#they are so feral I am breathing into a paper bag about it every second

[wizzard890]

Bastian and Volo - The Antichrist and his Hound

There once was a boy who served in a castle. The noble family who lived there paid him no mind.

One day, like a blow through the heart, that boy saw God.

Something bright. Something terrible. Something holy, greater than every blazing star: Bastian, second issue of the Duke of Burgundy, seething and ambitious and wrathful.

Souls depart the body through the eyes; the boy never looked away.

.

Bastian was eighteen when he noticed Volo: the young son of a stablehand who had taught himself to read, to carry, to serve. Desperately ready to file himself into a cold and razored sword for Bastian's hand, if only that hand would close like a collar around his neck.

And so, in time, Bastian seized him.

.

It is your turn to see them now, years on, as the storm gathers.

Ecce homo: A Conqueror on a pale horse, his banners flying behind him, with a hunger for heaven on his lips and a burning crown on his head. But that which truly bears his glory runs at his heel.

Ecce canis: A chaste and brutal Galahad, rimed with frost, leading the legions of his Lord to any end, any dictate, as long as he is granted the final honor of slitting his own throat on Bastian's altar.

They are linked by a silver chain. God to slave, king to knight, love to worship. Even death cannot break it.

.

There once was a dog who served his master. The dragon who holds his leash will never let it go.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

peanut butter balls w clyde

A/N: ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANGEL... @maybe-your-left I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF! I AM NOW GOING TO UNSUBSCRIBE TO MY OWN BLOG..

Warnings: Voyeurism, BLUE BALLS, tw: pregnancy, tw: breeding kink, cum eating, masturbation, dirty talk, also sweet talk because Clyde is baby, cowgirl style, fondling those BIG BALLS, copious amounts of description of horsecocks, copious amounts of cum (just a swimming pool size full of his cum if you will), just pure fuckin’ smut and fluff because I cannot get off the DadBod train tonight or ever (thank you @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather I love you forever), tw: mentions of somnophilia, tw: I am back on my bullshit and better than ever bitches! 

The clock read five in the morning as he stared it down menacingly. Having just gotten home from the bar to your sleeping form peacefully huddled against his pillow, inhaling the sweet scent of him while he slaved away at work.

He laid down gingerly, careful not to disturb you as he knew you hadn’t been sleeping too well given the state you had been in over the first few weeks of it all. The vomiting, the tears, the rush of hormones coupled with outbursts of anger and pain from your breasts had all been weighing on you. 

He gave you your space, knowing from his research that the second trimester would be so much different. Hoping the book wasn’t lying to him about that and waiting as patiently as he could for you to come around. 

Those nights he’d find you keeled over the toilet, cursing his name as he stumbled through the door of the trailer. He hated all of it, wishing he could take the ugly parts away for you. But he knew, and so did you, that it was all for the greatest adventure yet, so it was worth the endless tears and heartburn. 

So, on nights like tonight, he’d rub the stray hair from your face, peeking under the covers to place a gentle hand on that growing bump of yours, hoping soon he’d feel a little kick as he teared up thinking about how amazing you were for growing this precious baby. 

He loved you even more than he could count on his fingers and toes, and when you’d both found out, it was both a sigh of relief and joy as you both finally had the thing you’d been afraid wasn’t possible. It was perfect. Except on these nights when he couldn’t sleep. 

When he ached for your luscious cunt enveloping his after a long day’s work. He wouldn’t dare wake you up for it, for fear of the mama bear wrath, but godammit did he wish you were having just as tough a time sleeping as he was. 

He tossed and turned, the light of the clock seemingly getting brighter as he huffed around in the bed. Clad in only his boxers, as he kicked off the sheets in a fit of frustration, his tent very apparent as he adjusted his blue balls in between his thighs, the burning sensation causing a low hiss to leave his mouth. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, getting up with his good hand to sit his huge frame on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in it as he let out another heavy sigh. 

He strained up, cracking his back as he meandered to the living room and then the kitchen. Shuffling to the kitchen window, he huffed, looking out into the blackness of the early morning, thinking about making himself something to eat to curb his lack of sleep. 

He padded over to the fridge, grabbing his favorite huckleberry jelly out of the side door, then the pantry to get his bread and peanut butter. Laying out a paper plate as he slowly opened the drawer to grab a knife, making damn sure he didn’t make a peep as he slathered the contents together. He pulled the stool out from the island, straining himself to not scoot it too loud on the tile while he devoured his sandwich in the light of the kitchen. 

He looked around, reaching for some chips you’d left out on the counter earlier, crinkling the bag to get a few out before he became thirsty. He strained back up, the pain in his balls returning with every movement as they hit his meaty thighs. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, gripping them in his hand before he took another step, “I gotta do somethin’ ‘bout this,” gritting out as he got the gallon of juice out of the fridge to cop a swig from it, knowing if you had witnessed it he’d be in the biggest trouble. 

Letting out a huge sigh and a burp, he got back on the stool and finished the rest of his five AM snack, still feeling that dulled pain in his lower half as he tossed the remaining things in the trash and plopping on the couch to turn on the TV as he still didn’t feel tired. 

He mindlessly flipped through the channels, settling on a sitcom before wincing in another sharp pain as he adjusted himself, legs spread wide on the couch. His cock still half-hard knowing your half-naked ass was laying in bed, no doubt the wetness building up from your sleep. He loved surprising you in the morning, feeling that slicked up pussy as he would snake a hand or his tip in between your folds, waking you up in the best way he could think of. 

His dick twitched at the thought, his hand sliding in his briefs as he gripped his thick girth at its base, unveiling it in the brightness of the TV. 

His chest heaved, the sensitivity that had built up over weeks of nothing was too much for him to take at this point. Spitting on his large hand as he spread the slick over himself, his dripping tip mixing with his saliva as he traced his bulged out veins along his shaft. 

Throwing his head back at the feeling, wishing it wasn’t his hand fucking himself, and picturing that pretty mouth of yours covering him from stem to stern. He pumped his hand up and down steadily, setting the scene for himself while he closed his golden eyes.

You were perfect, knelt in between his thick thighs, kitten licking his tip and pecking sweet kisses on his tummy while he begged for you to do more. Your gorgeous eyes boring into his as your lashes fluttered in innocence licking a long stripe from the base to the tip. A beautiful moan escaping your lips as your tits hit his sensitive sac. 

You grip his belly in your delicate hands, kneading and scratching at it for leverage while you shoved your mouth over his length, the gag escaping your chest causing his breath to hitch as he watched you take him like the good girl you were. 

He thrusts on himself sped up, thinking of you bobbing your pretty head on his large cock, the spit, and tears streaming down your cheeks and jawline in a sloppy mess while he pushed up into you. Holding your pretty hair in an iron grip as he lead you down on him more, your one hand snaking down to grip his pained sac and rolling it in your fingers while he exhaled a groan at the sensation. 

“Goddammit baby girl,” he gritted out, feeling the warming of his release creep up slowly as he kept his imagination running on and on. His eyes still closed as he jerked it on the couch, seemingly unaware of how loud he truly was in the moment. 

You had woken up a few minutes after he’d begun, leaning in on the doorframe as you bit your lip looking at your big bear going to town in the living room. His thick cock making the drippage seep out of your bare cunt as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. 

He kept up with his thoughts, blissfully unaware of the mess he was making you feel in the moment. Your lower belly burning for him as you gripped the little bump that had become more apparent as of late. 

Crossing your legs to avoid more leakage, you leaned your head on the frame as well, reveling in the sweet sounds your husband was making on the sofa. His grunts, curses, moans, and groans were enough to make you blush as he repeated your name over and over. 

The strains getting more feral as he neared his orgasm. You inched forward just before he was about to burst, knowing the faces he made so well as you crawled on your hands in knees like a tiger stalking its prey. 

“Holy s-shit, Y/N,” his low baritone muttered out, the speed on his angry cock had picked up as fervently as he could possibly go in the moment, his precious face conjuring up in all signs of pleasure as the sweat dripped from his temples, his teeth gritted while he tried to reach his edge. 

You watched his hand move in tandem with his hips, moving just snuggly in between his tree-trunk thighs as he kept his motions going. Your eyes found those heavy balls of his, watching as they began to twitch from his end. In a fight or flight moment, your hand grabbed them, rolling them so sweetly and delicately as his eyes burst open in terror. 

“Y/N?!” he jumped, the sensation pushing him over to squirt out a thick rope on his belly as you massaged his sac to the end of it all. 

“That’s it, daddy,” you cooed, eyes hungry as he spurt out more and more cum from his tip, his heavy breaths coming in high as he winced more and more of his spend on himself, “cum all over the place big bear,” salivating as you saw the amount that has built up on his stomach. 

“M-mother f-fuck d-darlin’,” he growled out, watching your eyes follow the load as you hunched over his softening cock. 

Your lips touched the warm baby gravy, beginning to lick and suck every drop along with trails of hickeys on his precious tummy while your nails dug into his thighs, the crescents indenting on them as you finished your ministrations on him. 

You lifted your head, licking your lips as you swallowed his whole load, showing your tongue after all was said and done. 

“Where the hell were ya ‘bout five minutes ago?” he chuckled, catching his breaths as he watched you straddle his lap, your precious little bump touching his belly as you closed the gap on him. 

“I was sleepin’ honey,” kissing his lips slowly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hand coming to caress your taut skin in your midsection, tracing slow circles as you kissed his forehead, “but I got woken up to a growling bear in the living room,” raising an eyebrow as you leaned back to meet his timid gaze. 

“‘M sorry darlin’,” he whispered, “I jus’ couldn’t sleep an’ I didn’t want ta wake ya up on account a ya not gettin’ that good a sleep lately,” his head bowing down in shame as he continued to avoid eye contact.

“Honey,” you pushed him to meet you again, “I know I ain’t been myself lately, an’ I’m sorry ‘bout that,” the pit in your stomach forming as his pout surfaced on his face, “but if ya needed somethin’ I woulda done it… No matter how late it was,” smiling as you pushed some stray hairs from his sweet face. 

“Psh,” he huffed, rolling his eyes slightly at the thought of waking you from a dead sleep, “baby girl, I ain’t ‘bout ta wake ya up fer ya to suck me off fer ten minutes so I can sleep,” he chuckled. 

“Why not? I know you’d do that fer me in a heartbeat,” cocking your head to the side as you took in his toothy grin. 

“‘Cause I ain’t gonna wake up a mama bear,” laughing out loud as he smoothed a hand on your lower back, “I don’t wanna get bit darlin’!” pulling you into a huge hug as you both laughed. 

“Well,” you got up from the couch, extending a hand to pull your man to bed, “if ya want… This mama bear needs a lil’ lovin’ from her big daddy bear,” winking as you inched him back towards the bedroom, “an’ I got a hankerin’ fer some horsecock right ‘bout now,” pushing him onto the bed while you straddled his hips, removing your t-shirt to reveal your fullness to him. 

His cock straining again under the weight of your slick cunt as it rubbed the length up and down from your grinding on him. 

“Ya like whatcha see daddy?” whining as you lined your entrance with his tip, his groans enough to send you into another stratosphere as you swallowed him inch by painful inch. 

“I love seein’ ma baby girl like this,” he strained again, gripping your hip in his hand as he pushed himself up into to you, “all full a me… It’s ma favorite thing in the world,” gritting out over your purrs for him. 

The sensation was magical. His cock teasing your cervix with every knock as he grunted his motions out while you ground your sloppy pussy over his pubic hair. The movements hitting your engorged clit with every rub and tug from the both of you melting into each other. 

“I love bein’ all full a you big bear,” wailing out as you gripped his huge tits in your hands, your own dangling in front of his face as the sound of wet slaps penetrated the room. 

“Ya?” he growled out, setting an even more punishing pace as he watched your jaw drop and your gorgeous tits bounce, “ya want me ta keep ya like this? Breed ya ‘til ya can’t take it no more?” the words hitting your bud as your spine tingled in your impending orgasm. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew the words and the movements to get his baby whining and moaning like a complete whore under or over him. He may have been a simple country boy, but he knew his way around his wife, and what went straight into her cunt besides his large and in charge dick. 

“G-Good G-God yes daddy!” the tears spilling as you rag-dolled over his large frame, the orgasm spilling over you in an unexpected wave as his words cut to your very core. His motions grew erratic upon feeling your flutters clench around him in the most delicious way. 

He watched your eyes meet his again, the blackout you’d sustained fading away as overstimulation set in. His grip tightened even more as he began to spill into you, his relieved cries reverberating around the room as he felt your warm cunt suck up his spend. 

“J-Jesus baby girl,” he groaned, his balls completely empty as you fell to the side of him in a thud, your breaths coming in tandem with his as he gazed at you. 

“Ya alright mama?” he pet your growing bump with the utmost tenderness, “I didn’t hurt ya ‘er nuthin’ did I?” glancing a look down at your figure in a panic before your hand reached his cheek. 

“Ya didn’t hurt me or the baby at all big bear,” caressing his cheek as you pecked his plush lips, “we’re jus’ fine,” smiling warmly as he exhaled a relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering in his impending tiredness.

“I think daddy needs ta go ta bed, whatchu think baby bear?” giggling slightly as a smile crept over his face in total relaxation, his circles slowing as he stilled his big paw over your baby. 

“Goodnight daddy,” whispering on his forehead as his breath evened out, and his limbs went limp. 

________________

In other news, you ever have a job as a waiter? 

taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @obsessedwiththemadness, @hopeamarsu, @caillea, @historyandfandoms50, @mariesackler, @millenialcatlady, @thepriceofstars, @roanniom

LMK if ya would like to be added to any taglist of mine! All of my love!🖤 

[flowercrown-bard]

Poems for the Poet (2/ 5)

pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: ~2k

read on AO3

previous   /  next

Content warning: self-deprecation, people treating witchers badly, self-loathing, panic attack, insecurity

Mutant, witcher, monster!

No one dared to spit those insults at Eskel openly – not yet. For now, the people of the town contented themselves with shooting him dirty looks, whispering behind his back and turning away when they caught sight of his face.

It was only a matter of time before the whispers would turn into shouts when fear became cruelty.

He had seen it happen often enough to know it was inevitable.

And yet, he had hoped that just this once it could be different. It had been different, when he had met Jaskier. It could be different again.

But these people weren’t Jaskier. They would rather claw Eskel’s eyes out than let him see their smiles or bite off their tongues before they let themselves utter a single kind word to him.

So Eskel kept his head low as he walked through the cobblestone street towards the inn, hoping they would tolerate him, at least for one night, if he didn’t attract too much attention. He ignored the whispers, the stares, the stench of disdain.

He barely flinched when something it him on the shoulder. He had known that sooner or later, stones would fly. He just had hoped it wouldn’t happen that soon.

With a sigh, he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, making himself seem smaller, like less of a threat as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any more stones would be hurled his way.

What he saw instead, made him falter. What had hit him wasn’t a stone. It was a ball wrapped in leather, not dissimilar to the one he used to play with as a child before he had been brought to a place where boys learned how to fight and kill instead of playing.

Eskel crouched down to pick up the ball and take a closer look, but before he could stand back up again, he saw, or rather heard, the one who had thrown it at him.

“You found my ball!” The excited voice of a little girl cut through the disapproving murmurs of the adults like the sun pushing his way through clouds during a thunder storm. “I’m sorry for hitting you, mister.”

“Don’t worry,” Eskel said as softly as he could. “No harm done.”

He held out the toy for the girl who took it with a toothy grin.

“Thank you!”

Something warm and soft spread through Eskel’s chest. It had been too long since anyone had smiled at him, longer yet since he had spoken to a child that wasn’t destined for the cruelty of the trials.

Eskel couldn’t stop himself. For just a moment he forgot himself, too distracted by that soft glimmer of happiness in his chest. One moment of carelessness was all it took.

His lips twitched into a smile.

A snarl. A grimace. A twisting of his face into something hideous and fearsome.

The reaction was almost immediate. The girl blanched and reeled back, before she could even touch the ball.

“You’re the bad man!” She cried. If there had been any passers-by that hadn’t stared at Eskel before, they were now all fixing him with suspicious glares.

Eskel swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat and dropped his smile. Perhaps that had been a mistake too. It was unnatural for people to be able to lose their smiles that quickly. It was inhuman.

“I’m not,” Eskel said soothingly. “I am not going to hurt you.”

“My ma told me that you’re bad!” The girl accused and pointed a finger at him before taking it back quickly and holding her hand against her chest in the same way people protected their hands when they were afraid a feral dog would bite them. “She said to stay away from the man with the ugly scars. She said you will take me away and eat me.”

Eskel flinched.

“I’m not –“

“I think it would be better if you left,” a low voice interrupted him.

When Eskel looked up from where he was still crouched, he saw three men walking towards him with stormy expressions.

Slowly, so as not to startle them, he put the ball to the ground and gave it a small nudge to roll towards the girl. She jumped back as if her toy was suddenly dangerous.

The men’s frowns deepened. Eskel held up his now empty palms in surrender as he stood back up ever so slowly.

One of the man took a threatening step towards him, his fists already raised and Eskel all but fled.

He tried not to listen to the angry and boasting shouts that followed him. It was in vain.

No matter how much he pretended, he wasn’t like his brothers. Geralt might be able to go on after Blaviken, saying that he didn’t need anyone and Lambert might be able to counter every insult with an even more cutting one of his own, but Eskel wasn’t like them. He was desperate and foolish and still clinging to the hope that he could be someone who wouldn’t be scorned and detested.

Another could-have-been. One that gnawed at him like a stray dog gnawed on a bone, tearing off the small bits and pieces that could still be something wanted.

Eskel had no delusions about how the rest of the day would go. He would find no place to sleep here, no hot meal and no contract that would be paid for. The longer he stayed, the bigger got the chances of pitchforks and kitchen knives being directed at him.

But his legs were so tired. It had been too long since he had eaten a healthy amount and ever since he had to give Scorpion away, he wasn’t able to carry his tent with him anymore.

He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to lay down for a while, knowing that he wouldn’t wake to a mob.

But the chances were slim. The best he could do was hide away in a dark alley to rest, hoping that no one would stumble upon him there.

He let himself lean back against the wall of a house, sliding down until he sat on the dirty floor. What more was some dirt, when his shirt already had holes in it? No one would bother to notice anyway, not when they had his face to stare at in fear.

His insides clenched and not purely because of the memory of the child’s laughter turning into cries at his sight.

He was hungry. So painfully hungry.

His jaw twitched as he rummaged through his bag for something edible, knowing full well that there was nothing to find.

Instead, his fingers found something else. Something, he had bought on a whim and quickly shoved to the bottom of his bag. Something he hadn’t been able to get rid of, even as it meant losing precious space in his bags.

Carefully, so as not to tear it, he pulled out the cheap paper, quill and inkwell he had bought months ago. For a long moment he only stared at them, overcome with the painful urge to smash the inkwell against the wall.

He wasn’t a poet, never would be. He was ugly and frightening and no one could even look at him without seeing all the things he couldn’t be written plainly across his face.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The memory of blue eyes flashed before him. Memories, of a blissful couple of days when it had seemed that maybe he could have, could be, something more. Jaskier had listened to what he had to say about poetry, as if his opinion was no less important than that of any scholar. He had explained the intricacies of word choice to him as if Eskel was worth talking to. As if he wasn’t too oafish, too big and too far removed from everything he could have become.

What had Jaskier told him back then? That poetry was a means to give meaning. That by creating something out of your pain, you refused to let it have power over you.

It wouldn’t work. Eskel knew that. No amount of words could ever distract from the life he hadn’t chosen. But perhaps…perhaps Eskel could make something beautiful.

It was a foolish thought, a desperate dream, but one that lodged itself into his heart, refusing to budge.

Eskel didn’t know how to write beautiful words and craft them into something more. All his knowledge about poetry came from the little he had gathered from reading the old poems. It wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

Before he could stop himself, he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and put it on the paper. He hesitated, watched as the ink flew onto the paper like blood dripping off a sword and created ugly splotches.

Immediately, Eskel pulled the quill off the paper again.

He stared at that spot, that blemish, that failure.

The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him, crushing him. Though the sun was still up in the sky, his vision became darker, splotchy. Like the ink on the paper. Like bloodstains on his clothes.

He wasn’t good enough. This wouldn’t work. He hadn’t even written a single word yet and already he had ruined this.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of voices, of doubts, of knowing he would fail.

It was no use. His heart sped up and he felt his breathing becoming shallow. He should be able to control this. A witcher shouldn’t let himself succumb to his own mind.

But Eskel couldn’t do it. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t let his mind drift off for mediation, couldn’t fucking breathe.

With the strength of a hundred men, Eskel managed to scrap together some semblance of calm, just long enough for his mind to stop spiralling for a second and to latch on to one thing only.

Poetry.

Eskel clung to it with all his might, forcing himself to think of lines and verses he had memorised until his mouth moved and formed the words. They were barely more than a whisper, but Eskel had spoken them before, time and time again. His body knew the correct intonation, the right way to inhale enough to have his breath last for the entirety of a line.

The words fell from his lips in a soothing rhythm, the familiarity of them battling against the fear and the strain to remember the lines left no room for any other, unkind, thoughts.

It was only when Eskel’s heart had slowed down enough that the sound of its beating didn’t drown out his whispers, that Eskel realised whose poetry he was reciting.

It was Jaskier’s.

Lines about eyes flashing bright like lightning, comparable to a force of nature that disappeared before one had time to marvel at it but leaving a mark in the life of whoever had gotten the chance to see it.

Lightning. That’s what Jaskier described Eskel as and it was the first word that Eskel put down on the paper once his hands had stopped shaking too badly.

He looked at the word for a long time. It felt strangely right. Like it belonged there. Like Eskel had been meant to put it – a part of himself – out there.

His throat bobbed and his brows twitched at the thought, but before he had time to doubt himself any more, he let the quill scratch over the paper once more, leaving words in its wake. A mixture of Jaskier’s words and the rhythm of the ancient elves.

Lightning across lips cuts bright.

A lowly flash, no more. Leaving flesh forever sore.

Scorching like flame. Scowling for fright.

Marring a mangled man, mutilating a mutant more.

Eskel stared at the words. The poem wasn’t long nor was it particularly good. But it was Eskel’s. Eskel had written something, gave meaning to the meaningless with his quill.

His eyes darted to the splotch at the bottom of the paper, right where the last line ended. Another imperfection.

His brows knitted together and his hand moved again.

It might have been childish - Lambert would have definitely made fun of him for it -  but as Eskel drew legs, a head and horns onto the blemish, he found himself almost smiling again.

The almost-smile stayed on his lips, even as he forced himself to stand up once more, carefully putting his writing tools back where they belonged. The paper with his poem he kept in his hand.

He should have just left right away, trying to go unnoticed. That had been his plan as he moved through the alleyways now, but when he passed the notice board at the corner of one street, he paused, staring. A thought formed in his mind, before he even understood why he had stopped.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Perhaps a glimmer of bravery or folly. Perhaps a hint of the man he had wanted to became shone through for a split second.

A man who was loved. A man who made beautiful things and didn’t have to hide away in shame what he had created.

And Eskel had created. He had written a poem. He had become, even if only for one moment, what he had always dreamed he could be one day.

With one swift motion, Eskel pinned his poem to the notice board. Not somewhere half-hidden between notes about nosy neighbours or the price of eggs, but right in the middle where anyone who passed by would be able to see it. The words on the page were spidery and nowhere close to artful, but they screamed I am imperfect, but I am here. I exist despite your spite.

Eskel took a step back, just far enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach the board and tear the poem down again in a fit of doubt. Admiring his own work was vain, but for the first time since Eskel could remember, he had something to admire, something to be proud of.

He must have stood there for too long. Around him, people started gathering, noticing him. One man shoved him. Another yelled at him to get away, that there were no contracts here for the likes of him.

Eskel turned and fled, just as the first stone hit him, right where the girl’s ball had met his shoulder before.

With every shout, every insult, every truth, the mob tore down part of the meaning Eskel had been able to find for himself.

He could only hope that they didn’t realise that the new addition to the notice board came from him. He could only hope that no one would tear off the poem, as they tore at Eskel’s heart with their shouts.

He hoped that maybe, however slim the chance was, someone would find his poem and smile.

It was a foolish hope, born out of pain and despair not unlike the poem itself had been, but it was the only thing keeping him warm that night as he huddled beneath a tree, cold and lonely and dreaming of something he had come so close to having.

[alolowrites]

Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why. 

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!! 

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!” 

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels? 

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left. 

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!” 

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air. 

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!” 

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside. 

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.” 

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch. 

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans. 

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!” 

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”  

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded. 

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?” 

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears. 

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt. 

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk. 

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”  

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern. 

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.” 

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes. 

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”  

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite. 

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”  

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face. 

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded. 

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[heyheydidjaknow]

For anyone who is wondering why I deleted the chapters, I was very tired and forgot what tenses were, so I had to go back and change it all, and that is a pain on Tumbr. Tumblr also, apparently, either has a character or word limit, so this is our first 2 parter. I know I could just separate them into chapters, but I feel weird about making a whole chapter devoted to a date, so.

Edit: Who was gonna tell me I misspelled Casey?

Chapter 6 Pt 1

Leo sighs. “Okay, the fact that this will be the second creepiest stunt you’ve pulled this week says a lot.”

“Relax.” Donatello draws another line. “If she has a map of the foreseeable future and showed it to me, it obviously makes sense that I should answer in kind.”

“But,” Raphael points out, “this is the most desperate thing he’s done this week.”

“Zip it.” He caps his pen, holding his diagram up and walking off to his newly obtained whiteboard. “Besides, it’s not a comprehensive flow chart—attempting to list every possible conversation thread would be futile. It's simply a visual aid to remember the general actions I should take in any given situation.” Although you have been promising to “teach him a thing or two” about plot structure one on one, a part of him thinks it appropriate to make the first move. It appears to be the gallant thing to do, anyhow.

Mikey hops over the table, following one of the paths with his finger. “How come you have a shark on this one?”

“Oh,” he nods, “that’s in case she decides to go to the beach and gets attacked by a shark.”

“And why are there these Xs on this one?”

“That signifies the end of one of our lives.”

“And the hearts?”

He blushes. “I’m not answering that.”

Raph shudders. “Man, this just feels gross. I can already feel the secondhand disgust.”

“Raphael,” Donatello sighs, “love is a complex enigma that, if not thoroughly considered and tailored, will crumble before your very eyes. I cannot and will not destroy what little relationship we have by being reckless. Besides,” he scoffs, “in what other possible manner could I ask her out?”

“Hey, Y/N,” Leo offers, “let’s hang out.”

“See, that’s too pedestrian.” He gestures to the poster. “Trust in the—”

You slam through the door. Donnie, apparently panicked, flips the board over with fumbling hands. “H-hey, Y/N. Hey.” He stands up properly, clearing his throat. “Hey.”

You point at him. “How do you feel about busting a corrupt disgrace to the title of scientist?”

“Good!” He peaks at his board, trying to steal himself. “Where are we headed?”

“A neuroscientist by the name of Rockwell got mutated.” You start heading out. “Asshole in question is Victor Falco, AKA Feral Falco, AKA The Rat King if we don’t haul ass. He’s at Rockwell’s lab.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.” He runs after you, shooting a thumbs-up back at his brothers.

You are going to murder a man tonight. Probably. Hopefully not. Depends on how hard it is to wreck his shit. You have been stalking the Channel 6 news for about a week now, waiting for the jackass to show up, and now that he has? You are not about to let him become the monster you knew he could and would become.

“So,” Donnie startles you, lost in thought, “how was your first day of class?”

“It was fine. Met Casey, avoided Irma like the plague, all that jazz.” You turn a right.

“Casey?”

“Casey Jones. Hockey player, real bad at math.”

“A guy?” He seems interested in this subject for some reason.

“Yup.” You reach into your bag, wrapping your fingers around your kitchen knife, hands already shaking. If you must kill him, you will make it quick. “My age.”

“Oh.” He sighs. “That’s… nice.”

‘Can I just take him to the police? I don't have any evidence. This is breaking and entering.’

He clears his throat. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“We’re here.”

You look up at the building, sigh. “So we are.”

He moves in front of you, moving to meet you at eye-level. “Is there anything I need to know before we go in?”

You take a deep breath. “The man in the lab coat is the perp. We need to take him down, first and foremost. He may act a fool, but he’s accountable for the mutation of his partner. We either have to incapacitate, convict or, if necessary, kill him.”

He swallows. “This guy is that bad?”

“Not yet.” You start pulling the knife out properly as you push the door open with your clothed arm. “But it’s best to pull a weed out from the root.”

He follows you closely.

You look down at your phone to double-check that this is the offending room. “Here.” You back up, gesturing to the door eccentrically, heart pounding in your chest. “This is the room.”

He approaches you, brow furrowed. “Y/N,” he asks cautiously, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you look sick. Are you alright?”

You nod. “Nervous is all. Haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

He offers a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.” He gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, alright?”

Your knuckles go white around the grip as you try to release some tension. ‘Don’t choke. That’s his job.’ “Yeah.” You return it. “Oh, are you free tomorrow night? I still have to give you that lesson.”

His face lights up. “Y-yeah! Totally!” He grins eagerly. “Should I go to your place? At what time?”

“We’ll hash out the details on the way back.” You look prominently to the lock. “Now, I take it you have some gadget or gizmo to help us open this bad boy?”

He kneels, pulling a device from the utility belt on his hip and sliding it into the card reader. “Of course.”

The door lets out a harsh buzz, the light turning green. You pull your sleeve forward onto your hand, pushing the door open.

The room smells like metal and mold and decay, a certain lethality hanging in the air when you enter. You stay close to the wall, pulling down a lever to illuminate the harsh laboratory in an even harsher light. And there, caught frozen as he pockets a vial, is Victor Falco.

His eyes flicker towards the door.

You tackle him to the ground, shifting your weight back onto his legs, and pin his arms above his head. “Donnie,” you call, stopping his struggling with a knife pressed against his neck, “would you be so kind as to find a few things for me? I can tell you where they are in the room, but I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Uh, sure.” His voice sounds strange to you. Tight. Nervous? Confused? You ignore it for now.

“What is the meaning of this,” the scientist bellows from underneath you. “I demand you give me an explanation!”

“Oh be quiet, traitor.” You press the blade against his skin. “We both know the crime you’ve committed against your partner.”

His eyes widen.

You keep your eyes locked on him at all times. “The first thing you’re looking for is a container of mutagen. When you get to the desk, you should see 2 stacks of drawers.”

You do not hear his footsteps. “Mhm.”

“The bottom left drawer has a false bottom. If you pull it up, you’ll find a canister of mutagen.”

You hear the drawer slide open, the shuffling of papers. “Got it.”

“Fantastic. Now, on the desk should be a flash drive belonging to Rockwell. Grab that.”

“How could you possibly know?” You feel his wrist tense as he clenched his fist. “I was so thorough.”

“I’m psychic,” you lie, smiling coldly. “Be happy I met you here and not in your home.”

“Anything else?”

“Whatever is in his pockets, besides car keys and a wallet. You’re getting new chemicals.”

The doctor does not seem to like that idea. He starts writhing underneath you.

“If you don’t stop moving,” you sigh, bringing the knife up and down quickly, hovering over his left eye, “you, a neuroscientist, will have the pleasure of discovering firsthand if what people say about losing your depth perception is true. See, I’ve always heard that it settles, but I’m more than happy to see it happen firsthand if you’ll indulge me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You aren’t sure.” You chuckle darkly, fingers wrapping tighter still around his wrists. “I don’t need to be a psychic to feel your shaking.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a green blob crouch down, pulling vials from his pockets.

“You’re a child.”

“And yet I’m the one holding a knife to you.” ‘Why am I so calm?’ “You’re selfish. You’re prideful. You won’t try anything because I know you to be cowardly, and you won’t say anything,” you nod, “because, if you did, you would have to admit to breaking into your missing partner’s lab, and deal with the backlash regarding me and my associate bringing that hard drive to the police and letting them connect the dots.” You smile sweetly. “Donnie, would you be so kind as to get some distance between you and Mr. Falco?” You do not look over at him, focused on the current task. “If he pulls anything, you need to be able to bring that to the police.”

“Got it.” A few seconds pass. “I’m by the door.”

You slide the carving knife in that general direction. “Goodnight, Falco.” You grab his hair, slamming his head against the ground once as you leap to your feet. You grab the knife, sprinting towards the door. “And that is our cue to leave.”

Donatello, who is having interesting feelings about the whole thing, appears to have been snapped out of some sort of trance. He nods, and the both of you exit the scene.

--

You wipe your mouth on your sleeve, shaking as you rest your chin on the edge of the dumpster. “T-thanks,” you smile shakily. “I appreciate it, really.”

“Not at all.” He let your locks fall from his hand. “I imagine it’s hard, what with having hair and all.” He helps you down from your perch on a stack of crates. “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Besides my mouth tasting like stomach acid? Never better.” You sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. “Sorry. The nerves just kinda…” you trail off, cheeks dusted pink. “Well, you get the idea.”

“It’s alright, really.” He smiles fondly. “You were really bold in there. It was really cool.”

“I don’t feel cool. I feel the opposite of cool.” You start down the alleyway. “But at least we stopped a ton of problems in its tracks.”

You hear a primal cry as a large primate lands in front of you.

You look him in the eyes, already tired of this episode. “Good evening, Dr. Rockwell.”

His eyes snap to Donatello, who was already unsheathing his bo staff. You look over your shoulder at him. “Chill out. He’s cool.”

“He’s a giant monkey!”

“Dude, he’s a well-esteemed scientist.” You turn to face him properly, holding his arms out to get some proper separation. “Put the effin stick down.”

“But—” He stops, takes a deep breath, and sheathes the staff. “Alright. I’ll trust you.” He seems almost disturbed by your apparent ease.

You turn back to face him properly, smiling. “Doctor,” you nod, “your partner will be of no concern to you from this point onward. Rest assured; his research has been halted.” Your tone is politely respectful.

The wild eyes of the primate calm. He seems to at least sense the general sentiment. He nods once, leaping up onto the nearest rooftop and disappearing into the night.

You nod in satisfaction, looking back at the stunned Donatello.

“He calmed down so easily.”

“He has a human mind, for the most part.” You shrug, continuing down the alley. “Let’s head back. Man, if you dad knew the kind of trouble I just got him out of.” You giggle at his dumbstruck expression, walking backward to keep facing him. “Well, are you just gonna stand there lookin pretty or are you going to come with?”

His face goes red. He nods once, hurrying after you.

You two walk quietly for a little over a minute. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

“Totally.” You decide to bite the bullet and pull of the manhole cover. “What’s up?”

“Why do you call him that?”

“Call who what?” You start climbing down.

“You know, not call him Master Splinter.” He pulls the cover back on, landing beside you. “You always call him my dad or Yoshi or Mr. Hamato.”

“Well,” you shrug, “he’s your dad, right?”

“I’m not saying it’s a problem,” he clarified, “or that’s it’s incorrect, but most people—myself included—refer to him as Master Splinter.”

You start walking with him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Donnie,” you sigh, “but, if I can help it, I honestly hope I never have to call him that.”

“Why?” He walks beside you, eyes tracing your figure subtlety.

“Didn’t I already say?” You nod back in the direction you guys came from. “You saw how I acted back there. This is only episode six or seven. The trauma I’d have to go through as a ninja here would kill me,”

“But you have the guts for it.” His voice is certain. “You’re strong enough, mentally, to be a ninja.”

You pause, your throat catching. You wonder if he would still think so if he had seen how you had spent your nights.

He clears his throat, blushing again. “I think you are, anyway.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck silently. You feel him seize up under you. “Thank you,” you mumble.

He slowly relaxes, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours gently. Slowly, he buries his hand in your hair. He is always so warm— he makes you feel oddly safe. This is only the second time you have been this physically close to him, but you don’t think for a moment that he would try anything.

You back off, clearing your throat as your cheeks catch fire. “Sorry,” you smile timidly. “I’ve just been… I’m not usually this clingy.”

He blinks out of his stupor, looking down at you. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it.” He grinned giddily, almost drunk. “Y-You are all good.”

You swallow. “I’ve gotta do an introduction type project for school, so I gotta get back home.” You walk back in the direction you two came. “Come to my place at about seven tomorrow. I’ll order food.”

He nods, body relaxed. “Seven. Got it.” He does.

You wave, walking back to the ladder. “Then I’ll see you then.”

He stands there, watching you leave. As soon as he hears the sliding of the manhole cover back into place, he takes a moment to celebrate the victory before starting to walk back to the lair.

‘I got a date!’

Table of Contents

Chapter 5

Chapter 6, Part 2

[hatsukeii]

Beautiful Trauma by Pink with Nishinoya, please!

Woop yess yeah angst is coming your way.

Okay I’m taking a break from matchups lol they’re getting harder to do because I do like a ton of them every day and like they’re GRUELLING HAVSJSGS they’re gonna be back but like I’m gonna focus on writing scenarios and maybe hcs for a bit then get right back to the matchups:)

Btw @artsamber I’m sorry I genuinely don’t know how marriage fics work and I don’t really see Nishinoya as someone that would lose interest after marriage, but I’ll try my best to incorporate your ideas into this fic!

(I’m legit trying my best to keep this as non explicit as I can because I’m keeping these for future uses if my English teacher ever tells me to write romance or something I can just pull up my blog and use scenarios-)

Beautiful Trauma// Nishinoya Yuu x Reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Mild swearing

Nishinoya didn’t like feeling guilty. He hated the falling sensation he would get whenever he lied. The thought of having to hurt someone disgusted him. He was mostly an open book, it was as if you could read him word for word, everything expressed in those goofy facial expressions. He didn’t ask for much. He wanted someone who he could tease. Someone he could trust with his inner conflicts. Someone that could make him feel appreciated. Out of all the things however, he craved for excitement the most. Excitement that you weren’t able to give him. He loved you, he definitely loved you. But in a couple of years’ time, the spark that used to ignite whenever he looked at you, touched you, kissed you, it was gone. He tried to ignore the emptiness, grasping at any opportunity he could to regain those feelings. Going on more dates, inviting you to all his matches, bringing you over to his house every single week, he did everything he could Nothing worked. He no longer felt special. He had fought so hard for you, everything was all rainbows and unicorns, until it wasn’t. Until you became just another person for him. 

You still remember the exact moment you realised he had changed. It still goes through your mind till this day. It was New Year’s Eve. The two of you went out to watch the fireworks at midnight. His hand felt cold that night, not a trace of the usual warmth that embraced your hand perfect to be found.. It felt stale and frigid. He didn’t initiate his usual weird chatter, nor did he make an effort to talk to you at all. Every other couple at the venue was doing some lovey dovey crap, giving each other bone crushing hugs, or laying in their loved one’s lap, occasionally sneaking a kiss or two. Seeing that, you tried to sneak in some romance into your date. You turned towards him, leaning in and giving him a kiss. Your heart fell when he stayed still, not reacting to anything. He didn’t kiss back, he didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t even make an effort to play with your hair.  It was as if your kiss had absolutely no effect on him. You tried again, letting go of his hand and cupping his cheek. Still nothing. You pulled away, slightly disappointed at the lack of attention you were getting from him as he stared at you with bored eyes, dragging you down to sit next to him. This should’ve been a sign. A sign that something was wrong. However, you brushed it off. Maybe he was just feeling a bit sick that night.

The lack of attention went on for months. You would have to ask him out every week, just to be able to spend any quality time with him, and most of the time he’d decline, using the same three excuses every time.

“Sorry, I’m busy with volleyball.”

“Feeling a bit tired today, I’ll pass.”

“I have schoolwork, can’t come.”

The rare instances where he doesn’t decline your request, he’s completely indulged in his phone. As if there was something that was better than spending time with the one he loved that was on that godforsaken monitor. You would try poking him, shaking him, nudging him, everything you could possibly do to gain his attention. In return, all you’d receive was an irritated groan or your hand being picked up and put back onto your lap, followed by a wave of depression hitting you by surprise as he continues to scroll mindlessly through his phone. You were tired of this, your gut telling you to just break it off with him. However you were hopeful. Too hopeful. You continued to cling onto the last shred of hope you had in that attention lacking heart of yours, praying that by spending enough time with him, he would go back to his old self. The Nishinoya that she fell in love with. The one that gave her kisses on her cheek, squeezed her hand whenever he held it, cried with her during hard times, pushed her on the swings in an abandoned park. She continued to look forward to a day, where he would once again greet her at her doorstep before walking to school together. That day never came.

Half a year. Half an entire year of hiding his inner conflicts. Nishinoya was done keeping it in. He had to tell you one way or the other anyways. He was sick of seeing how disappointed you’d get after he ignored you time and time again. He was drowning in his own guilt throughout the never-ending six months. That pit of regret that dug itself in his stomach made him want to just rip everything to pieces and scream into a void. He didn’t want to see you like this, but quite frankly there was nothing he could do. His feelings were slowly fading, and they weren’t coming back. Everything that seemed bright in the world went dull as he pondered over his own emotions in his room. Letting out a feral yell, he sent all the books and papers on his desk flying to the floor, ripping some up and stomping on them. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HUH? I CAN’T DO THIS TO HER! I can’t... I can’t hurt her like that.” He grabbed at his hair, pulling at it as he slid down the wall hopelessly, choking out strained sobs and screams as tears poured from his eyes. He was beyond frustrated. He definitely didn’t want to hurt you by telling you how he felt, however hiding it wouldn’t do any good either. In fact, the longer he hid it, the more affected by it you would be. He had made his mind. He was going to tell you the truth the next day, but at what cost? He was scared, definitely. He could already picture what would happen. He would tell you his conflicts, and you two would end it there, with both of you crying and leaving for different classes. He would probably do terribly during practice, maybe even skip it for once, and you would probably go home and cry. It would hurt him to tell you, but it was for the best.

You weren’t feeling ecstatic the next day, although you should’ve been. In your bag, was a framed polaroid, along with a tiny note attached to it, stuffed in between your lunchbox and textbooks. You made sure not to let the note crumple up. That was something important. Your friends teased you about it, calling you a hopeless romantic, lovestruck schoolgirl, and a variety of different romance tropes. All you could do was nod and laugh dryly, and pray they didn’t see the frown on your face throughout the whole day. During lunch, you scanned the cafeteria for your partner, finally landing your eyes on his tiny figure. He was in the very back of the lunch line, scrolling through his phone, again. You took a deep breath, grabbing the polaroid and treading towards him. “Nishinoya, can I talk to you alone for a bit?” The boy’s eyes glanced towards you, before he cracked a fake grin. “Uh sure thing.” You pulled him out of the lunch line, guiding him to behind a random stairwell, leaning on the wall with the framed photo in hand.

“So, for our second anniversary, I made you this. I hope you like it.” Nishinoya froze, before his eyes widened, his mouth slowly opening. “I- I’m so sorry (Y/N), I completely forgot about this! Oh lord I’m so dumb oh god-” He stopped for a moment. This was the perfect opportunity to tell you. You two were finally alone, he could just get it done and over with. He thought about it a bit more. Would it be too much for you? He had already forgotten about you guys’ anniversary, whilst you made an effort to make him something. He decided against it. He would do it another day. “Yuu, it’s okay, Don’t worry about it. Just read the note when you get back. I gotta go eat now, see you around.” And with that, you made your way back to your table. NIshinoya’s heart clenched. He felt terrible. He really hid the fact that he was losing interest from you for months, whilst you continued to believe that he loved you with his whole heart. He stared at the polaroid in his hand. It was from when you two had your first date in a pink cafe. That was the first time he ever kissed you in public. Inside of the frame, was a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. That was the note you were talking about. He let out a heavy sigh, returning to the cafeteria as well.

The note was now in his hands, still folded in that neat square. When school ended, you didn’t wait for Nishinoya like you usually did. Instead, he saw you walk away with another friend, who was patting your back as you were hunched over slightly. His heart dropped. Thank the lords he decided not to tell you today. Polaroid frame in hand, he examined everything. Maybe there was some hidden message behind this. Maybe she wrote something on the back of the polaroid too, instead of just writing a note. He took a few minutes to just observe the framed photo, before giving up and shoving it back into his bag. There was nothing weird or suspicious about it. It was just a normal polaroid. He walked home alone, not waiting for Tanaka. He felt like absolute shit, head hanging low as he walked towards his house, hands in his pocket. The second he got to his room, he threw everything to the floor, scrambling for the framed polaroid and pulling out the untouched note. He opened the note up, to see a neatly written message. It wasn’t just a note, it was a whole letter.

Dear Yuu,

I expected this already, so don’t be sorry. I knew you were going to forget. You’ve changed, everyone could see. Because of that, there’s something I need to tell you.

I’m breaking it off here.

Nishinoya’s eyes widened as he gripped the paper tightly with his now shaky hands. “No way....”

I know you might be confused as to why I’m doing this. But hear me out. I can see that you’ve changed. For the past months you’ve been uninterested. You haven’t been like the old Yuu since New Year’s Eve.

I love you, I do, but I can’t bear to see you force yourself into continuing this facade. It’s been two years, this isn’t a surprise to me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me against your heart’s desire. I’d rather you be happy with the relationship. Please. Let’s just end it here. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now it’s just trauma for me. I hope this anniversary gift is good enough. Goodbye.

Love,

(Y/N)

Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he re-read the letter again. Nothing changed. You had said what you said and Nishinoya felt terrible. He should’ve known you would be able to read through him. He should’ve just told you from the start, instead of keeping it in like a coward. Putting the letter down, he grabbed his bag, and threw it across the room, letting it land to the ground with a thud as his laptop and his textbooks spilled out. “NISHINOYA YUU WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Ah, of course, it was his mom. “NISHINOYA STOP MAKING SO MUCH NOISE!” The short boy ignored her, continuing to let his anger out. He threw all the books from his shelf onto the wooden floor, ripped up pieces of homework, and threw the polaroid to the ground, jumping on it and cracking the glass. He wasn’t mad at you. He was frustrated with himself. He was furious at his own cowardice, that led to him breaking your heart. “Why? It shouldn’t have been like this! I should’ve apologised to her before any of this happened! We might’ve had a chance!”

He continued to massacre his bedroom, throwing everything at his wall and breaking anything he possibly could get his hands on. His legs felt tired from stomping and jumping and his arms ached from ripping everything. He fell back, landing on his ass as he cradled his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted to lie to himself. Tell himself there was nothing he could do about it. Convince himself that he had already tried his best.

But deep down, he knew that he just didn’t try hard enough, and now, the two years you guys spent together, where he loved every single minute of, was nothing but a beautiful trauma.

Tags:

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Okay this is actually so bad I’m sorry idk I just hate this with a passion and I think it’s terrible but I hope you liked it🥺😔💕

References:

Beautiful Trauma lyrics on genius

Comments on the music video

My overanalysing brain

[rainandhotchocolate]

Blackout - Part 7

A/N lelel it’s here!! I am so fucking TIRED but exams are done and I’m on holidays and thank you for all the love and good luck wishes!! Here’s hoping I passed hehe. Anyways, here’s a long chapter for you - I think it’s 2.5k ish so I hope tht partially makes up for the supreme lateness!! Love y’all xx 

Part 7

“You ready?” Lily stood behind Y/N in the mirror, straightening the front of Y/N’s robes.

“I think so,” Y/N took in a deep breath, spinning around to face her, “You know we’d make a great couple.”

Lily snorted, “Someone needs to take care of James.”

“Ahh true love,” Y/N laughed, playing with the front of her robes, “Did I really wear this every day?”

“I promise I didn’t prank you for your first day back at work,” Lily replied, “And yes, I think Sirius might have some more at you- his as well.”

Lily cleared her throat awkwardly, ushering Y/N out of her room and down the stairs to where James was making scrambled eggs. Y/N rolled her eyes at Lily’s uncomfortable expression.

“I’m not going to melt if you say anything about Sirius and me, Lils.”

“I’m sorry, I just keep forgettin- no sorry I mean-“

“Breathe Lily,” Y/N sat down, pulling a plate of eggs towards her, “Look, I know it’s weird, for both of us, but I can’t panic every time I hear about my past relationship.”

Y/N didn’t miss the look that passed between Lily and James but she ignored it, digging into her food.

“Excited to head back to work?” James sat down in front of her, wiggling is eyebrows.

“I mean, I’ve forgotten a fair amount, I’m a bit worried I’ve forgotten how to, you know, exist in the world.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lily knocked her elbow, “And I’m coming to meet you for lunch anyway so you have an excuse to ditch any corporate gits.”

“And you know that when there’s silence in a conversation you’re meant to screech at the top of your lungs right? Common Ministry courtesy.”

Y/N glared at James, “One day I’m going to fall for one of your stupid comments and you’ll be very sorry.”

“I’ll be cackling you mean.”

“No no, you will be vomiting slugs for a week.”

James put his hands up in mock surrender.

“I promise to avoid anything you might actually believe.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Ok, come on come on, I don’t want you to be late on your second first day,” Lily stood up, grabbing Y/N’s bag and hauling it over her shoulder. Y/N stood up, stretching out her back and smiling.

“Let’s go.”

Y/N felt her stomach flipping over as Lily led her down the backstreets of London to the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry. She was grateful that they took her back, though she had a feeling that someone had had a little discussion with Dumbledore, given she’d received an odd letter congratulating her on her job just minutes before the Ministry owl came through.

Lily opened the bright red phone booth, pulling Y/N inside. Ok deep breath, you got this job once for a reason, you can’t have changed that much.

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts when she felt the jolt of the elevator as it began sinking into the ground. Lily handed her a name tag and gave her a steady smile. The elevator opened, revealing the large tiled lobby to the Ministry of Magic. It was larger than Y/N had remembered, a looming hallway with large ceilings and deep blue tiled archways leading into deep sectors of the building. The grand fountain sat at the end of the hall, golden statues of a centaur and a wizard joined together and surrounded by crystal blue water.

Lily led her down the hallway, heels clicking loudly and back straight and tall. Fellow witches and wizards slipped in and out of the hall through passageways and the floo network, each holding large briefcases and papers, all looking extremely busy.

Lily slipped quickly into an elevator at the end of the hall, pulling Y/N inside with her.

“You’re level 6,” Lily whispered into her ear, having to lean passed a small witch with grey hair and a stare that Y/N thought could kill a man on the spot.

“Do I need to sign in?” Y/N tried to lean back but curled away as the witch turned her gaze onto Y/N.

“No, Salitus said to go straight to his office.”

“Right.” Y/N remembered the name, furrowing her brows to try to see if any details came to her. A weird feeling came over her, making her heart pump harder in her chest and she pulled out of her thoughts, focusing on the man in front of her instead.

“Level 6,” the elevator voice called, and Lily pulled Y/N out of the elevator, following two men who were talking in hushed whispers down the hallway to their left.

“You ok?” Lily had turned to her but expression changed quickly when she saw Y/N’s face.

“Yeah, I just… I feel weird, I don’t know, I think I’m nervous.”

Lily bit her lip, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand.

“You don’t have to come in today you know? We can just go for a walk around London, try again tomorrow?”

“No,” Y/N steeled herself, “I’m just being silly, let’s go.”

****

Sirius placed the large box on James’ counter. When he looked up to meet James and Peter’s eye he saw them grimacing at him.

“Yeah nice and subtle guys.” Sirius huffed, “Making me feel real good about the whole bringing back my ex-girlfriend’s stuff who I never broke up with.”

“Not really sure what to do in this situation,” Peter tried to hide his expression better but it didn’t work.

“Yeah, normally your break ups entailed more firewhiskey and running around in the woods.”

“That would be much more entertaining than this version.” Sirius sat down at the table and pushed the box towards James. “She’s gone to work?”

“Yep, left a few hours ago.”

“How… you know, did she seem?”

“I think nervous, but excited to be going back to something she remembered.” James grabbed the box, lifting over and onto the stairs towards the bedrooms.

“I can’t believe she can only remember to that job.” Peter shook her head, “I mean that’s before she even met us.”

“Thanks for that reminder.”

“Ok, ok you we need to get you out of the house.” James watched Sirius who had placed his head into his hands. “I don’t like mopey Sirius.”

“I’ll try to be happier for you,” Sirius rolled his eyes but James continued.

“Come on, we’ll come to yours tonight, I’ll bring drinks and I’ll get Remus to bring back the cloak.”

“I don’t know man, I kind of want to be alone.”

“Alone never ends well with you,” Peter snorted. James elbowed him sharply in the ribs and he groaned.

“Where is Remus anyway?”

“Another mission for Dumbledore,” James huffed, “At least this one is just for a day, apparently Dumbledore wants him to go for a whole month.”

“A month? What on earth is he going to do for that long?” Peter furrowed his brow, unpacking a box of biscuits and handing them around.

“Gather intel? Be killed by feral werewolves?” Sirius scowled, “I don’t like this.”

“I know, Remus looked ragged the last time I saw him.”

“What time does he get back tonight?”

“Around 8, I think.” James crunched down into a biscuit shaking his head, “I’ll be so mad if he’s hurt.”

“Alright mum,” Sirius laughed at his solemn face, “but ok fine, get him to come over when he gets back. And you better actually bring something to drink.”

“Deal.”

****

Lily squeezed Y/N’s hand as she entered Salitus’ office. He was a tall man with lanky limbs and dark auburn hair. Y/N had a faint memory of him as her manager, but nothing concrete. He smiled at her as she entered.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you, we were so glad to hear you had gotten out of St Mungo’s.” Salitus shook her hand and directed Y/N to a brown leather seat in front of his desk. The room was covered in photos of animals flying in and out frames and salamanders spouting fire towards the room.

“Yes, definitely good to be back up and in the real world,” Y/N smiled at him, trying to look light and bubbly, not like the deep pit of confusion she was feeling.

“We’re very happy to have you back and have Lauren ready to help train you back up again if you need support.” Salitus pulled open a drawer to his left and took out a stack of papers, hitting them on the desk to bring them together. “There are a few things we need you to sign, all the same as when you first joined us, just need to make sure that you’re across the same privacy agreements and all that boring stuff.”

He flashed her another smile and Y/N fought the urge to frown at his teeth gleaming slightly in the light of the office.

“That’s totally fine, I can get to them first thing.”

“Perfect! Well I’ll let you get to your office and get a feel for everything and Lauren will drop in soon to get you up to speed. Send me a note if you need anything at all.” Salitus handed her the papers and stood up, Y/N following his lead and getting up quickly from the leather chair.

“Great, it was good to see you again.”

“You as well.” Y/N nodded to him and followed him out towards the door before he closed it behind her. Lily was still waiting outside reading, putting down her book as Y/N approached.

“Everything all good?”

“Yeah I think so,” Y/N shrugged, “Just have to sign some papers and can head back to my office – also I have an office? I thought I shared an office.”

“I think you moved into your own office before you q- the accident,” Lily stumbled, beginning to walk down the corridor. Y/N narrowed her eyes but let Lily lead her further into the department. “This is you.”

Y/N’s name was emblazoned on the front of a large black door towards the end of the corridor.

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” Lily laughed, “I would love to have my name on something.”

“Have a kid and name it Lily,” Y/N grinned at her, “Are you coming in?”

“No, I’ve got to head into work for a bit but I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you then.”

***

“Open the door Sirius!” James banged on the door to his apartment, bottle of firewhiskey in hand. The door swung open to reveal Remus, his eyes looking sunken and black but he was smiling at him all the same.

“Welcome to the house of depression.”

“Oh good, love a warm welcome.” James slid past him and into the apartment. It was covered in art and framed posters of gigs Sirius and Y/N had been too, the furniture clearly picked out by Y/N as it wasn’t black or second-hand.

Remus grinned at him and followed James back towards the living room where music was blasting and Peter was watching Sirius set up an elaborate line of shots with his wand out and ready.

“You ready for a new game!?” Sirius looked up when James entered, clearly already tipsy, his eyes flashing mischievously.

“Hit me.” James sat on the couch and passed him another bottle of whiskey to add to his stash next to the table.

“We’re doing proper firewhiskey,” Sirius flicked his wand so that one of the shots lit on fire. “With a twist.”

“More of a twist?” Remus snorted.

“I’m gonna place these around the rooms and we need to try to apparate directly in front of them.”

“What happens if we miss?”

“The rest of us gets to decide a punishment.” Sirius grinned.

“Sounds good to me,” James grinned in response, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

Three hours later the four boys had drunk two bottles of firewhiskey, Peter was dressed in his underwear and Remus’ hair was singed with fire. James had had to streak down a the road outside Sirius’ apartment at one point as well and was sure the lady downstairs was going to hit on him the next time she passed.

Sirius was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly. He’d apparated perfectly in front of each shot and had already out drunk all three of them. Remus was flicking through Sirius’ records, calling out each one he liked to see if the rest of them wanted it playing.

“I’ve told you three time, it’s New Order or nothing.” James called from the bathroom, poking his head around the doorway.

“Alright alright, putting it on now.” Remus flipped the record, placing it on the player and placing the needle down and turning up the volume.

Blue Monday blasted through the speakers and Remus went over to Sirius, still on the floor.

“Come on, you’ve got to get up for Blue Monday.” Remus kicked his feet, stumbling sideways slightly. James had come back into the living room and grabbed Peter’s hand, spinning him towards the fire.

“Nah, imma stay here,” Sirius slurred up at him, kicking his feet back towards Remus who side stepped him.

“Come on.” Remus rolled his eyes, leaning down to grab his hand and pull him back up to standing. Sirius swayed on his feet, stumbling towards the wall, giggling.

“Oops, everything’s spinning,” He mumbled towards Remus, turning around to watch James and Peter pretend to Irish dance in the corner.

“You need water you idiot.”

“Noooo, I’m good, I need some more, I’m sobering up!”

“Liar!” Peter called out to him, attempting a high kick and hitting the edge of the doorway.

“You’re literally going to puke over your floor if you have any more, and you’ve not even had to do anything bad yet,” James caught Peter before he slipped backwards.

“Well come on then, hit me, dare me to do something friends,” Sirius winked at James, “give me your worst.”

“I can’t think of anything,” Remus blinked a few times, “My brain has turned to mush.”

“Streak!” Peter sat down, puffing loudly.

“You can’t re dare the same thing,” James rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, why don’t you floo call someone?”

“Calling someone!” Sirius yelled, throwing his hands up in the air, “Perfect!”

Sirius knelt on the ground, shifting his legs across the floorboards to reach the fireplace. He placed his hand in the large pot of floor powder to his right, grabbing a hand-full and throwing it into the fire.

“James and Lily’s!”

***

“Merlin’s beard I am exhausted.” Y/N flopped onto the couch as Lily handed her a cup of peppermint tea and a plateful of fig newtons.

“Long first day?” Lily smiled at her, curling up her feet underneath the couch and leaning into the arm.

“I remember Lauren being boring but listening to her talk about the ins and outs of my job for three hours honestly made me want to be back in St Mungo’s.”

“She sounds like a delight.” Lily snorted.

“Seriously, she made the job sound like the most painful thing on the planet, but there’s a reason I joined right? A reason I stayed?” Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “I hate feeling like I’m back at step one in my career you know.”

“Ahh you’ll find your way again,” Lily stole a fig newton, “You might just need to repeat some of the same mistakes before you get there.”

“Sounds fucking fun.” Y/N sighed, staring at the fireplace. “How was your day?”

“Alright, doing field work is a bit painful at the moment, I was hoping it would be more like working at St Mungo’s but it feels more like I’m just being sent to break up petty fights they think might be death eater attacks.”

“So, healing broken noses and black eyes?”

“Just about, learning a lot about dumb boys.” Lily snorted, “Which I think I already have a fucking degree in.”

Suddenly there was a crackling sound and within an instant the two girls were standing, wand in hand pointing towards the fire that had began moving in front of them.

“Y/N! Y/N!” A familiar voice called through the fire and they lowered their stance. Sirius’s face was pushing through the fireplace, grinning stupidly as he tried to find Y/N. “There you are!”

“Hey there, Sirius, you sound like you’re having a good night.” Y/N smiled at him, sitting down closer to the fireplace.

“A great night! Fan-bloody-tastic night!”

“So what’s going on?”

“Well the boys dared me to floo call someone and I thought of you!”

“That’s very kind of you,” Y/N laughed, hearing Remus calling out to Sirius in the background.

“Anyway, anyway, I really just wanted to tell you, like, tell you how much I miss you – no, James I’m fine!” Sirius’ face moved towards where Y/N presumed James was trying to pull him away from the fire. Y/N could hear Lily suck in a breath from behind her.

“No, I needed to let you know that I really really miss you, you know? Like it kinds hurts a lot sometimes but you’re still here and you’re ok, but you’re also not here? You know? And I just, I love you Y/N so much and I don’t know what to do without you but you are here, so I’m just really confused but I thought you needed to know ho-“

Sirius’s face disappeared from the fire as she heard three boys yell loudly and presumably drag him backwards and into his living room again. A silence fell, Lily’s breathing heavy and loud behind her.

“Are you ok?” Lily said after a moment, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N said nothing, staring at the place where Sirius’s face had been and feeling every part of her body tense painfully.

“I’m making his life worse by being here.” Y/N muttered finally, her throat constricting tightly. She was bringing him so much pain by existing without the memories of him. She wondered momentarily if it would have been better to just have never woken up. No, that’s not the problem. The problem is whoever did this to me. Whoever decided to cause this pain.

“No you’re not, love, I promise. He’s just drunk and a bit sad, he will be ok.”

“Tell me about that night.” Y/N turned to face Lily. Her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“The night I got hurt, tell me about it. I want to know what happened.”

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[vannahfanfics]

Hello! Can I request some Hawks/Fuyumi (huwumi) from bnha with the prompt 11. Moonlight (Grace Vanderwaal) or any other prompt you think that might fit them? I really love these two together 'cause they have so much potential as a couple considering their plot in the manga. I hope you can write something about them. Thank you :)

Thank you for your patience. At long last, here’s your story! I hope you enjoy it and always feel free to request again!

Two-Toned

“Oh, dear,” Fuyumi sighed. “Is it really that latealready?” She was frowning deeply as she gazed nervously out of the spaciouswindow beside her desk in her currently empty classroom. Above the silhouettedskyline, the night sky was enveloping the world in its gentle, dark embrace.The moon was a slim crescent, diminishing the amount of light it was able tocast upon the world, and the stars were blotted out by a combination of bothwispy gray clouds and the light pollution of the populated city- meaning thatthe only things that would illuminate Fuyumi’s way home were the puddles oflight splashing down on the sidewalk from the flickering lampposts. She hadn’tmeant to stay in the school building so late grading papers, but once she goton a roll, it was very difficult to pry her attention away from her task. “Oh,dear,” she tutted once more to herself, but there was nothing for it; she hadto get home at some point, after all, and it wouldn’t do to stay out any laterthan this. She quickly gathered her things into her spacious satchel beforescurrying out of the door, being sure to lock her classroom behind her.

Fuyumi reflexively clutched her bag close to her hipas she scurried quickly and purposefully down the sidewalk. It wasn’t like shehad anything valuable to the average person. The act of grounding herself tothe bag seemed to alleviate her anxieties somewhat, but only just. Even withheroes patrolling the city day and night, the streets at night were still adangerous place for a young woman such as herself. Besides, despite everything,many crimes went unpunished and even unwitnessed to heroes, because they simplycouldn’t be everywhere at once, and if criminals had proved anything, they wereadaptable and cunning. If I could just make it to the train station, I’ll bejust fine, she told herself with a small gulp. Statistically speaking,crime rates were still relatively low, so the chances of anyone hassling Fuyumiwere favorable.

As it turned out, statistics were not in herfavor that evening.

A shiver crawled up her spine as a sharp wolf-whistlepierced the cool night air. The fine hairs on the back of her neck began toraise as thudding, heavy footsteps overshadowed her own light, feverish ones.She knew that someone was walking behind her, perhaps even multiple someones. Staycalm, she told herself as she dug her trembling fingers further into thebrown fabric of her satchel. If she stopped and acknowledged them, then she waspretty much allowing herself to become a victim. She cast a fervid glance intothe glass window of the next building she passed; her face paled frightfully asshe caught glimpses of two male figures tromping behind her own reflection.They were very obviously staggering drunk. Stay calm, she remindedherself. Even her inner voice was squeaking in fright.

“Hey, baby. It’s a little late to be out by yourself,”slurred one of the strangers. Invisible hackles raised over her shoulders atthe proximity of his sluggish voice. Involuntarily, her pace quickened untilshe was jogging feverishly down the street. The train station was close, right?Her fear-fogged mind was mixing up the directions that had become secondnature. Suddenly, the buildings didn’t look familiar; had she somehow made awrong turn? Surely not, she thought she recognized that little cake shop on thecorner, but then again, maybe it just looked a lot like the one she bought amuffin and coffee from every morning. Was it even a cake shop at all?

Her breath came in ragged gasps as fear and exertionbegan to overtake her system. Dammit, she should have invested in that pepperspray like Natsuo told her to! She could hear the men laughing raucously behindher and their slamming footsteps.

“Why are you running, doll?”

“Yeah, we just want to chat! The night is young! Let’sgo drinkin’!”” the other yowled not unlike a feral beast on the chase. Scaredtears began to sting Fuyumi’s eyes as she desperately repeated “train station,train station” under her breath like a prayer. The soles of her flats scrapedloudly against the sidewalk as she whirled around a corner, hoping the suddenand athletic movement would be too much for the drunkards to replicate. It was;they cursed angrily as they slammed halfway against the brick corner andtumbled over some silver trash bins. Had Fuyumi executed her plan perfectly,she would have created enough distance between them to escape. However, it wasclear that luck had abandoned her. She whimpered pitifully as she staredwide-eyed and tearfully at the eight-foot-tall dirty brick wall that wasobstructing her path.

“Aw, doll, you just wanted to find somewhere private?How nice of ya,” one of the drunks crooned before giving a disgusting, loudbelch. Stay calm, stay calm, you just have to catch them by surprise andpush by, Fuyumi told herself frantically as she whirled on her heel andfaced her stalkers. She gulped loudly as she held her satchel up to her chest,almost like a shield. Their hulking forms eclipsed the little amount of lightpouring in from the lit street; their shadows stretched yards, ending rightbefore Fuyumi’s quivering form. “Don’t be scared, doll,” echoed the sing-songvoice laced with ill intent. “We just want to have a nice talk over a couple o’drinks.”

“You look like such a pretty, nice lady. You’llindulge us, right?” the other cooed in a false soothing façade.

“I am not interested,” she stated clearly. Her voicewas much stronger and firmer than her frantic soul; even in this state, shecould somehow summon her teacher’s scolding voice. “Please excuse me.” It was afool’s thought to think that politeness would get her anywhere with thesethugs. All she earned in response were a pair of bitter resounding laughs.Fuyumi reflexively backed up against the wall as they continued to lumbertowards her, swaying like nightmarish beasts.

“Why the hurry?”

“Yeah, all you uptight girls just need to let looseand have a little fuuuuuuun,” he stretched out the word into a slurred drawlthat made every inch of Fuyumi’s skin crawl. As one of them neared close enoughfor arm’s reach, she snatched up the closest discarded item- a splintered slabof plywood- and lashed out at him.

“Get away from me!” she screeched. Her attacksurprised him and his reflexed weren’t exactly stellar given his immenseinebriation, so the hunk of wood actually connected with his skull.Unfortunately, the wood was half-rotted and thin to begin with, so rather thanknocking him out, it snapped in half on contact and only served to infuriatehim. Fuyumi yelped as he roughly grabbed the remaining piece of wood and yankedit right out of her hands to toss it down the alleyway. The clouds parted justenough to allow the sliver of the moon to shine down on the harrowing sceneunfolding in the alleyway; the thin trail of blood leaking from the gash in hisforehead glowed like a fiery ruby, matching the flame of anger burning deep inthe dark pits of his eyes.

“Lady,” he snarled, “That hurt.” Fuyumi inhaledsharply and pressed back so hard against the wall that the indentations of thebrickwork were sure to be imprinted into her skin. Her knees buckled againstone another and refused to unlock, leaving her just a quivering, vulnerablemess. Was this really it? Was she really just going to stand there and be avictim? She always prided herself in being strong and capable, willful androbust, but it was like every ounce of her courage had been siphoned away withthat one dreadful, murderous look. She begged her body to do something,anything, but it refused to comply. She could almost see the cloud of mistpouring from her mouth as her entire body froze into a block of ice. She turnedher attention to desperate, silent prayers, calling out on instinct to herfamily.

Natsuo. Shoto. In her addled state, she would eventake her shitbag of a father.

“Someone, please save me,” she breathed as fourgroping hands reached for her, unseen in the dark of the moonlit night.

“Now, that is no way to treat a young lady.”

“Oh!” Fuyumi exclaimed as her red-and-white hair andthe loose fabric of her dress ruffled wildly with the onslaught of a sudden,swirling wind. The air rang with the fluttering of countless feathers as thewind descended before her, and the hulking frames of the two drunks wasreplaced by a strong back adorned with two large, red wings. Lazily, a handdrifted up to weave through tousled blonde locks.

“Nope, nope,” clucked the hero before her in scolding,“ladies should be treated with respect and dignity- not herded into a dirtyalleyway like livestock for the slaughter.” Though his tone started offlighthearted and almost unbothered at first, by the end of the sentence it haddeveloped such a hard and savage edge that even Fuyumi winced, though it was inno way directed at her.

“Oh, shit, it’s Hawks! What the hell is he doing allthe way over here?” one of them cried fearfully.

“Who gives a fuck? Run!” The other barked.Fuyumi could not see them behind the sprawling mass of those ruby-red wings,but she imagined they were clumsily turning on their heels to flee like thecowards they were.

“Nope, nope. Class ain’t dismissed,” Hawks sighed.Based on the flex of his toned shoulder muscles, she guessed his arms snappedout to grasp them by the backs of their necks. She was so impressed with hisspeed and agility that she completely missed the very obvious reference to herprofession that implied familiarity on his part. A very loud thunking combinedwith piercing yelps indicated he had banged their heads together to daze them.“Really? You dopes make all that fuss, and that’s all it takes to knock youout? I’m disappointed,” Hawks pouted with a tiny flutter of his wings. Fuyumiwatched owlishly as he deposited them a few feet away; she grimaced at the veryobvious goose eggs growing on each of their foreheads. They would be feelingthat in the morning, for sure. “Now, to get you punks to the slammer before youwake up and have any more bright ideas,” the winged hero muttered under hisbreath as he quickly typed a text into his smartphone. He gave no notice toFuyumi. Blinking, she timidly peeled herself off the wall to shyly take a fewsteps toward him.

“Um… Mr. Hawks… sir?”

“Oh, right, are you hurt, miss?” he laughed, shovinghis phone deep into his pocket and rubbing the back of his neck with a brightsmile. “Sorry, sorry, I was alerting the authorities; I didn’t mean to ignoreyou.” For a pro hero, he sure is… flighty… The adjective was almost tooappropriate. He smiled wider when she shook her head. “Good, good. Endeavorwould sure drive a stick up my ass if you got hurt on my watch- uh, pardon thelanguage,” he corrected quickly as a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Oh! No, it’s not that, um. I just wasn’t aware thatyou were familiar with my father.” Fuyumi had been under the impression thathis assistance in her father’s televised fight was mere circumstance.

“Nope, nope! We’re buddies!” Hawks grinned widely.Fuyumi had to giggle; most definitely, it was a one-sided friendship, knowingher father’s grumpiness. Though Fuyumi had been through such a harrowingexperience, his easy-going nature and smile was doing wonders to drive her downfrom that adrenaline high. She hugged the satchel of papers to her chest as shesmiled shyly.

“Oh, well… I appreciate your help.”

“No problem~” he chirped with a dismissive wave.“You’re a little late in your schedule, though, yeah?” Fuyumi’s eyes widened asshe stared at him blankly. How could he know that? It was his turn to blush.“Ah, no,” he stammered quickly while holding out his hands in an appeasinggesture. “It’s not like I stalk you or anything; I just, uh, always fly overhere because there’s this place that has suuuuuper awesome bubble tea, yeah,and I always see you walking home at the same time, you know? I mean, you’rejust, uh, really noticeable. In a good way! You don’t look weird or anything!Um. Maybe I should stop talking?” His wings drooped low as he lookeduncomfortably at her. Fuyumi ought to be a little creeped out, she supposed,but he was just so cute and flustered that she just found it all endearing. Hiseyebrows sloped downward worriedly as she began to laugh lightly.

“It’s all right. I feel grateful that the number-twohero takes notice of a quaint little teacher such as myself.” The bubble teashop was right next to the school she taught at, so it wasn’t much wonder heknew she taught, either. Honestly, Fuyumi was quite flattered. A famous hero,taking notice of her? It was dreamlike. A bashful smile graced his pretty faceas he fluttered his wings hopefully. Fuyumi suddenly gulped as she beheld themarvelous appendages. She was no stranger to famous heroes, and after watchingthe televised fight, she had taken notice of Hawks and begun following hisexploits. After all, she wasn’t blind; he was handsome and, dare she say,dreamy. As such, she had harbored a wee little fantasy. “M-may… May I touchyour wings?” she whispered. His eyes widened and he compulsively looked at oneof them.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he shrugged and extended one out forher. She sucked in a sharp breath as she admired the way the scarce moonlightplayed over the surface of the feathers, tainting the red hue with a silver-redcolor. Hesitantly, as if she were about to commit some blasphemous act eventhough he had expressly given her permission, she stretched out a hand. Thevery tips of her fingers just barely shook as they journeyed across the smallspace before connecting with the blades of his wings. She could not help butopenly sigh as her fingers came into contact with the impeccably soft feathers.Her expression melted as she softly stroked the downy mass. Somehow, it wasrelaxing. Her fingertips skipped up to run across the hard bone of the frame ofhis wings, feeling the occasional tiny notch of a scar. She wonderedmomentarily how many battles he had been in, but it flew from her mind as hejumped slightly. “Sorry, it tickles a little,” he smiled nonchalantly at her asshe looked at him. Hey eyebrows crept up her forehead slightly, as the dustingof pink across his cheeks did not go unnoticed by her. She looked back down atthe wings. Though she ached to just dive her hands into the soft feathers andplay with them, that was stepping a little over the line, she reasoned.

“Erm… Thank you,” she said and retracted her handbefore she grew too bold. He rolled his shoulders as he pulled the wing backin, before lifting his visor to smile at her with glittering eyes. Sirens werebeginning to wail in the distance, growing closer by the second. Fuyumi felt alittle saddened by their implications. “I… suppose it is time for you to leave,isn’t it?”

“Now, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t escorta young lady home?” Bird-like as he was, his voice still rumbled like a cat’spurr. It vibrated in Fuyumi’s chest, stirring her heart up into a frenzy. Shestraightened up reflexively as he took a few steps toward her, now standingless than a third of a foot in front of her; if he puffed out his chest enough,theirs would meet. “That is, if the young lady would grace me with her presencea little longer.”

“Oh, dear,” she breathed out. She couldn’t help it. Helooked impossibly sexy; the moonlight was framing him just right, catching allthe highlights in his hair and accenting all the ridges of his face and makinghis wings shine like that of a true angel’s. She found herself nodding beforeshe could even command her brain to think about his question.

“May I?” he asked chivalrously and held out his armswith a slight stoop of his body, obviously intending to scoop her up into hisarms. Again, her head bobbled in an entranced nod. As his thick arms slippedaround her, one bumping into the backs of her knees and the other securing heraround her shoulders as she stumbled into him, she automatically grabbed ontohis sturdy shoulders. Immediately, her fingers itched with the inane need totrace the lines of his muscles so obviously encased by his hero uniform. Herface immediately flared pink at her indecent thoughts. This was a pro hero!Holding her close… His breath mixing with hers in close proximity… Really, shecould kiss him without much effort… She wondered if it would be a welcomereward for her rescue? Oh, dear, Fuyumi! Hush! She begged herself.Almost as if he was reading her mind, he smirked knowingly down at her. “Youbetter hold on,” he remarked just as the police cars pulled up and the officersexited. “Thank you, gentlemen, but I gotta fly! I’ll come and give report atthe station later Oh, dear, that’snice… she thought absently, not even really aware of the way her two-tonedhair was flapping in her face.

“You’re missing the view,” Hawks laughed at her. Shewrenched herself back into the present and hastily swept her hair from her faceto look around.

What a view it was.

“Oh, dear…” Though only a few seconds had passed, theywere now sailing high above the city line. The lights of cars and buildingstwinkled in little orbs below, mirroring the expanse of the black sky above herhead. Everything seemed so small, so inconsequential, that it took Fuyumi’sbreath away. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” She looked at him and blushed when she foundhim staring directly at her. Momentarily, she wondered if she had been watchingtoo many cheesy chick flicks and was dreaming. She pinched herself, sure thatshe would awaken in her bed with no memory of how she got there, but though thesharp pinch made her nerves complain loudly, she didn’t jolt up in her bed. Thisis… real… she thought as she stared deeply into his golden-brown eyes. “Youknow, we’re acquainted so well, and yet I don’t even know your name,” hechuckled bashfully all of a sudden.

“Fuyumi,” she answered with no hesitation. “FuyumiTodoroki.” The smile he gave her was one laced with obvious affection.

“Huh. Imagine that. A beautiful name to match a beautifulface.” It was such an obvious flirt that Fuyumi became overwhelmingly shy andburied her face into his shoulder, feeling it jump as his laugh rang out in thenight air.

“Do you flirt so shamelessly with every young womanyou rescue?”

“Nope, nope, just pretty teachers.” Oh, he’s arascal, she thought with a twist of her stomach, but she couldn’t deny thatshe was very excited by it all. After all, she would be a fool of a woman notto be! Hawks seemed like he was genuine enough, too.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Do I get to know your real name?” she asked, liftingher head to peer up at him. He gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment beforegiving her a lop-sided smirk.

“Depends. Do I get to have the young lady’s phonenumber?”

Instead of an answer, she gave him another embarrassedsqueal and buried her face back into his broad shoulder. He had been soflustered earlier, but now he was spitting game like it was second nature tohim! He was laughing again, and the way her head was jostling up and down withevery loud chuckle didn’t help the nervous twisting of her belly. “Keigo,” hesaid suddenly, making her look up at him in mild shock. “Call me Keigo.”

“Keigo,” she repeated softly. “It has a nice ring toit.”

He snorted with a smile and turned his head as his wingsshifted to bank sharply, catching the light of the moonlight in such a way thatthey glowed mostly white, but two-toned with occasional dark streaks of redwith the way the shadows fell. Fuyumi smiled and reached up to play with theends of her wind-swept two-toned hair, thinking that in the moonlight, theymatched.

What were the implications of that, shewondered?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

[katefiction]

One Sweet Day

by katefiction (Maria) / 2014

I had this idea 5 years ago, but not for Will and Kate, just as a random story. It’s nice to have finally written it. I hope you enjoy and let me know if it’s what you expected! ;-) 

Maria x

“A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams” – John Barrymore 

I am a dying man.

At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

My organs are shutting down, as they have been doing gradually for the past ten years. 84 years is a long time for them to be working away, I don’t blame them for wanting to stop. It’s my heart that’s the biggest trouble maker though. It keeps slowing and refuses to pump the blood around as it should.

It’s the reason why I’m sitting in bed, reading all about my imminent departure from this world in the paper.

The thing about coming to the end of your life is that everyone wants to make you comfortable. They want to wrap you up in bed, as if that will delay the inevitable. It’s the polar opposite of what I want. I want to be seeing all the places I meant to see when I was healthy, and speaking to all the people I kept meaning to stay in touch with. I want to be fixing all the things I messed up.

‘Dad? Can I get you anything?’ My son pops his head around the door and scans me up and down for any sign of distress.

I wave my hand nonchalantly, ‘I haven’t expired yet’ I say a little breathlessly.

‘You’re not funny dad’.

My dad jokes had been thrilling him for 53 years.

‘George, come here, humour your old dad for a few minutes won’t you?’ I put my newspaper down and take off my reading glasses.

He is the spitting image of me, unfortunately. Luckily for him though, the male pattern baldness that has cursed our family for generations skipped him. With a head full of grey hair and at a towering 6ft 5, he cuts quite the dashing figure. Thank God for his mother.

George closes the door behind him and sits down on the chair next to my bed.

‘So what have you been up to today?’ he asks.

‘Let’s see…I woke up, bathed, had breakfast, got back in to bed, had a nap, and now here we are. Living the life, my son’

‘Do you have to be so morose all the time? I’d quite like to remember my father differently’

‘Maybe if my darling children allowed me out of this room from time to time, I would be more chipper’

George squints his eyes, ‘it’s for your own good, you’re not well enough to go gallivanting around’

The door clicks open and we both turn our heads.

‘Hi daddy, how are you today?’ Emma blusters in and kisses both my cheeks.

‘Hello sweetheart’. Despite the fact that Emma is 50, I still see her as my little girl. She still wears her brown hair down to her shoulders, and still flits around ordering everyone around just like she did when she was a child.

‘George and I were just talking about how he’s going to take me to the coast’

Emma sends him a sharp look.

‘No we weren’t!’ George protests.

She softens and starts smoothing down my bed covers, ‘good, we can go for a walk in the grounds if you like’

I grumble. As much as I love Balmoral, and chose it to spend my final days in, there are only so much of its grounds I can see.

‘Oh daddy don’t be like this’, Emma takes my hand.

I sigh, ‘I just don’t see the point of the two of you coming all the way from London if we’re just going to sit here all day, every day’

‘But we want to spend all the time we can with you dad’ George says.

‘You know if mum was here, she’d agree with us’ Emma looks at me with those lovely eyes that are just like her mother’s.

‘You’re mother was a taskmaster’ I laugh.

They glance at each other, clearly pleased to see me laughing.

Emma leans in, ‘how about you tell us about you and mum?’

‘What about us?’ I ask.

‘Oh you know, how you met, why you started dating, everything’

‘I’m sure there’s a book about that somewhere you could read…or twenty’

‘Yes but we want to hear it from you, the real story, don’t we George?’

‘Er…yes’ George says, cottoning on to Emma’s idea to cheer me up.

‘There’s not much to tell, you’ve heard it all before’

‘There must be something we don’t know’

‘Well…I suppose there could be…something you never knew about’

My heart begins to slow. I can feel it sometimes, struggling to push the blood around.

There is an unwritten rule in life that some things should stay private. Especially from your children. But those rules don’t apply on your death bed.  I suddenly understand why people feel the need to confess at the end of their lives. Because if you die without ever revealing something, then it’s almost as if it never happened, or it never mattered.

And she mattered.

I rub my chest to get my breath back.

‘Take your time dad, we’re listening’

St Andrews University, 2001

The first time I saw her, she was walking along the landing in our halls of residence, St Salvador’s (or ‘Sallies’), books in her arms and a look of determination on her face.

She’d obviously been walking pretty fast from the library. Her hair was swept around her shoulders and her cheeks and nose pink from the walk. In contrast, I had just woken up and was only just on my way to breakfast.

The first week of my university life had been spent a) hiding in my room, b) hiding in the library in Sallies, c) hiding amongst the friends that I already knew from Eton. I had resolved that I couldn’t spend the rest of the year (or four years) like this and had a new found determination to make more friends.  There was no time like the present.

‘Er hi’ I said as she rummaged in her bag for her keys. Her room was across the landing from mine and a few doors down.

She turned to face me, ‘hi’. Her subsequent expression was the same one that I’d seen a thousand times. That sudden registration of who I was. ‘Oh’.

I ploughed on, hoping to break the impending awkwardness, ‘I’m Will’.

I thought I saw a twitch on her lips. She knew my name. I knew she knew my name. ‘Catherine, or Kate, whichever. Nice to meet you’. A crimson blush was creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

I shuffled my feet, ‘you too…so erm…’

Before I could finish, she cut me off, gesturing to her books, ‘I should really get on’

‘Of course, yeh, see you around!’ I waved my arm in the air, then realised how over the top it was to wave at her across the hallway. I pulled it down self-consciously.

‘Have a good day’, she said and scuttled off into her room.

I blew out my cheeks the second she was out of sight. It was hard enough talking to new people, it was even harder talking to girls.

*

The dining hall at Sallies wasn’t your average canteen. With its oak panelled walls and stained glass windows, it looked more like an old court room. It certainly felt like one the first few times I’d entered it. Everyone turned from their long benches when I walked in, and gawped as I made my way to the top of the hall, as if I was a guilty man walking. The table my friends and I sat on was next to ‘High table’, which was used for formal dinners with academics every Thursday night. Each student would get a chance to attend one of these dinners during the year. I had been asked on my first week, but declined the invitation, saying I couldn’t make it that night. In truth, I didn’t want to single myself out so early on.

I sat down next to Oliver, who’d become a good friend.

‘Finally!’ he scoffed, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. ‘I thought you were never going to emerge from your cave.’

‘My first lecture is at 11, there was no need to get up’, I said, looking over to the queue to the breakfast buffet.

‘There is if you want to get the pick of the good food in the morning.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Plus all the fit girls eat breakfast early’.

I laughed and scanned the room. There were plenty of good looking girls in Sallies. Coming from an all boy’s school, it should’ve been a feast, but I found myself nervous and suspicious of them all.

‘Kate’s late today’, he said looking over to the breakfast queue.

I turned my head. There was the girl I’d just met, plate in hand, standing alone at the back of the queue.

‘I suppose I’d better start queuing before all the food’s gone’ I said, getting up.

Oliver sniggered, ‘convenient’.

‘What? I only just met her like two minutes ago’

‘Better get in quick, all the good ones get taken in the first term’

I’d heard about the feral hormones that raged in first year halls. Relationships were made, one night stands had and the contagious spread of ‘he did, she did’ gossip was hard to avoid. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be involved in that, I was a young man after all. Just that I couldn’t afford to have the whole country hear about my bedroom habits for the sake of one night of sex.

‘Hi again’ I said as I got in the line behind Kate.

‘Oh hi’ she said sheepishly.

‘So, early trip to the library was it?’ I asked.

She moved along, picking up pieces of fruit from the platters. ‘I just wanted to get some of the core reading done before lectures start properly’.

She seemed reluctant to look me in the eye and focussed on choosing her breakfast.

‘That’s smart. What are you doing?’

‘History of Art’

‘Oh really? Me too’

She finally looked at me and smiled. ‘I know, I saw you sleeping under your hat in the introductory lecture’

I laughed, ‘I wasn’t asleep, I was just keeping my head down, there were a lot of people there.’

I don’t know what compelled me to be so honest, but despite her nervousness around me, there was something inherently calming about her.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise’ she said, clearly embarrassed.

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. To be honest I didn’t take much of that lecture in’.

We got to the end of the line, both choosing fruit and muesli, and laughed when we looked at each other’s matching plates.

‘Did you want to sit with us? You know Oliver don’t you?’

‘Oh I’m sorry I’m meeting the girls.’ She gestured over to a group of girls who were sitting at a table trying not to look over to us. I recognised a few of them from our floor. ‘But I’ll see you in the lecture later?’

‘Sure, yeah’.

We carried our food to our separate tables and I glanced over to her as we did. Her friends giggled and started interrogating her in hushed tones.

Kate, however, merely shrugged and carried on with her breakfast.

*

I never did see her in that lecture. Well I saw her, but we didn’t speak. In fact, we didn’t speak for the next two weeks.

Love stories are often made out to be lightning bolt moments. That moment where you see a person for the first time and they change your world instantly. It wasn’t like that for me. I’d had girlfriends before who I’d fancied immediately and followed them around like a lost puppy. With her, it was different. I thought she was attractive, of course. Everyone did. But she wasn’t like other girls. She had an air of quiet confidence as she walked around campus or sat in seminars. Yet it was like she didn’t realise she was special.

It was one Autumn evening that I spoke to her again. I was bent over my desk attempting an essay on renaissance art, clicking my pen on and off as I tried to wrap my head around it.

University wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be. I’d made some good friends and experienced the typical student nightlife, but during the day, I struggled to keep up with the work and dozed off during lectures.

I slammed the book shut and let out a frustrated growl. I had a 10 am deadline and had barely written 100 of the 1000 words required. As it was Tuesday, most of my friends had gone out to take advantage of the half price drinks at Ma Bells and I knew if I didn’t finish this soon, I’d have to do it under the noise and chaos of their return from the bar.

It was then that it occurred to me to try and get some help. I’d seen Kate in lectures scribbling down notes for the whole hour while I played noughts and crosses with course mates. I just prayed she hadn’t gone out.

Stepping across the hall, I gave her door a gentle rap. It took me by surprise when I heard a soft ‘come in’ from the other side.

Opening the door, I found her sitting cross legged on her bed, print outs and notes spread across her duvet, and a highlighter in her hand.

‘Oh hey’ she said, looking slightly taken aback to see it was me.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting? You doing that renaissance essay too?’ I said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward being in her room.

A student bedroom wasn’t like a regular bedroom. I was a place to sleep, eat, work, stress out and hide away. It was like a whole home rolled into one tiny space. With the exception of my extra security measures, Kate’s bedroom was identical to mine. A single bed took up almost the length of one of the walls, and a desk spanned the back wall, with a single window above it. The room also crammed in a wardrobe and a book shelf. Like everyone else, Kate had decorated her room in her own style. Her walls were covered in photographs of people – presumably family and friends – and scenic views. Other than a few books lying around, it was remarkably clean and tidy; a world away from my pig sty of a bedroom.

‘No no, I finished that a couple of days ago, I’m just reading up for the next lecture’

‘Wow’ I said, shocked at her ability to be so organised.

She lifted an eyebrow at me and smiled, ‘sooo, have you done yours?’

I instantly felt at ease at the slight derisiveness in her tone. ‘See, that’s the thing, I was hoping, if you’re not too busy that is, that you could give me some pointers?’

She immediately piled up her notes and put them to one side, ‘what do you need to know?’

Somehow, Kate knew that by ‘pointers’ I really meant that I needed to know everything we’d been taught in our renaissance module.

After collecting my notes and laptop from my room, I sat down opposite her on her bed and we went through my question, ‘How did Giotto liberate Italian painting from the traditional Byzantine style of the early Middle Ages?’

There were four questions to pick from, and unfortunately she’d chosen a different one from me, yet still knew a remarkable amount about the subject.

‘How do you know all this?’ I said, after she described one of Giotto’s paintings to me.

She blushed, ‘I spent some time in Florence in my gap year – am I being a know-it-all?’

‘Not at all’ I laughed.

As she explained her twelve weeks in Florence to me and pointed out the panoramic views of the city on her wall that she’d taken, I noticed a distinct twinkle in her eye.

‘So what did you spend the rest of your gap year doing?’ I asked, relishing the time not talking about myself.

‘Actually, I went to Chile with Raleigh’ she said reluctantly.

‘No way! So did I! Don’t tell me we went at the same time?!’

Any ideas of doing my essay were quickly thrown out the window as we spent the next half an hour talking about our expeditions in Chile. As it turned out, Kate had been there a few weeks after me, but was well aware I’d been. She just hadn’t wanted to bring it up.

‘We should probably crack on’ she said pointing at my laptop after a long conversation about one of the expedition leaders and his tendency to wear the same socks every day.

‘Yes, right’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘Work…right’. I placed my fingers on the keyboard willing them to type something.

‘Here’, she grabbed a scrap piece of paper, ‘it will help to plan it out’. On it she wrote the essay question and highlighted some of the words in her pink highlighter, drawing lines from each of them.

‘So “Giotto”, who was he and why was he important? Then “Byzantine style”, what was this style? Then “liberate”, how did he liberate it, what did he do?’

I sat watching in awe, ‘you make it look so simple’

‘Once you’ve chopped the question up, it is simple’ she smiled. ‘Do a paragraph for each with a few quotes from the textbooks, plus and introduction and conclusion and you’re done. That’ll be good enough for-‘ she looked at her watch ‘-11 pm the night before’.

‘I should probably know how to write an essay by now, shouldn’t I?’ I said, embarrassed that she had to explain it to me.

‘It’s different to school, you’ll get the hang of it. Besides mine might be a load of rubbish’

‘I doubt that very much, you’re far too prepared with your fancy highlighter’

She giggled, ‘here, have it’. She handed the pink highlighter to me. ‘For good luck’.

I used it so much during that year that I only gave it up when the ink ran so dry that it left barely visible scratchy pink lines across my notes.

*

That night marked the beginning of our friendship. We began to walk to lectures together and sit together in the lecture hall. She even managed to get me to concentrate on the odd occasion. But even that wasn’t enough for me to enjoy the subject. As the first term drew to a close, I was having serious doubts about the course I’d chosen, and Kate’s obvious enthusiasm for art history only confirmed my thoughts that it wasn’t for me.

Luckily for me, I’d managed to make a tight knit group of friends who I could trust with my indecision. But it was Kate that convinced me to stick with St Andrews and by the time the second term came around, I was a Geography student.

When we returned that January, everything seemed brighter.

‘It was strange not having you in the lecture today’ Kate said one evening as a group of us huddled over bags of fish and chips in the common room.

‘I can’t say I missed it, present company excluded obviously’

She gave me a small smile, but turned away quickly.

Our friendship was easy and natural, but there was still a part of her I felt I didn’t know. She was open when she was with her girlfriends, but when it came to hanging out with the boys, she held back. She was certainly aware of the effect she had on them, with the amount of offers she’d had. I’d heard through the gossip chain that she’d been on a date with an older student named Rupert just before the Christmas break. She hadn’t mentioned it to me or any of the other boys.

‘You coming out on Thursday?’ Fergus asked me. As a friend from Eton, Fergus and I had maintained a close bond.

‘I’m going to dinner at the High table, I should probably accept this time’

‘So come out afterwards, you’ll need to get pissed to wipe the memory of it, trust me’

Kate turned back around ‘you’re going on Thursday too?’

‘Yeah…you as well?’

She nodded and I grinned. Suddenly the prospect of a formal dinner with academics sounded a lot better.

‘Aww look at you two’ Fergus teased.

‘Shut up’ I said chucking a chip at him.

‘Do you want to go down together’. She looked at me uncomfortably and I stumbled. ‘Just so it’s not as awkward walking in I mean’

‘Oh…ok yeah’ she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Next to me Fergus was sniggering childishly.

Looking back, it was obvious what he knew long before I did.

*

By the time Thursday evening came around, I was back to dreading the dinner. Pulling at my tie, I knocked on Kate’s door.

‘Just a minute!’ she called from inside.

An image flashed through my mind without my consent. One of her getting dressed in her room. In her underwear.  I blinked quickly to swat it away.

‘Hey!’ she said, opening the door. For once, her room was a mess, with clothes and shoes all over the floor. ‘You look smart’.

‘I feel like an idiot, but you look erm…’

She was wearing fitted black dress that went down to her knees and had small thin straps. Compared to the student uniform of jeans and a hoodie, it wasn’t what I was used to. Her hair was straighter than usual too, and seemed bouncy and shiny.

Amazing was what I wanted to say, ‘…erm very formal’

She looked down at herself and pursed her lips, ‘is it too formal?’

‘No no no, that’s good! You look good formal, perfect’.

‘Well that’s alright then’ she said, grabbing a shawl from the back of her door.

When we got to the main hall, academics and fellow students were mingling around looking distinctly awkward while clutching onto their drinks.

‘This looks fun’ Kate whispered sarcastically.

I smirked at her, trying not to laugh. I got us both a glass of champagne and shuffled around the room saying hello to everyone.

When it was time to be seated, me and Kate gravitated towards each other and sat on the far end of the long table with an academic either side of us.

The academics made a point to speak to us all at the dinner table in turn.

‘So William, you’ve changed your course to Geography. I trust you’re finding it easier than your last course?’ a tweed clad lecturer asked me.

‘Well it’s only been a few days, but I think it’s a lot more suited to me. I couldn’t get along with history of art’.

‘You do have to have a certain flair for that subject, not everyone has an eye for the nuances of art’, he took a swig of wine.

At university, I’d learned there were two main types of people. Those who wanted to befriend me at any cost, and those who were vocal in their dismissal of me in an attempt to show how much they didn’t care. That academic was in the latter group.

‘Actually William has a great eye’, Kate suddenly said, before he could speak again. ‘But I imagine Geography will be more of a challenge for him intellectually, not less’.

The academic looked slightly put out and I blushed.

‘Well yes I suppose’ he said grudgingly. ‘So you are enjoying the subject?’

Kate nodded enthusiastically, ‘I love it’.

‘What are your plans after university?’

I noticed how he hadn’t asked me that question, no one ever did.

‘Well at the moment I’d just like to get on with my degree, but maybe if I do well, I’d like to go into curating’.

The academic nodded and muttered something about that being the typical route for art history graduates, but I had stopped listening. I was more interested in watching Kate as she smiled politely, listening to the next student speak.

When the dinner was over, we left the hall at the first given opportunity. As we walked back up the stairs to the bedroom, Kate checked her watch. It was already 10 pm.

‘Thanks for sticking up for me in there’.

‘No problem, he was being a bit of an idiot’ she laughed.

‘At least that’s over and done with now’.

‘Yeah’ She seemed in a hurry to get back to her room, where as I was keen to chat to her for longer.

‘Are you coming out now? I’m meeting the others in town’.

She glanced away, ‘Oh. I’ve made other plans’.

It was clear that she didn’t want to divulge what the plans were or who they were with but a sinking feeling in my stomach told me I probably knew.

We said goodnight and I got changed into jeans and a jumper. A few minutes later after texting Fergus to find out where they were, I headed out onto the green lawns of Sallies quadrangle.

Straight ahead of me, walking towards the gate away from the halls, I saw them. Kate was smiling up at Rupert as he talked animatedly, gesturing with his hands. I heard her laugh ring over the quadrangle as she slipped an arm into his and realised that her dress, the hair and everything else was for his benefit. Not for the dinner’s, and certainly not for mine.

My stomach sunk into my feet.

*

Once I was aware of those feelings, I couldn’t escape them. Every little thing she did made me like her more. The way she got up early to go swimming even when she’d had a late night. When she was so raging drunk that she had to be carried into bed. The way she was so into her studies that even when we all teased her, she still worked harder than all of us combined. And how she would do anything to stop me winning in our tennis matches.

Rupert had become a regular feature at Sallies, and I had gotten used to seeing him around. Not that I was particularly happy about it.

One night after a bar crawl, we were all stumbling to our corridor and Kate was attempting to drag him to her room.

‘I have to go, or I’ll miss my study group in the morning’ he told her.

‘Please please please’ she said, locking her arms around his neck. He held onto her waist to keep her standing.

‘I’ll text you tomorrow’, he seemed completely sober compared to her.

She pouted her bottom lip and attempted to kiss him.

‘Let’s get you to bed’ he said, and wrenched her arms apart.

I hung around in the corridor for the next twenty minutes, where my friends were congregating with pieces of jam and toast to help sober them up.

Rupert came out of Kate’s room not long after and trotted down the stairs without so much as a goodbye.

‘What a dick’ I slurred to no one in particular.

‘Who?’ Fergus said.

‘That bloody Rupert the Bear’.

Fergus laughed, ‘he’s an alright bloke’.

‘No. No.’ I waved my arms around aimlessly. ‘An alright bloke doesn’t say no to her’.

Fergus’ eyes lit up mischievously ‘I fucking knew it!’

‘What? No. It’s not like that. Don’t be a dick’.

He patted me on the back sympathetically, ‘plenty more fish’.

I slumped against the wall. ‘Yeh but but she’s not a fish though’.

‘No, you’re right, gotta respect women – she’s a woman, NOT a fish’.

To my mind the words coming out of my mouth were perfectly sensible, ‘she’s not just a fish, she’s a dolphin, like a really pretty dolphin’.

Fergus nodded gormlessly, ‘right, yeh a dolphin’.

It was when Fergus started making a squeaky dolphin call that I knew it was time to go to bed.

I was more than relieved to break up for Easter if only to get away from Fergus making dolphin noises whenever Kate was around.

*

That April, the trees started blooming in the quadrangle and I was happily settled at St Andrews, and doing a course I enjoyed.

For all of us at Sallies, thoughts had begun to move to what was going to happen next year. For me, it was harder than most, I not only had to find people to live with, but those people had to be ones I trusted. On the first day back after Easter, Fergus, Kate, and her friend Olivia came to me with a proposition.

‘We’ve been talking’ Fergus began. ‘You and I decided we wanted to live together next year right?’

‘Yehhh’

‘And Olivia and I want to live together’ Kate continued.

‘Okay’ I said.

‘So how about we all move in together’ Olivia concluded.

The idea of living with Kate next year had never really crossed my mind. In fact I’d worried that I wasn’t going to see her at all next year.

‘Are you sure you want to live with boys?’ was my first reaction.

Kate laughed. ‘To be honest Will, I think we’ve all left it a bit late. We should’ve started looking in February. I think we’re each other’s best options right now’.

‘I suppose…as long as you’re all comfortable with it’ I was speaking collectively but only looking at Kate.

They all nodded and so it was decided. Within the week, Kate and Olivia had found a little house in Hope Street for us to move into. Once my security had made its checks and plans, the contracts were sent to Kate.

One evening, she came to my room, contract in hand. My room looked like a bomb had hit it and I swept around picking up dirty underwear and socks from the floor. She’d only been to my room a number of times during the year as I tended not to invite anyone in.

‘I hope you’re going to be tidier in the new house’ she joked as I tripped over my desk chair in an attempt to hide the two week old pizza box on my TV.

‘Course, it’s just revision time, you know?’

She tilted her head to one side, ‘I’m joking Will. Though you are a slob’

‘Oh. Yeah I knew that’.

She handed me my contract and made to leave.

‘Is there anything I need to look out for in the contract?’ I asked in a vain attempt to keep her there.

‘Just what you’d expect. If you paint a wall, paint it back when you leave. No pets. Pay for anything you break, that sort of thing.’

‘What about guests staying over?’ I said, my mind formulating a way to ask about Rupert.

‘I think it’s ok as long as they don’t end up living there’

‘Right yeah, so, um, does Rupert mind you living with two guys’. Evidently my attempt to be subtle failed.

Kate blushed and started adjusting her hair, which was in a high bun. ‘We’re not seeing each other anymore’.

If I could’ve floated up to the ceiling I would’ve.

‘Since when?’ I said, trying to sound casual.

‘Oh just before Easter’

‘Sorry’

‘It’s fine. Anyway I better get on’. She said it so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to ask her what happened.

I regarded Kate as one of my closest university friends and yet I couldn’t help feeling a little deflated that she hadn’t already entrusted that information to me. We talked about almost everything together. She teased me when I was being stupid, calmed me down when I was pissed off, and guided me when I was feeling a bit lost. There was still or door that wasn’t open to me, and I knew if I didn’t act soon I would never be let in.

*

Kate now being free and single had a strange effect on me. I was jubilant and yet still reluctant to do anything other than admire her from afar. As far as I could tell, she had no idea how I felt and no feelings for me in return. We continued to hang out as normal in our group, until one night, Olivia and her loose lips changed everything.

It was a raucous post-exam blow out in June and seemed like the whole of Sallies had come out on the quad to celebrate the end of the first year. Streamers, foam and toilet roll covered the trees and grass. Stereos were placed in about ten different windows causing a mass of different music to bounce of the buildings. Alcohol was in plentiful supply and we had a variety of bottles scattered on our section of grass.

Kate and her girlfriends were sat under one of the trees chatting and giggling. I watched as a couple of them got up, leaving just Kate and Olivia hidden by the tree’s canopy of branches.

‘Hi’ I said, walking over and hovering over them awkwardly.

‘Hello’ Kate said and patted the ground next to her, ‘sit’.

I sat down and helped myself to some wine. ‘Having fun?’

‘Yes, apart from we keep getting deserted so those two can go and flirt with the fourth floor lads’ Olivia said.

I looked over to where their two friends were play fighting with some boys over a bowl full of pink liquid that was apparently a cocktail.

‘Do you not fancy some of that fluorescent drink?’ I said to Kate.

‘No thank you!’ she winced.

‘Because you’re a lightweight?’

‘I’m not a lightweight, it just looks disgusting’

I smirked at her as a reminder of the time I had to take her home at 11pm after she had mixed her drinks.

She pulled up a bit of grass and threw it at me, ‘shut up’

‘I don’t believe I said anything’ I laughed.

‘You don’t have to say anything. Your face is annoying’

I spluttered into my wine, ‘my face is annoying?’

‘Yes – you have a smug face’ she clarified.

‘That’s mean. I think I might need to rethink moving in with you’

‘Good’

‘Great’ I threw a wine cork at her and it bounced off her knee.

‘You’re such a child’ she laughed.

‘You started it’ I pulled up some grass and sprinkled it in her hair.

‘That went in my wine!’ she squeaked.

‘As fun as this is, I think I might go mingle’, Olivia stood up abruptly.

I’d forgotten she was even there.

‘Sorry Liv! It’s Will’s fault, stay please’ Kate gave her a winning smile.

‘I think Will would rather have you to himself’ she said, not unkindly.

Kate stopped her protests and went bright red. The smile was wiped off my face too and I stared into my glass.

‘Ooookay, I’ll leave you two to it’ Olivia escaped, looking amused.

We sat quietly until I could think of something to say. I hadn’t realised that Olivia knew how I felt about Kate. In hindsight, it was obvious. The way I buzzed around her. The way she was the only person who I’d get up for to go for an early swim with. The fact that she was the only girl I complimented on nights out.

‘We can swop wines…if yours has grass in it’ I offered wetly.

‘It’s only a couple of blades’ she smiled, but wouldn’t look at me.

Now was my opportunity and I knew it.

‘So that was awkward’

‘Liv can be a bit funny when she’s been drinking’, she said, consciously pulling down the denim skirt she was wearing.

Around us, bodies were falling over and entwining with each other in a messy display of alcohol fuelled passion. I looked at her, wishing I could be that uninhibited at that moment.

‘I don’t mind being alone with you’ I said abruptly.

‘Yeah, it’s fine’ she said, looking around the quad.

‘I mean, I like being alone with you’.

She looked at me, her cheeks turning slightly red to match the colour her lips had become from the wine.

‘I think you’re really cool’ I continued, cringing at my every word. She knew what I was trying to say but wouldn’t take the bait.

‘Thanks’ she said quietly.

‘Do you think that maybe when we get back next semester…I could take you out or something?’

She finally stopped staring into her glass and looked up at me.

I wanted the ground to swallow me up. The look of sympathy on her face was excruciating.

‘I’m really flattered, but um, sorry, but no’

‘No?’

‘I think you’re lovely Will, I really do, but not in that way.’

‘Is it Rupert?’ I asked out of nowhere.

She seemed taken aback, ‘no of course not’

‘Why did you two break up?’ Since I’d already humiliated myself I had nothing to lose.

‘Because he was too busy with uni stuff … it’s not really important though’

I fired off another question, ‘you seemed to really like him’

‘Well yes…but I think I went out with him out of being homesick more than anything. Anyway –‘ she said before I could ask anything more about Rupert. ‘ – I am sorry, I didn’t know that you liked me’

I fidgeted with my glass, ‘I kind of thought you might like me a little bit’

Her body stiffened in surprise, ‘why?’

‘Just how you kind of look away when we’re talking sometimes’

There was that look of sympathy again. ‘I did that because I didn’t want you to think I was flirting. I know how much hassle you get from girls and I really didn’t want you to think I was one of them’

I nodded slowly, ‘well this is embarrassing’.

She put her hand on my knee which didn’t help the situation, ‘let’s just forget about it, I won’t tell anyone’.

‘I think everyone already knows’, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. ‘Anyway I’m gonna go chat to the boys’.

‘I’m sorry’ she said again as I got up.

‘It’s fine’, I lied.

*

Summer was a welcome break after Kate’s rejection. I spent time at Highgrove and in London, as well as on the polo field. Female company was plentiful, but even when a girl was laughing at my jokes and obviously flirting with me, I couldn’t get Kate out of my head.

She didn’t even have to try to make me like her. She had an ease about her that made me feel at home whenever she was around and I missed that. I had invited all my university friends to Highgrove, but Kate had declined, sending me a simple text to say she was going on holiday.

When we got back to St Andrews in the Autumn, I had no idea how I was going to be around her.

Arriving to our house in Hope Street, I found my housemates in the living room deciding on the position of the television.

‘Finally!’ Fergus said as I walked in. He came over to give me a welcome whack on the back.

Olivia queued behind him and gave me a hug as she said hello. When I got to Kate, she gave me a loose hug with her head turned in the other direction.

‘Good to see you’ she said as she pulled away.

That evening, Kate and Olivia went out to get some Chinese food as Fergus and I stayed in to cart the girls’ boxes up the stairs.

‘What is going on with you two?’ Fergus said as I passed him on the landing.

‘Who?’

‘You and Mother Teresa, who’d you think?’

‘Nothing’ I said shortly, dropping a box of shoes into Olivia’s room.

‘Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding her all day. Spill’, he leant against the bannister.

‘I asked her out alright? And she said no’

Fergus was a hawk when it came to gossip and his face opened up like an excited child, ‘when?’

‘Before the break. Now can you hurry up and get those other boxes’. I was irritable but he knew my breaking point and I was nowhere near it yet.

‘What was her reason?’

‘She doesn’t fancy me, what else’

‘Urgh. So that’s it, you’re not speaking to her now?’

‘I am speaking to her, but I’d rather avoid humiliating myself again’

He ran down the stairs and ran back up with Kate’s radio, ‘oh come on, you two have so much in common’

‘Thanks genius’ I said sarcastically.

‘So why have you given up so easily?’

‘Did you not hear what I just said?’ I ran back down the stairs to pick up another of Olivia’s boxes. I was leaving all Kate’s stuff for Fergus.

‘Oh come on Willy, if at first you don’t succeed…’ he grinned like the Cheshire cat.

‘I’m not trying again!’

‘Mate, stop being a wimp, you said it yourself, you humiliated yourself, you can’t go any lower than that!’

In a twisted way, what he was saying made sense. Kate knew how I felt now, I’d already done the hard bit.

Fergus winked at me conspiratorially. ‘She might’ve changed her mind over the summer, you never know’.

*

Kate hadn’t changed her mind, I found out the next day.

She’d asked me to go on a long walk with her to clear the air. As we walked up the hills of Fife, she spent ten minutes telling me how nice I was and how sorry she was about how insensitively she’d reacted.

‘So there’s no chance you’d want to go on a date then?’ I said with my new found realisation that I had nothing to lose.

The hair was whipping her hair all over her face and she pulled it back, ‘no, but I love you as a friend, I really do!’

‘Thing is Kate, we have a lot in common, don’t you think it’d be a shame not to try?’

She looked a little surprised but kept her trademark composure, ‘I don’t want to lead you on’.

‘You wouldn’t be because I know how you feel – or don’t feel’ I offered.

She tucked some strands behind her ear which immediately became loose. ‘We have to live together, let’s not ruin that’.

‘If it doesn’t work out, that’s fine’ I said.

She looked at me through her dark lashes, ‘I’m sorry’, she said, cutting the conversation short.

I was beginning to hate the sound of that word.

*

The thing about Kate was that she was extremely popular with the boys. When we went out she would get multiple offers, and said no to all of them.

On the week we came back to university, a large group of us met at Ma Bells for a bar crawl. Kate was wearing jeans and a strappy black top, with her trademark hair curling down her back. I did my best not to stare at her.

The place was packed, full of freshers who were already half cut. As we stood at the bar attempting to buy some drinks, one of the drunken guys clambered up to Kate.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he said, his glass of beer splashing over his hand.

‘No thank you’ she said and turned her gaze back to the bar.

‘Come oooon. It’s a free drink!’ he placed his arm around her waist and she shrugged him off.

‘I said no’ she said, more sternly this time. ‘Please don’t touch me’.

‘Whatever Morticia’ as he walked away, his hand grazed along her bum.

She turned and tried to slap his hand away but missed. He laughed in her face and carried on walking.

My heart pounded with anger and I pushed myself off the bar with the intention of grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to apologise.

A warm hand landed on my forearm and stopped me before I could get anywhere near him.

‘Leave it. Please’ she said.

‘He’s a…’ I started.

‘A caveman, I know. But you don’t need to be in the papers for having a bar fight. At least not in the first week back’. Despite the noise in the room, her voice was gentle. ‘I appreciate it though, thank you’.

I held onto her green eyes for a fraction longer than I should’ve before nodding.

That night taught me two things. One. That Kate wasn’t just a friend. She was a best friend who would protect my reputation above herself. Two. That every other guy in St Andrews would never treat her as well as I would.

And I was determined to prove it.

*

The following day I asked Kate on a date again. She said no.

And so on the following day I asked her once more. She said, regretfully, no again.

A week on I found an advert in a newspaper for an opera that was coming to Fife. I knew she liked opera, so tore it out and scribbled ‘you and me?’ on it. I slipped it under her door one evening. In the morning I found it on the floor next to my door with ‘You, me, Fergus and Liv?’ written on it with a smiley face.

We went back and forth like that for weeks, with her saying no in the most polite way she could to every idea I had. But even she had a limit to her patience.

By the end of October, and on average, after five requests for a date every week for a month, Kate had stopped being so gracious and had stopped apologising for rejecting me. Instead she’d reply to my texts with You know this is classed as harassment, don’t you? or No thanks stalker.

I liked it better that way.

Late one evening I lay in bed unable to sleep and shot her a text.

You awake?

A reply came a few seconds later.

Yes.

What you doing?

Reading.

Can I come and read with you?

No you can’t.

Liv and Fergus won’t hear.

No.

There’s an old book store in town, it sells antique books and stuff.

I know, I keep meaning to visit that place.

Shall we go together?

In a purely platonic way, then yes.

Great, I love books.

Course you do.

I do!

I don’t think I’ve seen you reading for pleasure in the whole time I’ve known you.

I do it in secret. I’m quite brooding and mysterious like that.

LOL.

Why is that funny?

Go to sleep William.

That weekend the two of us visited the book store, Bouquiniste in town. It was a cold October day and Kate was wrapped up in a big coat and red scarf. I teased her about overdoing the winter gear but resisted the urge to tell her she actually looked quite cute.

Bouquiniste was shabby from the outside with a worn out sign and books covering the windows. When we got inside, it was as dark and dusty as expected, but Kate seemed to love it.

The shop keeper gave us a quick hello from behind the counter and carried on reading her book. For a small shop, it crammed a lot in to its three aisles that spanned the width of the space. After walking down each aisle, we ended up at the back of the shop in the classics section.

‘Oooh Emma!’ Kate whispered.

I turned around looking for the source of Kate’s excitement, ‘who?’

She laughed quietly. ‘Emma…you know the book?’

I looked at her blankly.

‘Jane Austen?’ she added.

‘I know who that is!’ I said triumphantly.

She rolled her eyes, ‘Emma is one of her books. It’s my favourite Austen. And this copy is Victorian, isn’t it gorgeous?’

She handed me the book which was slightly tattered and covered in a deep red patterned leather jacket.

I sniffed it and coughed, ‘it’s a bit musty. Is it a first edition?’

‘William!’ she said in scandalised hushed tones. ‘Jane Austen was not from the Victorian era, honestly, you have so much to learn’.

‘Maybe I could have a private Austen lesson from you?’

She rolled her eyes again and put the book back carefully.

‘Is that a yes?’ I asked as we moved along the shelves.

‘You know it’s not a yes’, she said trying to hide a smile.

‘I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this’ I said, pretending to look at an old art book on the shelf.

‘I don’t know why you’re being so persistent’ she said in return.

‘I thought that was obvious actually’ I laughed drily.

She shook her head and turned away.

‘It would be so much easier if you just said yes you know’

‘Or you could just stop asking me’

‘Am I really that repulsive?’ I looked at her, pretending to be sad and she hit me lightly on the shoulder.

‘I’m not looking for anything like that from anyone right now’

‘So we can just go on a date! I’m not asking you to marry me’ I realised that I was acting like an annoying child, but it seemed to be working.

‘You don’t give up do you?’

I grinned widely. ‘How about this. You let me take you out on one date, and by the end, if you’re still not interested, I’ll admit defeat. I won’t ask you out ever again.’

I watched her as she mulled it over, scanning my face with her curious green eyes.

‘It’s going to be a long couple of years otherwise’ I added for good measure.

‘Alright fine!’

‘Really?!’ I don’t know who was more surprised, her or me.

‘Yes, but you have to promise you’ll stop after the date. And it’s only one date’ she said, pointing at me like I was a naughty child.

‘I promise. You never know, you might come back for more’

‘Shut up’ she laughed. ‘We’ll never get your head back through the door at this rate’.

*

All my intentions of knuckling down to study that week were quickly forgotten. We had set a date for the following Friday which gave me a few days to prepare.

Unfortunately for me – and for Kate – going on a date to a restaurant wasn’t realistic for me and so I had to be a little more inventive. There came the benefit of being friends; I knew what she liked and didn’t like and could create a date purely aimed for her.

By the time Friday rolled around, all I had told Kate was that she needed to wrap up warm and wear some walking shoes.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked, eyeing up the big backpack I was wearing as we got into my car.

‘You’ll have to wait and see’ I smiled as I put the bag in the boot.

‘I’m guessing we’re going on a hike? That or we’re leaving the country, what on earth is in that bag?’ she asked.

‘So many questions! Just enjoy the drive’ I started the ignition and made my way out of St Andrews.

The entire duration of our twenty minute drive was spent with Kate interrogating me about our destination. Unfortunately, she was astute enough to realise we were driving to the coast and that we’d be going hill walking when we got there.

‘Eleven o’ clock is quite early for a date, you know?’ she said as we approached Anstruther.

‘Hey, you said we could go on one date, you didn’t specify any time limit! I’m taking advantage of the opportunity’. I glanced in her direction and was pleased to see she was smiling.

I parked up on a scenic spot on the sea front and we headed out on the coastal trail.

‘Do you want me to carry any of that? I feel kind of bad that I’m not carrying anything’ Kate asked, looking at the backpack again.

‘I’ve got it thanks. And if that’s your way of finding out what’s in here, then try harder’

She narrowed her eyes at me and gave up.

Over the next hour we wove our way around the coast line of the small fishing village of Anstruther. Avoiding the harbour with its shops and cafes, we kept to the walking trail which was flat, but slightly rocky at times. Nevertheless, it was away from the main part of the village, which was exactly what I wanted.

The two of us chatted easily as we walked about the village, university and home. Truth be told, I hadn’t planned the conversations out like I had everything else and the line between a date and two friends going for a walk was blurry.

‘So, you still thinking of curating after uni?’ I asked, trying to steer the date into less familiar territory.

‘I think so’ she said, kicking some stones along the shore as she went. ‘I’d love to work with art every day. You know, set up exhibitions, get people engaged with it and stuff. I think it can come across kind of stuffy and pretentious’.

‘You’re telling me!’ I scoffed.

‘Will…why did you even take History of Art? I’ve kind of always wondered’

‘Because I didn’t know what else would be…useful. For my future, I mean’, I flinched thinking about the tense conversation I had with my father when I decided to drop the course.

‘It just seems so unsuited to you now, sometimes I can’t believe you even took it’, she looked up and smiled at me sweetly.

‘I know I know. At least I fixed it before it was too late’.

She hesitated for a moment and then carried on talking, ‘what do you think you’ll do after uni?’

How refreshing it was to have someone ask me that, and how happy I was that it was her asking.

‘Go into the army I suppose. Until…until I can’t anymore’. I stopped short. I hated thinking about my life after university.

‘What would you like to do, if things were different?’ she asked softly.

‘You mean if I were normal?’ I said sarcastically.

‘No’ she said plainly. ‘I mean if your life was normal. You’re already pretty normal from where I’m standing’

I held back on grinning like an idiot and concentrated on answering the question, ‘I’d want to do something that was making a difference, something with conservation in Africa if I could, or a paramedic even’

‘Those are two pretty different jobs’ she laughed.

‘You know what I’m getting at though…don’t you?’

‘I do’, she said placing her hand on my arm. For a moment I thought she was going to hook it in the crook of my arm like she did with Rupert. ‘You want to be able to make use of yourself for the greater good, that’s pretty cool’.

‘Shame I won’t get the chance’ I said, raising my eyebrows.

‘What do you mean?’ she said, suddenly animated. ‘You’re going to have an amazing opportunity to be a voice for all of this stuff’

‘I’d like to be more than a voice’ I said resentfully.

‘Oh Will, stop!’

She meant it metaphorically, but I did so physically, halting on the shore. She did the same and turned to me.

‘I know your future is really scary – God knows I couldn’t do it – but you have the biggest platform anyone could hope for. You’re going to be able to give all of the things a step up. So maybe you won’t be able to work with the animals in Africa, but you’ll be able to tell the WHOLE WORLD about it and they’ll listen!’

She gesticulated wildly with her hands.

‘You really think people will listen to me?’ I said cynically.

‘Well not at the moment no. Maybe when you grow up a bit though’. She shrugged and began climbing some rocks.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I called to her, clambering behind.

She turned and grinned wickedly at me.

‘Are you just trying to wind me up?’ I said, exasperated.

‘Maybe – or maybe I’m just trying to show you the positive’. She plopped herself down onto a rock. ‘I’m kind of hungry’.

‘You don’t take any bullshit, do you’ I said, sitting next to her.

‘Not really’ she leant her head on her knees. ‘Does it make you like me less?’

‘Nope. More.’

*

Kate was delighted to find that some of the items in my bag were two bowls, two spoons, some bread, and a thermal flask full of tomato soup.

‘Did you make that?’ she asked as I poured a generous portion into her bowl.

‘What do you think?’

‘You never know!’ she laughed.

‘I didn’t have time to take cooking lessons this week, otherwise I would’ve’.

She patted my knee, ‘this is fine’.

‘Maybe on our next date I’ll cook for you’ I sniggered, but she merely looked at me sideways while she ate a piece of bread.

When lunch was done with, I slipped a baseball cap on to disguise myself and we wondered back into the village to have a look around. It was a fairly cold November day and it almost felt like we had the place to ourselves.

‘So is this a good date so far?’ I asked her.

‘Pretty good, yes’.

‘The best you’ve ever been on?’ I ventured.

‘Ask me when it’s over’ she laughed.

There wasn’t a lot to see in the village other than a few shops so we decided to go into the most touristy shop we could find.

The shop was covered in tartan paraphernalia, from bags to hats and umbrellas.

‘I should get that for my brother’ I joked, pointing at a tartan hat that had long ginger hair attached to it.

Kate laughed and browsed through a rack of cheap kilts, ‘you should wear one of these’.

‘I don’t think I’ve got the legs’.

‘Course you have, every man looks good in a kilt’, she held a pink and green one up to my waist.

I took a step towards her, ‘even me?’

I thought I saw her blush and she put the kilt down, ‘even you’.

After walking around the shop, we ended up at the confectionary counter where they were selling local sweets and fudge.

‘That looks yummy’ Kate said, and she bent down to survey the different flavours, ‘shall we get some for the house?’

We chose a selection of clotted cream, strawberry and vanilla and I insisted on paying for it as Kate looked at the boiled sweets.

When we left the shop, I handed her a small paper bag of fudge.

‘Are we going to eat it all before we get home?’

‘No, this one is just for you’

She opened it to find chunky cubes of chocolate and mint fudge. ‘How did you know I like chocolate and mint?’ she asked, beaming.

‘I pay attention to you’

‘Oh. Well thank you, that’s very sweet of you’, she handed me a piece and we went back to find a secluded area on the shore to sit.

For the next couple of hours, we simply sat and talked while polishing off the bag of fudge. We talked about our families and the weird traditions we had at Christmas. I laughed at the thought of her father dressed up in various costumes as their Christmas day tradition. Kate laughed as I described some of the gifts my brother and I had bought my grandmother over the years.

We talked about children – Kate wanted three, and I wanted two.

We even talked about exes, and why they were exes.

‘You know you’re very dear to me, don’t you?’ she said after we discussed which exes we were still friends with.

‘But not in a “you’re hot” way?’

She rested her head on my shoulder, ‘in a “you’re an awesome friend and always will be” kind of way’.

‘I suppose I’ll take that’ I leant my cheek against the top of her head.

For all my trying, a second date wasn’t looking hopeful. Yet being in her company, separated from everyone else was enough in that moment.

‘Are you ready for dinner?’ I said after a few moments, noticing she was closing her eyes.

The sun was beginning to set and it was going to get pretty cold, despite it only being five o’ clock.

She popped her head up, ‘there’s dinner too?’

‘I told you I was taking advantage of the time with you didn’t I?’ I stood up and reached out to pull her up.

We walked up to the harbour again and found the place I’d looked up online.

‘Ansthruser Fish Bar’ she said, ‘are we having fish and chips?!’

‘We are, if that’s ok with you? This place is award winning apparently’

‘I love fish and chips!’ she said as if she wasn’t expecting a fish and chip shop in a fishing village.

‘I know Kate’.

When we got back to our spot, the tide had stared to roll in, so we placed ourselves on a grassy bank higher up.

‘Hold on’ I said as Kate began to sit down.

I opened up my bag and pulled out a picnic blanket and three candles that I’d stolen from next to our bath.

‘Are those Liv’s candles?’ Kate laughed.

‘She won’t miss them’. I placed them in a line along the blanket and lit them all with a lighter.

‘You thought of everything didn’t you?’ she said as she sat down and carefully unwrapped the fish and chips.

‘This is my attempt at romance’. I pulled out a bottle of red wine from the bag and two plastic glasses.

She laughed when she saw it and remarked that I was like Mary Poppins.

As the dusk settled, we ate our dinner in a comfortable silence. When Kate pulled her sleeves down to cover her cold hands, I dug around my bag to find the blanket I’d packed for that very possibility.

I placed it on her lap and she let out a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise.

‘Have you had a good day?’ I said slightly out of sorts. She was looking at me in a very odd way.

‘It’s been lovely Will, really’.

We sat looking at each other for a moment as I thought of something clever to say. She really was very pretty.

‘The candle’

‘What?’ I said, breaking the moment.

‘The candle!’ she launched up, throwing everything off her.

One of the candles was lying on its side having fallen over. It was quickly catching onto the threads of the picnic blanket.

Kate acted immediately, stomping on the small fire until it was extinguished.

‘Well that was a disastrous end!’ I said blowing out the other ones.

‘It was an eventful end.’ She laughed. ‘And in answer to your question before, I suppose, yes it is.’

*

It took me some time to figure out what she had meant by that statement. I ploughed through our conversations from the date, until, finally I accepted that she meant that it was the best date she’d been on. I tried not to look too much into it. Kate had made it clear that she only liked me as a friend and I had accepted it.

I kept to my promise and didn’t ask her out again, but couldn’t help flirting with her in the week that followed our date. I was pushing my luck, I knew, but to my surprise, she didn’t resist as much as she had before.  When I complimented her, she no longer accused me of trying to woo her. And when I held onto her waist as I squeezed past her in our small kitchen, she didn’t seem to mind. She even let me monopolise her time when we went out, as we danced until the early hours.

On one particular Friday, the four of us staggered back into the house at four am.

‘It’s freezing!’ Olivia squealed, throwing her bag on the couch. ‘I’m putting the heating on’

‘The radiators need bleeding, it’s not going to make much of a difference’ Kate said, kicking her heels off.

‘Why haven’t you boys done anything about it!’ Olivia shouted from the kitchen, where she was attempting to work out the central heating switch.

‘Why should we do it?!’ Fergus said, collapsed on the floor.

‘That’s very sexist Liv’ I laughed.

She popped her head around the kitchen doorway, ‘just because you don’t know how to do it’

‘Course I do!’

Kate laughed quietly and I immediately felt the need to prove myself. Most people assumed that I was useless around the house, and for the most part they were right. I couldn’t cook, hated cleaning and Kate had to teach me how to use a washing machine. But I was resourceful.

‘What you laughing at?’ I said, poking her in ribs.

‘Nothing’ she said, slapping my finger away.

‘Fine, I’ll do yours first!’ I grabbed radiator key from under the sink and legged it up the stairs and into her room.

The three of them ran after me and watched as I knelt down next to her radiator. I slotted the key onto the screw and attempted to turn it.

‘Erm do you know what you’re doing?’ Fergus asked from the doorway.

‘Yeh!’ I said slightly too loudly as I struggled to turn the key, ‘the air just needs to come out’

After a minute of me struggling with it, Fergus and Olivia gave up on me and left to go to bed. Kate stood behind me looking concerned.

‘It’s fine Wi –‘ she began just as I wrenched the screw.

‘ARGH!’. Boiling hot water came spilling from the side of the radiator and onto my hand. ‘FUCKING HELL!’

The pain seared across my hand and I shook it manically. ‘GOD THAT HURTS!’

Kate ran out of the room and was back within seconds with a bowl of cool water and a flannel. ‘Come here’, she ordered.

I sat on the edge of her bed and she dipped the flannel in the water and squeezed the water over the back of my hand. She continued to do it in silence, dousing my hand with the water.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have done that with the central heating on’ she said.

‘Sorry’ I mumbled.

‘It’s ok’ she gave the top of my hand a little stroke.

‘You know, you’ll make a good wife to someone one day’ I said. ‘Though not to me’

She smiled, ‘well you’ll make a good husband too. When you learn how to do manly things around the house’

‘And maybe I should work on my first dates too’

‘Your first date skills are fine’

‘Because it was your best date ever?’

‘Well yes’ she said, focusing on my hand.

‘But not good enough for another one?’

Kate bit her lip and avoided making eye contact with me, ‘mmm’.

‘Mmm? What does that mean?’

‘Nothing…’ I could almost see the cogs turning in her head. ‘I just wouldn’t mind if there was another one’.

I stopped short and gaped at her. ‘Are you serious?’

She said nothing but her cheeks were turning pink.

‘You want to go out with me again?’

‘Maybe’

‘Maybe? MAYBE?!’ I roared with laughter.

‘Shhhh!’

Suddenly the pain in my hand disappeared. ‘I can’t believe after all that, you ACTUALLY want to go out with me. I thought you weren’t interested?’

‘I changed my mind’ she said.

‘Why?’. The grin was plastered onto my face.

‘Because you’re sweet…and you take notice of things. And you’re persistent’

‘I thought that annoyed you?’

‘It did. It does’ she laughed. ‘But it was also quite nice in a way’

‘Do you fancy me Kate?’ I challenged, because I wanted to hear her say it.

She rolled her eyes, so I poked her in the ribs again with my good hand.

‘Do you do you do you?’ I continued poking until she physically had to push me away.

‘Yes! Ok? Yes’.

*

That night marked the beginning of our relationship. The friendship that we’d carved over the past year had given us the foundation for what would become some of the happiest years of my life. But even stuck in our little bubble of St Andrews, I was determined to protect her from everything that came from being my girlfriend.

For the first few months, we’d go out with friends in tow. At the cinema, we would all go in huddled together, but once inside the room, Kate and I would sit at the end of the row discreetly holding hands in the dark.

It wasn’t so easy to be affectionate elsewhere, but we made do with friendly cuddles and a kiss on the cheek when we met for coffee after lectures.

Our first kiss didn’t need to be so discreet. We had stayed in one evening in early December while Olivia and Fergus took advantage of the cheap pre-Christmas drink deals at Ma Bells. We were grateful for the time alone that had so far been confined to one of our bedrooms with our housemates wolf whistling through the door.

Kate had taken over the spaghetti bolognaise that I had attempted for our fourth date, and was gently stirring the mince in a new pan as I scraped the burnt remains off the first one in the sink.

‘Leave it to soak, it will come off easier later’, she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I threw the scourer onto the draining board, filled the pan with water and huffed.

‘It might need a squirt of Fairy Liquid too’ she said carefully.

I grabbed the washing up liquid and squirted a generous amount into the water without saying a word.

‘There’s no need to sulk’ Kate giggled.

‘I’m not sulking, I’m just pissed off it went wrong AGAIN’, I glared at the floor, thinking of the two other dinners I’d ruined recently.

‘To be fair, you were just not concentrating, it would’ve been ok if you kept stirring it’

‘Yeah well I got distracted’ I said.

‘By what?’

‘By looking at you’

‘Oh so it’s my fault now is it?!’, she carried on stirring with one hand, but used the other to smack me with a tea towel.

‘Yes, I was deep in thought’

‘About what…or do I not want to know?’

‘About how I’d like to kiss you but I don’t know if you want to kiss me’

She stopped stirring and a smile crept across her mouth, ‘why don’t you try and find out’

Heart thumping, I walked over to her and leant down. She didn’t look up from the cooker until I’d given her a peck on the lips. When I did it again, she responded, settling her face into mine. Her lips were as soft as I’d imagined and her scent was one that I only could identify when I got that close to her. Raspberries.

I removed her hand from where it was clasped around the wooden spoon and locked my fingers into hers.

It was as if everything had slotted neatly into place.

*

Our relationship wasn’t one of huge public displays of affection or massive passionate breaks ups and make ups. It was a deep and comfortable connection that no one could rival.

She was the person I could talk to about anything, knowing that she would understand my need to go over things over and over again. She was patient and kind, but was never shy in putting me in my place.

Falling in love with her had crept up on me.

In our third year, we had move out of Hope Street and into a more remote cottage just out of town. It gave us the opportunity to take long walks in the countryside, spending hours talking until it got dark. The realisation that I loved her came after one of these walks when Kate was curled up in my bed having fallen asleep while we were watching a film.

Her hair was fanned across the pillow and her fingers were curling in and out of her palm. I wondered what she was dreaming about. I suddenly realised that I wanted it to be like that for the rest of my life. I wanted to see her every morning and talk about what we’d dreamed about the night before. I wanted her to fall asleep next to me every day and subconsciously nestle into my side like she often did in the middle of the night.

Words were not my forte, however.

The following day, I went out to buy a card for our first anniversary. Throwing out any formalities, I just wrote ‘love you’ on a postcard of Anstruther that I’d found in the newsagents.

‘Here you go’ I said, giving her the postcard and kissing her in the kitchen later. ‘Happy anniversary’.

There was the smell of something chocolatey coming from the oven.

‘Aww thank you’ she said taking it and laughing at the postcard without reading the back. She placed it down on the counter. ‘I know we said no gifts but I thought I’d bake you something’.

She opened the oven and pulled out a tray of brownies. My postcard suddenly looked very lacklustre.

I thanked her and we engaged in a long cuddle. ‘Are you going to read the card?’, I said, mumbling into her hair.

She looked up at me suspiciously, and untangled an arm to grab the postcard. I watched her face turn from amusement to surprise as she read the back.

‘You don’t have to say it back’ I jumped in as she was about to speak.

‘Don’t you want me to?’ she said.

‘Course I do, just…no pressure’.

‘I love you too’ she said shyly.

They were the words I never thought I’d hear from a woman, let alone a woman like her.

*

While Kate continued to study hard for her degree, I left all the academic work until the last minute, preferring instead to play sports or go out and get drunk. University for me was a once in a lifetime experience. I was well aware that this level of freedom would never come my way again and I was determined to exploit it.

Kate would often remark that I still acted like a fresher well into our final year. She on the other hand was mature beyond her years. She had plans for everything; colour coded charts and lists upon lists of things she had to do. I encouraged her to be more spontaneous, and would often take her to the coast at a minute’s notice just to break the cycle.

On a January day in our final year, she was holed up in her bedroom working on her draft introduction for her dissertation. Her tutor had wanted it the following day and she’d spent days poring over each of the 2000 words.

‘Do you want to get some air?’ I said, appearing at her door with a cup of tea.

She was sat in her usual position, cross legged on her bed, with her notes and laptop in an ordered chaos around her.

‘I need to get this done’, she said without looking up, her eyebrows furrowed.

‘How many drafts have you done of this draft?’ I laughed.

She didn’t find it funny and merely shook her head.

I sat next to her, being careful not to mess up her notes and rubbed her back, ‘come on, it’s only the introduction, you’ve got months to change it. He just wants to see you’ve made a start’

‘How can you be so relaxed about it?’

‘Because it’s not a big deal’ I said.

‘It is to me’ she snapped.

‘It’s our last few months, we should be enjoying it’

‘I came to university to get a good degree, not to get wasted every night’ she didn’t look at me but she didn’t need to.

‘Fine’ I growled, placing the tea on her bedside table, and left the room.

It was our first proper argument, and the first one that I didn’t give in on. Late that night, she crept into my room and burrowed under the covers.

‘Have you finished it?’ I asked, still wide awake.

‘Yep. Finally’ she whispered.

We lay next to each other for the best part of fifteen minutes, listening to the ticking of my clock.

‘I’m sorry’ she finally said. ‘I love you.’

I tuned over and pulled her close. That was the thing about Kate; she had me wrapped around her little finger. Even for someone as stubborn as me, I couldn’t remain angry with her. I was firmly under her spell.

*

In our final months at St Andrews, we spent as much time as we could together. Naturally, all talk in our house turned to the dreaded post-uni plans. With Fergus, Olivia and many of our other friends deciding on masters or jobs to apply for, I shied away from the question.

That is with everyone apart from Kate. We talked at length about the future as individuals and as a couple. She worried that we wouldn’t get to see each other after we left Scotland, and secretly I worried about it too. We talked for hours, trying to plan how and when we would see each other and how we could keep it quiet from the media. The constant conversations exhausted us both and we began to get frustrated that there was no simple answer.

It was something that consumed us over those final months. Each time we spoke about it, we left it unresolved to the extent that we began avoiding it all together.

The issue only came up again one evening during a rowdy dinner party we’d thrown. Kate was sat on the staircase alone as the rest of our group of ten chatted noisily in the living room.

‘What you doing over here?’ I asked, taking a seat next to her.

‘Just taking some time out’. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

I took her hand, ‘what’s wrong?’

‘I’m just scared of things changing’

‘They don’t have to’ I said, resting my chin on her head.

‘What about in the future? Like years into the future?’ she said suddenly. ‘What will be expected of me?’

Conversations about our future was usually reserved for the immediate future, not years in advance. I thought carefully about what to say.

‘Well you’ll be expected to be a kind of support to me. But you can do whatever you want’ I added.

‘Are you sure about that?’ she looked at the ground.

‘Remember what you said on our first date? That I have the opportunity to support so many things. It’ll be the same for you…and you’ll be amazing at it, if it’s what you want of course?’

‘I want you’. It didn’t pass me by that she had avoided the question.

‘What about when the press find out about us. When they find out where I live, where I work…’

‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m going to look after you, don’t worry’, I smoothed down a wayward piece of her hair.

‘There’s this graduate traineeship I’ve seen, for curating’ she said, changing the subject.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, it’s for two years. It looks pretty amazing’

I kissed her on the head, ‘you should apply for it, sounds perfect for you’

Curating was something Kate had talked about since our first year and it was an idea that she’d become more passionate about during her degree. Her enthusiasm for it was something that I was often jealous of; because I knew she could turn her passion into a career and I couldn’t.

She leant into me and sighed.

A hint of something twisted in my stomach; a reaction that I tried to ignore and push aside.

It was dread.

*

The final week of university was bittersweet.

My plan was to get some work experience at different places and then make a decision on what route to take. But my eagerness to begin my adult life properly was tinged with the knowledge that the best few years of my life were about to come to an end. I was going to miss my friends, who had become like a second family. I was going to miss the seclusion of St Andrews and the agreement with the media to leave me alone. But most of all, I was going to miss her.

We savoured the moments that we could see each other every day and took advantage of not having to plan the times that we saw each other. But the days seemed to pass so fast that even when we were together twenty-four seven, it didn’t feel like it was enough.

Bored of packing my room up, one afternoon, I went to distract Kate.

She was knelt on her bedroom floor carefully wrapping up some photo frames in bubble wrap.

‘That was an awesome night’ I said, pointing at a picture of her and I at a ball last year. I was wearing a suit, and she had on a little black wrap dress. She had danced me under the table that night.

She smiled sadly at the picture and wrapped it up, ‘there’s been a lot of awesome nights. I can’t imagine having so much fun over the last four years if you had left in first year’.

I sat down on the end of her bed, wrapping my legs around her. ‘I doubt I would’ve stayed if you weren’t here’.

She tilted her head up and began to speak, but noises of clattering from downstairs where Olivia was packing her kitchen stuff stopped her.

‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she said.

It was a warm May afternoon and with exams over, everything and everyone seemed more relaxed; even the Scottish weather.

We strolled hand in hand to our favourite isolated spot half a mile from the house, when she began to slow down.

‘I need to talk to you’. The tone in her voice was suddenly grave.

‘Ok’

‘I’ve been given a conditional offer for that traineeship’ she said.

I lit up immediately, ‘that’s amazing!’ I said, grabbing her into a hug.

She let me and then pulled away, ‘as long as I get a 2:1 or above, I’m on it’.

‘Brilliant, that’ll be no problem for you then’, I couldn’t disguise my pride at her achievement.

‘The thing is, it’s not all in the UK’

The atmosphere dropped around us, ‘where…’

‘There’ll be a few months in London, and then I go to Moscow, then Madrid, and Venice’

‘Wow, well I’ll miss you, but it’ll be an amazing experience, and you’ll come home often won’t you?’

She didn’t say anything and just looked into the distance.

‘Won’t you?’ I repeated.

‘It’s for two years with a possible proper job at the end of it’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I don’t think this…us…will work.’

I laughed but it came out sounding strained ‘we’ve talked about this, we can make it work.’

‘How? If I take this traineeship, we’ll be apart for two years, and when I come back I’ll get a job I love. Then what? I give it all up?’ Her face was set in an agonising expression.

‘Look, all that will happen when we get married. Before that, you can do whatever you want! You’ll have years before that’.

She remained unconvinced.

‘I thought you loved me’ I said, petulantly.

‘I do!’ she said, offended. ‘It’s just I’ve worked hard for the past four years….’

She didn’t have to continue because I understood what she meant. This is what she had been working towards for four years. The late nights, the stress, the argument we’d had; it was all building up to the moment she left university.

And I was asking her to put it all to one side for me.

Kate was everything I ever wanted and more. The problem was that ‘more’ didn’t include me.

‘Please don’t do this’ I said, feebly attempting to change her mind. ‘Go, enjoy it, but we don’t need to break up’

‘I think we do’

‘But WHY!?’ I said, almost shouting.

‘Because I’m not sure, and it’d be unfair to you to be not sure’, tears were pushing up into her eyes.

‘You’re not sure about me?’

‘Of course I’m sure about you. But I’m not sure that I could be totally happy living that life. I’m not sure I would be able to do it. Maybe in a few years that would change. But right now, I can’t keep wasting your time and pretending I’d be ok with it. Because I don’t know if I’m ok with it.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Who was I to hold her back, to ask her to commit herself to a life she didn’t want.

She cupped her palm around my face and leant her head against my chin, ‘I’m sorry Will.’

There was that word again, come back to haunt me.

*

We avoided each other for two days, not speaking or looking at each other. Even being in the same room together was torture.

We had all decided a week in advance that we’d spend our last night having dinner at the house and then go into town with our other friends.

Dinner was a tense affair and by the time we were ready to go out, I was ready to call it a night. Despite the fact Kate and I weren’t speaking, I still wanted to spend the final evening in her presence. Anything else would’ve felt wrong.

We made it to one of our favourite bars that we often visited to play pool. I could see Kate attempting to be cheerful, greeting our friends with hugs and pretending that everything was fine. She was in a denim skirt, tights and boots with a black top. Her hair was half pulled back from her face showing off every one of her features.

It was like a stab in every part of my body every time I remembered she was no longer mine.

Half way into the evening, some guys from uni decided they wanted to play pool with the girls in our group. One in particular from Kate’s course took a liking to her. He was tall, with strong broad shoulders and an easy confidence. Kate politely allowed him to show her how to aim into the pocket using a complicated ricochet move.

There was no touching, no sense of chemistry. Just a man showing a woman how to play pool. It was something that I would’ve ordinarily done.

She tried the move and failed, then tipped her head back and laughed.

I clenched my fists and made for the door, shoving the guy out of the way with my shoulder as I went.

‘Whoa! Careful mate’ I heard behind me. But the blood was rushing to my ears, pounding so loudly that I could barely hear.

I got home, slamming the door behind me and retreating to my room. I must’ve only been standing there for a few minute when Kate came bursting through my bedroom door.

‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ she shouted.

‘Go away’ I said, the words struggling to come out.

‘You were really rude back then’ she said angrily.

‘Well maybe you shouldn’t flirt with people right in front of my face’ I retorted.

‘I wasn’t flirting and you know it!’

I did know it, I just wanted to hear her say it.

‘Please don’t be like this Will’

‘What do you expect?’ I snarled.

‘For us to part as friends? Like we started?’ Even as she said it, I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

‘I don’t want to be your friend’ I said. ‘You’re…’

I couldn’t finish the sentence because I knew she already knew what I wanted to say. Soul mate. I had called her it once and she’d laughed asking if it usually takes that long for soul mates to get together.

Instead, I took a step towards her and kissed her hard on the mouth. She released a small sob but carried on kissing me anyway.

Neither of us spoke as we unbuttoned, unzipped and peeled away our clothing, clawing and grabbing at each other until the sun came up.

In the morning, she was already dressing when I woke up.

‘Why did you let this happen?’ was the first thing I said to her.

‘What?’ she said, her back turned to me.

‘Why did you spend three years with me if you knew you didn’t want my baggage?’

‘I wanted you’

‘So you just let me believe that we’d stay together?’

‘I thought we’d stay together. I didn’t start thinking about what would happen after until a few months ago’. Her voice was tired.

‘You’ve known for a few months and let it carry on then’

‘Stop it William. Please don’t make it harder to say goodbye’. I could tell she was crying even with her back turned.

I sat up and glared at the ground. ‘Fine. Goodbye Kate.’

I refused to look at her, but I knew she was facing me now. I could tell just by listening to the shallow sounds of her breathing. I don’t know how long she waited there for me to give her something more, but eventually her weight lifted gently off the bed. The sounds of her breathing, that I’d become so used to having beside me, and expected to have beside me for the rest of my life, were replaced by a soft click of the door.

*

The crowds had lined the streets on Graduation Day, just as we’d expected. I waved at them, and they happily waved back. But to me, their faces were just a blur. There was only one person I wanted to see.

She stepped onto the lawn; scroll in hand, her robes flowing behind her. Her skin was tinted and glowing and a beam spread across her face as her family came to congratulate her. If she knew I was looking in her direction she didn’t show it as she chatted and laughed, her dimples dipping into her face.

It was the last time I ever saw her.

 “I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer

Balmoral

I open my eyes to find George and Emma gaping at me. It takes a moment for one of them to speak.

‘What happened?’ Emma says, her voice coarse.

‘I’m sorry?’ I say, and take a sip of water.

‘What happened to her? To this Kate person’ she asks, mouth still agape.

‘Well’ I sigh, ‘I presume she went and did her traineeship, I didn’t have the heart to find out’.

‘What about mum?’ George interjects.

‘Kate was the reason I met your mother.’ I tread gently, knowing how hard this must be for them to hear. ‘A couple of years after university, Fergus organised a reunion of sorts. The thought of seeing Kate again made me want to run and hide, so I went and played at a charity polo match instead. That was where I met your mother, as you well know’.

‘I had no idea this person ever existed’ Emma says dumbfounded. ‘You’ve never mentioned her, not once, not even as a friend!’

I suddenly feel very tired. ‘Yes well, I’m not proud of how things happened.’

‘Did Mum know about her?’ Emma asks.

‘Yes, to an extent. She didn’t know exactly what Kate meant to me though’ I say.

‘Which was what exactly?’ George looks at me with a warning look in his eye. He was always fiercely protective of his mother.

I can’t bring myself to say the words so Emma does it for me.

‘She was the love of his life. Obviously.’ She says it so plainly and it surprises me.

‘I loved your mother very much’ I say, trying to reassure them both as if they are both still children.

It was true, I did love their mother. She had been a support to me for over fifty years and the day that she died five years ago was one of the hardest days of my life. As much as I loved her, I still never stopped thinking about Kate. About the way I felt like I was floating whenever I was near her.

‘Why did you feel the need to tell us all this?’ George says, still angry.

‘Because I’m about to die, I suppose. I wanted someone to know how special she was’

‘I’m sure her own family know that’, George snaps and stands up.

‘Look, son, when you get to my age you just want to talk about the past. To make amends. The way things ended with Kate has haunted me for my whole life’.

My hand starts to shake and Emma grabs it. My heart strains again and I rub my chest. It seems to get worse every time I think of her.

‘George please’, he is turned away from me but doesn’t turn around.

‘Oh for goodness sake’ Emma stands up and grabs George by the arm. ‘We all have our secrets, this is one of daddy’s. He dying, get over it’.

Emma always did have a wonderful way with words.

They sit with me for another hour, asking questions occasionally, but I am beginning to drift in and out of sleep. I hear them get up and leave, and then the mumbles of an argument in the corridor outside. I don’t know what they’re discussing, but I hear the familiar sound of George relenting to her before I sink into a deep sleep.

*

The following morning, I wake up wondering if yesterday’s events really happened, feeling a mixture of anxiety and relief.

My eyes creak open and I turn my head with an enormous effort. A pair of eyes are looking back at me.

Green eyes.

My heart jolts in a way that I didn’t know was possible anymore.

‘Hello’ she says.

I am transported back sixty years as her voice runs through me.

‘How did you?…what?’ is all I can say.

‘I got a phone call yesterday afternoon asking me to come up to Balmoral urgently’ she says quickly.

‘But how…’

‘Your daughter is quite resourceful apparently’ she laughs.

I laugh too despite my shock and notice her face for the first time. Her grey hair is tied up in a neat bun and wrinkles are set deeply in her face. But her eyes are still exactly the same.

‘You look beautiful’ I say.

‘Smooth as ever’ she says, rolling her eyes.

It’s as if nothing’s changed.

I am at a loss for words until she takes my hand knowingly.

‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I say. I don’t want her to see me like this, confined in this room.

I may be dying but my pride is very much still alive and kicking.

The nurses help me into my wheelchair and take me out to the grounds where Kate takes over, pushing me gently along the paths.

‘How have you been?’ I ask.

‘Good, and you?’

‘Well I’m dying, but other than that, life has served me well. What about you? I want to hear about your life.’

She tells me all about that past sixty years. How she did her traineeship and gained a job at the end of it. How she followed her dream and ended up curating all around Europe’s galleries. How she met her late husband at work and they had three children. Just like she always wanted.

‘How many grandchildren do you have?’ I ask.

‘Five’

‘Ha! I have six. Beat you’

She laughs, ‘it’s not a competition William’

‘Of course it is, it always is’.

She settles down on a bench and places my chair next to her.  ‘This is a lovely place’ she says.

‘I’m sick of it’ I say grumpily. ‘How about you take me out somewhere’.

‘St Andrews is only a couple of hours away’ she jokes.

I stare at her, ‘let’s go’.

‘William –‘

I take her hand in both of mine. ‘Please Kate, I’ve been stuck here for weeks. Let’s go back, I’ve been meaning to go for years but I always put it off’. The words come out in a jumble but she knows I mean them.

‘I don’t want a dead man in my car’ she says.

‘You drove here?!’

‘Yes’ she says looking affronted. ‘I’m old, not an invalid’.

I chuckle, ‘how about you take this invalid on a ride then?’

*

Kate leaves me outside and sneaks up to my room, collecting my medication and a few blankets.

‘I could go to prison for this’ she says when she returns, rolling me to the driveway at an alarmingly fast rate.

‘Emma and George didn’t see you did they?’

‘No’ she says breathlessly, packing her little red car.

Between the two of us, I am hauled into the passenger seat, brimming with excitement. I direct her to a side gate where I know there is only one guard standing.

I pop my head out of the window and say to him, ‘I’ll be back soon, they know all about it’.

The guard looks slightly startled, looking around for my security convoy, but before he can question it, Kate speeds away from the gates, the two of us laughing like naughty schoolchildren.

*

Two hours later, we arrive in St Andrews. We comment on all the things that have changed as we drive around – which is almost everything. The only thing that has stayed the same are the university buildings and we both descend into a respectful silence as we pass Sallies.

After much discussion, we decide on a remote area near to our old cottage. Kate pushes me up the small hills with some effort until we find a stone wall she can sit on.

On the way here, Kate stopped for snacks and she pulls out a packet of chocolate brownies from her bag and rips them open. We munch on them in silence.

‘My children are going to kill me’ I say.

She laughs. ‘Emma is lovely by the way, both of them are. You did well there’

I cough and she hands me a bottle of water. I take it but my hands are shaky and she holds it in place for me.

‘They are wonderful children’ I agree. ‘Did George give you a hard time?’

‘He was perfectly gracious’ she says. ‘Just like his father’.

I smile and she holds onto my hand.

‘Yes Emma is certainly more like her mother. Or her namesake’

She looks at me curiously.

‘Emma?’ I say, smirking. ‘You know the Jane Austen book?’

‘You named her after Emma Woodhouse?’, she says.

‘Well someone recommended the book to me a long time ago, so I read it’

She bows her head and squeezes my hand, tears springing to her eyes.

‘Kate.’

‘Don’t say it’ she pleads.

‘Say what?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s bound to make me cry’

‘I want to say sorry. The way we left things…the way I said goodbye to you –‘

‘It was my fault too’ she says. ‘I didn’t make it easy’.

‘You did what was right for you’. The wind is gathering and I wrap my coat around myself tighter.

‘I loved you’ she says, looking into the distance.

‘I’ve loved you for sixty years’.

‘Sometimes I think I missed my chance to be truly happy’, she brushes some crumbs off her lap.

‘You haven’t been happy?’

‘No, of course I’ve had a wonderful life, with a job and a husband and beautiful children, but something was always –‘

‘Missing’ I finish.

‘Yes’.

‘Yes.’

‘If I could do things again…’ she begins.

‘Hey, we don’t need to dwell on that. You’re here now’

‘I should’ve been there then’

My bones are achy and stiff but I lock her fingers with mine, ‘we’ve had happy lives. Maybe not the ones we expected back then, but we got through it’

‘I didn’t get over it though’

I look at her and her eyes are glistening.

‘Neither did I. Not fully. But I always wanted the chance to tell you I was sorry’

‘Well you’ve said it now’

‘Not just for being a complete idiot that day. But for not fighting for you. I should’ve tried harder’

‘I didn’t really give you a choice’. She leans against my shoulder and I place my chin on her head.

‘I just wanted you to be happy’

‘I have been. In my own way’, she says stifling a yawn.

I can’t suppress a laugh. ‘Does this remind you of anything?’

She closes her eyes and smiles, ‘we just need you to set fire to something now’.

*

Two bags of chips later and we head back home, ready for the torrent of anger from my children.

‘What you do think you were doing!!??’

‘Do you know how dangerous that was?’

‘We were worried sick!’

But I’m not listening. I can still feel the Fife wind on my face. Still taste the salty chips. And still feel her hand on mine.

I am tired but walking on air. I’m put back into bed and instruct my children that if they blame any of this on Kate I will cut their inheritance in half.

As the sun sets, Kate sits next to my bed. My heart is slowing again, but this time I don’t try to fight it.

‘I should probably leave you to rest’ she says.

When I look at her, she is the girl I fell in love with. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders in brown waves, her cheeks are pink and rosy and her eyes are glinting. I reach my hand out to touch her face, finding it smooth and soft as it always ways.

‘Stay’ I say.

She leans over and kisses me softly on the cheek. Butterflies explode inside me.

‘You should be with your family now’ she says gently, passing a wet drop from her eyelashes to my cheek.

‘Kate’

‘I know Will. I know. I’ll see you again, I promise’

She knows. At last, she knows.

I’m faintly aware of movement around me, more people enter the room and some leave. There is a constant sound off weeping somewhere.

Flashes of colour pass through my mind. My children clambering over me in the garden, and the smell of the grass. My wedding day; the taste of the smoke from the fireworks. The charred taste of slightly burnt spaghetti bolognaise.

I hear the slow thud of my heart over the voices around me, relaxing with every beat.

Until I can’t hear or see anything anymore.

And yet, my senses pick up one final thing.

Raspberries.

The End.

[beetlebitchywitch]

Yes, Professor

So our discord server might have come up with some professor AU’s for the Conglomerate and we might’ve gone a weeeee bit feral. So here’s what came of me deciding to target @realmonsterboyhours with two of her favorite boys, Zhuk and Bajo. Enjoy!

(If you’re unaware of the Conglomerate, a Mafia!Beej AU with 5 iterations of him, click here to get the full rundown courtesy of @monsterlovinghours

Warning: NSFW, some degradation, double teaming, spanking, just a fun time to be had

“Professor?”

“Hmm? Ah yes, come in, dorogoy.” 

You hesitated in the doorway to his office, taken aback for a moment by the lavishness of the decor before you slowly entered, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. You took a deep breath, thankful that your professor’s eyes were trained on his tea as he raised his bobbing tea bag in and out of the steaming mug. The truth was, Professor Zhuk had always intimidated you. Though he was a physically imposing man, it was his regality that truly made you feel small next to him. He spoke with an air of confidence and intelligence that no other professor could match, save for-

...Oh dear God. 

“Buenos dias, querida,” Professor Escarabajo said from the plush armchair in the corner, a playful smirk playing on his lips. You stopped in your tracks, your brain sprinting to try and catch up with this unexpected turn of events. You knew you had to see Zhuk to speak about your grade in his Marxist Literature class, so why would the head of the History Department be waiting for you as well? You felt your cheeks stain a light pink despite your desperate attempts to keep yourself in check, already shrinking under the intensity of the professor’s mirthful gaze. 

“This is my colleague, Professor Escarabajo,” Zhuk said cheerily, seemingly unaware of your growing nervousness as he gestured to the other man. “He will be joining us for our brief meeting. I hope that this won’t be a problem?”

You avoided his gaze, simply nodding as you sunk into the chair across from the two of them, thankful for the plush softness enveloping your body. After a moment, you felt composed enough to meet Zhuk’s gaze with a polite smile, folding your hands in your lap to disguise the telltale tremble of an intimidated woman. 

“Not a problem at all, sir,” you replied softly, thumbing over the soft fabric of your skirt. 

“Excellent,” he said, sipping at his tea- Earl Grey, you suspected, given the earthy aroma- before fumbling with his little gold reading glasses, sliding them over the bridge of his nose as he read through a few papers strewn across his desk. 

God, what you wouldn’t give to be those pa-

No. Stop. You couldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts in front of the man you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Christ, watching him command a classroom, demanding the attention of his students with a booming voice as he masterfully took you all through the intricacies of some of the most complicated literature you’d ever read...it made you want to throw yourself out of your chair and beg him to fuck you in front of the rest of the class. 

But you couldn’t think of that. Not here, not in his office, not in front of another professor. You pinched your leg softly, hoping to distract yourself away from the fantasies that could only be making your cheeks redder by the second. 

“Now, it seems you’ve been struggling on your reflections for Marxist Literature,” he said, looking over what you assumed to be a stack of the assignments you’d managed to turn in on time. “Tell me how I can be of help to you, moy dorogoy.” 

You felt like you were short circuiting, your mind lulled by the sweet timbre of his beautifully accented voice, especially when he called you something in Russian that you were aching to know the meaning of. Gulping, you straightened your body in the chair, attempting to look as professional and put together as you knew you could never be in their presence.

“Well, Professor, Marxist Literature has honestly been a challenge for me,” you replied, hoping honesty would truly be the best policy. “I find it hard to look at literature from a Marxist lens when I’ve learned so little of his political theory in my classes up until this point.” 

“Ah, should I tell Professor Scarabee that he’s slacking off in his teaching?” Escarabajo asked, his golden eyes alight with mischief. Your stomach lurched, oh God you were going to vomit, you couldn’t handle even the gentlest of teasing from this professor who was somehow just as handsome as Zhuk, except rougher, clearly looser, and apparently feeding off of your evident nervousness, if the look in his eye was anything to go off of. 

“No, no, not at all!” you stammered. “I haven’t had the pleasure of being taught by him, but I’m sure he’s great at what he does, Professor Escarabajo.” 

“Please, querida,” he said, his playful smirk softening as he gave you a little wink. “Call me Bajo.” 

“Bajo…” you replied, and, despite everything, giving him a little smile of your own. 

“Yes, well…” Zhuk said, clearing his throat to regain your attention. You snapped back, your stomach churning with anxiety as he stared you down. “I am happy to provide you with a few extra lessons, dorogoy. In fact, it seems to be fate that Professor...Bajo was here with me today. He just so happens to know quite a bit of Marxist political theory, yes?”

“Indeed I do,” Bajo replied, lounging back in the plush chair. “And I have nowhere to be. Will you allow for a bit of extra tutoring, pequeña?” 

This felt like something straight out of a romance novel. Two gorgeous professors giving you a private study session behind closed doors? You nodded, shooting them a thankful smile as you tried not to let those kinds of thoughts into your mind. You needed to learn about Marx, and your professors were kind enough to help you, so you wouldn’t waste their time getting distracted by the demands of your body. You pulled out your textbook and sat back in the chair, ready to finally get some work done. 

Of course, the world seemed to be against you from the start, because you simply couldn’t grasp a single thing the two of them were trying to teach you. It felt like your brain had turned to mush, the difficult political concepts sloshing around inside your skull and never finding a place to stick. Your answers were sloppy, your insights poor, and with every passing minute, you could feel the tension in the room grow. Zhuk was a patient man, you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, but there was only so much even he could take. You could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, which only served to discombobulate you further. Finally, when you couldn’t even form an answer to the simplest of questions, Zhuk tossed your papers frustratedly onto his desk, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Dorogoy,” he began, his voice deep and tense in a way that made your muscles clench. “We are doing all that we can to help you, but we are of no use to you if you refuse to pay attention.”

“N-no!” you stammered, feeling hot shame flush your cheeks once more. “That’s not it!” 

“Then what is it, pequeña?” Bajo grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep, slow breaths. “Because I refuse to waste my time trying to help a student who won’t repay the favor by actually listening.” 

“That’s...I-I…” you fought the urge to curl in on yourself, your fingers digging into your sides as you tried and failed to put yourself together. Suddenly, Bajo stopped, looking down at you curiously before a broad grin spread across his face. 

“Look up at me, querida,” he demanded, putting two fingers under your chin to lift your face so your eyes met. Your cheeks were already shamefully flushed, but the minute you looked into his deep, golden eyes, they grew even redder, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants. You could see the satisfaction in his gaze as he let go of your chin and turned to Zhuk. 

“I believe I see the problem, amigo,” he said slyly, striding back towards his chair and taking a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leered at you. “The only thing distracting our student from us...is us.” 

“What are you talking about, Escarabajo?” Zhuk replied, looking you over quizzically. “She seems fine to...oh.” 

You looked up at him with a soft gasp at the last word and were startled by the look in his eye. What started as confusion slowly morphed into realization, and realization quickly and readily became hunger. He looked at you like a man starved looks out over a Thanksgiving feast, and though it sent a shiver down your spine, you couldn’t look away. Could this be real? Could the man you spent class after class fantasizing over be looking at you like he wanted you back? The very thought felt shameful, and yet...right.

“So you see it too, hmm?” Bajo asked, startling you out of your reverie. “How naughty of you, mariposa. What ever are we to do with you?” You watched as he looked at Zhuk, his eyes silently asking, begging for permission. Zhuk nodded, letting his eyes flit over to you, frustration still present despite the ever-growing presence of lust, lust, God, you couldn’t even deny it. 

“Get up, dorogoy,” he commanded, and the unwavering dominance in his tone had you scrambling from your seat before you could even process what you were doing. You watched fearfully as Bajo strode confidently over to Zhuk’s desk, reaching into the desk drawer to pull out...a long, wooden ruler.

...Christ.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you, tonta?” he said bitingly, smacking the ruler threateningly against his palm. You could feel your legs tremble as you nodded, sniffling under your breath knowing you were about to get what you deserve. “Good girl. Over the desk.” 

You hesitated for a moment, a rush of mixed feelings taking you over; fear, shame, excitement, curiosity, desire...it was that last one that got your feet moving, and when you reached the desk, you bent over and braced your arms against the dark wood, the slight breeze against your bare legs making the blood rush to your cheeks once more. You kept your eyes trained on the desk beneath you, shivering at the sound of Bajo’s deep, foreboding chuckle. 

“What an obedient girl,” he mused, touching the ruler to your thigh and dragging it up to flip your skirt back, revealing your black, lacy panties. You jumped as his cold hand took hold of the waistband, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass in a way that somehow made you feel more exposed than if he’d taken them off altogether. You could feel Zhuk’s eyes on you, watching silently from behind his desk with his arms crossed in front of him, and you felt it best to sneak a glance at his face. You nearly choked on your tongue at the sight of him, gazing intently at the roundness of your ass like he didn’t know whether to kiss it, smack it, or make love to it. You never imagined your professor looking at you in such a way...well, no, you did, but you never expected those thoughts to come true. 

“You will count them for us. Do you understand?” he finally said, his words dripping with a stoic desire that somehow fit him just right. You nodded nervously, your fingers already curling against the wood in anticipation. You heard the whistle of the ruler through the air before you felt it, smacking against your ass loudly though still drowned out by your even louder cry as the pain radiated across your skin. Still, you remembered their command and were afraid of what might happen if you did not obey. 

“O-one…” you whimpered, your voice thick with unshed tears. 

“What a smart girl,” Bajo said mockingly, bringing the ruler down again with a sharp crack. “Though apparently not smart enough to pay attention. Is it going to take a fucking spanking for you to learn your lesson, mierda por cerebros?” 

Tears spilled from your eyes as you stammered out a quiet “Two...”, a hot rush of shame filling your belly not at your lack of attention span, but from how much you liked his degrading words and the pain of each smack of the ruler against your slowly reddening ass. And God, the fact that Zhuk was just watching, staring you down as you were slowly taken apart by his colleague...

“Don’t you have something to say to us, gatita?” Bajo asked angrily as he brought the ruler down for the tenth time. “You made us waste an hour trying to teach you something that you couldn’t pay attention to because you were too busy being a fucking slut. Don’t you feel like you owe us something?”

“I-I...I’m sorry,” you whimpered thickly, watching as your tears dripped onto the wood of Zhuk’s desk. 

“Louder, malenk’iy,” Zhuk said sternly, finally moving closer to you and brushing his hand over the raised welts on your ass. You hissed, but still bucked into his touch.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out. “I’m sorry, sirs! I wasted your time, I was a bad girl, I’m sorry!” 

“Si,” Bajo said softly, running the ruler soothingly over your ass for a moment before suddenly, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back so he could press his mouth right against your ear. “And you forgot to count.” 

Oh fuck. A deep sense of dread filled your belly, your eyes widening as your tears continued to pour down your cheeks. 

“I, no wait, I’m sorry! Please, sir!” you begged, but his hand in your hair only tightened, pulling a choked off whimper out of your lips. 

“Escarabajo,” Zhuk interjected, placing his hand on top of Bajo’s in your hair. Yes, your knight in shining armor, come to rescue you from your fate- “I believe it’s my turn.” 

...Well, shit. 

Your entire body shivered as Bajo’s hand was quickly replaced with Zhuk’s larger one, his touch gentler as he gripped your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek was pressed against the cool wood. 

“You were a very bad girl, kukla,” he said sternly, using his free hand to finally pull your panties down until they pooled around your ankles. “Wasting our time, forgetting to count...perhaps a stricter punishment is in order.” 

Your breath came out shakily as you heard him quickly unzip his zipper, his cock slapping against a welt on your ass and pulling a hiss from your lips. He chuckled darkly at the sound, letting his fingers trace gently over your reddened skin. 

“What do you say, Escarabajo?” he asked, shooting Bajo a bemused look. “Would you like to keep her quiet for me?” 

You could only imagine the wicked grin on Bajo’s face as he and Zhuk rearranged you, Zhuk still behind you while Bajo stood in front of you, your head now hanging off the edge of the desk and at eye-level with his hardening cock. He quickly freed himself from his pants, stroking it just inches from your lips with a soft groan. 

“You bet your ass I would. Time to put your mouth to better use, muñeca,” he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your lips. You opened them obediently, allowing him to slide inside and moaning softly at the weight of his cock against your tongue as he hit the back of your throat with ease. Zhuk’s fingers, now wet, slid between your legs, teasing at your entrance before sliding inside, making you gasp around Bajo’s cock. 

“That’s it, gatita,” he crooned, slowly starting to fuck into your mouth. “Fuck, she feels like fucking heaven, mi amigo.” 

“Treat him well, kotenok,” Zhuk said, his voice hushed as he marvelled at how wet you were from a simple spanking. “See if this teaches you how to be a good girl, da?” 

You moaned your assent around Bajo’s cock, looking up at him obediently as you did your best to pleasure him, bobbing your head in time with his thrusts as Zhuk’s fingers sent little bursts of pleasure all the way to your fingertips. You felt properly full, your mouth stretched around Bajo’s cock while a second and third finger slid inside you, Zhuk doing his best to stretch you in preparation for what you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. You never expected a second partner thrown into the mix, but you wouldn’t complain about the taste of him in your mouth, the delicious stretch in your jaw as you swallowed him down, the wonderful groans as he fucked down your throat…

It felt like an eternity when Zhuk finally pulled his fingers out of you, and you groaned in protest despite the ache slowly forming in your jaw. He chuckled, smacking his hand cheekily against your ass and amusing himself with your pained squeak. 

“Are you ready for your punishment, dorogoy?” he asked, dragging the head of his cock through the wetness of your folds. Confusion and dread took hold in you- you knew you had to be punished, but what could he possibly have in store that they hadn’t already put you through? Finally, he pushed inside of you, his thick cock stretching you more than you could’ve imagined as you let out a long, low groan around Bajo’s cock. When he finally bottomed out, he groaned softly, reveling in the way your pussy clenched around him. With a smirk, he grabbed your hair from behind, holding onto it like a leash. “Because if you’re going to cum...you’re going to have to beg.” 

Oh God. You could tell Bajo was getting close, his groans growing higher pitched and his thrusts growing more erratic, his cock sliding fully into your throat with each thrust inside. Your ministrations grew sloppier as you felt hot rushes of pleasure radiating through your body as Zhuk began to take you, his cock dragging so perfectly inside you. It was all rushing to your head, the feeling of being taken so completely, filled to the brim, taken apart piece by piece with unrelenting pleasure. You gazed up at Bajo, your eyes going cloudy as you silently pleaded for him to cum in your mouth, spill inside you, make you his. He obliged a second later, pushing fully into your mouth and holding your face against him as he spilled down your throat, his choked off moan reverberating throughout the small room. You obediently swallowed every drop, gasping for air as he pulled out of you and immediately slumped into the nearest chair, running his fingers through his hair with a blissed out look on his face.

“Ooh, gatita, look how pretty you are when you get fucked,” he crooned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to watch you intently. “Give it to her a little harder, amigo, she can take more than that.”

Zhuk obliged, grunting as he sped up with ferocity, pulling on your hair to lift you off the desk so your back was pressed fully against his chest, his hand moving down to wrap around your throat as he took you so hard you thought he was trying to breed you. The very thought sent a warm shiver down your spine, along with Bajo’s eyes watching happily as your tits bounced from each of Zhuk’s thrusts. The head of his cock dragged perfectly against your G spot, pulling pitiful moans from your fucked out mouth.

“What a good little slut,” he growled, mouthing roughly at your neck. “Does someone want to cum?”

“I don’t know, mi amigo, she doesn’t seem to want it that badly,” Bajo said flippantly, his eyes glinting with mischief. You groaned in protest, trying to reach down to circle your fingers around your clit, but your hand was immediately slapped away, Zhuk growling a warning into your skin. 

“I told you to beg,” he snarled, hovering his fingers teasingly over your clit, just an inch away from where you needed them to be. “Better make it pretty, too, if you want to cum.” 

“P-please!” you whimpered, desperation quickly bubbling up inside of you as the pleasure halted just on the edge of oblivion, needing just a little more in order to boil over. With each thrust, the desperation grew, your hands frustratedly scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you were assaulted and teased with pleasure that refused to finally peak. “God, I need it so bad! Sir, please, please let me cum!” 

“I can’t hear you,” he growled, tightening his hand around your throat until your voice was only a mere squeak. Bajo watched with delight, amused and aroused at the sight of you struggling and failing to beg for what you needed. “Louder!” 

“PLEASE!” you cried out, frustrated at the bare whisper you somehow managed with the large hand clamping down on your throat. You whined at the sound of their laughter, but it quickly turned to a soft cry as his fingers finally descended on your clit, rubbing in perfect little circles as you finally toppled over the edge, cumming with a silent scream. The pleasure rushed through you like waves, and you sunk deeper and deeper as each one passed until you finally succumbed to the darkness quickly clouding your vision. 

When you came to, you were surrounded with a pleasant warmth. Your eyes slid open to find your head nestled onto Zhuk’s chest, with Bajo curled up behind you with his head buried into your shoulder. You blinked away the fuzziness at the edges of your vision to see Zhuk smiling down at you, resting his head against his pillow.

“You got me to the bedroom while I was out?” you asked, nuzzling further into their embraces.

“Of course. It wasn’t exactly difficult, tsvetok,” Zhuk chuckled, stroking a hand comfortingly through your hair. 

“What did you think, mariposa?” Bajo asked, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, smiling over at you. “Were we convincing?” 

“Incredibly,” you yawned, smiling sleepily at them. “You make quite the literature professor, moy muzh.” 

“Mm, well I’m glad you convinced us to humor you,” Zhuk replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now go to sleep, moya lyubov. You’ve earned it.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your eyes slipped shut happily, comforted by the embraces of your favorite boys as sleep once again claimed you. 

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

ENG 114: The Classic Novel (1/?)

So this is the college/Professor AU that literally no one but me asked for lol. I don’t think I’ve written fic since my Spock/Kirk days so I apologize in advance for this. I might make this a series? Maybe? Enjoy

pairing: Pedro Pascal x  Reader word count: 1,912 warnings: THIGH RIDING. a little, because thanks guys, I am apparently unable to escape that any more lol

Summary:  “I have to say, there are some pretty glaring errors with your citations. I’m a little disappointed.” Your eyebrows draw together in a frown.

“I don’t make citation errors.” He shrugs, grin never faltering.

 “Come over here and see if you don’t believe me,”

“Do I need to buy you a watch?” His eyes unerringly find yours as you run into his office, backpack narrowly missing the precariously stacked pile of papers on the small, rickety table by the door. His lips are quirked into that tiny smirk you think he has to know by now that you can’t resist. You chance a grin back.

“I’d rather you give me something else, if you’re offering sir.” You hear a short huff of breath escape him and see that flash of something in his deep brown eyes. That something a little dark and a little dangerous that never fails to send shivers down your spine and a burning hand clenching at your insides. He allows his eyes to dwell on all the places he knows you want them to before returning to the papers on his desk in front of him. Still smiling, he pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, messing up his already dishevelled hair.

“I need those sorted and stapled for the survey course we’re supposed to be at in twenty minutes,” he informs you, effectively drenching you and your blatant flirting in a very cold metaphorical shower. You frown down at the stack of papers you had nearly sent flying. 

“That’s like, at least an hour long job!” He briefly glances back up at you, smirking at your annoyance. 

“That’s the amount of time you would have had if you’d shown up when you were supposed to, isn’t it?” 

Growling low in your throat, you toss your bag onto the floor and throw yourself into the chair in front of his desk, dragging the table with its paper punishment closer.

“Something bothering you?” he asks innocently, smiling, still reading that paper, purple pen occasionally scribbling a critique or a word or two of praise. 

“Nope! Totally cool, nothing could possibly be more exciting than this,” you force out through gritted teeth, dividing the different pages into three stacks for easy sorting. 

“Oh good. I’d hate for any part of this relationship to be disappointing to you. Or for you to be feeling less than satisfied in any way.” You feel your eyes widen in surprise as they flick across the desk to him. He still isn’t looking at you. 

Your frown turns into a sly grin as you stand up and reach across his desk for the stapler that’s sitting next to his hand. Your fingers brush across his, finally gaining his attention, and you’re about to drag the stapler slowly back towards yourself when he catches hold of it and pulls it back. You look up from the desk to see him watching you, a playful grin tugging at his lips, lifting his mustache and crinkling the corners of his eyes. You tug again and he tugs back harder. As you open your mouth to protest his other hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, silencing whatever you had been about to say. His touch successfully distracts you long enough for him to pull the stapler out of your hand and drop it at the far corner of his desk. You watch the tiny tattoo between his left thumb and forefinger as he turns your arm over, exposing the soft, delicate skin of your wrist. He traces the fine blue veins that weave their way up the inside of your arm with warm and slightly calloused fingers, watching as goosebumps follow his path and your fingers twitch in response, brushing against his sleeve. 

He lets go of your hand and sits back in his chair. You meet his eyes again as he reaches up and takes his glasses off, slowly folding them before setting the clear frames more gently alongside the purple pen and papers he had abandoned, rubbing his finger along the rough edge his dog had chewed into them. 

“This is your last paper, you know,” he remarks casually, gesturing to his desk. Your eyes follow his fingers as they massage and squeeze each other while he speaks, distracted by the thought of what else those digits could be doing right now.

“Oh yeah?” you manage to squeak out. He nods, still watching, still smirking. 

“I have to say, there are some pretty glaring errors with your citations. I’m a little disappointed.” Your eyebrows draw together in a frown. 

“I don’t make citation errors.” He shrugs, grin never faltering. 

“Come over here and see if you don’t believe me,” he offers, scooting his chair back slightly, making room for you between him and his desk. You walk around to his side and he waves at the papers in front of him, relaxing back, legs sprawled as if he were sitting on a throne. When you squeeze by him your fingers drag along his arm lightly as it rests on the chair arm, and you pluck the papers off the desk. Sitting on the edge directly in front of him, you flick your eyes up to his and find them heavy, dark, and burning, full of all sorts of promises.

You thumb through the papers in your hand till you reach your notes at the end. You scoff as you skim through them, stopping at the one that he had circled and corrected saying, 

“I didn’t do this wrong.” Still smiling, he sits up a little straighter and leans forward.

“You did.” He takes the paper out of your hand and tosses it on the desk behind you, putting his hands on your knees. “But I know this wasn’t your first citation style, it’s understandable that you get confused every now and again.” You look down at his playful grin and are unable to keep the smile off your face. Putting your hands on his shoulders and rubbing gently, you muse, eyebrows raised,

“Weren’t you the one who taught me this hellish citation style back in undergrad? So really,” your fingers move to scratch lightly at his scalp and tangle in the messy brown curls at the back of his neck. “If I have made a mistake, which I did not,” He huffs out a laugh, hands squeezing the knees that he still holds captive in his palms. “It’s your fault anyways.” 

“Oh it is, is it?” You nod, leaning more heavily on his shoulders. 

“Totally your fault. I am, of course, blameless in all things.” His fingers move to tickle the backs of your knees and your legs twitch as you try to escape his grasp.

“Maybe you just weren’t paying attention?” he asks, relenting after a few seconds, before he’s hit with a jerking knee or foot. Which has happened before. More than once. A little breathless from trying to contain the giggles he had been attempting to provoke, you gently tug on his hair and reply,

“Gee, I wonder who’s fault that could have been?” He shrugs innocently, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, maybe I just need some extra help. Outside normal office hours.” You lick your lips as you watch his smile turn a little sharper. 

“We can’t have you making these kind of silly mistakes when you write your thesis,” he points out, eyes still holding yours as he releases your knees and rubs the tops of his thighs. You feel your mouth go dry as you try to formulate a response, more than a little distracted at the way his pants stretch taught, remembering all the times that you’ve thought about straddling and riding them to kingdom come. “Can we?”

He stands slowly, moving into your space, trapping you against the desk, one hand resting next to your leg, warm fingers of his other hand tipping your chin up towards him, the smell of his cologne and his laundry detergent permeating the air, distracting and delicious. Your arms slip from his shoulders, down his body, falling to his waist, and you clutch the fabric of his shirt tightly as he cups your face in his large hand, watching your throat when you swallow, dark eyes full of mischief.

 “But if you’re so convinced that there isn’t a problem, why would you need my help? You know I only work with the most,” he pauses. “Serious students under me.” You shake your head slowly.

“Now, now, use your big girl words.” You shiver, that voice shooting straight through you, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“No, I think it’s better to be safe than sorry,” you breathe quietly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You smirk, eyes trapped by his as soon as you manage to pry them open.

“Please sir,” Your breath hitches, the games the two of you play haven’t ever gone this far. “What ever could I possibly do to correct this most grievous of errors?” He smiles, hands gently separating your legs to move further between them, his body warm and insistent.

“You really want my help?” You nod. He grabs your chin again and gives your head a little shake, his other hand stroking your leg slowly.

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself with a small laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I don’t know that I will ever be able to correct these mistakes without your wise counsel, Jedi Master, expert at the MLA style citation.” 

“Now don’t get cocky.”

“No, that’s your job.” You see the points of his teeth as his lip curls up to one side in a feral grin.

“My, my, young padawan, for someone making such freshman mistakes you’re sure willing-”

“To get pretty fresh with you?” you interrupt, pleased with yourself and your pun. His head drops to your shoulder as he laughs, mustache tickling your neck. You bite back a moan at the sensation, unable to keep your eyes from closing again. Fuck you love that thing.

He stands up straight again, shifting so he could press a thigh into the crotch of your jeans. One hand still on your face, the other gripping your hip, he flexes and pulls you closer, encouraging you to grind yourself onto his leg. You gasp quietly, sparks shooting up your spine at every rub of him against the center of you.

“So you’d be willing to try anything?” he confirms, eyes hot and crinkling at the edges with the smile that still stretches over his whole face as he continues to hold himself tight against you. 

“Anything you say, sir.” you reply, still amused, very excited by this new turn of events. 

His fingers stroke your cheek gently as he leans over you and you can feel his breath on your face, his lips inches from yours. You hold your breath, unable to believe that fucking finally you’re getting somewhere-

When he boops your nose and whispers, silky smooth,

“Staple those papers and bring them to class. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” He takes a step back and grabs the glasses off of his desk with a cheeky wink. You slip forward, trying to follow his hand, his shirt sliding from your grasp, your hands falling back to your lap.

“I’m grabbing coffee, I’ll see you in a bit!” He calls cheerily over his shoulder as he walks around his desk and out of his office and you can hear the grin in his voice. 

You stare out of the window in front of you for at least a minute. 

“Well shit,” you say to the empty room, cheeks still on fire, brain scrambling to process just how close he had been to- “Son of a fucking bitch.”

[the-science-of-stories]

Find Your Star.

A Dungeons and Dragons fiction writing commission for my buddy Noriaki on Twitter! 

They’re part of a campaign I am also a part of with Dahlia and have given me permission to post it here on Tumblr! This was my first writing commission and I couldn’t be happier with it. 

Characters that belong to the commissioner:

Star Chaser, Tabaxi Rogue 

Aegis Olyrnn, Female Elf 

“Huh. I guess this is the place.”  

Above the babbling brook that ran through the quaint expanse of a small forest came the voice of an elvish man. He wore the garb and carried the hefty bag of a researcher. Holding up a pamphlet he was using for reference he adjusted his glasses to get a better look.

It was a crude drawing of a small cottage flanked by an abundant garden and a quaint little pond. In front of it stood a couple of stick figure drawings: a woman with dark hair and a small cat-like figure with a cloak.  

Lowering the drawing to compare it to the cottage he stood before he gave an affirming nod. His boots clacked against the cobblestone path in melody with the stream and a few home-made wind chimes.  

He stepped up onto a creaky patio that led to a wooden door, both showing signs of their age with weathered surfaces. He gave the door a couple of raps with the back of fist before placing his arm behind his back in a patient stance waiting for an answer.  

After almost a minute the door creaked open, the sun spilling in onto its residence.  

It was a woman. One also of elvish descent with ears poking out of shoulder length dark hair. She wore a set of casual clothes with her hair hanging loose, cascading around her face with evergreen eyes that matched the lush vegetation around her dwelling.  

“51 seconds, that’s almost slower than last time.” The researcher observed, pretending to be impressed and earning a tired scowl from the woman.  

“I was taking a nap, Farlan,” she groggily answered, looking at his hand, “You received the drawing?”  

Farlan raised the paper before turning it around to face the drawing towards the woman, “I would say so, as I found your home.”  

The woman stepped aside, gesturing with an arm for the man to follow inside. He gave a thankful nod and stepped through the door.

Taking a look around he was immediately met by lush pots of different flora hanging from the ceiling or resting on shelves. The air itself almost smelled like perfume, something Farlan clearly noticed as he flinched a bit when he took a breath.  

“I see you still have your hobby,” he remarked, “Quite an... exotic home.”  

“Keerla likes it when she comes here.” Aegis crossed the room to a small stove where she set a kettle on a rack in a quaint fireplace.  

“Keerla was busy, so they sent me instead. Like they always do when she’s busy. She’ll be back before you know it. But in the meantime-” Farlan slipped a document out of his bag, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, “Aegis Olyrnn, my name is Farlan Chaedi of the Harpers Medical Wing. I will be your substitute physician for this visit. Do you accept my treatment?”  

The woman turned around, now holding two mugs that she set down on the table with a firm stare at the scientist, “Yes, Doctor Farlan, I accept. Do we have to do this every time?”  

Farlan nodded in answer, scribbling on the scroll before tucking it back in his bag. Aegis gestured to the chair opposite of her at the table. He nearly took his seat when he stopped to pick up another paper that sat atop a few others.  

“These came in a parcel, are these from him?” Farlan asked, holding up one of the drawings, pressing the back to his chest to face Aegis.  

“Yes, that is from Star Chaser,” Aegis responded, resting her cheek in her hand with a bit of an endeared expression, “Bless him, he learned how to use the mail. He has been sending me some of his drawings to let me know where he is and that he’s okay.”  

His brow furrowed as he turned it back, clearly he noticed something on the paper as he pressed it to his nose and took a sniff.  

“This smells like cinnamon,” Farlan observed, causing Aegis to chuckle to herself.  

“One of his new friends makes these cinnamon treats he is obsessed with. I believe he attempted to send me one tied to the letter.”  

Farlan’s lip curved up a bit with a quiet ‘hrm’ as if that were an answer he didn’t expect but definitely believed. He set the paper back down with the pile before taking a seat.  

“So we ran some more tests, and it looks like you are responding positively to the treatment. There are no signs of any infection or antibodies to the-”  

“Get to the ‘but’ please, Farlan,” Aegis interrupted with a couple of exhausted nods, “I was in the field as well. I may not have done as much medical study but I’ve been alive for over 400 years. I know what letting a patient down easy sounds like.”

Farlan pressed his lips together in a relent expression, setting the paper in his hands down before lacing his fingers together on the table, “We believe your condition might be spreading to your muscle tissue. We cannot be sure just yet, but it appears to be migrating away from where we’ve targeted the treatment.”  

Aegis took a heavy breath through her nose, her shoulders rising and falling in deflation. She didn’t seem surprised, but that didn’t make the news any easier to take.  

“If there’s nothing else you can do I’d like you to finish your test and be going.” Aegis requested.

“I think you should tell him.” Farlan responded, tapping the drawing.  

“I don’t want to hear this.” Aegis interrupted, standing up from her chair to walk towards the fireplace.  

“He is out on his own he should know about-”  

“Doctor Farlan.” Aegis cut him off as the kettle started to whistle. For a moment the loud screech was the only sound in the cottage before she quickly turned around and removed it from the heat, “My lifespan is likely to be much longer than his. Even with my condition I will outlive him.”  

“You may outlive him,” Farlan emphasized, “You knew this when we found him. I need you to recall I don’t ask this lightly, he was like a nephew to me.”  

Aegis had just started to pour the boiling water into the two cups laid out, her expression softening, “He did love his ‘smart uncle’, even if he thought you were strange at times.”  

“I think he found me just as fascinating as I found him,” Farlan countered, seemingly a bit annoyed. It made Aegis crack a smile as she sat back down and cupped her hands around her tea.  

She reached across the table, dragging one of the drawings out from the bottom of the pile. She picked it up and looked it over, tilting her head with a bit of a smile.

“Do you remember when we found him? Freezing and feral that night in the Mulhorand desert? He was so comfortable in the wild, but the moment I touched him he wouldn’t let me stop petting him. Such an affectionate little creature, alone for such a long time. Couldn’t even speak or write common yet.”  

“I had to remind you he was for a study when all you wished to do was play with him,” Farlan recalled, taking a sip of his tea.  

“You weren’t the most on task, either,” the elvish woman reminded, giving him a knowing glare, “I would find you pausing in the middle of taking notes when he was batting at your pen.”  

The memory sparked something with the researchers as Farlan cracked a smile before they both laughed for a moment. Aegis collected herself as she ran a finger around the rim of her cup.  

“He’s having so much fun,” she explained, looking at the stack of drawings and letters, “He’s met such a wonderful group of friends.”  

“We knew sooner or later we’d have to release him,” Farlan said, “He was still a living creature, even if he’s an adolescent. He deserves to make his own choices.”  

She shuffled the drawing she was looking at across the table to face Farlan.  

It was another crude drawing of the same cat from the reference picture he used to find the cottage. This time, he was standing atop a large hill with sword extended towards a starry sky. A shooting star’s trail streaked to where it was drawn in place at the tip of his sword.  

“He wanted to find a star. Just like a story I used to tell him: that shooting stars all landed somewhere and we had our own to find.” Aegis reminisced, her eyes starting to get misty.  

Farlan nodded somberly with his eyes on the drawing, “That was how you came to the choice of his name. Yes, I recall.”  

“He believes if he finds one it will make me better,” Aegis continued, “That if he finds his star then I’ll be healthy again. I can’t take that away from him.”  

Farlan exhaled, clearly he wanted to argue but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he elected to start removing equipment from his bag, “I don’t know if it’s a star he’s gonna find, exactly, but he may find what he’s looking for in a form he didn’t expect. Maybe a magic potion or an ancient artifact.”  

“Don’t patronize me, Farlan,” Aegis said, but she couldn’t hide the bit of a smile, “You’re my doctor today, you don’t get to tease me.”  

“Not teasing. Well, maybe half teasing.” Farlan assured, “It is quite a world out there, after all. From what you’ve told me already he’s on quite a remarkable adventure.” He held a hand out, flexing his fingers. Aegis rested her hand in his as he started to check her pulse, “For now, he has his own star to chase,” he cast a glance at the drawing again, “I think you’ve already found yours.”  

Farlan placed his other hand over top of Aegis’ as she nodded a couple of times, covering her teary smile with her hand. She sniffled, brushing some of her hair out of her face.  

“Remember, my little Star Chaser-”  

“- When you see a falling star, follow it. Follow it and remember that I see it, too. If you chase the star, I will know where you are!”  

A small Tabaxi with an orange coat sang the parable to himself as he had before hundreds of times, kicking his feet on a bar stool way too tall for him. He held a length of chalk in a fist drawing on a sheet of parchment.  

An empty glass with the remnants of what was likely milk sat next to him as he had just finished scribbling ears on a cat-like stick figure staring up at a very large tower.  

His party was about to go see a tower just like it nearby. He couldn’t quite remember why they were, but he was still so excited. It was so tall! Maybe if he could scale it he’d get close to the night sky.  

There were so many stars above where they were, and it was so pretty! One of them just had to be close enough to touch! If he couldn’t grab it, maybe he could just knock it loose.  

“Hey Star! We’re about to go to the markets and see the fresh catches for today,” A soft female voice called from the doorway, “Do you wanna come with us?”  

“Uh huh!” Star eagerly replied, nodding a couple times. Fresh fish at the market, he couldn’t wait! He just had to finish this drawing.  

A couple more details and... Done!  

He folded the drawing up along with a note, giving a rather unnecessarily large lick to the envelope  to seal it before waving it around to the barkeep, “I’d like to send this letter, please!”  

The barkeep, a burly man with a bushy mustache reached out with a bit of a forced smile as he grabbed the slightly damp letter with two fingers.  

“Same place as th’ last one?” he asked.  

The Tabaxi nodded a couple times, “Yes, please!”  

Star scooped up his drawing materials, hopping off the stool before padding for the door. Before long the letter would be on its way to the cottage, but the words almost rang in the air off of the paper that was filled to the brim with wondrous, if not brokenly written words.  

The envelope was lovingly (albeit a bit sloppily) wrapped and sealed. The cover sported a blotch of ink resembling a paw print and a couple words scrawled barely legibly across the front.  

                                            To Mama

[desperatefrenchwriter]

Sola Gratia (7/?)

Rating / Warnings : General audiences, no particular warnings.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 7/? (2219 words)

Author’s notes : Rated A for Angst

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Won’t you invite me in ?”

I slowly turned my head to face him, the tip of my nose touching his for a second.

“Do you think this is how it works ?”, I whispered. He inched back, probably picking up the anger I tried to conceal in the softness of my tone. “Do you think you, who has haunted my every nightmare, every dark corner, every space behind my back, for months-” I took a shaky breath. “Do you think you can invade a place I feel most safe in, threaten my dearest friend, threaten me, and hope a gift will make up for it ?”

I clenched my jaw. His expression, as he has leaned back into his seat, was unreadable.

“I have spent days in the hospital, terrified that you would find me and finish the job. And I couldn’t tell- I couldn’t tell anyone why I felt so unsafe because frankly, who would believe me ?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, still he said nothing. Had he spent so much time apart from any humans he forgot how to understand emotion ?

“I am terrified, right now, because I know you could… snap my neck, or bleed me dry, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything about it !”

I started to cry silently, unable to stop the flow of tears running down my cheeks. He seemed almost paralyzed. I took the chance, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Fumbling for my keys, my fingers were so shaky I dropped them. As I picked them up, I heard the other car door open, and froze, slowly turning back to face him. He circled around the car, but kept a distance between us.

“I cannot begin to imagine what you went through because of me.” He looked and sounded completely serious, which was a strange color on him. “There is nothing I can say that would be close to an acceptable apology, but I do want to make amends.”

He handed me the box, keys still on the lock. The chain glimmered under the streetlamp’s lights.

“I won’t invite you in”, I maintained.

“And I will not insist.”

I hesitated a little, and first pulled the key from the lock, slipped it into my pocket. As I took the box, my fingers brushed against his, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Are you cold ?”

                   I could have a fire lit, if you want.

“I’m fine”, I replied, once again having no time to protest as he put his jacket on my shoulders. “I’m literally ten feet from my door, Vlad-”

“Hah, she called me Vlad !” A semi-triumphant look plastered on his face.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you, or like you, for all that matter”, I snapped at him.

“And I will make my peace with that.” He put a hand over his heart. “For now.”

“You are insufferable. I’m going to bed.”

He still had a somewhat… sheepish look to him, head slightly tilted to the side, like a grounded puppy. Still. I couldn’t move past the flashes of teeth, blood and feral growls layering over his face. I suddenly had to inhale a sharp gust of air, and turned back, the box held against my chest by my injured hand, the other looking for my keys. I turned back, and climbed the short flight of stairs to the entrance of my building.

“Sleep well, Lady Cetero.”

Can’t promise anything. I buzzed myself in, and hurried to the stairs without a second look behind me, turning all light on as I went by. As I climbed the steps to the fourth and last floor, I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my chest. Not only because those stairs were a nightmare, though. On the doorstep, the meowing on the other side of the door had me smiling. That little monster was going to be unbearable.

Giving the usual kick to the door panel to get open, it creaked on its hinges, yet the incessant yelling of the hairball at my feet covered most of the noise.

“Hey, shut it, dumbass, you’ll wake the whole building”, I told him, locking the door behind me.

Following his little strut to the kitchen, I gave him his much expected dose of kibble.

“You fat idiot, you need a diet. I love you so much. Babie.”

He purred hysterically as he ate, and I kept on my incoherent baby talk for a while, mindlessly running my hands through his shaggy fur. God, what a day. I sat on the floor, removing my heels, and resisted the urge to throw them out of the window. Gift from Leah, gift from Leah, I muttered under my breath as I put them away in the hall closet.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Leah’s number, who picked up before the first ring. I reassured her, told her I was home, safe, and tired. As soon as she started taking her usual gossip-y tone, asking about Vlad, I bid her good night, and hung up on her crystalline laugh.

I dragged my feet to my bedroom, throwing the jacket on my desk chair.  I grumbled as I tried to unzip my dress. God, who decided to make clothing you can’t take off by yourself ? Rich people, probably. Or people in a relationship. As I finally succeeded to pull the tab down, I heard knocking on my window. A panicked scream escaped my mouth as I noticed the dark silhouette standing on the emergency staircase, outside. Him, again. I sighed, and climbed over my bed to open the window a crack.

“What the hell do you want now ?”, I barked at him.

“You forgot your briefcase”, he told me, holding it up for me.

“Oh. Thanks.” I hesitated before opening the window wider. “This is not an invitation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it”, he smiled as he passed me the worn leather bag. “Although, if you still need help with your dress-”

“Get out of my balcony.”

I could swear he winked before he disappeared. By that I mean, literally vanished. I leaned out of the window, and felt a soft stroke against my cheek, and a bat, flying off. Well. Something to add to the list. I closed the window, and sat back on my mattress. Sleeping was going to be a challenge, tonight.

~ - ~ - ~

The sound of my alarm dragged me from sleep. Buried in my thick duvet, head incased in my pillows, I groaned for a good minute before I found the energy to set my phone off. Outside, everything was still dark, which made getting up that much harder. Zardoz meowed in indignation when I had the nerve, the hubris to move him from my legs, where he’d spent the night.

My hand felt sore, and I figured I had to redo the bandages, if only to assess the damage. It wasn’t too bad, two cuts to my palm, and one across my thumb, the rest being small, superficial scrapes. I disinfected the whole, and carefully placed fresh bandages, making sure I’d be able to actually use my hand this time.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, and the sacrosanct bean juice machine. It did make disgusting coffee, but then again, I was very much used to it. As it rumbled, having the whole table vibrating, I served His Royal Majesty his morning dose. This time, I set it into a training ball, so that he’d have minimal exercise. God, I could barely picture the sorry state I’d found him in. A small, half dying kitten, at the corner of my building, now a year and a half ago. His harrowing mews of distress attracted me, and after a significant amount of vet bills, he was mine. Leah had the idea for his name, as we were in a weird movie binge-watch party, and Sean Connery’s red underwear made some lasting impression of us. By that, I mean she almost choked to death laughing.

Bringing my cup back to my bedroom, I threw some clothes on, and slipped my feet into my boots. Thursdays were usually not that busy for me, but my absence during the seminar meant I had to catch up on some classes, both to my dismay and that of my students. I finished my coffee with a wince. The things we do for energy. At least, wasn’t coke. I checked the contents of my briefcase, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and was out, but not before a final kiss on Zardoz’s belly, who endured with minimal complaints.

Greeting Mrs. Mills, checking her mailbox way too early as she always did, she asked if I had any breakfast, and cursed at me when I answered by the negative, as she always did. And as I always did, I wished her a good day, before storming out. I climbed down the stairs, checking my watch for the next train, and froze as soon as I raised my head back up.

“What the hell are you still doing here ?”, I exclaimed, my voice coming out a bit more squeaky than I would have liked.

“Good morning to you too”, the Count cheerfully replied, handing me a paper bag.

“What’s that ?”

“Oh, don’t sound so suspicious, it’s breakfast”, he sighed.

Squinting at him, I took the bag, and peeked inside. Warm, buttery looking croissants.

“I didn’t know what to pick, I went for ‘timeless classic’. Is that alright ?”

He seemed to genuinely care. I sighed.

“What isn’t alright is you standing at my front door at six thirty in the god forsaken morning. The croissants are fine.”

“Well, perfect then !”, he exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

He opened the passenger door once again.

“What do you mean, you’ll drive ? I’m going to class. I don’t have time for whatever shenanigans you have planned.”

“I know, I’m driving you there.”

Knowing I wouldn’t win this argument, being still half asleep and on an empty stomach, I threw my head back, sighed, letting out a “FINE” that seemed to satisfy him, as I slipped into the car. He sat behind the wheel, my university’s address already in the GPS. Worried me a little. How much exactly did he know ? Was it all in my blood ? Gods, that would be very telling of my academic situation. I leaned back onto my seat, deciding that if I had to put up with him, I didn’t need to make conversation.

“Are you angry, for some reason ?” He really did seem puzzled.

“Dear Lord, you actually have no idea, do you ?”, I sighed.

“I thought it would be gallant.”

“In the twenty-first century, waiting for a woman you barely know, whom you tried to murder a few months ago, is considered a bit creepy, my guy.”

He remained silent, excluding an outraged mouthing of “my guy”, which almost sent me in a fit of laughter.

“Maybe you will have to ‘update’ me on your modern manners, then”, he proposed after a short silence.

“Yeah, maybe.”

What in the goddamn fuck was happening. Three days ago, I had nightmares about the guy, and he was now my glorified chauffeur. Well, not that it really did much for the lingering feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“So, did you just wait in front of the building, hoping I’d come out eventually ?”

He laughed. “Would you call me a stalker again if I did ?”

“Obviously.”

“Then no.”

I had to say, he was a little funny. Not that I would admit it under torture, but still. The sky started to take a pink color, lighting the few clouds in bright orange.

“You don’t burn in the sunlight. What’s up with that ?”, I asked.

“I don’t sparkle either, if you want to know.” He didn’t let me enough time to react to the terrible implications of that sentence. “Maybe it’s easier to believe you are only unsafe in the dark.”

I sat back, watching the first rays of sunlight come through the windshield, giving his eyes an almost silver color. I noticed a soft smile form on his lips. He wasn’t horrible to look at, when he wasn’t in a bloodthirsty frenzy. A sharp profile, that commended authority, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His hair was still long, in controlled, soft waves, mostly slicked back, except for a few strands, falling casually in front of his face.

“Lady Cetero, you will have me blushing soon”, he teased.

Ah. Fuck. “I don’t like you clean-shaven. It looks weird.”

He laughed, and I turned my eyes to the road, trying to ignore the rising heat to my face. Curse me for blushing so easily.

“I’ll let it grow back, then”, he told me, almost apologetic. Soft.

I shifted further into the leather seat, a smile forcing its way to my lips. “Hrm.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder

[kotosnoozy]

a rite of passage

Unbeknown to both the general public and applicants alike, Saotome Academy’s S Class has an interesting unofficial tradition for the first day of school.

[DO NOT tag this with ship tags other than RinRyuu]

It's 11am when Mr Hyuuga first checks his watch.

Syo can't imagine anyone else notices - he wouldn't have if it were anyone else, it being such a small action and all. But sitting in this classroom with this teacher has been his dream for as long as he can remember, so now that he's finally here he can't help but be a little overzealous in taking everything in.

The morning's been chock full of introductory protocol - several lists of rules and regulations, a campus tour with the other class and the president of the agency, and a myriad of horrendously awkward ice-breaking activities. Throughout it all, Mr Hyuuga has been single-minded in his behaviour, keen to drill into all of them through his own actions that he won’t suffer tardiness, slacking or inattention.

Until this slight contradiction, anyway.

Syo thinks to treasure the moment - Ryuuya Hyuuga is a beacon of perfection in his mind, a marble Adonis brought to life, flawless in all his stalwart, brawny glory. To see him display even the slightest disregard to his own personal ethos is a rare reminder that he isn’t a god brought to earth, but a normal human being. A true fan knows they should appreciate their hero for all of their aspects, flaws and all, and so he takes the gesture in with a flicker of a smile and nothing more.

The second time it happens, merely 2 minutes later, it’s as Mr Hyuuga starts to worry his lip. When his brows furrow (further than their semi-permanent scowl, that is) Syo starts to suspect that it isn’t an endearing character flaw at all, so much as something isn’t running according to plan.

What, however, is impossible to say.

Mr Hyuuga has been on the ball with everything. Required textbooks, intranet logins and study guides have all been provided, desks have been triple checked for anything that might remain of the previous S Class. He’s even gone so far as to make sure they all have an alarm clock, or at least an app on their phones with a similar function, so there’s as small a chance as possible that they’ll be late. The entire morning has run like a well-oiled machine, exception being the human-spanner-in-the-works, President Saotome himself, but even he seemed to avoid letting his antics run on too long for fear of Mr Hyuuga’s wrath.

Syo can’t help but let his eyes dart around the room for what might be perturbing him. The desks are orderly, no bags falling in the aisle, not a uniform out of place--

Other than, of course, that of Ren Jinguji a row or two back. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and he sprawls in his chair lithely, elegant in his feigned nonchalance. All that gives away his lackadaisy as a farce are the buttons of his shirt, popped to expose his entire chest - Syo’s fairly certain he’d started the day with the shirt fully buttoned, and had loosened one for each irritated click of their teacher's tongue (what a jackass). 

Jinguji’s brow slips as he looks at him, angular face twitching into a microscopic scowl. He feels himself tense, worried he’s already managed to draw the scorn of arguably the most influential boy in his year. 

Then his eyes flicker, just for a second, from him to their teacher, accompanied by a slight head tilt. The bold blue of his eyes seems to hold a question: ‘What’s up with him?’

Syo feels himself beginning to scowl too, lips drawing into a thin line. He shakes his head quickly - ‘I don't know.’ - as Mr Hyuuga checks his watch for a third time, running a hand through his hair as he continues to read.

Jinguji stares at Syo for a long second, eyes narrowed, before pursing his lips. His mind seemingly made up, he swings his chair back forward onto all four legs, jostling his desk so hard that he knocks Saotome’s golden boy Ichinose forward into his own desk. Ichinose’s head whips around, furious, as the other boy raises his hand to get Mr Hyuuga’s attention.

Their teacher doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, let alone ask his new student what he wants - Jinguji quickly makes it apparent that he doesn't care enough for manners to wait a mere five seconds.

“Mr Hyuuga, why d’you keep checking your watch so often? Seems a little hypocritical to be so impatient for lunch after the constant warnings about inattentiveness, don’t you think?”

The tension in the room skyrockets as perfect silence falls over the class. Syo catches his own horrified expression reflected in the face of the girl sitting behind Ren - his indignation, too, as both of them mentally debate with themselves whether or not to throttle the older boy for interrupting the Ryuuya Hyuuga. Even Ichinose's temper (already famous among the students after how harshly he'd addressed his new roommate at breakfast that morning) diminishes considerably, as he warily turns back to face the front of the room.

Vibrant amber eyes flick up from the book they’re reading from. The way they assess Jinguji over the top of oval frames is more than a little nerve-wracking.

Then he sighs.

Any menace to his demeanour vanishes with his breath, his head lolling back and redirecting his gaze ceiling-ward. 

“Sorry,” he says, sounding sheepish of all things, “I’m just… a little worried is all. He’s normally so timely...”

The confusion among the class is practically audible. The orientation timetable they’d been handed that morning has nothing else scheduled ahead of lunch, no implication of further visitors. And Ryuuya Hyuuga doesn’t do surprises, especially not on the first day of semester.

(Or so Mr Tsukimiya had been faux-whispering during the campus tour, trying to get a rise out of his… friend? Boyfriend? Whatever. That was a question for later.)

“I’m sorry, sir,” - Ichinose, unexpectedly, raises the question on everyone’s mind - “but I don’t believe we have anything else scheduled ahead of lunch?”

They all jump as Mr Hyuuga unexpectedly barks a laugh.

“Lucky you,” he says, smiling wryly. His eyes skim the face of his watch yet again.

“I, however, am not so fortunate.”

Jinguji, clearly done with Mr Hyuuga’s coy responses, leans forward over his desk in a pointedly accusatory manner.

“I’m sorry, sir, but what the fu--”

“RYUUYA, YOU MOTHERFUCKER, TODAY’S THE DIE YOU FINALLY DIE!!!”

A mass of hot pink barrels through the open window at mach speed, colliding with Mr Hyuuga with such force that his entire desk goes sprawling. Students shriek as their teacher falls to the floor amidst his scattered books and papers, flailing beneath another almost-equally-large figure.

It’s hard to see the features of the attacker, amidst what quickly turns into a wrestling match, other than a tangle of chartreuse hair and the feral snarl of their teeth. Their movements are vicious, fists swinging at Mr Hyuuga like they want to smack his jaw clean from his head. Fortunately, their teacher is no pushover.

He grabs his assailant’s fists cleanly before they make contact, bringing his knee up swiftly into their gut. There’s an ‘oof’ as they crumble, and Mr Hyuuga takes the opportunity to roll them over so he has the advantage.

“I almost thought you weren’t going to show,” he hisses through gritted teeth, struggling with the exertion of keeping the wriggling person down. The person below him practically growls in frustration, biceps rippling as they start to struggle against him anew. Their sheer muscle seems to catch Mr Hyuuga off-guard, years-practised technique failing to hold up as he’s shoved from his triumphant throne on their stomach. They sit up almost as quickly as Mr Hyuuga drops, grappling him by his stomach.

“And I thought you kept sayin’ you wasn’t interested in fighting me to the death, and yet--”

Mr Hyuuga shrieks uncharacteristically, and there’s a flash of yellowed teeth contrasted against his dark suit jacket as his legs thrash wildly. By now, the more frail students in the class are trying to get as far away as possible from the brawl on the floor (the door clicking shut alerts Syo that some brave soul has gone to find help too). Medically speaking, Syo should probably consider himself amongst their number, and also retreat to a sensible distance. And yet… he just can’t pass up the opportunity to watch his idol fight for real (no matter how much it’s starting to resemble eight-year-old kids scrapping in the playground)

“I’m NOT interested in fighting you to the death--!!” Mr Hyuuga shouts, tone strangely childish, as he shoves at the person’s head. With considerable effort, he manages to prise their jaw open and away from his flank, only for them to double down and bite his thumb instead. He swears loudly, letting go lightning fast. He shoves his undamaged hand against the side of their head, directing their teeth away from him, though it does nothing to loosen the grip of their fuschia-clad arms around his middle.

“Oh, stop bein’ such a pussy and fight me properly!!”

“Yamato, this is a school for heaven’s sake, could you mind your langua--!!”

“Oh fuck off, you swore like two seconds ago, you fuckin’ hypocri--!!”

“Yams.”

The two on the floor freeze as every student’s head whips to the front of the room. In the doorway stands Mr Tsukimiya, his expression the blankest Syo’s ever seen on him (and with him so frequently paired with Mr Hyuuga, he’s seen him in a lot of stuff). He starts to stride purposefully into the room, each click of his heels against the wooden floor making everyone jump.

The A class students are clamoring in the doorway for a better look at what’s happening - Natsuki towers over everyone else, face aghast and hands over his mouth, while Ichinose’s red-headed roommate tries to protect a smaller girl from being squashed by the pushing masses (and squashing the Hijirikawa heir, of all people, in the process). Jinguji’s expression has slowly transformed to one of pure glee as events have progressed, while Ichinose looks like he might be nursing a migraine - judging by the look on Mr Tsukimiya’s face, the pain will probably be getting worse before it gets better.

He’s only a short man. A few inches taller than Syo himself at best, even with his heels on. The assailant must have at least half a foot on him, and is definitely twice as broad, and Mr Hyuuga is taller still. But at this moment, the two giants on the floor are meek as mice in the face of Shining Agency’s cutest idol. 

“Rin--”

“Shut up.”

His tone is dagger sharp as he cuts off the green haired person. He neatly squats down to their eye level, hands folded delicately over his knees.

“Now then. What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

Two pairs of wide amber eyes blink up at him.

“Well?”

“I was just--”

“C’mon, Rin, y’know I fuckin’ ha--!!”

“He does this every semester, I can’t stand here and let him--!!”

“Well you have it comin’, just stood there with your dumb hair n’ your stupid glasses--”

“Oi, what’s wrong with my hair, you little shi--!”

“Ha! There ya go again! Don’t care that much that we’re in a school, do y--!”

“ENOUGH!!”

Mr Tsukimiya’s prim posture vanishes, shoulders dropping as he leans into their personal space (‘YAKUZA SQUAT’ screams Syo’s mind, as the threatening aura of the petite man forces him to take a step back). The volume of his voice diminishes considerably, leaving every student desperately straining to hear what he says.

“This is the sixth year running this has happened. Every fucking year I have to come and clean up this mess. And sure, the first three years it was pretty funny. The fourth time still got a giggle out of me when you managed to pants each other,” - at this, they both flush the colour of Mr Tsukimiya’s shoes - “but I told you last year that I had had enough. So why the fuck am I here again this year?”

They both swallow nervously.

“Yamato.”

The assailant flinches.

“Y-yessir.”

“I don’t care how much you hate him, do not attack him during school hours. You’re putting the students in danger and your own career in jeopardy, if the reporters catch you skulking about.”

In an instant their shoulders sink, expression like that of a chastised puppy. 

“And Ryuuya.”

Mr Hyuuga sucks his cheeks in nervously.

“If you know he comes at 11 like clockwork every year, then why the fuck don’t you just close the window?!”

‘Yamato’ snorts, sharp teeth flashing for the briefest moment.

“Yeah, Ryuu, you fuckin’ dolt-- AUGH!!”

Mr Tsukimiya seizes him by the earlobe and pulls his head sharply.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at, young man. You’ve got a lecture on music theory to sit through.”

“Wait, what--OW OW OW GEROFF!!”

Merciless, Mr Tsukimiya stands swiftly, dragging the taller man up with him. His class scrambles away from the door and back across the hall as he marches from the room, ignoring Yamato’s complaints and pleas for freedom. He toes the door shut without so much as a glance backwards, and the room falls into a stunned silence.

Mr Hyuuga pulls himself up with a grunt, clutching his bitten flank, and retrieves his glasses from where they’ve fallen by Ichinose’s surprisingly unmoved desk. With them placed firmly back on the bridge of his nose, he goes about wordlessly rearranging the room to its former pristine state, pulling his desk back upright with some effort. The students quickly move to help him, gathering his scattered papers and books, and adjusting their own desks one by one. Through it all, Jinguji sits back in his seat with a bewildered yet overjoyed smile - a cat who got the cream - while Ichinose himself looks confused about just what sort of school he’s signed up for.

Syo moves to the front of the room and wordlessly closes the open window.

When everything is orderly once more, everyone returns to their seats. Mr Hyuuga stands in-front of his newly righted desk and leans back against it, arms folded. His posture would seem terrifying were it not for the slight flush of his cheeks, the bashful set to his mouth. 

He looks at each of them in turn, seemingly daring them to raise a question about the events that just transpired. When no one speaks, he simply picks up his book, flips a few pages and begins to read anew.

Not a single sentence is completed before Syo hears the telltale shifting of fabric that accompanies a raised hand.

“Sir, what the fuck just happened?”

“Detention, Jinguji.”

“Wha--?!”

The bell rings. Lunchtime.

“None of you are ever to mention this again. Class dismissed.”

i said this in group chat:

and then immediately went off the rails and wrote this

you're welcome

[unpack-my-heart]

But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue

@violetreddie​ @constantreaderfool​ @tinyarmedtrex​ @xandertheundead​ @mrs-vh​ @eds-trashmouth​ 

[Moodboard by the amazing @violetreddie​ <3]

Read on ao3 HERE

“The rest is silence”

Eddie watches Richie’s face shift from painted anguish to peaceful nothingness. He watches Richie’s eyes dance under his eyelids, a wakeful dream. Eddie had memorised the choreography when he’d sat up late at night whilst Richie slept, eyes two-stepping and arms blindly grabbing for Eddie.

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet Hamlet, and –”

Richie’s eyes fly open.

“Good night sweet prince,” Eddie corrects, and Stan’s face blanches.

“Shit! Sorry. Good night sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Uh …”

“Why does…” Eddie prompts, but Stan doesn’t finish the line.

“Why does the drum come hither?” Eddie supplies, voice schooled into careful apathy, not wanting to spook the flighty animal stood in front of him, with Richie’s head cradled loosely in his lap.  

Richie’s eyes close again, and Eddie holds his breath.

“Why does the drum come hither?”

Fortinbras storms in, but Eddie doesn’t look at him. Horatio and Fortinbras exchange terse words, but Eddie cannot draw his eyes away from Richie’s face. The last time he’d seen this expression painted on his brow was the night before he’d told Eddie to leave, when they’d held each other all night and the acceptance letter had turned poisonous and fetid in Eddie’s bag.

“Not from his mouth, had it the ability of life to thank you, he … he … FUCK!”

Richie’s eyes open again.

“He never gave commandment for their death” Richie said, in a tone that Eddie imagined was supposed to be helpful but caused Stan to visibly bristle.

“You’re supposed to be dead”

“I’m just trying to help”

“I don’t need your help, Richard” Stan deadpanned, staring down at Richie with

“Look, you’re obviously struggling, I was just –”

“Richie, can you give us a moment, please?”

Richie stands up, uncharacteristically quiet, and slinks out of the room, tail between his legs.

The air in the small rehearsal room hangs like smog, heavy on their shoulders. Stan’s shaking, just barely, and Eddie knows that Stan thinks Eddie’s going to sack him, relieve him of his part and send him back into the wilderness, nameless.

Eddie sits down on the floor in the middle of the room, carefully arranging his limbs in an attempt to look less threatening, less like the person that could erase Horatio’s world with a snap of his fingers.

“Come sit”

Stan hesitates, before taking measured steps over to where Eddie is sat in a half-lotus position, hands clasped in his lap.

Stan sits.

“How much do you remember of our RADA days?”

Stan blinks.

“Uh, most of it, I guess? I remember – I remember you were in our seventeenth-century tragedy class before –”

Eddie smiles, lips drawn into a lazy, lopsided grin. Honest.

“Heh. Before I left, you mean?”

“Yup. Richie was pretty crushed”

“I don’t want to talk about Richie,” Eddie replies, voice gentle but laced with do not do not do not, “I want to talk about you”

“Look, Eddie, I know – I know I’m fucking it up. I know that I’m probably not the Horatio you want me to be, but… I’m trying? I’m trying so fucking hard, Eddie, honest I am. I just – I can’t seem to – I really want …”

“Do you remember Jacques?”

“How could I forget Jacques? I’m pretty sure anyone who has had even a three second interaction with Jacques remembers him,” Stan says, voice several ounces lighter.

Eddie shifts, right leg numb and protesting. He ends up sitting on his ass with his legs pin-straight out in front of him. Stan does the same.

“Jacques told me to leave RADA. He told me that I was never going to reach my potential in that environment, that it wasn’t the right place for me to grow, to flower. I didn’t hate him for saying it. I hated myself. Of course I felt like a failure. I’d tried and tried and tried but it wasn’t ever going to happen. I’d never be the prodigy my mother told me I was going to be”

“Eddie, are you–” Stan whispers, but Eddie shakes his head violently.

“Let me finish, Stan. I handed in my letter of intention before they could ask me to leave. That made it easier. I went out on my own terms.”

“Do you – are you asking me to –”

“Stan!”

“Sorry”

“I didn’t want it enough. I never did. Never have. I want this,” Eddie gestures wildly around the small rehearsal room, to his desk where his papers lay strewn across the surface like autumn leaves, to the grubby mirrors where he watched his cast metamorphosize every day, to the ceiling that he’d stare at, and thank a God he doesn’t believe in for giving him all of this, for letting him take it and consume it and become corpulent.

“You want it” Eddie announces after a beat of silence, and it isn’t a question.

“I want it” Stan parrots, staring at Eddie with wide, help me help me help me eyes.

“You want it, and I’ll help you get it. You’ve been cast for a reason, Stan. Claire saw something in you, something she knew I could nurture, and she was right. You are my Horatio, and as long as you’re willing to work with me, I’ll claw him out of you.”

Stan looks bewildered, like Eddie had just agreed to lasso the moon and drag it down just for him.

“Even if you did fuck up, it’d be nothing to do with you, anyway. That’d be on me. I’m your director, this production is my responsibility and mine alone. All of you, Horatio, Ophelia, Claudius,” Eddie pauses, screwing his eyes closed, before opening them again and locking eyes with Stan, “Hamlet. All of you. This is my ship and if it goes down, it’ll have been me who bore holes in the deck.”

“I don’t know what to say”

“Say you’ll stay, say you’ll work with me, say you’ll let me help you grow”

– X –

“Why are you giving Horatio more attention than me? I’m supposed to be the lead!”

It takes Richie longer than Eddie had guessed to detonate.

“Pardon?” Eddie answers, ready to go toe to toe with the Prince of Denmark on a battlefield of his own making, but Stan’s voice gets there first.

“Stop being a fucking child, Richie”

And they’re off. A verbal sparring match, the fencing scene several acts too soon. Eddie watches them, hidden in the corner like Polonius behind the curtain, expecting to get stabbed in the stomach by a rogue insult.

The fight is over almost as soon as it had begun, however, as Richie drops his sword and a pitiful ‘what happened to us’ falls to the ground instead.

Then Eddie’s name falls from Stan’s lips and he feels that puncture wound he’d been waiting for.

“There hasn’t been an ‘us’ since you ignored me when Eddie left,” Stan replies, eyes downcast, “I missed you, Rich, I rang you for two fucking years, of course I missed you. But this petulant child isn’t you. You need to sort it out. You can’t draw him in when you’re pushing everyone else out”

Eddie releases a wounded howl ripped straight from the part of his heart that he had locked away when he’d left Richie sat at that dining room table fourteen years ago.

Richie turns, horror evident in his pained expression.

“Eddie”

– X –

As soon as he saw him, Eddie knew that Michael Hanlon was made for the role of Ophelia. The softness of his face contrasted with the feral nymph in his eyes, the liberate me timbre of his voice, all of it. With flowers woven in his hair, Mike had captivated Eddie from the first syllable. Whilst watching him work with Richie, the way Mike had managed to distil the naivety of youth so perfectly that it fell from his skin in waves, Eddie had never felt so lucky.

“My lord, I have remembrances of yours, that I have longed long to re-deliver; I pray you, now receive them.”

Mike tries to thrust a small collection of letters into Richie’s hands but Richie sends them flying into the sky, only to rain back down on them like snowflakes, alike but subtly different. A sickness gnaws at Eddie’s stomach when he remembers the letters he’d sent to Richie, and whether Richie would condemn them to the ground, unread. Unopened.

Richie responds with a cold, “No, not I; I never gave you aught”, and the sickness in Eddie’s stomach grows stronger, and stronger.

I never gave you aught.

Never gave you aught.

Oh, but Richie, you gave me everything.

Mike slumps to the floor, rehearsal dress pooling around him. Richie grabs his face between his hands, and whispers through gritted teeth, “get thee to a nunnery!” and it’s perfect. It’s too perfect.

Richie stalks off, standing in the corner of the room that indicated that he was now off-stage and Eddie doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t look, he doesn’t look, he mustn’t look but then he does look and Richie’s looking right back.

They share a small smile.

Mike continues to howl.