Even more questions he’s not sure he wants to find the answers to. 

But when he feels Navid’s resolve solidify inside him, sees the squaring of his shoulders as he lifts his gaze from the designs on his door and takes a steadying breath before stepping inside, Xelef knows he’ll have to accept that it might not end up being up to him anyway.

Gold just might be the death of him.

fin.

author’s note: i’ve been wanting to do a character study in X’s perspective for a while and there were so many LAYERS to their scene in chapter 6 that i took a one word prompt and wrote two thousand words about it lmao. i wanted to explore the duality between X’s persona and their actions and set a starting point for them early in the romance. 

there’s a really delicious tension right now when they’re not acknowledging their deeper interest in the crown despite the fact that they’re always eye fucking whenever they can so much as see each other. i also wanted to play with the fact that they both know that there’s more than meets the eye and ALSO that they’re being manipulated in the grander scheme of their own personal agendas. 

i also wanted to mold navid’s characterization from the perspective of someone trying to resist falling in love with him. spoiler alert X, it’s impossible. anyways! so many thoughts, head full of X. hope i did my favorite royal boy toy justice 🤎

[allegra-writes]

“Small talk”

Peter Parker x Vigilante!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Like wolves, we've run wild, let passion get too much, let ourselves get burned by the fire"

Small Talk - Niall Horan

Peter knows it's a bad idea, you are nothing but trouble. But just because he has spidey sense, doesn't mean he has common sense... 🔥

MY MASTERLIST

"Bad idea kid" Tony's voice reached his ears from somewhere at his left, but not even then did he broke eye contact with you. He couldn't. He was paralized, mesmerized, drawn like a moth to a flame. You had been looking at him across the ballroom all night, a vision in your little white number, like an angel with lightning in her eyes… He wanted you, the realization hitting him like a brick.

A hand was waved in front of his face,

"Peter, are you even listening to me?"

He made a non committal hum.

Tony sighed, 

"Look, I know you've been through a lot lately. I mean, Michelle practically left you on the altar-"

"Do not" He finally turned to his mentor, tone as cold as his gaze, "say her name. Ever." 

"Ok, kid, I won't" Tony raised his hands in surrender, "All I'm saying is, I know everything sucks right now, and you might be feeling a little... reckless and self destructive. And normally I would say go for it, a little rebound sex never killed anyone but in that case" he motioned in your direction with his head, "in that case it just might" 

"What do you mean?" You were dancing now, and Tony was loosing Peter's attention fast,

"They call her Cut-Throat" he said, straight to the point, "and she's with those wackjobs from Hell's Kitchen. EDITH identified her right away. Trust me on this one, kid. She's got the wrong kind of crazy" 

Yes, Peter could feel that, his spidey sense had been going haywire all night. But he liked it. He liked the dress you were wearing, and he liked the way you talked, and he liked the way you were dancing. He liked you, and he hadn't felt that way about anyone in a while.

He hadn't felt that way about anything actually, ever since MJ… 

But now? Now he wanted to run wild, wanted to misbehave at least once in his responsibility filled existence. He wanted to know what it was like to let the passion get the best of him. 

He wanted to play with fire, and get burned. 

"I'm not a kid anymore, Tony" He cut his mentor off, a little harshly "I have a PhD, I think I'm old enough to know what I'm doing" 

"One would think so, and yet…" Tony muttered, grumpily, watching his protegee disappear in the ocean of people on the dance floor. 

Peter, on the other hand, was trying not to freak out. Despite his big talk, he was half expecting Tony to follow him, to stop him, but it was too late now: You had seen him making his way to you and now you were walking to him, still staring at him like he was something to eat. And he couldn't run, couldn't hide, not when he wanted so badly to be devoured. Looking at your wolfish smile, he couldn't help but wonder if that's what rabbits felt, right before being gobbled up.

"Hello"

"Hi"

"Want to get out of here?"

Just like that, no small talk. Before he even knew it, the elevator doors were closing behind him and you were on him, smashing your lips against his, pushing him back against the wall, setting his skin on fire everywhere it met yours. And god help him, but the burn was better, so much better than the raw, biting cold he had felt ever since MJ had left him on his knees in the dark. Helpless, with nothing but that unforgiving, bone freezing emptiness.

He fisted his hands on the silk of your dress, bringing you closer, impossibly closer, holding onto your heat as his mouth left yours to suck a bruise on your neck. The helpless little noise that left your throat made his head swim, lips traveling south in their quest to coax more of those pretty noises out of you. 

"Fuck!" You cursed as his mouth closed around your nipple over the flimsy fabric. 

Peter smiled. He had been wanting to do that all night, his super sight letting him see everything through the sheer fabric of your dress when the light hitted you just right. Your fingers tangled in his soft curls, trying to keep his head where you wanted it, but he was strong, almost unnaturally so. In an instant you were the one against the steel wall, caged between it and his hard body. 

One hand at the back of your knee, and soon he was lifting your leg, wrapping it around his hips, opening you up to him, as he grinded his pelvis against yours, making you moan, the sound resonating in the tiny elevator.

"Bet I can make you come just like this" He breathed out, hot against your ear, "rubbing my cock against your pussy through our clothes"

"Fuck yes!" 

"You want that, don't you angel?" Peter bit back a moan of his own, still rolling his hips, "Want to be a good girl and come for me…"

"Not really a good girl" 

You pushed back against the wall, angling your hips, rocking them faster, chasing your peak. Peter's eyes rolled back inside his head, hands flying to your hip bones, helping you move. 

"But you're still gonna come for me, aren't you?"

There it was again, the sharp smile, all teeth and danger,

"Make me"

He attacked your lips again, tongue slipping inside your mouth as his hand slipped underneath your skirt. He found his goal, fingers teasing you over your panties,

"So wet for me already, angel?" He marveled, and you gulped for air. God, he knew how to kiss. You couldn't wait to see what else that talented tongue of his could do. 

"You made me wait too long…" You pouted, watching in satisfaction as his eyes zeroed on your lips and his eyes turned even darker. He retaliated by tugging your thong to the side, sliding two fingers inside your wet, velvety heat. Your pretty lips opened in a perfect little O, and he had the dirtiest of visions, of you on your knees, taking his length into that gorgeous, delicious mouth of yours. He licked into your open mouth, filthily. 

"It's ok, angel, I got you now" 

He could feel it coming, you muscles tensing, your fingers digging into his shoulders, wetness bathing his hand… 

But the elevator came to a halt, and a ding announced you had arrived to your floor. He took his fingers out of you, licking them clean one by one, chuckling when you cried out your frustration. 

"Shut up" You snickered, grabbing him by his tie, dragging him like a puppy on a leash all the way to your room.

Peter plastered himself to your back as soon as you both reached your door, making the task of unlocking it rather difficult, with him nibbling on the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulders, lowering the straps of your dress… 

You felt his impressive hardness against your lower back, and you couldn't hold back the wanton whimper that left your lips. 

"Hurry up, angel, or I'm taking you right here against this door" You believed him, what with his hands slowly bunching your skirt up. 

The door opened abruptly, making you practically fall into the room, but with quick reflexes, he caught you in his arms. 

"I told you I got you, angel" 

You scoffed, deciding to make use of your full strength, surprising him by turning the both of you around and pushing him, so he fell flat on his back on the bed.

His eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm no angel, baby boy"

Peter wholeheartedly disagreed. He didn't think he had ever seen something more beautiful than you right then, eyes on fire as you let your dress fall, mischievous smirk promising a world of trouble. 

You straddled his waist, helping him get rid of his suit coat and his shirt, stopping short at the wide shoulders and defined chest you found underneath. It was his turn to smirk, as he snaked his big, big arms around your waist and twirled you on the bed, so you were the one trapped between the mattress and his powerful body.

"And I am no boy"

His mouth found yours again, Irresistible and addictive, something long forgotten inside him reawakening with every drag of your soft lips against his, every taste of your tongue on his. Your hands grabbed onto his biceps as he went for your neck again, making sure of sucking hard enough to break blood vessels under your skin and leave behind a dark, deep mark that would not fade quickly. He continued his way south, until he reached the top of your breast. He admired the softness and the color of your skin there, a perfect blank canvass. He bit down, with bruising force. 

Peter didn't know why he was being so rough with you, he had always been so careful, so tender with MJ. Always letting her take the lead, so aware of her fragility compared to him, always afraid of hurting her if he let himself get too carried away. He shook himself, he had already spent too many nights, to many hours, too many thoughts on her. He didn't want to waste another, not with your exquisite body under his, so pliant and willing. So eager to take all he was capable of giving you. 

Your hands had gone to his head again as soon as he had dug his teeth in, not pushing him away but pulling him closer. Yeah, you could definitely take it. 

You were a sobbing, squirming mess, as he trailed kisses and bites down your body, 

"Stay still for me, angel" he quipped, annoyed at having to pause on his way to his ultimate goal, "or I'll have to tie you to the bed"

You chuckled,

"Kiny. But sadly I don't have any ropes…"

A whooshing sound was the only warning you had before you found your right hand stuck to the headboard with what looked suspiciously like a spider web. You turned your wide eyes on him.

"Spider-man?" You gasped, astonished. He offered you his wrist, and you took it with your free hand, turning it this way and the other, examining the sophisticated device you had first mistaken for a bracelet. 

"Peter"

"What?" Your gaze returned to his handsome face in the dark.

"My name is Peter" He smiled, and you could swear the room lit up.

"Y/n" You confessed, giving him your real name instead of the false identity you had used to enter the party. 

"Y/n" He repeated, trying it out "Much prettier than Cut-throat" 

He knew who you were. Of course. But you knew who he was too, so maybe it wasn't so bad. He could have kept silent, kept the advantage, but instead he had evened the field. You were equals now, in every way. But more than that, something inside you told you you could trust him. A gut feeling, like those Matt kept talking about. 

He was one of the good guys after all.

You offered him your free hand, and if his smile had been bright before, now it was blinding. He kissed your open palm reverently, before sticking it to the headboard next to the other one. 

Peter kneeled on the bed, between your open legs, admiring you.

"Have you got any idea" he whispered, fingertips tracing your body, "how beautiful you look like this, all tied up and naked, just for me?" 

His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs playing with your nipples with just the right pressure to send shivers up and down your body.

"I wanted to play with you, to tease you, make you beg for it" like a spider playing with the helpless fly trapped in its web, "but I don't think I can wait any longer. I want you so bad…"

"But I am begging," You breathed out, arching your back, pushing yourself into his hands, "please, Peter. Please just fuck me" 

He hooked his fingers on the waistband of your ruined underwear.

"Say it again baby"

"Fuck me, Peter, please" 

He dragged your panties down your legs, helping you untangle them when they got stuck on your hills. He truly had never seen something so sexy, so sinful. And neither had you, once he had made quick work of his pants and underwear, wrapping his own hand around his impressive member, pumping once, twice, three times when he noticed your unwavering, unabashed stare. 

"Now you're just showing off…"

Peter laughed,

"Maybe. Like what you see?"

Your eyes traveled to the sharp, popping veins of his hands, perfectly matching the ones on his angry red length. 

"Yeah" You admitted, "yeah, I do"

His boyish grin had no place in a situation like this, but somehow it fitted better than any lecherous look could.

"I changed my mind" he declared, pushing your legs open, "maybe just a taste"

"What? Peter no" you whined, petulant, "I want to feel you! Now!"

"I don't think you understand, baby:" his hot breath fanned over your center, "You're mine tonight. Completely at my mercy…" 

He flattened his tongue, licking a long strip over your slit before closing his lips around your pearl and sucking softly, tearing a surprised cry out of you. He was every bit as good as you thought he would be, but you had something else in mind.

"Please, please Peter… I want-" You were panting as he kept on devouring you, the movements of the mattress near your feet making it quite obvious he was touching himself as he ate you, "I want your cock… I want to… I want to come around your cock" 

He mumbled something unintelligible, burying his face deeper, sucking harder. You felt his strong, thick tongue make its way inside you, eagerly lapping at your overly sweet juices. It was too much, and you tried to close your legs, to make him stop, but only succeeded in bringing him closer, deeper. You couldn't handle it, the way he was playing your body like a well loved instrument, coaxing the pleasure out of you too fast. And he didn't even need to stop for air. You tried to hold back your orgasm, tried to control it but it was in vain, soon it was crashing over you like a wave, a tsunami, leaving you exhausted, muscles aching by the sudden onslaught of inhuman bliss thrusted upon them. 

You were still riding high on your crest when Peter crawled his way up your body, burying himself inside you in one thrust, hissing at the way your walls squeezed him almost too tight. He only gave the both of you a couple of seconds to get used to it before starting to move. Like in the elevator, you tilted your hips to him, offering yourself up, giving him more access. It was the sweetest torture, feeling him so big, so deep, every thrust electrifying your body, making it come alight again, for him. 

And he, he couldn't get enough, couldn't control himself, not when you felt so heavenly. He wanted, no, he needed, to give it to you. Every last, shattered piece of what was left of him. Until it was all gone. Until he couldn't remember his name, couldn't remember her name. Until all that was left was you, and the way you felt around his cock, the way your body fitted in his hands, the way your screamed his name into the night, over and over and over again. Cause it sounded different from your lips, sounded brand new, sounded… pure. 

There, covered in sweat, grunting obscenely, debasing both you and himself in the dirtiest, most animalistic fucking, he felt alive like he hadn't in years. Maybe ever.

Peter's gaze fixed on you again, tugging at your restraints, hair a halo around your head, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen. Breathing hard. The loveliest thing he had ever caught in his web. Your sobs and moans inter mingling with his own, were the most pornographic thing he had heard in his life, your hips moving to meet his, wet sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room… and you still looked like an angel. 

"Peter…" You cried out. He was so deep you could feel him in every cell of your body, his cock touching places you didn't even knew you had, stretching you almost painfully but not quite, just enough to make you question your sanity, to drive you wild, to keep you begging for more even if you couldn't really take it. 

"You feel so good angel" he was talking in your ear, hips never stopping, cock pounding into you without mercy, "gonna come for me again? Gonna let me feel it?..." 

You wanted to shake your head, to say no, you weren't that kind of woman, the kind that could come more than once, but you wanted so badly to be good for him. For once in your life, you wanted to be good.

"Ugh… come on, give it to me baby girl… fuck you feel so good… like heaven on my cock" 

"Peter!"

His thumb found your clit, rubbing messily, with no rhythm or finesse. No, he was too close for that, but he wanted you to come with him, needed the both of you to fall together. 

"You still have one more to give, don't you angel? You said it… said you wanted to come on my cock…"

You sobbed, weakly. You could feel all the muscles in your body lock again, the coil inside you tightening. You were at his mercy, just like he had said, there was nothing you could do to resist it, and you knew, you just knew that by the time this orgasm hitted you, there were gonna be tears in your eyes, for the sheer intensity, the-

"Yeah, like that… just like that… I can feel it… come for me angel, now!"

As on command, you felt your muscles contract and relax, every single one of your nerve endings exploding with bone shattering force. One last thrust and grunt above you, and Peter went lax, falling bonelessly next to you.

"Oh… oh, god!.. That was…"

You gigled, breathlessly,

"Yeah… I know…" 

"How… how do you feel? Are you ok? How are your arms?"

"Peter, stop freaking out, I'm ok, I promise" You tried to reach for his face but your hands were still tied to the headboard.

"You sure?" 

You stretched on the bed, arching your back like a cat and Peter couldn't help the way his eyes wandered to your breasts.

"I'm better than ever" 

He got up anyway, fetching a wet towel to clean you up and a bottle of orange juice from the minibar that he helped you drink. He then threw the cover over both your bodies, cuddling with you.

"So" you started, trying to get a look up at your still bound hands, "how long does this thing usually lasts"

Peter flinched,

"About three hours…"

"THREE HOURS??"

He drowned your indignant cry with a kiss, not stopping until he felt you relax under his body again.

"I'm sure I can find ways to keep you entertained until then…"

You captured his bottom lip, nibbling softly before releasing him,

"And I was thinking, you don't have to leave after. I mean, it's gonna be way too late for you to go, this city is kinda dangerous at night…" 

Peter smirked,

"I know… lot of baddies out there at night…"

"And weirdos in costume…" He swallowed the rest of your sentence, coaxing your mouth open with his gifted tongue, deepening the kiss. And you knew.

He was going to stay forever.

The end.

[matbaerzal]

Agree To Disagree | M. Barzal

Summary: Mat isn’t really an animal person, but his new neighbour loves dogs.  A/N: This all started when Mat said he didn’t like small annoying dogs, and I wrote a post joking about an “enemies to lovers” fic, and then I actually started writing it and it got way out if hand..  Warnings: PUPPIES!! accidental slowburn, awkward silences. a very non specific timeline (?) Words: 5,5K Copyright © @matbaerzal 2020 All Rights Reserved Tagging: @bluebarriemuzzins​ @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​ @zuucc​ because why not??

When you first saw your new neighbour you were intrigued. He was wearing a suit, looking important, he gave you a polite smile as he walked past you. He was handsome, and he held the elevator door for one of the movers that was going down to get more of your belongings. It seemed like the two of you would get along as neighbours. Unfortunately first impressions aren’t always right.

When Mat first saw you he was intrigued. You were carrying boxes, moving into the apartment across the hall from his. You looked tired, but you had a smile on your face nonetheless. You were wearing an old The Office t-shirt, so you had that in common. You were really polite to the movers helping you. His first impression of you was that he’d get along well with you. Unfortunately first impressions aren’t always right.

You were by no means new to New York, you’d grown up in Manhattan, and as you were looking for a new apartment, you happened to find the perfect place in Brooklyn. It was close to your new job, had a nice kitchen and most important, they allowed pets in the building. Your old building had a strict no pets policy, and Zoe, your Golden Retriever, had to stay with your parents. Now, she could finally move in with you, and you could open your home to shelter dogs too.

You loved dogs more than anything in the world, so to be able to foster dogs and help them find loving homes had been a dream of yours for a long time. You got in touch with the local shelter even before you moved in, because you were so excited. Your job as a writer for a magazine luckily allowed you to work from home a few days a week, so you could spend as much time as possible with the dogs.

---

The second time you see your new neighbour is the day Zoe finally moves in with you. It’s also the first time you actually speak to him. You were about to take Zoe for a walk around her new neighbourhood when he exits his apartment, he’s wearing casual clothing this time around. Zoe is a well behaved girl, but she can be very curious so when a stranger joins you in the elevator it’s natural she wants to introduce herself. You don’t expect everyone to be a dog person so you hold her back until you see him smile at her as he walks into the elevator. Much like anyone else, he greets Zoe before he introduces himself to you.

“Hello” he says in that high pitched voice most people get when they see a cute dog, he reaches his hand out for her to sniff it before looking up at you. “Hey, you’re my new neighbour” he says matter-of-factly. “Hi, yeah” you say, reaching out your hand telling him your name as you shake hands. “I’m Mat, who’s this?” he says, referring to the dog before scratching her behind the ear. “This is Zoe” you laugh as the elevator dings and the doors open. Your interaction is cut short as you exit your building, going in separate ways, giving each other polite smiles. “I’ll see you around,” he says.

Bruiser

After living in your new building for two weeks your paperwork to start fostering dogs is finally done and approved. Your main job would be to socialize the dogs and make them ready for adoption. The first dog you take in is a little chihuahua named Bruiser, you and Zoe have met him a couple times at the shelter, and you’ve been told he’s usually not too fond of strangers.

You walk into your building with Bruiser in your arms. As the doors are about to close you see Mat enter the building, his steps rushing towards you. You hold the door for him, and he gives you a small smile. “Thank you” he says, before looking down at Bruiser, the expression on his face unreadable.

“What happened to Zoe?” he asks eyeing Bruiser suspiciously. “Oh I left her at home whilst I was picking up this guy” you say lifting the little dog up slightly. “This is Bruiser, Bruiser, this is Mat, our neighbour” you say. That’s when the elevator dings and the doors open, Mat shoots out and into the hallway, suddenly in a rush. “See you later” he throws over his shoulder, he unlocks his door and then he’s gone. “That was a bit strange, huh?” you look down at Bruiser, walking over to your apartment door

You go about your day, forgetting your interaction with Mat. Spending the day introducing Bruiser to his new temporary home, and for the most part it goes really well. You notice he has a tendency of barking and getting restless whenever he hears something outside your door, so you take note of that, so you can work on making him more used to unfamiliar noises.

---

A couple weeks later, Bruiser has already improved a little, he’s much less timid and has even made some friends in the dog park you liked going to. You’re about to take him and Zoe there, and you see Mat in the elevator. You make eye contact with him, so you’re hoping he’ll hold the door for you. His eyes shoot open when he sees the little chihuahua and instead he presses the button to make the doors close. You frown, looking down at your dogs, “that was a bit rude, no?” you say. You think, maybe he was in a hurry, or maybe he accidentally pressed the wrong button.

The next few weeks, similar things happen and he keeps avoiding you. Barely says hi to you in the hallway, and on the rare occasion that you’re actually in the elevator together he is practically pressed into the corner, his head buried in his phone. You’re not one to impose yourself on someone who obviously doesn’t want to be around you, so you start avoiding him too. If you’re about to leave and you hear him in the hallway you wait until you can’t hear him anymore before you leave.

Your co-worker had mentioned her aunt was interested in adopting a dog. And eventually Bruiser moves out of your apartment. You’d grown fond of him, so obviously you're a bit sad as you make your way home with Zoe next to you. You don’t even notice Mat walking up to the elevator as you’re stood there trying not to cry. The doors almost close before he stretches his hand out to stop it. “Are you avoiding me or something?” Mat says with a laugh, a little out of breath. You frown, it’s your first time interaction in who-knows-how-many weeks. “Me? Avoiding you?” you scoff

The doors close and an awkward silence fills the space between you. Zoe stays by your side, pressing her head into your hand. You can see Mat looking at you in the corner of your eye. “Where’s the little one? Bruce?” he asks, his tone cautious. You look up at him and so does Zoe, a scowl on both your faces, and as if the universe was on your side that’s when the elevator dings and the doors open on your floor. “His name is Bruiser, and why do you care?” you snap and stomp out. You quickly find your key and get into your apartment before he can even react.

A few more weeks go by and you notice Mat isn’t trying to avoid you anymore, though he never says more than a small hi to you and he almost always looks a bit guilty. You still try to avoid him sometimes, you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the inevitable awkward silence that follows whenever you see him. Maybe you’re a bit embarrassed by how you snapped at him when he asked about Bruiser. All you know is that sometimes you like to check if you see or hear him in the hallway before you leave your apartment.

Stella

The next dog you take in is a Beagle, Stella, she doesn’t bark as much as Bruiser, but she growls if you approach her when she’s eating or playing with a toy. She’s also been known to bite if she gets cornered. She’s warmed up to you and Zoe a bit more, but she’s still cautious around other people.

You’re out walking the dogs when it starts raining, you’d been to the dog park to try and socialize Stella. The weather had been really nice when you left, so it catches you off guard.

You try to find cover under a tree in the park, but you’re still getting some rain on you. Your building is about a 10 minute walk away so you’re dreading the thought of having to walk that far in the pouring rain.

Just when you start considering just running for it, a car pulls up next to you. The window opens and there’s Mat with a worried look on his face. “Hey, do you need a ride home?” he shouts through the rain. You look around weighing your options, ultimately you look back at him and nod. Sprinting over to the car, he gets out and opens the door for Zoe to get in the backseat and you run to the other side, picking up Stella before getting in the passenger seat. You sigh out a breath as you close the door, “thanks” you huff out, trying to get Stella to settle in your lap.

You see Mat in the corner of your eye looking at Stella for a moment before he starts driving towards your building. “You replaced Bruiser pretty quickly, huh?” Mat says and you see him instantly cringe after the words leave his mouth. “What do you mean?” you frown at him, “shit, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just you got a new dog, and it’s not long ago that Bruiser, you know-” he trails off at the end, leaving you confused. “You know-, what?” you ask him to clarify, “died” he almost whispers. 

You laugh in surprise, “Bruiser’s not dead, he got adopted” you say. “What do you mean adopted, wasn’t he yours?” he asks, glancing over at you before looking back at the road. “No, I was just fostering him, like I’m fostering Stella here” you say, Stella is still wiggling in your lap.

There’s a moment of silence before Mat speaks up again, “are you fostering Zoe too?” he says. “No, I’ve had Zoe for about 5 years now” you say just as he pulls into your building's parking garage. He parks and turns the engine off, but just as you touch the door handle he turns to you.

“So, just to be clear, the chihuahua and Stella aren’t yours?” he says. “Not really, no” you say, “you sound very relieved by that” you laugh. “I’m not really an animal person, especially small overly energetic dogs, I don’t like those” he says, eyeing Stella who, to prove his point, is still trying to wiggle out of your lap. “Zoe is great though” he rushes to add. “You’re just saying that to be nice now” you tease him. “No! No, I really don’t mind Zoe” he says and you hum, you don’t really believe him.

As if she could understand what you were saying Zoe suddenly sticks her head in between your seats making Mat jump. You roll your eyes at him with a smile on your face as you open the door. You keep a hold of Stella as you get Zoe from the backseat, walking over to the elevator where Mat is standing waiting for it to arrive. Silence fills the space between the two of you and you can’t help but think this was a one time thing, after this you’ll go back to the awkward silences.

The doors open and you internally cringe as you steal glances at each other and he motions for you to go in first. The doors close and Mat presses the button to your floor, the moment just before the elevator starts going up feels like an eternity. You clear your throat “thanks again for the ride” you say “and sorry if your car smells like wet dog for a few days” you add with a small laugh as Stella squirms in your arms. “It’s no problem, really” he says, and the space is filled with silence yet again. 

The elevator comes to stop as you reach your floor, the doors open and you step out, Zoe following after you, you finally put Stella down and she tries to pull you towards your door. You laugh at her, but follow after her regardless.

Mat walks a few steps behind you and speaks up again just as you reach your door. “I’ve been kind of a shit neighbour, haven’t I?” he admits, you turn around to face him, not sure how to reply. “I swear I wasn’t avoiding you, I just- Chihuahuas and I don’t get along” he says and you can’t help but laugh out loud. “You avoided me because of the dogs?” you say and Stella pouts and scratches at your door with a small bark. Mat looks at her pointedly as to say see what I mean?.

Ignoring his look you quickly open the door so Stella can go inside, Zoe calmly follows after her. “I realized how stupid I was being after a week, but I guess I’d started a pattern and I didn’t know how to break out of it” he says, his hand scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe we could start over? Could I make up for being a bad neighbour somehow?” he says. You take a moment to think before you get an idea, “you could help me with Stella, come with me on walks and all that” you reply. For a brief moment you see regret in his eyes before he swallows it, “yeah, sure” he says hesitantly.

“Are you free tomorrow?” you smirk at him and he shakes his head, “I’m actually going away for a couple days for, uh-, work” he says. A pang of disappointment hits you, so much for making it up to you. “I’m back again on Thursday, though” he rushes when he sees the expression on your face that you failed to hide. You hesitate for a moment before nodding, “I can do Thursday”. You hear a suspicious noise from inside your apartment, “I should-” you say pointing behind you. “Yeah, I’ll see you Thursday” he says and starts walking backwards towards his door with a wave goodbye.

---

Thursday arrives before you know it, and you realized you never set a time to meet up. Around 3PM you decide to just go over with Zoe and Stella and knock on his door. He opens his door almost immediately, already dressed to go out. “Hey, you going somewhere?” you say, “I was just about to go knock on your door actually” he chuckles. You smile and offer Stella’s leash to him, he eyes it sceptically, you roll your eyes at him “fine, you can take Zoe” you laugh.

You get to the park pretty quickly, on the way Mat explains what he does for a living, and you realize that’s why he’s away a lot. Once you get there you tell Mat to let Zoe off her leash, and he looks towards you. “What about Stella?” he says, “she’s got a tendency to get territorial, and could bite if someone tries to take something from her” you say and Mat takes a small step away from you and you laugh a little at his reaction. “My job is to help her get out of her bad habits, so that someone will adopt her” you explain.

“You get paid to do that?” he asks, and you shake your head “no, I volunteer”. He looks at you with wonder in his eyes. Zoe comes running back to you carrying a stick, instead of going to you she surprises you and goes to Mat. With the way he acts around Zoe you would have never guessed his dislike for small dogs. He fakes his throw once before throwing the stick as far as he can, Zoe runs to get it back.

The following weeks he comes with you for walks whenever he can, and Stella takes a liking to him, much to his dismay. You could see Stella get more and more comfortable around strangers, and she doesn’t put up much of a fight when you want her to let go of a toy. You’re comfortable enough to let her off the leash at the park now, and she plays catch with Zoe without any conflict. Whenever Mat comes with you to the park Stella refuses to play with you,  it’s as if she can read his mind and she’s doing it just to annoy him.

---

It’s getting warmer out so you and Mat decide to pack lunches with you and spend the day at the park together. He’s become a regular part of your life now, and the time you were ignoring each other seems like an alternate reality. You’d even caught a few of his games from the comfort of your living room and whenever the camera closed in on him your dogs would perk up and look at the TV. Sitting close to him on your picnic blanket, leaning your head on his shoulder whilst watching the dogs, feels natural.

“Do you want to come see the game on Sunday? We’re playing the Rangers” Mat says out of the blue and you lift your head off his shoulder to look at him, “I’d love that” you say with a smile. “Cool” he says and leaves it at that. “Cool” you say laughing at him, “It’s just, everyone wants to meet my cute neighbour” he says and you swear you see a small blush on his cheeks. “Cute neighbour, huh? You invited Mrs. Davis too?” you tease, referring to the sweet old lady living a couple floors down from you. He breathes out a small laugh and looks down, definitely blushing this time. “Oh yeah, she’s a huge hockey fan” he laughs. You shove your shoulder against his lightly, “she’s probably only in it for the cute players though” you say.

The flirting wasn’t entirely new, but your heart beat still raised whenever he used his charms on you. And you always felt nervous whenever you would flirt back, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were too in your own bubble to notice the change of the weather and when the first couple rain drops fall on you it catches you completely off guard. You quickly gather your things and call the dogs over. The second you get the leashes on the sky opens up, and Mat grabs your hand with his free one and drags you to the nearest tree.

The tree doesn’t give you much cover, it’s barely even enough for one person. He sets the picnic basket down and pulls you close so you don’t get rain on you. “I can’t save you with my car this time” he laughs as you’re both looking around at the downpour. When you look back at each other you realize how close the two of you are, chest to chest, his arm tightly around your waist. A couple of hair strands are stuck to his forehead and you instinctively move your free hand to brush them away, your cheeks going warm as you do, resting your hand on his shoulder afterwards.

Mat is studying your face, as if he’s looking for something. Stella, ever so mischievously pulls on your leash bringing you impossibly closer to each other. You’d looked at his lips before, but they had never seemed as inviting as they do now. Mat takes a breath before he leans in, your noses brushing together as he hesitates in his actions. You move your hand to his neck as you lean into him closer, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. The world stands still and it seems like you stay like that, lips almost touching, forever. Until, Stella pulls on your leash again, this time pulling you away from Mat.

You almost drop the leash from the pull, and you have to move yourself away from Mat completely to settle her down. You hear Mat swear under his breath and he’s scowling at Stella when you look back at him. You give him a sympathetic smile before turning back around to calm Stella down. The rain doesn’t last long, and you start making your way home, keeping the conversation to a minimum, the air between you filled with disappointment because of a ruined moment.

---

Mat leaves for a road trip the day after, and when he comes by to say goodbye he hugs you a bit longer than normal, and your eyes linger a bit longer before he walks down the hallway to the elevator. You know you won’t be able to see him until Sunday at the game and time moves so slowly the days leading up to it. You text back and forth a little, but neither of you mention your almost kiss. You can’t stop thinking about it though, and you keep wondering if he’s thinking about it too, but you’re too afraid to actually ask him.

He’d texted you where to go, and you’d heard enough about the other players girlfriends to not be so nervous as you go to find your seat at the arena. You’d gotten Amy, a friend from work, to look after the dogs in your apartment, just to be safe. Just as you’re looking down at your tickets to check if you’re in the right section you hear an unfamiliar voice speak up, “are you here for Barzy?”. You look up to see a blonde woman looking at you with a smile, “he did invite me, yes” you stutter shyly.

You learn her name is Grace and she takes it upon herself to introduce you to all the other girls. Your first observation is that watching a hockey game on your TV is very very different from seeing it in person. Sure, you would celebrate some goals in your living room, but not like this. You blame it on the atmosphere, but you have to admit to yourself that you were enjoying yourself. The game was tied for most of the third period, and after the Rangers scored a flukey goal near the end, the Isles weren't able to respond.

It’s quiet between you and the girls as you walk to where you’re meeting Mat and the rest. His hair is still damp, a frown on his face, and there are a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, bringing you back to the moment in the park. Your heartbeat speeds up as he meets your eyes, he gives you a small tired smile. He stops in front of you, a respectable distance away, you take another step towards him and he looks relieved when you do. Before he can say anything, who you assume to be Anthony steps up next to him and puts his arm around his shoulder. “This must be that cute neighbour” he says with a smirk, making Mat blush.

Mat introduces the two of you as you make your way towards where their cars are parked. You’d taken public transport to the arena and Mat was “obviously driving you home”. You say goodbye to everyone before getting into the car. On the way home you talk about the game and the past couple days. You tell him a couple people have shown interest in adopting Stella, and you can see in his eyes that he’s not as excited as he pretends to be.

As you’re walking up to the elevator your hand brushes against his accidentally, but he takes a hold of it, without saying a word. In the elevator you lean into his side and he puts his arm around your shoulder, without saying a word. It’s a comfortable silence, but it leaves your mind running. The feeling of his thumb rubbing back and forth on your shoulder making you warm. Wishing you’d just went for it in the park, wishing you knew how his lips felt against yours. You’ll kiss him tonight when he says goodnight, you think.

His arm stays around your shoulder, your arm around his waist, as you walk down the hallway and to your door. He turns to face you as you arrive, keeping the embrace you’re in. “Thanks for coming tonight” he murmurs, his hand moving down your arm, he goes to take a step away, but your arm on his waist urges him to stay. “Thanks for inviting me,” you say. The moment feels oh so familiar as he studies your face, his eyes finally landing on your lips as you lean in even closer. Your noses brush against each other as you close your eyes. Then, just as you're about to lean in the rest of the way, Amy opens the door.

She swears, and you break apart from each other as she apologizes, going back into your apartment. Again, the moment is ruined and Mat clears his throat awkwardly, your whole body is flush with warmth. Amy emerges again, her movements sneaky, “dogs are sleeping, see you at work” she says in a hushed voice, she looks at Mat and gives him an awkward smile. “Nice to meet you” she says, before walking fast over to the elevator, pressing the button several times before the doors open.

The comfortable silence the two of you had earlier is now filled with frustration, and when you hear an unidentified noise from your apartment you know there’s no saving the moment. You can’t help but groan, “it’s ok” Mat says, giving you a sympathetic smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?” he asks, “yeah” you say, hesitating as you open the door behind your back. Mat takes a few steps backwards towards his door. “Good night” you say in unison before slowly getting into your apartments.

Stella runs up to you as you lean against the door, leaning your head backwards hitting the door with a thud. You flinch slightly and swear under your breath at the impact, your hand going up to rub the back of your head before leaning down to Stella. Zoe is peacefully asleep in her bed as you enter your bedroom. You put Stella back in her crate, figuring Amy must not have closed it properly before she left.

As you go back out to the kitchen to get some water there’s a soft knock on your door. You furrow your brows, wondering who it could be, before going over and opening the door. Before you know it Mat is pushing you back into your apartment and against the wall next to the door, he stops for a moment as he’s leaning in before shaking his head, “fuck it” he mumbles. Then, his lips are finally on yours, his hand on your waist pulling you closer as you kiss him back.

 One of your hands grip his arm, the other hand moves to his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. His lips soft, moving against yours as you get lost in each other. He breaks the kiss, letting you catch your breaths for a moment before he leans in and gives you another short, firm kiss.

His forehead rests against yours and you feel his lips break into a smile before you open your eyes, leaning back a little to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he grins, his voice hushed. You bite your lip as you look up at him, breathing out a laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow” he repeats his words from earlier and you nod eagerly, leaning up to give him another brief kiss, not able to help yourself. He chases your lips as you lean back again, he breathes out a laugh before forcing himself away from you, grinning as he walks back to his apartment.

---

He greets you with a kiss and a blush the next day when he meets you at a cafe after his morning skate. It feels a lot like a first date to you, but you’re not sure what he wants or what this means to him. “Is this our first date?” you burst out and he looks surprised for a second as he looks up from the menu. “I’d say we’re way past our first date, no?” he smirks making your cheeks flush with color. 

“Yeah?” you manage to let out and he reaches his hand over the table finding yours. “All those walks in the park- do you really think I’d put up with Stella if it weren’t for you?” he jokes making you roll your eyes. “I’m trying to be serious here” you laugh. “Well, I seriously really like you” he smiles, his eyes genuine making your cheeks even redder. “I really like you too” you shyly admit.

On your way back to the apartment after lunch, he holds your hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your skin. He’ll be going away for another few days tomorrow, so you make plans to have dinner together when he comes back. You tell him you’re meeting a potential couple to adopt Stella, and he goes a bit quiet.

When he’s been gone three days you’ve met Stella’s potential new parents, and made your decision. You call him right after you’ve dropped her off at her new home, and he’s sweet about it. You wonder if you hear some sadness in his voice, but you don’t ask him about it. 

He keeps the focus on making you feel better. When he comes home he gives you a long crushing hug, and when you’re in the kitchen getting you something to drink you overhear him talking to Zoe. “I miss the little bother, too” he whispers as she cuddles closer to him on your couch.

Zoe

A few weeks later you’re in the park with Mat and Zoe. You’d been there for a few hours already, Zoe was taking a little break, lying peacefully next to you and Mat. You’re seated between his legs and resting your head on his chest, the sound of birds chirping and people having fun filling the space. 

You’d teased him about wearing shorts when you left, but now, as you’re running your hand mindlessly up and down his thighs, you’re grateful for his choice. Eyes closed, basking in the sun, you can't help but hum in content as he kisses your shoulder. You automatically lean your head to the side as he kisses up your neck.

“Do you think it’s going to rain later?” he murmurs, and you hum in a questioning tone, “Wouldn’t mind a redo on our first almost kiss” he speaks against your neck, leaving another kiss there as you laugh. You lean forward a little to look back at him and he’s got a content smile on his face. He leans in and kisses your lips, not able to help himself. You smile into the kiss, “If I remember correctly, we were under that tree over there, not on the picnic blanket” you tease. He raises his eyebrows before getting up, offering his hand to you.

Zoe picks her head up as Mat drags you up, leading you over to the tree. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you close to him. You hum as you move your hand to brush away hair from his forehead that isn’t even there before moving to his neck. 

Mat leans in, brushing your noses together stopping just before your lips touch, your eyes closing as you stay like that for a moment. Then you thread your fingers through his hair at his neck pulling him the rest of the way. The world melts away as your lips touch, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re left breathless as you pull away, smiles plastered on your faces. He gives you another short kiss before leading you back to the blanket.

You sit just like you were previously, your head resting on his chest, hands on his thighs. You sit in silence watching Zoe play around with a little chihuahua. “There’s a new dog at the shelter that needs a foster home” you tell him with a smirk. “Please don’t say it’s a chihuahua” he groans, you laugh barely able to finish your sentence “No, don’t worry, it’s a Pomeranian” you say, making Mat groan even louder.

[m3kuroshirt]

GrimmIchi Prompt: Sun and Moon kingdoms

Words: 1176

Warnings: amputation/dismemberment

prompt suggested by @kuroosden and @backwardshirt

Fic under the cut

Grimmjow paced back and forth, as he had been for the past hour. The grass beneath his feet was flattened into an oval pattern. The sky above was an inky blue, mixed with the colours that bled across the barrier from the Kingdom of Light. Pinks and oranges and purples swirled in the sky above him, until they were swallowed by the darkness of the Kingdom of Night. In front of him, the air shimmered and shifted, as if a thin veil hung between the two kingdoms. It wasn’t so. The shimmer was a barrier, one that not even the foliage dare crossed, that divided the kingdoms; cursed to forever be apart because of one man’s foolishness…or something like that. Grimmjow twisted his mouth as he paced. He really couldn’t remember why the barrier was there, hadn’t thought it was that important of a lesson growing up. He could ask Ichigo. Maybe. If the idiot would even show up.

Grimmjow ran a frustrated hand through his blue hair. It had been a bad day all around. He’d had to listen to complaint after complaint, and yeah, being King meant he was supposed to solve issues and guide his people, but he’d much rather…not. Then, whatever the hell his chef had concocted disagreed so thoroughly with his stomach he thought he was dying. He was pretty sure Ulquiorra had tried to poison him…and his apothecary hadn’t been much better. Szayel had given him a potion that made him heave up half his stomach. Grimmjow paused and narrowed his eyes. Were both of them trying to kill him?

He shook his head and resumed pacing. Harribel would have been on to them if they were. And there was another thing. Harribel. Or, as Grimmjow liked to call her, Horrible. ‘Sit up straight, Your Highness’, ‘Try not to look bored’, ‘these are your people, you need to show them you care’, ‘have some dignity’. Her nagging voice echoed in his head and he growled and shook it vigorously to clear it.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts and Grimmjow’s head snapped around to see Ichigo come into view, on the other side of the barrier. The Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Light, Ichigo painted quite the handsome picture with his startling orange hair, warm brown eyes, tall and strong frame, and brilliant smile. Grimmjow couldn’t help but feel the tension ease out of his shoulders, and he even let a smile steal onto his face.

“Hi,” Ichigo greeted him, his voice gentle and warm and content. Grimmjow stepped closer to the barrier, careful not to touch it. They were right in front of each other now. Grimmjow couldn’t think of what to say, so he did what he always did around Ichigo, and let his mouth just say whatever happened to flow out of it.

“I worried you weren’t coming,” he mumbled. A look of endearment flashed in Ichigo’s eyes.

“Ah, sorry about that. My father kept me later than usual after dinner,” he replied, his voice still soft. Grimmjow could curl up in that voice and sleep surrounded by its lovely warm tones. He tilted his head a little, as if trying to lean it on Grimmjow’s shoulder, but neither of them dared to actually touch. “I missed you.”

Grimmjow’s smile widened at that. “It’s been a day,” he reminded the prince. Ichigo huffed.

“Mmm, so? Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me also,” he retorted, but he smiled as he spoke and the words lost any bite they may have had.

Grimmjow didn’t answer, just continued looking at Ichigo – his Ichigo, if only the gods would let them hold one another. He held up a hand, just in front of the barrier, and Ichigo mirrored him. If only they could touch one another.

There came a rustle from the trees behind Ichigo and Grimmjow’s smile faded a bit. “Were you followed?” he asked. That could be bad. People were forbidden from going to the barrier, for their own safety. It wouldn’t look good at all if they found two members of royalty meeting there to chat. And aside from that, there were any number of other dangers: hunters mistaking them for wildlife, assassins, people who might try to kidnap and extort them. Grimmjow was confident he could take anyone on, thanks to the rough training he endured as the Kingdom of Night’s Prince and now King. But Ichigo’s kingdom didn’t rely on such brutal methods of training. Ichigo’s first instinct wasn’t to protect himself. It was trust. That was part of what had drawn Grimmjow to him, long ago when they first met.

Ichigo blinked and turned to look over his shoulder. “I…I don’t think so…”

The bushes rustled again and a large man with flaming red hair and dark tattoos encircling his upper body and arms in enticing lines stepped out of it. “Prince Ichigo,” he greeted, his eyes flicking to Grimmjow and narrowing. Behind the man was a much shorter, but no less fierce-looking, woman with dark hair cut short. They both wore the crest of the soldiers of the Kingdom of Light.

Clearly startled, Ichigo moved to back up. And that wouldn’t have been a problem, except the barrier was right there. And Grimmjow couldn’t watch that. He didn’t speak, didn’t even think, but reached out and shoved. He felt fine cloth beneath his hand, a warm, solid shoulder, but only for a moment.

Searing pain shot up Grimmjow’s arm as Ichigo stumbled forward. He screamed and pulled back his arm…or what was left of it. The rest lay in a pile of grey ashes on the other side of the barrier. With a pained growl he gripped at the remains of his arm. It wasn’t even bleeding, the end cauterized by whatever the barrier was made of.

The instant Ichigo hit the ground he turned around. The two soldiers were upon him instantly, dragging him back even as he protested. “Grimmjow! GRIMM!” he shouted and thrashed against their arms, but they held him fast. Grimmjow couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe from the pain. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nose and he coughed and gagged, dropping to his knees, tears sliding down his face, though whether they were from the pain, the smell, or seeing Ichigo be dragged away, he couldn’t tell.

He closed his eyes, cradling his arm close to himself, still shouting and crying out in pain. The only other sound he heard were the answering cries of Ichigo, calling out to Grimmjow, begging him to be ok even as he was dragged away from the King. Grimmjow fell to his side, in too much pain to bother trying to stay upright.

He lay there, shouting until his voice was hoarse and his lungs burned. His eyes stung from the tears, but he couldn’t stop them. He was cold, he was tired, but all he could focus on was the burning pain where his left arm used to be, and the fear in Ichigo’s eyes as he was carried off.

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ship: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, romance, angst, fantasy

author’s note: why am i writing sm abt yeosang, this is supposed to be a seongjoongyn fic lmao; anygays, yeosang said polyamory rights

warnings: hongjoong suffers. a lot. but will make up for it later, i promise; insecurities; jealousy; blood only mentioned like once; possessiveness

word count: 1.5k (a bit shorter than usual cuz uni is a bitch and i have zero free time but wanted to update)

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter five  ☠️ chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter eight  ☠️ chapter nine ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ chapter thirteen ☠️ spotify playlist

You swam towards the surface together with your sister Soojin. She had finally talked you into meeting up with those pirates once again. You didn’t what to admit it to her, but you were pretty excited. You were curious to find out more about them. Even though they were humans. Or maybe because of that. 

Every braincell in your mermaid body was telling you to swim away from this situation and never look back. But your foolish heart was swimming further, deeper into danger.

“There’s the ship!” Soojin screamed eagerly, pointing in the distance.

“You’re right,” you responded flatly, somewhat awestruck by the way it looked at twilight. The pink sky was painting its sails like magic. As the yellow sun was setting into the sea, you could only think one thing: you had never seen such beauty before in your life. And it scared you that you were already so attached to this new world.

“Come on,” Soojin urged you, swimming way ahead of you.

Your tail had a mind of its own as you followed her, not even bothering to object. You were in too deep. Which was ironic, considering you were swimming across the sea surface, its true depths long forgotten.

“Yeosang!” Soojin sang the boy’s name and started knocking onto the wooden ship. “Come out, you punk! I travelled a long way just to see you.”

Soon enough, the blonde pirate you’d briefly noticed earlier showed up.

“Soojin!” he beamed happily and jumped into the water without thinking twice. “I missed you.”

“Me too, silly,” Soojin stroked his hair sweetly and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. You felt as if you were intruding by witnessing their blossoming relationship, so you looked away from them awkwardly.

“You keeping the ring I gave you safe?” Yeosang asked your sister.

“Of course. You trust me?”

Yeosang nodded.

“Even though I only just met you.”

Soojin smiled and buried her head into his chest. You were looking away but something made you curiously sneak a peak or two at them every once in a while. Yeosang’s attention was suddenly on you.

“Did you come to see Seonghwa?” he inquired.

“N-no,” you quickly responded. “I just came to make sure you delinquents wouldn’t hurt my Soojin or something.”

Yeosang scoffed loudly.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

You groaned in annoyance.

“You want me to call Seonghwa? I’m sure he’d be delighted to talk to you again.”

“If it’s not too much trouble…” you answered ambiguously.

“Be right back,” Yeosang promised and started climbing in an experienced manner back onto the ship.

“Hey, don’t leave me!” Soojin complained.

“Will return in the blink of an eye, love.”

“You better!” Soojin threatened vaguely. “Or else!”

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa’s POV

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I spoke honestly to Y/N.

“You and me both,” she replied coldly.

“You didn’t want to see me again?” I asked her in a sad voice.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Soojin dragged me here.”

“Purely against your will?” I suggested.

“Well…I suppose a small part of me was curious…”

“About?”

“You could have just thanked me and that’s it. End of story. You didn’t have to go out of your way to show me all these delicious fruits and spend all this time around me. So…why did you do it?”

“I suppose I was curious, too.”

“About?” Y/N repeated, mocking my voice.

I rolled my eyes.

“You’ll have to stick around to find out,” I responded cleverly, hoping she would fall for the trick and really choose to stay.

“Does it have to be that difficult?” she wanted to know.

“What’s difficult about it? You’re a mermaid and can swim whenever and wherever you want to. I’m a pirate and our ship can go anywhere at any time. It’s a perfect match, don’t you think?”

Y/N shook her head, apparently disagreeing with me.

“You know why I can’t,” she said, her voice strained with pain.

Like I needed a reminder of the woman I’d loved and lost. But maybe, destiny was giving me another choice. To make things right. If not…why had fate decided to send Y/N my way? Could it be a mere coincidence? I didn’t know but I wanted to fight for her.

“How about this…you don’t have to make any promises to stay. But if you’re ever bored, you can swim around the ship and say my name. I’ll answer to your call.”

“What’s with you?” the mermaid chuckled. “Seonghwa.”

“You remembered,” I whispered fondly, suddenly recalling our conversation on the boat.

“I might be an idiot, but I’m not stupid,” Y/N joked. “So…will your boyfriend scold you for hanging out with me?”

“How did you figure it out?” I asked.

“Oh, please. Last time he was reeking of jealousy.”

“You can smell that shit?”

Y/N laughed.

“What, you thought having a tail was the only perk about being a mermaid?”

“You’re extraordinary,” I panted, suppressing the urge to bring my face closer to hers. This was wrong.

“I so am,” she smirked confidently. “But seriously, we shouldn’t anger him. You said he was the captain, right? Doesn’t that give him…I don’t know, more power over you?”

I shrugged.

“No one holds power over me.”

“Not even your own heart?” Y/N teased and placed her hand on my chest. This was so wrong, I kept telling myself. Hongjoong could see us any minute if he decided to go out of his cabin.

“N-no,” I stammered unconvincingly, as she approached me like a snake, spreading her poison slowly into my blood.

“Liar,” Y/N whispered and I could feel my heart beating faster.

Then, she pulled away as quickly as she’d gotten closer.

“See, that’s why I don’t want anything to do with you humans. Even the slightest word or movement could make you so weak. It’s pathetic, really. Don’t you think?”

“It’s better than being cold. Or not having a heart.”

She was obviously struggling to keep up the charade of not feeling anything. I could see her swallowing on nothing but air as she was trying to figure out what to say or do next. Like it was a game of chess.

“Fish are cold. I’m part-fish, remember?”

“You’re also part-human, remember?” I shot back wittily. “Since you claim to dislike us so much, you might as well reconsider…aren’t you a bit like me?”

“I’m nothing like you,” Y/N spat out, denying her humanity. “The sooner you realize this, the better.”

“Yes, you are. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be terrified of getting hurt.”

“It’s called self-preservation, you idiot!”

“No. It’s called being human.”

She sighed exasperatedly.

“I’m tired of all this arguing. Let’s just stay here in silence. Please?”

I nodded, finding that silence felt somewhat comforting when I was in her presence. The sun had already set and the moon was shining brightly upon us. Despite the celestial body’s beauty, I could only focus on her. Her face seemed serene but the rest of her was tense. I hesitantly placed my hand on her back. She slightly jumped up in surprise but soon enough, relaxed under my touch. I simply looked at her calmly and expected her to do the same. Maybe this was wrong. But I couldn’t give her up.

☠️☠️☠️

Hongjoong’s POV

I followed him outside. Quietly. Making myself invisible. It’s what he would have wanted, no? For me not to witness this. Well, what I wanted was make him believe that I hadn’t. But I heard every word. Felt every touch as if it were a dagger in my back. Saw every hidden glance. Even in the dark. Smelt the sea as the wind blew on and on. Tasted the salt on my tongue and the blood as I was biting down on my cheeks to stop myself from screaming. Maybe she was right. I was reeking of jealousy. But I had every right, didn’t I? He had promised something. And even though he hadn’t exactly left, why did it feel like his heart already belonged to someone else? Why did I feel the betrayal shattering my bones like stones being thrown my way? Why was he looking at her like that? I kept repeating to myself that he hadn’t abandoned me, not really. But why did it feel like he had?

My painful thoughts were interrupted by a light touch on my arm. I swiftly turned around, grabbing the hand that had dared approach me. It was Yeosang. I released my hold on him.

“Hyung…don’t torture yourself,” he spoke softly.

“Leave me alone, Yeosang. I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“He would never leave you. You know that, right?”

“What does it look like to you, hm?” I questioned him angrily, barely managing to keep my voice down so that Seonghwa and Y/N wouldn’t find out I was eavesdropping.

“There are people who take more than one significant other, you know? That doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

I closed my eyes, because I was afraid he’d see I’d been crying.

“I can’t share him with anyone. It would kill me.”

“But, hyung, can’t you tell he would do anything for you?” Yeosang insisted. “If you told him to let her go, he would. But is that the kind of boyfriend you’d like to be? You could find a solution. One that makes you both happy.”

“Just drop it, Yeosang. I can’t even consider this right now.”

Yeosang nodded and left. I could tell this wasn’t the end of this conversation. It was only the beginning.

To be continued…

[nerdzzone]

Light After Dark: Chapter Three

Summary: Brooke Harris was trying her best to be grateful. As the world tackled the COVID-19 pandemic, she was healthy and safe and so was the rest of her family, but her dreams had very quickly been crushed by the economic fallout. Trapped on the quaint island of Jersey with nothing, but free time to wallow in her mistakes, Brooke’s mental health was taking a hit, but when she collides with a handsome stranger she starts to realize that the future might not be so bleak and there might still be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

A/N: This chapter is pretty dialogue heavy so I’m sorry if people find that annoying! I have ideas to make sure that’s not always the case, but obviously most social distance relationships of any kind involve a lot of just talking and not as much in person interacting

I nervously chewed my nails as I stared at the blank phone that was lying on the bed.  Surely he wouldn't even notice. He probably didn't even have his notifications turned on or his phone would be buzzing a thousand times a day. Even if he did notice that he had another like, he probably wouldn't even realize it was me.

I'd just managed to convince myself that I hadn't made an incredibly embarrassing blunder when my phone buzzed and the light flashed notifying me that I had a text. I tentatively picked it up and unlocked it, hoping it was just a coincidence, but my hopes were quickly dashed when I read it.

Henry: Are you a big rugby fan?

I groaned, knowing I was caught. For a minute I debated deleting my account completely and feigning ignorance, but I knew I had to be a mature adult, bite the bullet and own up.

Me: Not gonna lie, I was hoping you wouldn't notice 😳 I thought it might get lost in the thousands of notifications you must get everyday

Henry: Thousands? You're overestimating my celebrity! I don't post often enough to get many notifications on a day to day basis...especially not on pictures that are over a year old 😉

My cheeks were still hot, but I smiled at his teasing.

Me: Over a year? Try six months! I barely even had to scroll and I didn't mean to like it

He took a few moments to respond and I worried I'd come off as too rude, but just as I was about to apologize, his reply came through.

Henry: Hmm, if you didn't mean to like any of my posts then why were you even looking at my account?

Me: Perhaps you came up as a suggested account to follow which supposedly means that you were looking at my account first

It was clearly a lie, but I figured it was worth suggesting. Maybe he had stalked me first if he was as intrigued by me as I was by him. But my hopes were quickly dashed once again.

Henry: Perhaps that's the case, but it would be quite tricky for me to have found you when all I have to go on is your first name

Henry: Perhaps it's more likely that you were doing some googling and therefore the internet thought you'd like to know that I have Instagram

Clearly, he was more than just a pretty face so I decided to come clean before I dug a deeper hole.

Me: Alright, Detective Cavill. You win. I was shamelessly creeping and accidentally double tapped a photo

Henry: 😂😂😂

Henry: There's no shame in that! I'm touched that you even cared enough to creep me 😉 and now I can do some creeping of my own, BrooketheBaker

I smiled, pleased that he was actually interested in looking at my pictures.

Me: Oh god, I hope there's nothing too cringy on there...maybe give me a few minutes to wipe all evidence of me being anything less than beautiful and hilarious

Henry: From the brief time we spent together, I find it very hard to believe there is anything that would convince me otherwise

My face heated up again at his compliment and my cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. I felt like I was a teenager again, giggling and blushing at my phone as I texted a boy, but talking to Henry was fun and I hadn't enjoyed talking to a man this much in a long time.

Me: Well, enter at your own risk then, but the illusion will no doubt be shattered momentarily

Really, there was nothing on Instagram that I would be embarrassed for him to see. I didn't post that often, but I was very much my normal self on social media. I didn't put on an act for the few followers I had, I stayed true to myself. And sure, sometimes that was silly and goofy and not always flawless photos like some people post, but it was me. So, if he didn't like that then it was better for me to know now.

Henry: I'll have to do a deeper dive later, but for now all I can see is a very adorable and talented baker

A notification popped up that HenryCavill had followed me and like one of my photos as I read his text. I clicked through to see which one and saw one of me holding up a massive birthday cake I'd made for Molly's birthday back in February when she'd been allowed to host hoards of her friends. I followed him back before answering.

Me: Aw, shucks. You're too sweet. I still have a lot to learn, but that's half the fun

Henry: Well, my birthday is in a couple of weeks so feel free to send any experimental cakes my way

I made a mental note to check the exact day as an idea started to form. I owed him a thank you for helping me when my ankle was hurt anyway so a cake for his birthday would be a good gesture.

Me: Any allergies or flavour preferences?

Henry: I was only teasing

I was slightly disappointed that he hadn't been serious, but another text came through before I had time to worry.

Henry: But no allergies or preferences. I'll let the expert decide what's best!

I grinned at his compliment.

Me: I will see what I can do then, but I'm a bit rusty after all this time in lockdown so try not to set those expectations too high.

Henry: I'm sure your skills are still far better than mine

Me: I would hope so since I did try to make a career out of it 😉 

I heard quiet voices as Cassie and Molly left the bathroom so I awkwardly shifted off my bed, making sure to keep most of my weight on my good foot before limping to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I gave my face a quick wash as well before hobbling back to my room. My phone was flashing on my bed so I picked it up, smiling as I expected to see a text from Henry, but I was shocked to see not only a text, but also a missed call.

Henry: Sorry for being presumptuous. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer speaking over the phone to a long text conversation

My stomach filled with nervous butterflies as my finger hovered over the little phone icon. It was cute that he actually wanted to have a proper conversation, but it was a little intimidating as well. Texting was so much less pressure and gave me time to think over my responses to come off in the best way, but over the phone it was more authentic which was probably his point.

Not wanting to make Henry think that he'd upset me by calling, I took a deep breath and pressed the button.

"Hello, Brooke," He answered right away. "I'm glad you returned my call."

"Of course," I smiled. "Sorry I didn't answer, I was just brushing my teeth."

"Hm, an important thing for a baker, I would imagine. After tasting all those sweet creations."

I laughed as I awkwardly balanced the phone on my shoulder so I could get settled back on the bed without hurting my ankle.

"That's probably true," I agreed. "But as I said, I haven't been making many sweet things to sample lately."

"I’m starting to think I might have to rescind my order for a birthday cake then," Henry teased. "I wouldn't want some sub par cake from an out of practice baker."

"Excuse me," I protested. "I never turn out sub par work! Besides, you said your birthday is in a few weeks so I have some time to practice before then."

"Oh good." I could hear the smile in his voice. "It's May Fifth to be exact, just in case you're wondering."

"Great, I'll write it on the calendar."

My words were dripping with sarcasm, but luckily Henry laughed. It was a deep and warming laugh, there was something comforting about it. I was almost disappointed when he stopped chuckling and spoke again.

"So, how did you get into baking?"

"Really it was just luck and natural talent," I admitted. "I'm not trying to sound big headed, but I used to watch a lot of cooking shows after school so I just decided to give it a go and happened to be quite good at it."

"Wow, that's impressive," Henry praised, making my cheeks blush once again. "I'll admit, I've tried my hand at making bread since this lockdown started, but it wasn't really all that good."

"Ooh, you jumped on the bread bandwagon?" I teased, knowing it was a big trend at the moment. "I'm surprised you managed to get yeast, I hear it's almost as hard to find as toilet paper at the moment."

"Luckily my mother was willing to share her supply," Henry chuckled. "But I think she regretted it when she tasted the final product."

"Don't beat yourself up too much, bread can be quite tricky," I assured him, smiling at the embarrassment in his voice. "You have to get the proofing right or it's a lost cause."

"See, the fact that I don't even know what proofing means is probably a bad sign."

I laughed out loud at that one, covering my mouth as I remembered that Cassie would probably be trying to get Molly to sleep and loud noises tended to be a distraction during that process.

"It's just a fancy term for letting it rise," I explained. "We like to make things sound more complicated than they are so that people don't realize that anyone can be a baker if they try hard enough."

"I very much doubt that's true," Henry disagreed. "There's an art to it. Maybe the technical side comes with practice, but knowing what flavours to use and how to make it look beautiful isn't something that anyone can do."

"That does come with practice too though. It's not like acting where you really need that natural gift."

"I think you need less natural gifts with acting than baking," Henry insisted. "Anyone can learn to act if they have the passion and enthusiasm."

"Hardly," I scoffed. "I can't even lie convincingly, there's no way I'd be able to properly portray an entirely different character."

"With a smile as distractingly beautiful as yours, I would imagine you probably don't need to be a particularly convincing liar."

I bit back a smile at his compliment, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the cheese.

"Wow, Mr. Cavill. Do they teach you that charm in acting school?"

"I never went to acting school," He admitted, the smirk in his voice clear even through the phone. "So the charm is all me I'm afraid."

"Hm, that makes it more dangerous then," I teased before turning the conversation onto his career. "So, were you busy working when everything shut down?"

"I was actually," Henry sighed. "I was gearing up to start filming the second season of the Witcher."

"Oh, I've heard of that!"

"Did you watch it?"

"No," I admitted earning another chuckle from Henry. "But I heard a lot of really good things. I'll have to check it out."

"It's worth it," He insisted. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm in it. The material is great and the other actors and actresses are amazing."

"Alright, you've convinced me," I sighed dramatically. "But if I really like it you have to promise to give me all the spoilers for season two."

Another chuckle filled my ears and my stomach fluttered at the sound.

"I can't do that I'm afraid. They swore me to secrecy before they gave me the scripts."

"Oh, so you do have the script then?"

"It's sitting right here next to me as we speak."

I smirked at his confirmation.

"Alright, then if I have any questions after I'm done, I can just sneak into your house and find out for myself."

"You're going to break into my house?!" Henry was trying to sound incredulous, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "I didn't think you were such a criminal!"

"I said sneak!" I pointed out with a laugh. "I'm not a criminal, but apparently you're easily disarmed by a nice smile and I might just have to use that to my advantage."

"Damn, I shouldn't have showed my weaknesses so early in the game," Henry said, regretfully. "But I'll have to warn you, with a massive dog and three kids under ten running around, it's quite hard to sneak anywhere around here."

"That's alright," I shrugged. "Your show might be shit anyway and it won't matter."

A laugh burst through the phone at my ribbing and I couldn't help, but join in. He had an infectious laugh. The deep, richness made it sound like one of those shoulder shaking, full body laughs that puts a smile on the face of everyone in the room. I didn't know any celebrities and I rather presumptuously always assumed that most of them would be quite stand-offish and pretentious, but Henry was delightful. He was easy to talk to and joke with. He seemed very down to earth.

"I appreciate your honesty," He told me once the laughter had subsided. "But I really hope you don't think it's shit. It's my favourite role that I've ever had. I loved the games before there was even a show in the works and the books are incredible. I basically get to make a job out of my favourite hobby now so it's quite dear to my heart."

"That's the dream really," I smiled, feeling a twinge of sadness in my heart as that's what I was also doing before my bakery had been forced to close. "It's like that old saying. If you do what you love, you won't work a day in your life. Or something like that, I might be paraphrasing."

"I know what you mean and it is very true," Henry agreed. "It's brutal work. Some days I'm up at three in the morning for make-up and we don't finish until late, but it's not as tiresome when you're fully invested and enjoying the work."

"I know the feeling. Baking is probably much less physically taxing than what you do, but the days are long and they start much earlier than most people prefer."

"With all that stirring and dough kneading I would think baking could be physically taxing at times."

I snorted a laugh at that comment.

"I've seen your muscles, Henry," I reminded him. "There is no way baking is as physically taxing as a job that requires you to look like that."

"The swords I have to wave around are surprisingly heavy," He admitted. "But you seem quite fit yourself."

"Yeah, so fit that my ankles snap at the briefest impact," I joked. "And my lungs forget how to function after about ten minutes on a treadmill."

"You have asthma. You can't hold that against yourself," Henry lightly scolded me. "But how is your ankle?"

"Much better," I smiled, flexing my foot to test out the pain levels. "It honestly feels almost healed. I still have a bit of a limp, but it's loads better."

"I'm glad to hear that. I wanted to check up on you, but I didn't want to be a bother."

"It wouldn't have been a bother at all," I assured him. "Honestly, it's been really nice to speak to an adult that I'm not related to. I love my family, I do, but it's difficult some days being trapped in a house with them all."

"I understand completely," Henry said with a chuckle. "I'm in the same boat. It's lovely having the chance to be here for an extended period of time with no other obligations weighing on my mind, but it's had it's challenges as well."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," I agreed as a piercing scream came through the phone. "Sounds like perhaps some of those challenges might be happening right now..."

"It does, but I'm in my room so it shouldn't be a pro-" Before Henry could finish his sentence there was the slam of a door as the wailing of a small child became much more clear. I heard Henry mumble something to the culprit before he turned his attention back to me. "I'm sorry. My niece is rather upset about something that is apparently of the utmost importance so I'm going to have to go."

I laughed, having been in that situation many times myself.

"That's okay, I understand. Thanks for calling though, it really has been nice."

"It has," Henry agreed as the voice in the background whined for her 'uncle Henry'. "Would it be okay if I called you again soon?"

My cheeks felt like they were about to split from how wide I was smiling at that suggestion.

"I would really like that."

"Perfect, I'll speak to you soon then."

"Yeah, speak to you soon. Good luck with your niece."

Henry sighed and thanked me before saying a quick goodbye and hanging up.

I felt giddy. He was so easy to talk to and so refreshing. He made me feel like the little black cloud that had been following me around for the last few months might finally be starting to dissipate. It was one conversation and I was levelheaded enough not to get ahead of myself, but he was starting to remind me that things might not always be as bleak as they seem.

[headoverhiddles]

Like A Heretic - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Fluff]

Synopsis: You know Manson from one (1) party, yet he feels the need to drunk text you his obscene propositions at 2 am on a Wednesday? 

Notes: What?? I wrote a fluff fic?? Yea, it’s been known to happen. Shhh. Pale Emperor era. Also, this one is gender neutral, reader can be any gender! 

You collapse into the plush of your down comforter, feeling the fluffy feathers sink beneath you. Smiling to yourself, you clear the day away in your brain, bulldozing over every worry, publicity problem, or stressed manager that could be dealt with the next day. For now, you’re in your bed, and nothing can come between you and a peaceful night’s sleep. 

You cuddle into your pillow. The feeling you’ve got right now is comparable to a the perfect orgasm-- you never want to leave this bed. Your mind starts to drift, and you picture yourself on a beach somewhere, where no one can reach you. No one... no one... except that bee buzzing in your ear.

Groggily, you open your eyes. That’s not a bee. It’s your phone. 

Dammit, why didn’t you put it on silent? You go to turn it off properly, but the text on your screen makes you hesitate. You blink a few times, squinting through the dark at your phone. Were you reading that right?!

Manson: Hey (y/n) psssst. I’ve got a secret can I tell you the secret 

“What the fuck?” you mumble out loud, and sigh, turning on your bedside lamp. Manson? What... oh. Oh, yeah. About two months ago, you had attended a music awards event in New York, and had met a few new people. One of them had been Marilyn Manson. He had been a lot more down to earth than you had imagined he would be, and the two of you hit it off pretty well. 

It struck you as interesting as well, but he had followed you around that night like a lost puppy. He always wanted to be around you, and it had been him who had suggested you exchange numbers, maybe hang out, go see a movie or something. You had excitedly given him your number, but didn’t think much would come of it. He probably got lots of people’s numbers, then forgot about them the next week. 

So why was he texting you at... 2:13 in the morning?! You stare at the same text again. 

Manson: Hey (y/n) psssst. I’ve got a secret can I tell you the secret

You bite your lip, and type out a quick text back.

(y/n): Shoot.

His reply is almost immediate. 

Manson: I wanted to say when I saw you and we hung out at radio city last month you were cute really sexy n beautiful ad I miss you :( :(

You blush a little bit, but type back a cautious text. 

(y/n): You feeling alright? 

Before you can hit send though, another text from him comes in.

Manson: If you think I am drunk and handsome you are correct, i’m both

You giggle a little, and sit up fully. Manson’s drunk texting you, telling you you’re cute? This couldn’t get any crazier if you made it up. 

Manson: Do you know what sexting is? 

You raise your eyebrows. 

(y/n): I’m familiar with it, yes. 

You bite your lip. Should you add a winky face? Before you can, he writes back. 

Manson: what if i told you I wanted to lick your body ad probably do butt stuff with you too? 

You feel yourself heat up even more, and you don’t know whether to laugh or get aroused. 

(y/n): You fucking with me, Manson?

Manson: I would like to fuck you, yes. 

(y/n): So... tell me more, then. What else would you do to me?

Manson: Id cum on your chest

Manson: oops was that too far?

(y/n): No... go on.  

Manson: maybe on your face then if you want that, I wanna be respectful 

Manson: I’d also punish your sex hole. i’m really good at that

(y/n): You sound like a porn bot lol 

Manson: dirty old man in your area looking for hot singles <3 that looks like a pointy dick

You giggle, and are about to sign off so you can sleep for real, but he texts again with something that makes you pause. 

Manson: Wanna cum over? 

You stare at the text, waiting to see if he’ll write again. You wait, and wait. Nothing else is coming in. You type out a few possible responses. Then you finally hit send on your last one, biting your lip. 

(y/n): What’s your address?  

Shit. Shit shit! What are you doing? Looking back at your bed though, you can’t deny you feel a thrill. This is the shit you moved here to LA to do. 

---

Pulling up to Manson’s address, the place is just like him-- not what you were expecting. It’s a dark apartment above a liquor store, with black out curtains covering the window. You walk over to the stairs, and catch the door when someone walks out. Heading inside, you look down at your phone, and find his number. Apartment 15. 

You knock softly, and wait. When he doesn’t come to the door, you shoot him off another text. 

(y/n): I’m at your door, don’t leave me hanging or I’ll leave you with a hard on

He doesn’t respond, and you hear a moan inside. You frown, and try the door handle-- it’s open. You walk in, forgetting momentarily where you are, and see that the place is a relative mess. Piles high of books, records and movies are stacked along the walls, and there’s like, one dying plant by the darkened window. It’s laughable to assume the poor thing gets any sun, which is also a statement that could be applied to the rock star you’d come to sleep with. 

A bunch of album artwork for his new record, the Pale Emperor, is laid out on his table as well. You take a quick glance at it, before dropping your jacket. 

“Hey,” you call out, “I’m taking my top off! You’re gonna miss it if you don’t come find me!” You hear the moan again, and walk down the hallway. “Oh, fuck.” 

“’M alright...” He’s on the floor, in a puddle, four small cats surrounding him. One rusty colored one is lapping from the puddle. Was this a Jimmi Hendrix situation???

“Please don’t tell me that’s piss,” you mutter, “Cause I am not cleaning that up.”  

One of his four cats meows loudly. Manson just laughs. “It’s vodka. I slipped and broke the bottle.” 

“That I can clean up,” you nod, but first, you help him to his feet. He wobbles a little, and falls into you. Pinned against the wall, his lips are inches from yours... until his head thumps beside yours, lips pressed into your neck. He’s so fucking gone. You look around, and spot the washroom down the hall the other way. You help him slowly, and he keeps talking the whole way.   

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, “My brain camera remembered you were hot but I didn’t remember you being this hot... mmhm...”

“You still down to fuck me?” you tease, helping him sit on the edge of his bathtub. His eyes widen a bit as he licks his lips and points a swaying finger. 

“Baby I was born ready to fuck. I came out of the womb with an erection.”

You cringe. “That’s... a very disturbing mental image.” 

“You know what else is disturbing? My DICK.” He frowns a little, nose scrunching up. “But not for... it’s not disturbing, it’s just disturbing how big it is... or...”

“Stop, you’re turning me on,” you smirk sarcastically, and get a towel, dabbing his face down with cool water. “How does that feel?”

“Oh baby, you feel so good, fuck,” he moans, and you blink. God damn, he really is wasted. 

“Good to hear.” You plant a kiss on his cheek as you sponge down his arms, and he purrs like a big happy cat, nuzzling into your chest. 

“Do that again?” You smile, and lean in, kissing him again, this time closer to his mouth. Then you kiss him again, and again, each one earning more praise from the god of fuck before you. “Mm yeah-- oh yeah-- yeah yeah, right there-- yeah yeah right there...” He grins, eyes closing. “Mmm, delightful.” He blinks up at you, swiping a hand across his smudged eyeliner. “Will you... be my friend?” 

“Sure. Friends to lovers is always a fun way to go.” He seems genuinely happy with this. “You know, you’re sexy too,” you say, helping him take his shirt off. You glance down his chest and stomach at his tattoos, trying to focus on the project at hand instead of actually picturing riding him right now. “I thought so the night I met you at Radio City, and I think so now.” 

“Really?” he hums, reaching up in his stupor to put a hand against his chin. He suddenly seems bashful, and realizing how vulnerable he’s made himself, hides half of his face. “Even without my makeup?” 

“Definitely. I happen to think you’re beautiful.” He purses his lips.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! In fact, if you weren’t absolutely shit hammered right now, I’d probably want you balls deep.”    

He groans. “Fuck it if I’m drunk, that’s when I’m in my strongest form!” He slips a little, steadying himself on the toilet as he stands. 

“I would disagree with that, but...”

“Besides, with all those compliments, you’re... you’re making my dick hard, see? And now it’s... ahh, it’s gonna be mad at me if I don’t... you know, fuck you, so...”

“Shh, for now try to walk straight.” 

“Where are my asshole cats?”  

“They were all watching you describe your dick to me,” you say, and he wags a finger their way. 

“Dooon’t listen to daddy, my loves. Nonono. Bad. This is grown up human people talk!”

You giggle. “You must like cats.”

“I am a cat person, I love cats. That’s why I don’t give it doggy style, cause I’m a cat man. The crazy cat man. That sounds like a serial killer...”

You giggle, and guide him back down the hall. “Where’s the bedroom?” He lifts his chin to gesture to it. 

“Last door on the right.” You help him into bed, and he tosses a pillow at a tall vase in the corner, sending it shattering. “Goddamn ghosts in my house, watching me sleep,” he slurs, and points wildly to his closet. “The sex toys are in there, if you wanna get yourself started...”

You smile, politely neglecting the sex closet of the rock star you’d been booty called by. Masturbating in said rock star’s home while he’s passed out shitfaced doesn’t look good for anyone involved. 

“Goodnight Manson,” you sing song, and shut his door. Pressing your back against it, you exhale. What just happened? 

You carefully walk over to the spilled vodka, and check the shards of glass. Thankfully no blood anywhere-- that would have been even worse to clean up. You grab a rag from the kitchen, and start mopping up the floor. One of his cats walks over from the bathroom, and starts to rub against your ankle.

“Well, hi. What’s your name, love?” You check the tag. “William. Very handsome name. Handsome just like your dad.” You sigh, as William follows you around the apartment. You feel like you shouldn’t be here anymore. It was a mistake-- he was obviously too drunk to do anything to or with you tonight. You should just leave. Yeah. Go back home, forget this ever happened and... maybe check in with him tomorrow morning, see how bad his hangover is. If he responds. 

Just as you’re about to leave though, you hear his slurred voice call from the bedroom. “(y/n)--!” 

You hesitate, then walk back in, shutting the door. You walk over to his room, and open the door. “Yeah?”

“...Get into bed with me? Please? Wanna hold someone...” 

You look behind you, and then to him again, where he’s laying, tangled in his limbs, in the large bed. You nod, and close the door to a crack, coming in. You unzip your hoodie, and before you can come to your senses, you get into one side of his king sized bed. You hear him breathing softly, and smile a little at the sudden intimacy of it all, turning over in fetal position. Not how you expected this night to turn out, but it might be even better. 

Just as you’re falling asleep in the bed of the Antichrist, you feel arms wrap around you from behind, and feel his head in the nape of your neck. Beginnings of rare stubble scratch your skin pleasantly. 

“This an okay alternative to butt stuff?” he mumbles, and you reach up to hold his wrists against you. 

“It’s perfect.” 

[johnmarstoned]

John smut with a reader he got pregnant.

Sorry I’m being so slow! Set a little before the Blackwater ferry job, (Abigail and Jack don’t exist in this fic). 

NSFW content ahead. 🔥💕

I hear the hooves of his horse coming up the track to my cabin and I recognise the sound immediately. His horse is a bit too big and heavy for him, it thuds. I go to the door to greet him, and can’t keep the smile off my face when I watch him dismount and hitch up. John is so handsome, even with the too-long hair and the patched up clothes in need of a good wash. 

“There she is.” He says, sauntering up the garden path, and wasting no time leaning down to kiss me firmly, putting a gloved hand on my back to pull me tight. “Shit - sorry - did I…?”

He looks down between us at my belly - I’m only just starting to show, but he puts his hand on the slight bump anyway, a surprisingly sweet look of marvel coming across his face. 

“Did I squash him?”

“Stop saying him.” I admonish with a smile. “You don’t know.” Taking off a leather glove first, he rubs a circle on my stomach. 

“Christ almighty, still can’t believe that’s my baby in there.” He says, with a shake of his head. “Hope it don’t inherit my brains.” 

“Hush.” I say, leading him into the cabin. “You’ve got plenty of brains.” 

“I know about 20 people would disagree with you on that.” He says; I chuckle and shake my head, taking his leather jacket from him to hang up. 

“How have you been?” I ask, knowing quite well what a loaded question it is. I know exactly what he does for a living, and frequently worry about where he is or what he’s doing. 

With a sigh, he collapses onto my couch, long legs outstretched in front him. 

“Workin’.” He says, looking up at me. John looks tired, because I don’t get the impression he gets to sit down much. “C’mere, I missed you, sweetheart.” 

John holds out his hand to me to come over, and when he takes my hand, he pulls me over to sit on his lap, making me giggle at how heavy I land. His hand rests on my thigh and he kisses me again. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks, and his begins to pepper kisses down my jaw and the side of my neck. 

“Mmm, very much.” I shudder at the feeling of his stubble on my skin; he smells good, masculine, if a little bit sweaty, and I find myself moving from a seated position to straddling his lap instead. I push my fingers into his long hair and put my tongue against his. 

“Wanted to ask ya somethin’.” He says, hands moving from my face to my ass to hold me tight against him and pull me right over where he’s getting hard in his denim. 

“Is it important?” I ask, reaching up to begin to unbutton my blouse. “Because my belly and my backside aren’t the only things getting bigger…”

John lets out a shaky breath and watches my fingers; when my breasts are exposed, he groans aloud and grinds up against me unconsciously. 

“Shit, you weren’t lyin’.” He reaches up and kneads my breasts in his hands, runs his thumbs over my nipples. They’re especially sensitive at the moment, and it makes me moan to feel him touch me like that. It really has been too long, I don’t think I’ve seen him but once since I told him I was with child.

We met by chance in the Blackwater saloon, I had been in town getting supplies and stopped for a drink, and he had been sitting a table with a pretty large group of other men, all a little rowdy and not very gentlemanly looking. 

The fact that they’d been so loud and looked so dangerous though, it had been kind of attractive, even when a loud Irishman had caught my attention and made some lewd joke I since forgot. 

John had come over to apologise for him, bought me a drink. I can’t deny, I had been taken with him straight away; his rough, raspy voice, the fact he’d stood about a head taller than me and walked in such a way that told me he wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. He rode home with me, and then, a week later, he came by, and then again. 

Once, I even went to camp and met his crew, and he’d asked me if I never wanted to see him again after I knew what he was. John had looked young and worried when he asked me that. 

I did want to see him again, though, perhaps too much, as I’d found myself sick and missing my monthly not too long after we’d met. John had been happy about it though, sworn that he wouldn’t run off on me, that we would figure it out. 

When he reaches under my skirt and finds I’m not wearing bloomers, he curses again, and tackles his belt and jeans with clumsy hands. 

“Still need to ask you somethin’…” He says, and I struggle to respond because he reaches between my legs to feel my pussy, letting out a choked noise when he finds me wet on his fingers and the heel of his hand. 

“Oh, John, can it not wait?” My head is fuzzy, too caught up in the feeling of him touching me and his body under my thighs. 

I think I love this man, I almost tell him that. 

“No, it can’t.” He says, but takes his cock out of his jeans anyway, hard and pink at the tip. “Neither can this though, come here, baby.” He pulls me forward so my entrance is poised over him, and I put my hands on his shoulders and lower myself down, whining at the fullness. 

“Lord.” I moan, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You’re a big boy.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He jokes and I breathe out a chuckle. His hands find my ass under the skirt and encourages me to raise and lower on him, making us both gasp. 

“Want you to come with me.” He says. “Back to camp.” 

“To visit?” I ask, confused. 

“No,” his hips grind up and he grunts in his throat, “for good, to join the gang.” 

I stop moving, looking at his face to see if he means it. 

“What?” 

“You heard me.” He says, a little smile on the corner of his mouth as he lifts and lowers me himself with his hands. It’s hard to think, I have to bite my lip to stifle my noises so I can hear him speak. His cock fills me too well, feels like it was made for me, and every time I grind down my clit is stimulated against him.

“You’re my woman, alright? Mama of my child. Gotta look after ya, keep ya close.” 

“What would I do?” I ask, the idea already running away with me.

“Anythin’ you want. I know you can shoot, hunt, I know you keep your stead here by yourself.” 

It sounds too sweet, too good. I think of how lonely I get here, in this cabin by myself, how excited John makes me feel, how excited meeting the gang had made me feel. It might be foolish, I know it’s dangerous, but I want it, I want what he’s offering me.

And I want to be with John, as much as I can be, if he wants me. 

“I love ya, sweetheart, I do.” I can’t help grinding back against him as he pushes his cock up into me, eyes slipping closed and head swimming with pleasure, at the feeling at at his words. “I want to see you every day and have you sleep in my tent.” 

“God.” I gasp, getting closer to the edge, his voice running through me. 

“Hate ridin’ away from you, wanna marry you and keep puttin’ babies in ya.” He grabs my breast again and encourages me to move quicker, his cheeks as flushed as I’m sure mine are. “Many as you want. You look so damn good like this.”

“Are you sure?” I moan, head falling back on my shoulders. 

“So sure. Don’t want you bein’ out here alone anymore.” He says, and reaches between my legs where we meet to work off my clit while I ride him. “Just say yes, say yes…” 

I absolutely can’t think of anything else I want to say, so I do as he asks.

“Yes, yes, yes.”  My hands grip his shirt tight when I come, eyes shutting tight as it rolls through my delightfully; I let out some kind of half scream from my throat, and somewhere through my own pleasure I hear him say my name and grip me tight. 

“Fuck.” He curses harshly, hand almost bruisingly firm on my ass as he follows me over the edge, filling me up with his come, a frown in his forehead and his eyes squeezing shut too. 

My twitching around him drags it out for a while, and we cling to each other until it’s over and we get our breath back. 

I can see the glisten on his chest through his open collar, and I put my hand over his heart to feel it thud. 

“Damn.” He says, shaking his head. “I am not waitin’ that long again.” 

I lift my hips so he slips out of me, and sit back down on his thighs. I consider his face for a moment, looking at me with slightly glazed eyes. 

“Did you mean all that?” I have to check that he wasn’t just talking dizzy because of what we were doing.

“Every last word, darlin’.” He puts a hand on my face and runs his thumb over my lower lip. “You mean it when you said yes?”

I lean in and kiss his lips, smiling. “Yes.” 

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 1. Prologue

While involuntarily attending a ball at the Unseelie Court the human Alex meets Lord Malachi. Charmed by the beautiful and alluring Fae, Alex only realises his true intentions when it’s already way too late...

Masterlist Next

Warnings for this part: mentions of torture, drugging (faerie food)

The moment the Unseelie Fae smiled at him across the room Alex knew he that was in deep, deep trouble. Of course he’d been in trouble before already, it was impossible to deny that with the lesser faerie that cornered him, but in truth it had started even before he’d come to the Unseelie Court. After how horrible his experiences with the Unseelie Lord Rían had been, he’d sworn himself to never seek out the fair folk ever again and to just stay out of the woods all together for good measure. Following his escape from the Court, he had tried his best to stay hidden, and for about ten years the faerie world seemed to have forgotten about him. But of course it hadn’t stayed this way.

About a week ago an old acquaintance of his had delivered a message from the Seelie Court which they served, offering him a favour in exchange of his services as a spy at the upcoming equinox festivities at one of the Unseelie Courts. Apparently, they had feared that any faerie spy of theirs would be detected immediately, and so they needed a human who already knew their way around and therefore wouldn’t attract attention. Of course Alex had declined, no favour they offered was big enough to make him consider ever setting a foot near such a place again, but eventually the thinly veiled threats against his family and friends had convinced him.

Despite how jarring it was to be surrounded by faeries again, at first everything seemed to be going well. He had snuck into the beautiful palace without any problems, and due to his purposeful walk all faeries simply assumed that he was nothing but a servant running an errand for his master and paid him no mind. He had successfully infiltrated the main ballroom, where he inconspicuously listened in on the conversations around, trying to find out where and when an attack on the Seelie Court was supposed to take place – in case such a plan even existed. Everything had been going so well, he had even managed not to think too much of the human pets some of the faeries held by their sides, but of course it couldn’t have been that easy.

No, the part where this awful experience had truly deteriorated was when Darerca recognised him. The lesser faerie had been one of Rían’s vassals and was quite intrigued to see her Lord’s escaped human sneaking around at this Court, promptly deciding to confront him - and so Alex had suddenly found himself cornered by one of the faces that still haunted his nightmares. He’d tried his best to bargain with her, but Darerca seemed quite set in her objective to punish him for his escape by torturing him to death. The faeries that had overheard their exchange curiously turned towards them, excited for the prospects of a promising entertainment. That was when the Unseelie Fae joined them.

“Excuse me,” he said, elegantly sliding up to Alex as the surrounding faeries moved out of his way. The man’s immaculate glamour clearly marked him as High Fae, not a single of the many faerie traits he surely possessed showed, making him look almost perfectly human.

“Lord Malachi,” Darerca said, standing up a little straighter.

“Darerca,” Malachi greeted, his cultured voice and easy smile sending shivers over Alex’s back. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Darerca replied a bit to quickly. “This human belongs to Lord Rían, so I wanted to have some fun with it, give everyone a show.”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” Alex protested. He immediately regretted his outbreak when the High Fae’s dark eyes turned on him, the intensity of their gaze almost palpable on Alex’s skin.

“Hmm, it seems to disagree,” Malachi remarked, and Alex bristled at being referred to as an ‘it’. “Besides, Rían has been gone for a decade now, so any claim of ownership he might have had doesn’t hold much weight if he isn’t here to defend it.”

Darerca looked like she wanted to object but didn’t dare to disagree with Malachi. All the faeries that had waited excitedly for Alex to get tortured had dispersed again, clearly afraid to get involved in the argument. Alex swallowed, this Lord Malachi must be a very, very powerful and high-ranking Fae to evoke such strong respect.

“Come with me, human,” Malachi said in a tone that brooked no resistance and turned to leave.

“No!” Darerca called and stepped forward to block Alex’s way.

Malachi turned back slowly. “Is there a problem, Darerca?” he asked and raised a perfect eyebrow.

“Of course not, Lord Malachi,” Darerca pressed out, grinding her teeth in anger, but didn’t move again when Alex walked around her to follow the High Fae.

Throwing a nervous look back at Darerca Alex quickly followed Malachi through the ballroom, faeries moving out of the Fae Lord’s way respectfully, and on along the entwined corridors of the palace. Alex’s stomach churned with nervosity, although Malachi had saved his life he knew better than to assume that his intentions were good. For all he knew, the Fae Lord simply wanted to torture him in private instead of allowing Darerca to do it in public, but he couldn’t stop the quiet hope that he merely wanted to cause mischief and would let him go just to annoy the other faeries.

After walking in silence for a while they came to a halt in front of an ornate gate, which Malachi unlocked with a golden key.

“After you,” he said politely and held the door for Alex.  

Wary, but unwilling to antagonise the Fae, Alex entered a spacious sitting room. There were comfortable looking couches and armchairs strewn around with a low table holing all sorts of delicacies in their middle. As all rooms in the palace, this one also seemed strangely alive, the wood of the walls and furniture looked organically grown, and Alex could even see greened twigs sprouting in a corner.

“Please, take a seat,” Malachi said, settling himself in a high-backed armchair. Alex gingerly sat down on the couch across him, muscles wound tight and ready to jump up any time.

“You must be horribly hungry,” Malachi stated. “Please, eat.”

He gestured towards the richly laid meal between them, flashing the frightened human a charming smile, and Alex suddenly was overwhelmed with how breathtakingly beautiful the Fae was. He had jet-black hair and equally dark eyebrows, his unnaturally pale skin almost gleamed in contrast, and he wore some of the most elegant and noble clothes Alex had ever seen. His face was smooth and ethereally handsome, looking to be about Alex’s age, but Alex knew with certainty that in truth it was closer to 300 than to 30. Of course his insane beauty was probably only due to his strong glamour, hidden underneath it there would be inhuman Fae traits of unknown horrors.

“Come on, eat,” Malachi repeated, his pose open and suggesting hospitality.

Alex hesitated, he had experienced the bewitching effect faerie food had on humans first-hand already and knew that he shouldn’t take the risk of it dulling his senses. But he couldn’t deny that he was quite hungry, and the food just looked so good. Besides, refusing Malachi’s hospitality would be extremely impolite and a clear affront, especially after he’d saved his life.

Slowly Alex reached out and picked up a small bread roll from a basket, carefully taking a tiny bite. He closed his eyes as the explosion of flavour hit his tongue, the bread roll was perfectly crisp and fluffy, the warm grounding taste of the dough complemented perfectly by the mixture of spices. He must have forgotten how irresistible faerie food was, everything tasted so much more intense and delicious, from the bread and meats to the fruits and cheese, even the water was cooler and more refreshing than it had any right to be. At first he tried to eat only as little as possible, but soon found himself unable stop and didn’t even pay much attention to the Fae watching him with a slight smile.

“What is your name?” Malachi asked, breaking the spell of the food for a moment.

“A- Kieran,” Alex said, his mind thankfully still quick enough to remember to give his fake name. He had felt so smart and invincible when he’d come to the fair folk a decade ago, just because he’d thought of a fake name to use, but had quickly learned that even without the absolute control real names gave them, faeries were incredibly dangerous.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kieran.” The Fae inclined his head. “You may call me Malachi, for now.”

Alex smiled back, the effect of the faerie food was finally sinking in, calming him and making everything seem even more intense and pretty. His initial fear and anxiety had all but passed, he felt warm and safe, only a small voice nagging at the back of his mind told him to resist and stay alert, but why would he listen to it? There was nothing to worry about, Malachi had saved him and was so nice to him, and he was so beautiful…

“You’re so beautiful,” Alex mumbled, looking away embarrassed when he realised what he’d said.

Malachi’s smile widened. “Why, thank you. You are an extraordinarily adorable human as well.”

Alex blushed shyly, only vaguely registering that maybe it wasn’t a good thing to have so much attention from a powerful Fae.

“Is that why you saved me?”

Malachi chuckled. “Partially, yes.”

“What will happen now?” Alex asked. “Will you just let me leave or bring me back to the human world? Or do you want to make a deal?”

“You want to leave already?” Malachi acted surprised. “Why that? Have I not been an accommodating host? Wouldn’t I deserve some more of your company?”

Alex licked his lips, nervosity starting to bubble up under the faerie food induced calmness. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Malachi, but I really should go.”

Malachi clicked his tongue and stood up. “The way outside is such a labyrinth, a little human like you could get lost easily.” He slowly walked around the table towards Alex. “And I would be quite sad if you left so soon. After all, I haven’t had a sweet human pet in such a long time.” With that he leaned over Alex and brushed a thumb over his cheek, still smiling.

Alex froze, the Fae’s touch felt almost electrifying, and he gradually began to realise the scale of the mess he was in.

“No, no, I have to – I want to go,” Alex stuttered.

Malachi gently placed his index finger upon Alex’s lips and said, “You can't always get what you want, little human.”

Alex was locked into place, unable to move, and he knew that he’d be panicking right now if it wasn’t for the faerie food he’d made the mistake to eat.

“Don’t worry, Kieran,” Malachi said. “I will take good care of you.”

The Fae’s unwavering smile was the last thing Alex saw before everything went dark.

[fanforthefics]

Tyson /Gabe frat or vampire au?

I couldn’t get the frat in but I want to be clear that despite being a vampire AU, I want you to imagine Tyson would have been (and probably has been) in a frat had one been available. 

cw: mentions of chronic illness

Tyson is about 100 years old when he meets Gabe. 

It’s not like, ancient. Not really old, not like some people he could name. (Cough EJ cough). Tyson is young at heart, is what he means. He can still hang. He’s not one of those vampires who goes and hides in a manor with the bats and shit. Tyson can respect that as an aesthetic, but he’d make a mess of it. He could not keep that kind of straight face. 

And anyway, he doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want to hide himself away--just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that he can’t have a life. 

Which is, maybe, how he ends up huddled in the corner of a cabana, glaring out at the sun that’s trapped him there. 

Which is how he meets Gabe. Gabe, who smells like a human but doesn’t smell at all like fear, who throws a blanket over Tyson and hurries him back inside, who rolls his eyes at Tyson when he flashes his fangs at him and tells him he’d be a lot scarier in something other than a Hawaiian shirt. Which is bullshit, and Tyson tells him that, because Hawaiian shirts are the bomb. Gabe tells him that no one is saying the bomb anymore, which Tyson argues isn’t true because he’s seeing it, and anyway, it ends with Gabe throwing his arms up and walking off in a huff and Tyson yelling so he can get the final word in because he can’t go outside. 

Tyson writes it up to a weird day--he’s had a lot of those, over almost a century--but then, even weirder, Gabe comes back. 

And it’s not like, a subtle coming back. Gabe knocks on his door that evening, comes in before Tyson even has a chance to welcome him in (Tyson does anyway, talking loudly to the air outside the door how just because vampires can’t come in without asking doesn’t mean humans have a license to just barge in, willy nilly; Gabe ignores him).  

“I noticed you didn’t have any blood stocked,” Gabe informs him, already rummaging in his fridge; Tyson gapes a little as Gabe shoves aside all of Tyson’s fresh food--he can manage a farmer’s market, with some fancy umbrella work--to put in bags that look like they’ve come from a butcher. “What were you going to do if you got hungry?” 

That sets off another argument, and it ends in Tyson storming out this time, before he remembers it’s his house and he turns around to kick Gabe out instead. 

Thus begins the tale of Tyson, worst vampire ever, according to Gabe, and Gabe, who has decided he’s going to fix him.  Gabe whirls into Tyson’s life and just doesn’t leave, and Tyson can sort of admit that there are some perks--having blood around is good, he guesses, and having someone who can pick him up if he stays out too late (or make sure he doesn’t stay out too late) is probably the sort of thing that Nate would advise him to do, if he wasn’t fucking around somewhere on the plains and had been for the last decade. 

And, like. Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world, to have someone stick around. Tyson’s not lonely, because he hangs out with people all the time, but none fo them know--none of them are there, really. None of them stay.  And all his vampire friends are scattered around the globe, and it’s just not the same as having a ridiculously attractive human bullying him around his house and laughing at his jokes. 

One day, they have a conversation--Gabe’s a little snappy, because maybe Tyson was flirting with the wrong person and maybe their boyfriend had some silver on him and maybe he also decided getting Tyson into sunlight was a good idea, which Tyson had strongly disagreed with. Anyway, he was fine, but Gabe was all worked up, and when he got worked up he got mother henny and sort of angry. 

“Why do you even take these risks?” Gabe demands, as he shoves some blood into Tyson’s hands in his favorite mug. “You’re immortal, you won’t ever die if you didn’t do stupid shit.” 

Tyson’s still a little drunk, and also he’s never been a good lier, so, “What’s the point of an immortal life if you don’t live it?” he asks, too honest, and then maybe Gabe says something or maybe he doesn’t, maybe Tyson’s just a mopey drunk, because then he’s telling a story about a boy who loved the sun, who wanted nothing more than to move to a beach where he could bask in it all day, and of a father who made the wrong enemies.  Gabe looks at him oddly when he’s done, which Tyson waves away as just the usual reaction to his not-really a sob story. It’s whatever. He’s fine. But he’s not going to hide away just because life through some fangs at him. 

Gabe doesn’t stop nagging him after that, but it’s different, maybe. He’s a little more likely to humor Tyson. He gives Tyson weird looks sometimes, something half-confused, half...well. If Tyson were someone else, if Tyson were human, he’d say that look was yearning. 

But Tyson’s not human, and Tyson might be the worst vampire ever, but he’s over 100 years old. He’s lived what was once two human lifetimes already. A generation he knew and loved has lived and died, and Tyson is still here. He knows what it feels like, to love something that ages and dies, and Tyson might want to live but that’s a pain he doesn’t need to invite. So he decided he’s misinterpreting the looks, and if he’s in love with Gabe, no one has to know that except him and Nate, who knows everything and is threatening to come visit just to meet this new person in Tyson’s life. 

Time goes on. Gabe keeps doing his nagging thing with Tyson. Tyson determinedly does not notice any way Gabe might be looking at him, and maybe misses a thing or two in that determined ignorance--the way Gabe sits down sometimes, out of nowhere. How Gabe is sleeping longer than usual. How Gabe has appointments more, things he doesn’t tell Tyson about. 

Then the hunters come. 

And like, Tyson can usually deal with the hunters. They’re generally fairly reasonable people who want to keep vampires who’ve gone feral or are actually bad people in line, and Tyson’s all for that. Maybe he’d like some more due process than vampires are given now before their heads are cut off, but no one’s asking him, and his head isn’t cut off yet, so he hasn’t suggested anything.  But these hunters--these hunters are fanatics, which is irritating, and they don’t listen to reason, and long story short Tyson actually has to fight, which he is historically not good at. 

He gets away, anyway, and he’s pretty sure the hunters aren’t going to be an issue anymore because he’s proved there’s easier prey than him, but he’s really fucking hurt. The sort of hurt he hates because it burns in him, through him, until the humanity he tries so hard to keep a handle on is only a thin veil under the parts of him that are just bloodlust and animal need. 

That’s how Gabe finds him, when he lets himself into Tyson’s house like it’s just a normal evening, except Tyson’s huddled in a corner half-mad with bloodlust and using everything in him to keep himself inside and away from anyone he could hurt. Tyson warns him away, because this is bad enough that it’s going to take a lot of blood and time to get better, because animal blood long from the body just isn’t the same, but Gabe just looks at him, and holds out his wrist. 

Tyson’s still enough himself to resist, and tell him no, that he won’t, that he will not be the monster, but Gabe insists. “This is me offering, and trusting you won’t take more than you need,” Gabe tells him, clear-eyed, and Tyson hates himself, hates the hunters who forced him into this, hates everything about it, but he grabs Gabe’s wrist and bites. 

It doesn’t hurt the human, Tyson knows, vaguely remembers, because docile prey is easy prey. So Gabe’s gasp isn’t pain, but that’s all Tyson knows, as he drinks. 

Except--it’s easy, to pull away, when he’s had enough. He wipes his mouth, and looks up at Gabe, who’s swaying a little. More than he should be; Tyson knows he hadn’t taken a dangerous amount. He’s not that bad a vampire. 

He licks his lips. Tastes Gabe’s blood again. He really isn’t that bad a vampire. “You’re dying,” he says, and Gabe looks for a second like he’s going to try to protest, so Tyson goes on, “I can taste it. It’s in your blood.” 

There isn’t much Gabe can say to that. He is dying, after all, his body slowly giving out on itself. He knows that. Now Tyson does too. 

Tyson stands, and looks at him.  He’s not stupid. “You want me to bite you.” 

“You just did bite me,” Gabe points out, angry in the way that means he’s defensive. 

Tyson bares his fangs.  They still have Gabe’s blood on them. “Not for real. Not like you want. What, were you going to bribe me? Starve me to death until I’d have no choice but to bite? Or--” and there it is, the memory of those looks. “Seduce me?” 

Gabe opens his mouth, all blown up like he’s going to protest, but Tyson can see the truth in his eyes. And it’s--Gabe’s not the first person Tyson’s met who wants him to bite them. There have been a handful before, people who see the glamour, see eternal life and health and think they want it, and will do anything to get it.  

Gabe’s not the first person to break Tyson’s heart, either, but hey. That one never gets old, apparently. 

So Gabe leaves. Well. Tyson snaps and bares his teeth and turns his back until Gabe huffs and leaves anyway, muttering about how Tyson won’t listen to reason. Tyson ignores that too. Maybe all those vampires who hid from humans in their caves and dust were right. It’s easier. 

Gabe doesn’t come back the next day. Which is fine. Tyson’s not going to bite him, and he knows it, so he’s got to go find some other vampire to do that. Tyson wishes, suddenly, for some sort of vampire phone tree to make sure everyone knows not to bite Gabe in his stupid handsome neck. Because they don’t have a phone tree, he compromises by calling Nate instead. (”I could come back and just kill him,” Nate offers, very earnestly. Tyson loves his best friend, but he thinks that maybe it’s about time for him to connect to society again instead of living off with horses and vampires). 

Anyway, Gabe keeps on not coming back, so fuck him. Tyson doesn’t need him. Tyson goes back out and keeps doing his thing, and maybe he’s a little reckless but whatever, he thinks it’s justified, even humans go crazy when their heart’s been broken.  So he parties and drinks and only almost catches on fire like twice, and never entirely runs out of blood thank you very much Gabe, and he’s fine. 

Then he gets a call. It’s in the middle of the day, so it wakes him up, and from a number he doesn’t recognize, but Tyson’s always liked living on the edge so he picks up. He has the time to talk to telemarketers. 

Except it’s not a telemarketer--it’s Gabe’s sister. And she’s telling him that Gabe’s in the hospital, and she thinks he should know because Gabe talks about him all the time and they might be in a fight but--

She’s still talking when Tyson starts swearing, because he’d forgotten it was daylight out when he’d started to rush outside. 

Anyway, it takes some maneuvering and some creative use of tarps, a garbage can, and precisely three plastic bags that someone had left in Tyson’s car approximately a decade ago, but he makes it to Gabe’s bedside. He’s sitting up and not actively dying--Tyson can taste it in the air--but the part of Tyson that can sense the weakest prey in a pack is pricking up, too. 

Luckily, he’s alone, because Tyson is maybe steaming a little when he gets in. Gabe stares at him, blinks, then looks very pointedly at the window and the sun streaming in. “You,” he tells Tyson, “Are definitely the world’s shittiest vampire.” 

That sets off a whole argument again, part of it Gabe’s well-worn scolds about Tyson’s habits, more of it about how Gabe was trying to get Tyson to bite him, and the part of it neither of them say about how Gabe left. 

But it all circles back to Gabe’s original plan, and how he was going to try to bribe Tyson, or starve him, or something, and Tyson gets mad at him, about why he would want this life, he sees what it is, and Gabe just sort of looks at him and asks, “What’s the point of a life if you can’t live it?” Which is a shitty low blow, and Tyson tells him so. 

But he also tells him--like, he’s seen that before. He’s seen the people desperate to be turned, and what it turns to too often, the anger and bitterness at their sires, when it isn’t what they wanted. They don’t tell you how most vampires don’t make it past 80 or so. 

“You did.” 

“Yeah well, you always say I’m a shitty vampire.” 

Gabe looks like he’s going to argue that, but he decides not to. Instead, he looks at Tyson, and there’s the same bravery there, the same trust, that made him barge into Tyson’s life in the first place, that made him put his wrist to a predator’s mouth. “You really are,” he agrees. “That’s the other reason.” 

“Reason for what?” 

“For why you should bite me,” Gabe tells him. “You need someone to make sure you don’t get yourself burned to ashes.”

Tyson considers arguing that he’d kept himself undead for the better part of a century, but Gabe gives the sunlight in the windows another pointed look. “If I wasn’t going to turn you for any of your other bribes, I don’t think unwillingly binding yourself to me is going to work,” Tyson points out, a little offended. Hating himself a little, for how the idea of Gabe there felt. “We’d already gotten past indentured servitude when I was born, and from what grandma said, that was a good thing.” 

“Who said anything about unwilling?” Gabe asks, eyes clear and sure, and the blood dries in Tyson’s mouth. 

They go a few more rounds, probably, because Tyson can’t accept that and Gabe can’t accept his not accepting it, until Gabe finally gets fed up and pulls Tyson over to kiss him. 

Then they have a few more rounds to go, but--Tyson stays until it’s dark, and then he keeps staying. 

He doesn’t bite him. Not then. Not when human science is doing well enough. Instead, Gabe goes back to nagging at Tyson and Tyson starts doing his best to make sure Gabe’s taking advantage of the life he has, and also maybe uses his superhuman abilities to like, make things easier for Gabe. And also for sex, because Tyson’s got 100 years of experience. 

And then--then, when human science starts to fail, when Tyson starts to taste death in the air, and Gabe still looks at Tyson and smiles and nods, sure--then Tyson lets himself give in.  

Epilogue: 20 years later, and Gabe is coming back from one of his trips, because immortal life is great and also gives perspective on things like ‘I love you but maybe we should spend a few years away from each other before we kill each other’ and finds Tyson huddled in a corner, trying to keep out of the sun because he’s just wearing a bathing suit. 

“How are you still so bad at this?” Gabe asks, running over--because he is dressed properly, thank you very much--and Tyson grins at him before he kisses him hello. 

“Because I have you to take care of me, obviously.”