#who else could afford your appetite

[dandydemidoesfandoms]

The Moment Team Realized He Was A Sugar Baby

Momentary gasp and shock before the sass is back.

Between Us (2022-2023) Ep 10

[barcaatthemoon]

company & comfort ||alexia putellas x reader||

you take care of alexia when she gets sick.

the incessant beeping of alexia's alarm pulled the woman out of a deep sleep. she woke surprised to find herself fast asleep in an empty bed. usually you were still asleep whenever she woke up. that was just the first of a few things that alexia woke up noticing were off. the second was the pounding in her head, like someone was taking a jackhammer to her skull trying to break a piece off.

a normal person would have taken that as a sign that they were sick, but alexia wasn't normal by any standards. you had always held her in an extraordinairy regard. alexia didn't take sick days like everyone else. she was the captain of the biggest women's soccer club in the world, and that came with extra duties. simply put, alexia didn't believe that she could afford to get sick as far as her career was concerned.

"ale, are you okay? you look a little pale." it was asked purely out of concern for your girlfriend, only to be met with a nasty glare from alexia. she softened the expression on her face a little when she noticed the way that you backed away from her.

"my head, it hurts a little. that's all. nothing like last week," alexia said. you were pretty sure that she was reassuring herself more than she was telling you. it most likely was the bug that had run through nearly half the team during their break. you had caught it from ona, who had begged you to take care of her when she came down with the sickness. after that, alexia had taken care of you and despite being in close proximity to you for the whole time you were sick, she hadn't shown any symptoms. at least she hadn't until today.

"well, take some medicine and go lay down. i'll let coach know that you don't feel well. better to nip this quickly than let it fester and grow," you told her. alexia didn't like the idea of sitting at home all afternoon, but she wasn't in the headspace to argue. that was your clue that alexia really wasn't feeling good because you swore sometimes that arguing with you was her second favorite past time.

alexia took some of the leftover medicine from when you had gotten sick and laid back down in bed. you made something small for her to eat, knowing that even if alexia was sick, that didn't mean her appetite would be gone. alexia's body ran on a schedule, and you had assigned yourself the job of making sure that she could rely on you to keep her on that schedule. the last thing you wanted was to somehow have alexia in worse condition after taking care of her.

"aw, poor baby. can i get you anything else?" you asked. there wasn't really much that you could do, but since you had already gotten sick, you could offer a bit of company and comfort. alexia didn't say anything, but she did open her arms up and shift over just enough to allow you plenty of room on the bed.

you smiled to yourself as you got in bed next to her. instead of wanting to be held like you had, all alexia wanted to do was hold you while she was sick. she wrapped her arms around you as your head settled on her chest. you could hear her wheezing with each breath, which deeply unsettled you. alexia seemed to pick up on your sudden discomfort and began rubbing little circles on your back.

"maybe if my head starts to feel better later, we can go out and play a little? i was really looking forward to practice today," alexia suggested. if she really did have what you had, there was no "getting better" for today. you hummed in agreement. you did want to go out and play a little, even if you weren't really looking forward to practice. it was a cardio day, which meant lots of running and sprints, which as a goalkeeper, was not your strong suit.

"just because you're sick doesn't mean i'm letting you get a goal on me." alexia chuckled at that. in reality, you knew that alexia would get a goal on anyone if she really wanted to. she had proven it time and time again in practice. the days whenever you had been a little mouthy, she had even started to have a little fun with it. both you and alexia knew that she could utterly humiliate you if she really wanted to.

"after i rest, it's all over for you," alexia teased. you didn't completely doubt it. she'd remember your teasing for the next practice she felt good enough to attend. alexia never went easy on you. everybody on the team knew that you were together, and alexia didn't want them to think that she was going soft. technically, it made you a better goalkeeper, but at the end of most days, it had you harboring some negative feelings about that day's practice.

alexia's hands ran through your hair, slowly coming to a stop as she fell back asleep. you quickly joined her in slumber, always glad to get a couple of extra hours here and there. alexia wasn't a big fan of naps, not even after a grueling practice or long week. she could keep going and going until she completely burnt herself out and was forced to take a step or two back for a moment. getting to lay in bed all day with alexia was like a secret blessing for you. you hated that she felt bad, but you were glad to see her getting proper rest for once.

even when she had woken up, alexia didn't make any moves to try and do anything. she did join you in the kitchen when you decided to make some soup, but that was only because she didn't trust your cooking completely. you knew that you weren't the best cook, but alexia had asked for homemade soup and agreed to talk you through it so there was no way that you could mess it up.

"stop making that face, i told you we should have ordered in," you said as alexia grimaced a little. the soup was somehow incredibly salty despite you not having done anything aside from exactly what alexia told you. she had even measured out the spices for you, and yet, you deemed the soup nearly inedible.

"it's fine, i swear. i just am not very hungry. can you get me a gatorade mi carina?" alexia asked you sweetly. you nodded, giving her a peck on the lips as you got up. she had finally given up on telling you not to do that, which you were grateful for. alexia even leaned in to kiss you whenever you brought the drink back to her.

the two of you laid on the couch together watching a movie until alexia started coughing. you sat up with her and rubbed her back until the fit stopped. alexia's eyes were watering as she sat on the couch trying to catch her breath. it broke your heart to see her in any kind of pain, especially since the last time you saw her cry was when she got injured.

"it's okay, i've got you," you tried soothing her. alexia tried to stand up from the couch, but she fell back almost instantly. "take it easy. do you want to go back to bed?"

"no, i want to go on the balcony. i need a change of scenery," alexia told you. you helped her up and over to the balcony. the two of you sat down in the chairs, alexia putting her feet up on your lap to stretch out. "thank you for taking care of me today, mi carina. i know that i did not do this good a job when you were sick."

"it's okay, i like taking care of you. today has been surprisingly easy." you pushed alexia's legs off of your lap and leaned over her chair to give her a kiss. alexia put her hands on the back of your neck to hold you close for a couple of seconds after the kiss. "i'll always take care of you, even if you won't let me."

"sometimes, i swear you are too good for me." you vehemently disagreed with alexia's sentiment, but you weren't going to argue with her today. instead, you pressed another kiss to her lips before you sat back in your own chair. in your mind, alexia was too good for you, but you weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. alexia loved you just as much as you loved her, and that was what mattered.

[monkiesimp]

Hi can I request a macaque wukong x fem Neko reader

Reader is a baker and she loves to bake and she’s housewife material i just wanna see the reaction of them to see there s/o so sweet that she would do nice things to them

MACAQUE

• You went to visit his dojo where he apparently lived for the first time and oh man, does he even clean up?

• Anytime you'd visit you'll just get distracted by the place and start cleaning up, Macaque didn't really like it because he didn't think it was that important, plus he didn't want you doing his work he ignored.

• Macaque mostly spent his time wandering around, he wasn't home that often and he didn't know why cleaning was so important.

• After that, he would make sure to clean the house up himself before you came so you two could ACTUALLY spend time together without you getting distracted.

• When he saw you cooking for the first time, he took one small bite without you noticing and... Oh, wow. It was actually so good.

• This man eats nothing but noodles, just buying anything he can afford, he didn't try any other stuff but once he tried your cooking it was like a whole new world opened to him...

• Nonetheless he'd still be poor to afford anything.

• So he just stole all the goodies you made and portaled away somewhere, still in your house but out of your view.

• He didn't do much when he heard your grumbling from afar, probably realizing he took everything away.

• You were definitely pissed and scolded him afterwards for it.

• Since noticing he doesn't eat anything much but some simple stuff, you began gifting him food you made sometimes, you didn't mind sharing.

• Macaque never said it but he definitely loved anything you'd make, you were very good at cooking.

• He was starting to become very flirtatious towards you, often being close and coming in behind you while you were baking, placing his hands on your hips and whispering words into your ear that would make you shudder.

• You knew he was just messing with you, but geez.

• He enjoys the little reactions he drives out of you very much, also the way your cheeks and ears flush red when you get flustered.

• Oh, he's definitely going to have a lot of fun with you.

WUKONG

• When he saw you with Mk, he saw you as a friend but he wasn't too interested in you. At first, anyway.

• But after knowing you cook, which his own protege told him, he was a little interested...

• He can't cook himself, he burned down the entire kitchen when he tried. All he eats is his own hair and peaches, so why doesn't he try to learn from you? Yeah! That would work!

• ...

• He accidentally burned down your house.

• So, that didn't go very well and you're definitely never teaching him to cook again.

• Your house wasn't completely destroyed, luckily, just needed a little repairing. Wukong felt very guilty so he invited you to stay with him for the meantime, as to which you agreed to. What else could you do?

• You had lots of fun at his mountain, tons of it! You played with the monkeys, petting them and they loved you. You gave a few of them names, the ones who stuck with you the most.

• But it bothered you greatly the fact that you could eat nothing besides peaches... Not that you didn't like peaches, but you can't go every single day eating just one fruit and nothing else.

• And you definitely WERE NOT going to eat his food made out of hair.

• So you decided to bring some ingredients from your home to his mountain (Which Wukong helped by with flying you there ofc) to make something.

• You made a peach cake, and offered Wukong to try one too.

• When Wukong tried it he was in love, he never tasted anything so heavenly in his life before.

• He nearly ate all the cake, well, more than half of it, he really liked it.

• You were honestly quite concerned by how fast he was eating, he looked like he was going to choke on it. He did, just once.

• Since your appetite was small you weren't bothered by it.

• When you had nothing to do you'd usually clean his home when Wukong was away.

• About a few days later, your home was back to it's normal stare and you could go back! Yay!

• Of course, you grew attached to Wukong so you'd still visit his mountain from time to time, bringing him food. Poor guy eats nothing but peaches and his own hair, he needs to try something new.

[thelesbiancitizen]

I really see the impact of lukewarm choice feminism in my area when I hear stories from my young female coworkers. One told me about her friend who is around 20 years old, who was diagnosed with endometriosis and told by her doctor that she could never get pregnant. So she never used contraception, and ended up getting pregnant by some bum. And then my coworker, trying to be supportive, told her well, it's your choice, knowing that her friend was upset about being told she could never get pregnant. She told her, you don't have to stay with the man who got you pregnant, you can totally raise a baby alone. Well, maybe if you have money. This girl has no college education and is working a minimum wage job. So she is forced to live with this bum who barely works and she doesn't even really know him. And now she's stuck there with him and this baby.

And all these women are just trying to comfort each other while they try frantically to stay on top of the basics of their lives, and maintaining imbalanced relationships that are foisted upon them, which they cannot just let go lest they lose support from their families, which is the only thing keeping them afloat; and they try maintain some illusion of control over their lives, not knowing there are forces far greater than them colluding to keep them in exactly these situations. There is no choice. But they have to keep telling themselves that there is, because otherwise, what hope do they have to keep on living in such dreadful situations? Meanwhile, women with means and opportunities get to spout off all kinds of nonsense about choice, when it is just a game to them. Women without means and without opportunities who look up to those other women take it to heart, because it sounds so nice; and they are the ones who suffer the consequences of privileged women's irresponsible talk. They're stuck the rest of their lives playing catch-up, trying not to let their babies die, trying to feed themselves, trying to pay rent. Exhausted, addicted to cigarettes and marijuana and god knows what else just to get through the day. Barely able to afford to eat. So stressed they have no appetite. Going through the day in a fog. What kind of life is that?

We really cannot afford lukewarm feminism. Radical feminism is the only kind of feminism that can help women like this. And when I talk radical feminism to them, their eyes just light up. We have so much fun in the kitchen when I start talking radical feminism and they get so excited about real analysis that actually applies to their lives and their situations. Yet I know I am the only woman in their lives talking frankly like this about sexual politics and power dynamics. It can't just be me. And it can't just be in the kitchen.

They all know the truth about it all, because they are living it. They are not stupid. They are everyday women in terribly exhausting situations. Many come from conservative evangelical backgrounds, and they are my friends. They need radical feminism more than anybody. I won't leave them behind.

[femmefeedist]

In the end, you got what you deserved. I'm glad you got fat, it serves you right.

It wasn't fair to everyone else that you had such a perfect body for all those years. Being thin and pretty sure made you a lot of friends, but it earned you just as many enemies.

Who wouldn't be envious of that hourglass waist? That naturally slender figure with toned arms and long, smooth legs? It's not like you even had to work for it. Your high metabolism blessed you with it all, and you could afford to indulge now and then.

With such a perfect body came natural athleticism, earning you spots on teams other girls wish they had the stamina and coordination to play in. Were you even grateful for what you had? It doesn't really matter anyways, that's all gone now.

Was it a little evil to take pleasure in the first signs of your downfall? Maybe. But there was something so satisfying in watching your tone melt away. Seeing your old active lifestyle fade into the past brought new feelings of glee. It happened a lot sooner than expected, you really let yourself go didn't you? It really didn't take long for the muscle to stop showing up. Your body just didn't even try to cling to the athleticism it once had, maybe because you never really even worked that hard for it in the first place.

But that was only the first stage, lack of exercise only one half of the torrent unleashed on your physique. The eating is what got to you the most. Where did that hunger come from? Its like one day you woke up starving and nothing could satiate your appetite anymore. Sugar became your best friend, carbs your secret lover. You know very well where the consequences of that eating ended up. Fatter ass, doughy thighs, back fat rolls, flabby arms, and an adorable start to a double chin at certain angles.

What really got me was the gut. The pooch, that not so little tummy that appeared. Here was the skinny popular athletic girl with an undeniable potbelly poking out in front of her only a few years after abandoning a healthy lifestyle. Former abs softened into a thick fatty dome of buttery, pudgy padding. It just looks so foreign to someone like you, who used to be so different. But at the same time that belly looks comfortable, like it isnt going anywhere any time soon.

It feels good to see you bulging over a waistband, stretching out shirts, popping buttons, straining pant legs, and squeezing into sleeves, all of which used to fit you.

I love it when you get out of breath, when you feel weak, slow and sluggish, when your ruined body struggles to perform how it used to.

It's so nice to see you getting fat. Because you fucking deserve it.

The thought of someone having schadenfreude because I'm getting fat is so hot 🥵

[padfootdaredmetoo]

A tommy with a wife with a big libido part two please? Or perhaps a story of them rather than a headcanon?

Dear Anon,

This is a story one. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Description of shit parents, Reader getting bruises from being held too tightly by her mother. kinky office sex during a party. Slight dom/sub vibes.

Tommy hated seeing his wife in such a state. It was the unfortunate time of the year when an obligatory visit with the inlaws was unavoidable. Her parents were…. Complex. Always loved to brag about the man her daughter married all the riches, fancy parties, and massive house, but when they would come around as family it was a very different story. 

Always rude about Gypsy traditions, hesitant to touch the silverware, and always comments about her weight. They learned a couple years ago not to talk about the children in his presence. Doesn't mean she doesn't call you up to give you nonsense advice. This was not the house for modern ways. 

He watched as you hosted the small gathering. His eyes caught the look on Esme’s face as your cousin tried explaining something in a shrill voice. He almost laughed at the dead expression on her features, she was a lucky find for the family. For a moment he thought about how she was always at your side no matter what. A small pang of guilt for how he had treated her in the past. 

Bloody woman making me turn soft. 

He shook the thought off as your father approached. 

“So Thomas.” He was a plump man with an awful mustache. The tone of distaste in his voice never faltered when addressing him. “Looks like it was another successful year.” 

“That’s generally what happens when you're willing to work hard, Harold. How did the deal with the Carrey family go?” He asked in his usual uninterested tone despite knowing the answer.

“They decided to go with another idea. Pity really, but not everyone can afford the best.” He puffed out his chest. Thomas wondered why he decided to make this relationship so difficult, especially on his only daughter. 

He watched you remain tense in your mother's grip. If it were anyone else's hand on your arm holding you in place he would have cut their fingers off slowly. Your father seemed to have something better to talk about with one of your relatives, leaving him in peace. 

“She’s going to lose circulation in that arm.” Polly sat down next to him looking thoroughly pissed off. “Are we not enough for her? Doesn't make sense to carry all this dead weight.” 

“Pol. It’s her family, it’s hard for her.” 

“As someone who looks on her the way a mother should, it's even harder on me.” Polly lit a cigarette. “Don’t just leave her to the rats!” She hissed giving his arm a shove. He finished the last of his drink and got up. 

Walking over across the room, his eyes wandered along your backside. Perhaps that’s the reason you were both so tense and tired? Your usual physical appetite had been pushed aside over the tremendous weight of this awful party. Maybe he could find a way to help you out....

He came to your side sliding his arm around your waist, forcing your mother to release you. 

“If you’ll excuse us.” He said gracefully pulling you towards the hallway. He didn't give a reason or an excuse because they didn't deserve one. 

“Tom no! You promised me there would be no business” You whispered and he kept his composure guiding you down the hallway. 

Once the door was shut behind them you really started to kick up a storm. 

“I swear to God Thomas I will burn this house down.” He kept guiding you back to eventually press up against his desk. “I will ruin your life I swear it, whatever this is it needs to stop right now.” 

He lifted you up to perch on the top of his desk. Hands sliding up the outside of your thighs. 

“Oh no, not this again either! You're not hiding some special magic key or code or letter on me again. Last time it was a complete - Oh.” 

You rambled on until his mouth was between your legs. That soft “Oh” caused your whole body to tense up. He didn't need to look up at you to know that you were fighting a losing battle in your mind. Your body had gripped him tightly holding him where you needed him. 

He stopped fucking around and finally opened you up properly and dragged his tongue over your clit.

“Fuck” You ground down against him and he felt like a bit of a genius thinking this up. He picked up the pace eating you out. His fingers slowly pushed into you and for a moment he thought about making you cum like that. Make a right proper mess of his outfit, but he new there would be a heavy price for that brief moment no matter how explosive it would be. No, instead he kept a slow pace, easing your body into what it was desperate for. Not until your breath was ragged and your thighs were like a vice did he let you win.

“Please don’t - it - ah - won't be enough” Of course, it wouldn't be enough. Not for you anyway. He kept you there on the edge of bliss weighing his options. He decided and got up and undoing his trousers. 

“Be quiet” He commanded mostly just to watch your eyes get hazy. Slowly he pushed himself inside you, your body so eager it made a mess of pushing and pulling. Unsure of how to get what it needed. 

“Ive got you.” He whispered and felt the way your body clenched around him while also going limp. “That’s it baby.” He liked being soft with you. You’d say you were all about fast and hard, but when he’d take his time with you, this is when he really pushed your limits. Your breathing was ragged and tears were threatening to fall. 

What you needed in this particular moment was a complete loss of control. Something he was more than happy to give you. He pressed his thumb across her glossy bottom lip into the wetness of her mouth. 

He pulled out before pushing back in slowly forcing your walls to stretch open again. The papers on the edge of his desk were useless with the amount of wetness trapped between the two of you. 

He moved again and you whimpered softly. He knew he didn't have as much time as he wanted he brought his other thumb down to your clit. Your body seized and he started a slow deep pace. Bottoming out with every stroke. 

“You going to help me off? Make up for this awful party.” You were too far gone to answer, he chuckled. 

He picked up the pace knowing your body wouldn't handle much more after going without for so long. 

“You can finish when you're ready, love.” Your body jerked at the permission to go wild. Your whole body clamped tight, legs tense and your teeth dug into his thumb. The tightness of your heat gripping his cock was enough to spill inside you. 

“Good Girl.” He smirked amazed that his plan worked. He grabbed some tissues from his desk and cleaned you up before pulling your panties back into place. 

“Fuck” You swore softly. He assumed you’d be rushing him out the door and cursing but instead, your slender arms pulled him close. He cradled you tightly, hating the marks already appearing on your arm. He was going to have a long talk with you later. 

“I don’t think I can keep doing this.” you sounded so broken it made him wish he could put both your parents in the ground. 

“Then don’t.” He answered simply. “You’ve been very reasonable over the years, they are the ones deciding not to change.” 

“I love you.” She breathed.

“Love you too” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Let's go rescue the family before Polly shoots someone.” 

“Good plan.” Once straightened out they re-entered the party. He kep his arm around her tightly pulling her past where her mother was. For the rest of the night she kept her seat inbetween him and Polly. If people wanted to talk to her they would come and take a seat across the coffee table. A safe distance away and they said the types of things one would when being started down by Thomas Shelby. 

[pure-garbage]

Oil And Water! Brawls Of The Cook And The Swordsman

Zoro and Sanji were always at each other's throats, but lately it was getting to be too much for Lana to stand.

"Dinner is served! Nami, Robin, Lana!"

Sanji's voice rang out across the Merry, calling all hands... or at least, it should have been all hands. Crew members started assembling at the mess. Lana couldn't help but notice that Zoro's frown was even deeper than usual and his hands were shoved firmly in his pockets.

"Are you a cook or a damn rooster?!" he demanded of Sanji the minute he set eyes on him. "Who told you to interrupt my nap with your crowing?"

"Who said you had to wake up and bring your sour attitude to dinner?" Sanji snapped back. "If you're tired, crawl back into whatever hole you were napping in and get back to it, you lazy sack!"

Zoro grumbled back but took a seat regardless. The table was as rowdy as ever. Robin was the exception, still skimming through her book as Sanji served her. He heaped food on her plate and flattery into her ears, drawing even more of Zoro's ire.

"What a sap... pathetic..."

Lana caught a bit of Zoro's mumbling and sighed.

'I used to enjoy meals,' she thought dolefully.

"... and for you, Lana sweetest..."

Sanji made his way around to Lana. She afforded him a tight smile while Zoro's scowl grew ever deeper.

"Do enjoy," Sanji smirked with a parting wink.

"I don't see how she could enjoy anything at this table, seeing as it's all covered in drool from your shameless gawking!" Zoro growled.

"What was that?!" Sanji was quick to confront Zoro and the two were quite literally butting heads in the blink of an eye.

"What, you got fuzz in those big ears of yours? I need to repeat myself?!"

"You've got some nerve, you know that?!" Sanji fumed. "If anything's dampening the ladies' appetites, it's your nasty attitude!"

"My attitude?!"

"ENOUGH!"

Nami knocked their heads together, silencing them except for their continued complaints of pain. Lana, meanwhile, finished her food in what must have been record time for her.

"Alright, done! Thanks, good night!" she called on her way out.

Robin watched her flee with mild interest.

"Aw, she ate all her food before I could even ask if she would share her fish," Luffy mourned past a full mouth.

Robin looked on as Zoro huffed, turning his focus to his food. He even ignored Sanji's sly digs, not raising his eyes from his plate.

Robin had been nursing a theory for some time. Few things pleased her as much as forming a hypothesis that proved to be correct. The time had come, she felt, to test this one in the field.

"If you'll excuse me..."

"Sweet! If you're done, I'll take that!" Luffy delighted, reaching to grab her plate before she was clear of the table.

"Aw, Robin dear, is something the matter?" Sanji moped.

"Great work, fellas, you've managed to drive off all the decent company!" Nami fumed.

Robin left the liveliness behind, following Lana out into the open air of the night.

"Food not to your liking?" Robin asked playfully.

"Nah, the food's as good as ever," Lana sighed. "I just can't take any more of Zoro and Sanji's bickering!"

"They certainly have been locking horns more than usual."

"Ugh, right?! I was starting to wonder if I was imagining things."

"Not at all. Everyone's noticed by now."

"Morons. Why do men have to be such idiots?"

"It all comes down to motive. Once you know the cause, everything else starts to make sense."

"You say that like you know the cause," Lana observed with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, it's only a theory," Robin teased.

"So? Spill it."

"If you insist... I'll start by saying that I've observed a pattern to the boys' tiffs. Surely you must have noticed that it's usually the swordsman starting the trouble?"

Lana thought it over, recalling a string of recent incidents.

"Come to think of it, yeah. I have noticed that."

"So the next natural assumption would be that our dear cook has been doing something to cause bad blood between them. Any thoughts as to what that could be?"

"Uh..."

Lana racked her brain, but nothing came to mind.

"You got me on that one. If Sanji's acting differently, I can't say how."

"No, Sanji's the same as ever. If my theory is correct, the only change has been in Zoro."

"Now I'm confused. I'm not half the detective you are, Robin," Lana sighed. "Please don't make me work too hard for these answers."

"It's simple, really. Sanji hasn't changed at all. He's as flirtatious and cloying as ever."

"Yeah, he doesn't know when to give it a rest," Lana agreed.

"He may not be capable of giving it a rest," Robin chuckled. "In any case, Sanji's behavior hasn't changed... but the way Zoro feels about it has."

Lana caught on suddenly, realizing what Robin was getting at. It felt like a light bulb going off over her head, illuminating the entire murky situation.

"Oh my god! You don't mean... Zoro's pissed off over Sanji's flirting because... Zoro's got some kind of crush, or something..."

Robin nodded along coaxingly.

"... on Sanji?!"

Robin blinked rapidly a few times, then stared her crewmate down, unable to comprehend how Lana could have reached such a ridiculous conclusion given the evidence presented to her.

"Of course, it all makes sense now!" Lana cried, her expression desolate. "Zoro can't stand to see Sanji flirting with the girls because he's consumed by jealousy... he wants Sanji all to himself!"

Lana looked so dejected Robin thought she might be on the verge of tears.

'I'd better correct her before she starts crying.'

"Well, you're half-right," Robin tsked. "Zoro does seem to have developed quite the little crush... but not on Sanji."

"W-what? Really? If not Sanji, then... who?"

"You mean to tell me you really don't have a clue?" Robin demanded, disbelief beginning to creep into her tone. 'She's nearly as dense as Zoro.'

"You don't mean..."

Robin's true assertion showed through in the suggestive expression she flashed. Lana's cheeks flushed as she received the message and turned her eyes away over the bow.

"Robin, look, I... I think I see where you're going with this, but... please don't."

"What do you mean?"

"A theory is one thing. Speculation never hurt anyone, I guess, but we all have to keep sailing these waters together. Theories are fine, but as far as the heart is concerned, there are some things best left unsaid. Me and Zoro... I like that we're friends now. I don't want to risk souring that."

"Hm. That's very wise, Lana... and very cowardly, don't you think?" Robin observed chidingly.

"Maybe."

"Aren't you curious about what could be if you two ever had the nerve to speak the unspoken?" Robin went on, hoping to sway her.

"Who wouldn't be?" Lana admitted. "But it's my gamble, right? My heart on the line. My swordsman that I stand to lose if things don't work out."

"Of course," Robin sighed. Theory confirmed, she was content to concede for the time being. She thought Lana was making a mistake, but that was something the lockbreaker was likely to discover in her own time. "I'll leave you alone with your thoughts if that's what you want."

"No, I... I'd actually love some company, if you're not busy," Lana ventured.

"Well, this book isn't going to read itself," Robin teased. "But it's not going anywhere either."

Lana's smile reappeared.

"Thanks, Robin. And... thanks for sharing your theory with me. I hope I didn't let you down too badly."

"Only a little, but you're right. It's your life, after all," Robin smiled back graciously.

The next morning at breakfast, Sanji greeted the women of the straw hat crew with his usual barrage of flirtations and as usual, Zoro was in no mood to listen.

"Keep up the crap and I'll shove it all back down your throat, you sorry excuse for a cook!" Zoro snarled.

"What was that?! You moss-headed lump of-"

"Hey Zoro!"

Lana's voice cut through the blossoming argument, drawing the attention of both men. She raised her mug, beckoning.

"I know you're not one for coffee, but give this a try?"

"Huh? Oh. Thanks, but no thanks," Zoro replied, walking away from Sanji to take a seat next to Lana. "I can't drink that stuff."

"Really? You hate the taste that much?" Lana wondered.

"It's not that, I just can't deal with the side effects," he explained.

"Side effects? What, like.. from the caffeine?"

"I guess. Whatever it is, I'm not a fan. I get the shakes and my heart starts pounding. There's a lot of sweat too."

"Sounds bad. Maybe you have a sensitivity or something. I used to know a kid back in the town I was from who was like that."

"Could be. Whatever it is, it's never pretty," Zoro sighed.

Sanji chose that moment to break in.

"As opposed to you, Lana sweetest, always and unfailingly pretty. Marmalade?"

"Grr..."

The sound Zoro made was the closest Lana had ever heard a human come to actually growling.

"I'm good, Sanji. Too sweet for this early in the morning. But... I'm sure Nami would love some," Lana grinned. Sanji swept away at once.

"Naaaami..."

Lana glanced back at Zoro, still seething even though Sanji's attentions had shifted to their navigator.

"Hey, Zoro..."

Lana leaned close and whispered something in his ear. He listened closely, eyes growing wide as she went on. A smirk spread over his face, culminating in a laugh that he held back with his palm.

Robin smiled too, even without knowing what had been said. Even if Lana was too shy to reveal her feelings to Zoro, Robin got the sense that it woudn't be long before they came to light anyway.

______________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[noblebs]

💬?

thank you! 🖤

I think I've shared a couple lines here and there of these scenes.... but in the interest of forcing positivity upon myself, I like them both a lot so I'll share both lol

from chapter 3 of EWT:

Orion remembers seeing photos when the story broke: grainy opportunistic action shots sandwiched by columns of text reporting the monstrous operative of a heretofore poorly understood government agency crashing a diplomatic convention. The most prominent and well-distributed of the photos was of the agent himself, a dark, broad figure towering over everyone else in the shot. It's the low angle and the camera's zoom, she always thought, that lent him such an imposing height. As it turns out, there couldn't be a camera operator in the world who could make a demon standing 8 feet tall with arching horns to top it off less imposing. He squeezes through his own front door like a grizzly bear trying to use a dog door. The harsh sunlight gleams on his skin—is it skin, or is it actually the obsidian it looks like? A wife beater stretches across his deep chest, probably the largest manufactured size but still decidedly too small, a sliver of beer belly bulging above his waistband. Orion fights to keep too wide a smile from splitting his face. "Good afternoon," he all but purrs, "I'm Orion. Do you have a minute?" Devilant crosses his arms and considers him; his eyes burn bright orange like the embers of a dying fire. "Whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'." Orion smiles coyly. "If I had something to sell, I doubt you could afford it. I work with Annex, and—" "Oh. Piss off, then." He interrupts her with a dismissive wave of his hand and turns back to the door. It bangs shut behind him, the wood rattling in the frame. Not the first time it's endured such treatment. She lunges forward and skips one of the two steps onto the porch, twisting the door handle before it can get locked in her face and throwing it open. "Hey," Devilant grumbles, sounding more bewildered than angry. "Get the hell out of my house."

from chapter 4:

"No." Madrigal snorts, her nose wrinkling, and shakes her head. "That's not what I mean. I meant...this." She lifts her hand toward his neck. He flinches back. "Wait, don't—" "It's okay. I think I understand." Her fingertips skate beneath Orion's jaw, following the upper edge where teeth break ragged through the skin of his throat. Her thumb presses against his larynx, a featherlight touch that crushes the breath out of his lungs. No one risks touching his teeth. But she is cautious like they are fragile, not dangerous. "I might not look it, but I know what it is to be lonely like this. One of a kind isn't all it's cracked up to be." Orion's appetite swells once more with such a ferocity she barely keeps a grip on her impulses. Madrigal looks at her with such intense honesty; her hands are so confident. This was what she sensed, the hound in her blood catching a scent, even from more than fifty feet away. She wants to sink her teeth deep into that expression on Madrigal's face and never let her go. Madrigal smiles—must feel the accelerated pulse kicking up under her fingers—and lets her hand slip away. "Finish your wine. It's the least you can do after making me pay for it." Orion takes a deep breath, still unsteady and distracted by the tension winding up inside her chest, but manages to smirk and dutifully take a sip. She lights a cigarette just to give her other hand something to hold: a tether to the here and now, a leash to draw her back from swallowing Madrigal whole in public. "I don't recall making you do anything. You came over here begging for a reason to talk to me." "Begging?" Madrigal straightens her posture and frowns severely. "I wouldn't be caught dead. I took pity on you." Orion scoffs. "Your pity put you out seventeen dollars for one glass, so I hope it was worth it." "Oh, I think it will be."

(shout-out to @anarchistserum for providing me the world's sexiest senior citizen, strictly speaking Devilant is her character but I got shared custody)

[n3g5nx]

What Have I Been Dragged Into?

♡♡♡

Chapter four!

I've already written 13 chapters I'll be honest I can't stop writing..

AO3 Chapters

♡♡♡

♡♡♡

X awoke to the sound of their door shutting, jolting up in bed, and glancing around the still room. No one was around, but a fresh plate of food was on the table in front of their bed. What looked like an assortment of fresh-enough fruit and what looked to be an egg sandwich. They got out of bed and tentatively approached the plate as if it were a trap. Whoever put it in here clearly had access to their room despite the lock on the door, so surely it was safe to eat, they thought.

Carefully, they sat down at the table and started with the fruit, a few blueberries and strawberries mixed together. More weary about the sandwich, they only took a few bites before their nerves got the best of them, and they set it aside. Luckily, the app around them had considerably shrunk their appetite, so they weren't left hungry. Maybe if they were still starving out in the wasteland, they'd scarf the meal down, but now they felt they could afford to be cautious.

X dressed in some old band t-shirt they didn't recognize and a pair of black jeans. Whoever stocked their room with the few shirts and bottoms that lay in the small dresser got their style down to a T. They were a bit basic, after all, even before the world went to shit.

Into the halls of the Sanctuary they went, wandering about the expansive area until they found some stairs that seemed to lead to the prominent place everyone else was. A large factory floor turned from what must have been where the work was once done into a living area of sorts. People manned makeshift food stalls and what looked to be simple stores, others walking about and going on with their day-to-day. No one seemed particularly happy, but it was better than some camps X had encountered outside before the Saviours found them.

Walking down the steps, X found they got a few scowls from some people. Especially those who were armed with rifles. They wondered how many people had seen the display Negan had caused and, more importantly, how many people had heard about it. It was enough to make their heads spin, keeping their gaze low on the ground as they continued exploring.

Making their way down the rows, looking at what all the stalls had to offer and looking at all the different faces, X found themselves actually enjoying their time. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but it almost felt normal again. A few scrutinising looks practically added to that; it's not like X was the most popular person in pre-apocalypse times. As they neared the stairs, X felt the wind being knocked from their lungs as a man with a pistol on his side pulled them into a secluded corner. He looked pissed.

The man's grip was firm and unrelenting, X's eyes wide as they were pushed hard into a wall.

"You know," the man's voice was cold, a sickening whisper, "some of us actually had to work hard to get on well with Negan, right? Didn't just sit there looking pretty."

X's fear and confusion morphed into irritation, eyebrows furrowing into a glare. "It's not like I fucking asked for any sort of special treatment, dickhead." They spat out in retort, voices dripping with venom.

"Tsk, I'm sure you had your own way of getting up the ladder…" the man accused in an equally sharp voice, "You mind explaining how a fresh face like you already got their own room and is riding with Negan like you're his fucking right-hand?"

X stood their ground straight as they held his gaze in unwavering determination, "Maybe I actually have something of value to bring to the table, unlike you do, whining like a damn baby."

"Don't think you're fooling anyone." The man hissed as he encroached further into X's space. Which, unlike when Negan did it, was the opposite of hot.

Their anger reached a tipping point as they backed their fists and deepened their glare, raising a knee and making contact between the man's legs. Hard. He was on the ground suddenly, swearing and whining in pain. X stepped around his pathetic body on the floor and made their way back upstairs, only a little shaken. They could only hope they wouldn't have any more jealousy-fueled encounters. Besides, Negan was the one coming onto them, not the other way around.

X made their way back to their room, slipping in with a received sigh. They leaned back against the door and pinched the bridge of their nose, eyes sealed shut. Their moment of solace was cut short as they heard movement in their room, standing up straight and reaching for the nonexistent knife in their waistband. Fuck. They used to have one once upon a time, but that was before being scooped up by two strangers one faithful day. Luckily, they wouldn't need it, meeting Negan's gaze, who was lounging on their couch.

"What? Was the food I got for you not good enough?" He jested, a cocky grin across his face.

Ignoring his sarcastic question, X moved closer and propped their hands on their hips. "I just got in trouble because of you, yknow." They snapped, "Some douchebag accusing me of sleeping with you to be where I am now. No doubt because of that very public stunt you pulled last night."

Negan's grin didn't falter as he leaned back, extending his legs, "Well, sweetheart, I'm sure you're damn good in bed, but I ain't that generous now."

X rolled their eyes and huffed, leaning against the couch and staring at Negan. It was nice to not be the one looked down on for once. "This isn't a joke. A guy threatened me today because you can't keep your damn hands off of me. I do not need any extra attention from anyone right now."

Negan's grin faded as he leaned forward, forearms on his knees. His gaze was intense, a shadow falling over his eyes as he gazed at X, "Listen, sweetheart," his playful tone had vanished, replaced with something a lot more serious, "someone threatens you or lays a finger on you, you come to me immediately. I will personally deal with anyone that messes with you."

X was taken aback, surprise evident on their face as they scanned Negan for any hint of a joke. He was dead serious, and his vague threat didn't seem like empty words. Their frustration seemed to melt away, replaced with a sense of comfort.

"I appreciate that. It would also help if you didn't make another public advance on me like before."

Negan's lips curled into an amused smirk, finding himself off the couch and sauntering to X. "Fair enough, sweetheart, I can try my best to keep my hands to myself." He purred, grinning a hand to X's chin, "In public, at least."

They felt their cheeks grow warm, a shaky breath slipping past their lips as they looked up at Negan. The way he toyed with them was unbearable.

"Negan…" X hesitantly started, audibly gulping as their hands began to tremble, "Why do you keep doing this…"

"Because you are so damn entertaining when you squirm."

X let out a low grumble to themselves as they slipped on a tight, long-sleeved turtle neck before throwing their t-shirt back on. They had stopped Negan and made him leave before he got too far with them, but now they had a hickie and matching teeth marks between their neck and shoulder. God damnit. They couldn't help but feel defeated. How stupid could they be to keep letting their guard down around him like that, let Negan get under the skin and almost their fucking shirt, for Christ's sake? It was embarrassing, to say the least.

A knock at the door made them pause, approaching tentatively and cracking the door open. It was just some Saviour with a plate of food in hand. A salad pushed into the shape of a heart, how charming.

"It's from-" the Saviour started softly while handing the plate over to X.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks." They took the plate and closed the door firmly shut.

If they weren't so hungry, they would have sent it back, but instead, their stomach grumbled, and they gave in. Sitting at their table, they began to eat the leafy salad. Angrily. If only they had some undead freaks to take their frustrations out on, but they would probably just get themselves killed if they tried.

X's frustration simmered as they poked at the salad, taking slow, small bites. It was surprisingly flavourful, with veggies that paired excellently together and a hint of what must have been cheese. It was a bit sad to think of how the Saviours got everything they have here. It couldn't be pleasant, but you do what you do to survive, right? Besides, it definitely paid off in this salad. Maybe it was best not to think about it.

Instead, their thoughts trailed back to, of course, Negan. X was entangled in his web, and it was killing them. Maybe there was more to Negan's behaviour to them than mere amusement, but did that even matter? Finishing the salad, they leaned back and let out a sigh. A walk around the Sanctuary would do them good, given there were no hiccups.

X set out, combat boots echoing down the corridors. They were headed towards the stairs to the factory floor when they heard frantic whispers. Unable to resist the urge to eavesdrop, X crept towards the door it was coming from slowly and carefully, boots suddenly quiet as a mouse. They hung closely against the wall as they stood idly by the entrance as nonchalantly as possible. They could just barely make out the words from within.

One voice, full of conviction, sounded familiar. That same gravelly voice had spoken to Negan the day they were found. Simon, they think his name was.

"Dwight, you know as well as I do that things ain't what they used to be. He's getting soft, his grip on this place is slipping. Just look how he bends the usual order of things for that damn newbie. They just got here, man."

Dwight's voice was quieter and harder to hear, speaking wearily, "I get what you're saying, really, but it's just not that simple, alright? Negan has his own way of handling things and if he even found out about this conversation…"

"Well I'm not saying we just up and overthrow him tomorrow, we'd need a plan and more people behind us. But we can't rely on his ego keeping us going for too long. You've seen how the other settlements have started to lose faith in the Saviours."

X listened cautiously, their heart racing as beads of sweat went down their neck. It sounded like danger. There was no way they could tell Negan; who knows what would happen. But what would happen if they didn't…?

"I mean, think of Sherry." Simon's voice dropped, a persuasive edge to each word, "Negan keeping her just at arms length from you… Hey, some would say that it's your job, as a man, to step up and do something."

Dwight's silence spoke volumes, and X took that as their cue to exit the scene. They slipped away and down the stairs as they originally intended, doing their best to keep their thoughts off their face. It was a lot to take in. Maybe nothing would come of it, but perhaps something would. X certainly didn't want to get in the middle of a power struggle, but they couldn't help but feel dragged into the mess. They could tell Negan, get on his good side, and just forget about it, or leave well enough alone and let it handle itself. They didn't have to be the ones to kick the hornet's nest.

X shook the thoughts away and looked around the crowded room for a distraction. Spotting a little trinket stall, they made their way over and scanned the items once around. A small rabbit stuffed animal caught their eye, a smile spreading across their lips.

Pointing at it and looking down at the apparent shopkeeper, "Excuse me, I want that."

The shopkeeper cleared their throat, "and you are-" they stopped short as they looked up before their eyes went downward, "yes, of course, here you are."

They handed the stuffed animal over without another word.

"Oh! Well, thank you." X smiled and walked away, a bit confused at the interaction. It was their understanding there was some sort of point system down here. It also seemed like the person recognized them somehow. In fact, X got a lot of weary side glances and people moving out of their way. It was certainly not a pleasant feeling.

Back in their room, X sat on their bed, holding their little distraction. Something to hold on to and keep their thoughts from lingering on Negan or the odd conversation they had overheard. A little slice of ordinary.

"What should I name you, hm?" They said softly to the toy, turning it over in their hands. "I think you look like… hmmm… a Buttons."

They couldn't help but laugh at their own childish antics, setting the toy on their end table and laying back in the bed.

[raggedandrich]

Lent pt. 1

Chronologically, this takes place about six months after First Date. Robert has learned more about the business but isn’t a full partner yet. This is a big event that shifts dynamics in the world and the story.

Rating: M for Mature / Sexual Content, Language

"I think it'd be good for you," Willem says absently, in the middle of examining a particularly large and verdant plant.

Robert hisses distastefully, adjusting his scarf higher around his neck, "Yeah, like a hole in the head. Come on, why'd you pick that one out of all the others? I can do loads more. Benny's giving up cigars, I - I can do that one, easy."

"I'm sure you could, considering you don't smoke cigars. More preoccupied with something else in that pretty mouth of yours,” Willem says, shifting a glance at Rob’s lips.

Robert scowls and steps closer, pretending to admire the plant, lowering his voice slightly.

"Well pardon me, I just think it's bullshit that I don't get an exemption? I’m not even induct—“ Robert starts, but is cut off when Willem reaches over and hooks two fingers into the D-ring loop of the subtle collar hidden beneath Robert's scarf and yanks him close.

"First of all, mind your tone. Second of all, you start talking like that and the whole thing is iced. There are eyes and ears everywhere," Willem murmurs, in a soothing sort of way you could be fooled by, had Rob not seen Willem's sharp gaze as he scanned the periphery of the large greenhouse, where indeed some of Marcello's gang skulked.

Willem releases his hold on the D-ring to inspect the underside of a large, blue-green leaf, and Rob carefully adjusts his scarf to hide anything out of place.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Robert says, crossing his arms. "But do you know how difficult this will be? Like, do really know what you're sentencing me to? I may die.”

Willem snorts. "Oh, no need to be so melodramatic, you'll be fine. But it is Lent season for the pious, and I know for a fact the Italians have a bet running with our guys for who can break their Lenten sacrifice first, and my boy, there is a big wager riding on you to fail."

"Fail?!" Robert groans.

"Yep. It's all keeping up appearances. Money changes hands, some territory might get shifted, as is the case this time of year, depending on who comes out on top with the least amount of failures. Keeps things fresh during the stalemate. They don't know what you'll announce to give up, but the nature of our relationship is talked about in our close circles, as is your...well, your insatiable appetite for violence and attention, so everyone assumes it'll be something big. My claim on you has given you a bit of a higher standing, but with that comes more scrutiny. You wanna play this game and take home the purse for our side, you have to be a good boy. And no, you don't have a choice to not participate in this,” Willem says.

He motions to one of Don Marcello's gang. "I'll take it. Have it wrapped and boxed up to protect the leaves, I trust you know how delicate this species can be. You know where to send it."

Robert tousles and grips at his hair as he watches the transaction, silent as he digests this information. He can't make up his mind what's worse: the fact that he's effectively been gang-pressed into this, or the fact that there are so many eyes on him waiting for him to fail. He frowns.

"Two things. First... why didn't I know about this before? The territories? The money?" Robert asks.

Willem shrugs and places a hand on Robert's back, leading him towards the car at the entrance of the greenhouse complex.

"Higher rank is afforded certain privileges and need-to-know information, which you did not have before,” Willem informs.

"Ouch," Robert laughs. "Okay, fine, that makes sense I suppose. But why sex?"

Willem eyes him with a devious smile.

"Because no one in their right mind picks it. It fetches a higher bid, but a lot who participate give up physical violence, drinking, smoking, et cetera. So when there's no normal outlet, what do they turn to? Sex,” Willem says, with a sly grin.

They reach the car and are met by their usual driver, Donovan. He opens the door, Willem and Rob climb in, and they begin the long drive back.

"Hence, why no one picks it. It's the only way things balance out," Willem continues. "Keeps the men happy, keeps them calm, keeps them—"

"—Stupid," Robert interrupts, but offers a placating smile. "There's more to it, I can hear it in your voice." He unwinds the long scarf from his neck to reveal the collar underneath, then sighs and settles in his seat. "Don't think I can be a good boy?"

"Oh, on the contrary, that's why I suggested this. Want to know the real reason for it all?" Willem leans in close and presses a kiss against his cheek, and then his breath is warm against Robert's ear.

"Because I want to hear you beg me for it. No sex, hardly any fighting - you're allowed to do that, of course, but who would break their vow to fight? You won't have anywhere to turn to for relief...and I want to watch you come utterly undone at the end of the month,” Willem growls.

Robert only has a moment to process the answer before he feels Willem's hand stroking his inner thigh and he lets out a groan.

"There's also no rule that says I can't spend the entire month bringing you close to total ruin though. And I intend to have my fun. After all, I'm only giving up alcohol,” Willem chides.

"Oh fuck you," Robert hisses, torn between giving into the touch and resisting. "When does this start? Please... please. I gotta know. When do I have to make this oath?"

Willem laughs, then presses the button for the intercom. "Donovan, how much longer until we reach our destination?"

"About half an hour to HQ, boss," crackles the voice over the radio.

"Thank you, Donovan," Willem replies, then flicks the intercom off and turns back to Robert.

"About that long. Best make the most of it while you can."

A dozen different things flash across his mind’s eye. With so little time, and no real way to savor any of it, Robert sticks to something simple. Something he could drag out, optimize every minute of his time before taking on his vow.

Robert slides down to the floor and sidles up between Willem’s legs. He pushes his open palms up the older man’s thighs watching the fabric ripple under his pressure. Methodically massaging into the muscles of Willem’s legs, he feels them open naturally and smiles.

With both hands gripping belt loops, Robert presses a kiss to the front of Willem’s trousers. Willem chuckles softly and runs his fingers through Robert’s hair, watching fondly as Robert rubs his cheek and chin against him between kisses and hums.

Soon enough, he feels the tension of the fabric under his touch and reaches for the belt. Deft fingers make quick work of it, freeing Willem’s tumescence. Robert handles it earnestly, mouthing the length briefly before gripping the base as he draws in a mouthful of saliva and starts with the head.

He lavishes it with care, looking up to see Willem’s breath hitch a little, hand still in his boy’s messy locks. When teasing the tip isn’t enough, he sinks down over as much of Willem’s notoriously huge cock and wets it throughly. He breathes through his nose and develops his rhythm, enjoying the slowness, the sensation.

Robert does his best not to gag but as he swallows around Willem’s girth, it can’t be helped. He pulls off with a wet pop and catches his breath, eyes bleary while blinking up at Willem.

“God. You’re pretty as a picture like this,” Willem says, sliding his hand down to Robert’s chin and smearing the moisture in his lips with his thumb.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Robert growls before sucking Willem back into his mouth and quickening his pace. His cheeks hollow with every drag, highlighting his bone structure and driving Willem wild. One of his hands grips the leather of the seat and he hears it groan in protest.

Hearing that, Robert hums low and long as he shifts from the shaft to just the head again, swirling his tongue playfully and keeping eye contact with Willem until his eyes flutter closed and he grips Robert’s hair again. The muscles at the pit of his stomach tense and he unloads, filling Robert’s mouth and letting his breath hiss out like a steam whistle.

Robert smirks and swallows, punctuating his finish with a kiss.

“I’m surprised,” Willem says, breaking the silence while Robert wipes the corners of his mouth.

“At what?” Robert asks, still on his knees.

“You didn’t have me do something for you. Seems awfully generous to use your last session on my pleasure,” Willem says, putting his dick back in his pants and buckling his belt.

“How much time is left?” Robert asks.

Willem checks his watch.

“About 15 minutes,” Willem replies.

Robert climbs into the set beside Willem and kicks off his shoes before yanking down his pants and underwear and letting them pool at the ankle of his left foot planted firmly on the floor of the cabin.

He slings his other leg up at the headrest behind Willem and spits into his hand, no doubt some of Willem’s cum mixed in with it.

He starts stroking himself and shifts to push his hips upward.

“Lend a hand?” Robert asks.

Willem hesitates, watching Robert’s impatience grow with every second Willem isn’t touching him.

“Please, daddy,” Robert whines, dropping his head back to the seat.

“How cute,” Willem coos, “how could I say no when you ask so nicely.”

Willem holds one of Robert’s thighs and slicks a few fingers in his mouth. He circles Robert’s hole and presses in, immediately curls them and hits his boy’s sweet spot the first time.

Robert arches and begins thrusting into his fist more than stroking himself, letting out a dozen different noises and half-formed words.

Willem keeps a steady hand and watches Robert unravel, shaking and losing his composure. His body twitches and toes curl, knowing he can’t linger too long in the space but wanting to stay as long as he can. Willem rubs against his prostrate relentlessly now, watching Robert’s jaw drop as he cries out and thrust a few final times and comes over himself and a bit on the car door.

Even after he’s finished and let’s go of his dick, Willem keeps his fingers working and causes Robert to whine and choke out little half-sobs. Oversensitivity courses through the young man, jolting him like electric volts. Willem palms the head of Robert’s cock and makes him scream bloody murder, experiencing the rare dry orgasm as his voice rattles the windows of the limo.

Willem pulls out and cleans his hands with a kerchief and glances over at the mess of a boy beside him.

Robert doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to think or do anything. He wants to wallow in the headspace and relish the feelings, knowing it will be awhile before he can have that again.

“We’ve arrived, boss,” Donovan’s voice cuts through the cabin before disappearing again.

“I’ll meet you inside, try to make yourself presentable,” Willem says, straightening his tie, tossing his kerchief and making a kissy face at Robert before stepping out of the car.

Robert catches his breath. When he stops seeing stars, he cleans himself with the soiled kerchief and redresses. He steps out of the car and checks his hair in the reflection of the window and gives it a comb with his fingers before walking through the entrance of the building and catching up to Willem.

Robert wraps his scarf to cover the collar and sits down beside him. As the men file into the room and take their places, Robert’s good feeling slowly bleeds out of him and leaves him wanting more. Willem must sense it because he grabs Robert’s hand and gives it a quick kiss.

“Ready?” Willem asks.

“Fuck no,” Robert says.

“That’s my boy, hold onto that. In 40 days, you can show me just how bad I’ve been,” Willem says and gives one last squeeze before taking back his hand.

Robert keens at the thought and tries to settle down as the Don arrives. Willem rises and shakes his hand, kissing each cheek before sitting back down and watches Marcello sit on his side of the table.

The yearly speech begins but Robert isn’t listening, all he can think about is Willem’s hands as they rest on the table. How just a few minutes ago those hands rocked him to his core. He takes a deep breath and waits his turn to announce his vow.

All the men of The Magpie’s gang rattle off their vows, nothing too extreme.

“Standard, as usual, Jules. Your turn, kiddo,” Willem says, facing Robert.

“I, uh...I’m giving up sex,” Robert says, playing with his hair as murmurs and whistles bubble up across the stretch of men.

“No shit?” Marcello says, looking to his men and all exchanging looks of confidence.

“Yeah. Piece of cake,” Robert says, leaning back in his chair and giving his signature smug look to the Don’s men.

The Irish boys look concerned and whisper to each other.

“Absolutely,” Willem says, nodding to the tally taker at the center of the room. He nods and writes down SEX beside Robert’s name in the grid of men’s names on the wall.

Don’s men follow and when everything is said and done, a final handshake seals the deal and the two mobs part ways, the tension crackling like electricity in the air.

Willem walks out with Robert in tow, assuredness in his stride.

“You really think I can do this?” Robert asks, his voice low.

Willem turns and holds Robert’s face, giving him that look of wisdom.

“I know you can. Because I said so. And you always do what I tell you. That’s what makes you my good boy. With or without the collar,” Willem says, pushing aside his scarf and tugging at the D-ring again.

Robert’s knees nearly buckle but he stands and waits for Donovan in the queue of cars passing the anonymous building.

They climb inside when he arrives. The car still reeks of them. They sit in silence as Donovan takes them home. It was going to be a long 40 days.

[helenaheissner]

A Dream of Summer Rain: Chapter 31

Another day died. Outside, the rain refused to relent. The whole county would flood if this kept up. She needed to get out of here, if for no other reason than to stop the whole place from ending up under water.

And also, to finally not have to hear Merab talk any more.

“-So anyway that was how it went down with me and Pericles, the Prince of Tyre. He was a sweet enough guy, but he just couldn’t match my voracious sexual appetites. After that I tried dating this ghost girl from Japan with bangs all in her face and she and I had similar views on things sure but like… No physicality, you know, because of the whole ghost thing, so she really couldn’t keep up with me either-”

“Has it occurred to you that you need to slow down instead of expecting everyone else to speed up?” Lacy said. She’d gleaned a bit about this alleged ghoul princess during flashes of lucidity between dissociative episodes.

The ghoul-girl sat in the same chair she sat in all day, every day. The only times she left were to take showers once a day, and when she came back she was always in full makeup and dressed like the happy little goth she was. When she left, a replacement came in, always a different, stern-looking ghoul whom Merab called by name, all of whom kneeled as soon as they saw her. Maybe she wasn’t lying about being a princess- there was a certain level of reverence she seemed to command without even trying to. Today she wore a black gown covered in equally black frills and lace, her hair up in twin buns on the sides of her head. She had a glass of blood and a plate with what appeared to be a human-belly sandwich with people-bacon on top placed on the floor next to her. She hadn’t gotten to either of them yet- she’d spent most of the day doing her black nail polish. “Well, look who finally offers an opinion.”

“I got bored,” Lacy said. That was somewhat true: she was bored now. The past few days, however, she’d kept herself busy drafting a plan, step by step. It was just like dealing with bullies back in school- if you didn’t have the element of surprise going into the fight, then you needed to be unpredictable, and you needed to keep your opponent from thinking too clearly. Five steps needed to be implemented if any of this had any chance of working.

“How flattering. What do you mean by ‘slow down?’”

“I don’t wanna get into this with you,” Lacy said. Every time they talked, it nearly pushed Lacy back into the blackness- she couldn’t afford to dissociate right now, she needed to think clearly. She needed to get out of here, and she needed to put a stop to all this.

“Then you shouldn’t have said anything, silly!” Merab giggled. “You ever thought about going blonde? It might suit you, considering the whole… I was trying to look for a word besides ‘dumb’, but I can’t find one? So the whole ‘dumb’ thing that you’ve got going on- you’d make a great dumb blonde.”

“Thanks,” Lacy said dryly.

“You’re welcome! So anyway, what do you mean by slow down? I’m honestly quite curious to hear your take on it-”

“Look, forget I said anything,” Lacy said. “I have no dating experience whatsoever, you should not be taking advice from me.”

“Really? No guys after a cute little thing like you? That’s hard to believe.”

“I’m a lesbian.”

“No girls after a cute little femme like you? That’s even harder to believe.”

“I’m not cute, I’m disgusting.”

“Seriously, you need so much therapy.”

“I’m not taking life advice from you, Merab!”

“Hey, that’s Princess-”

“Princess, right, of course, how could I forget. Hey, here’s a question for you: if you’re the rightful heir, why’d they all follow Alistair?” Lacy asked.

“Hm? Oh, because he took my father’s Star. That’s why he has two.”

“Makes sense. So what, you had to earn it? And he-”

“No, not quite,” Merab cut her off. “Stealing a Star has some prerequisites- you’re supposed to eat a Starbound in order to steal their Star. Alistair killed my father, then put the body on ice just in case he ever decided to cash that check. Which, after a few years agonizing over it, he did. Me and my loyalists weren’t able to get to the body in time to stop him.”

“And so everyone just fell into line as soon as the new king rode into town? Even after what he did to the last one?”

“They can’t all help it,” Merab said. “That Star connects the King to all ghouls, puts him in their heads. It’s called the Ever-Song. The more feral you are, the harder it is to resist his will. And there are lots of feral ghouls out there. And even a lot of the non-feral ones, frankly, the upper classes… Well not all of them liked my dad, and some of them just didn’t want me to be in charge. Apparently I’m ‘flighty,’ or some such nonsense. So when Alistair took the Star, all that he actually needed was the small chunk of the upper classes that would’ve fallen behind anyone else at all.”

“And you would’ve done better?” “Well at the very least I wouldn’t be plotting world domination,” Merab said, blowing on her nails and then taking a sip of blood. “I’d be happily keeping us in our caves, eating the odd stranger here and there-”

“Causing disappearances every year, sentencing innocent people to death, enforcing what sounds like a pretty hardcore caste system-”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be in a cage right now, and your hometown wouldn’t be occupied by domestic terrorists. That’s gotta hold some appeal.”

Lacy rubbed her temples. “Ask you something?”

“Why stop now? I’m loving that we’re finally having a real conversation.”

“If Alistair were to die, how confident are you that you could get the troops to pack up and leave? If you could have even just a little nibble of him?”

The princess opened her mouth, tilted her head, and was finally at a loss for words.

The door opened, and Mrs. Woodrow stood on the other side. She was clad in her Sunday best, a light green dress with a cream colored coat and a wide-brimmed hat like she’d used to wear to church. She led a young boy, who couldn’t have been past elementary school age, in handcuffs in front of her, and held a trench knife in her sinister hand.

“I don’t believe I need to explain what happens if you make a fuss,” Mrs. Woodrow said.

Lacy, in spite of herself, gulped.

“You’re dismissed, Merab,” Mrs. Woodrow said curtly.

And then, with a flicker of agitation, Merab stood up, looked directly at Lacy, and said, “Very confident.”

“Offer is on the table then,” Lacy said.

Merab smiled as she left.

Step 1: instill chaos in the ranks. Undermine the leadership, Lacy thought.

Mrs. Woodrow went over to the glass, laid a palm flat on it. A red glow pulsed over the wall, through which Lacy squinted and saw a doorway manifest. “Now then, come on. And don’t try anything. You need to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?” Lacy said, not yet getting up from her cot.

“For family dinner, of course.”

Lacy creased her brow, but relented when the heiress to House Koenig waved her knife at her young hostage. Lacy stepped out of the glass cage, and the hideous grip of the red rune loosened. Her pulse relaxed, and the dull throb around her temples lightened. Her Star hummed inside her, desperate for release, but she couldn’t risk it yet.

Still, it was what she thought it was- the rune only dampened her power, not nullified entirely. There was a limit to how much of a cap they could put on her, and it poured outwards into the environment when she couldn’t release it. That meant there were limits to the ghouls’ defenses, to this Entropy magic of theirs. Filing that away for later, she thought.

Mrs. Woodrow led Lacy down the spiral stairs to the third floor of the brick mansion, and into a bedroom. “Take a shower and put on something nice,” she said. “And don’t try anything- there are cameras in that room, and I’ll be outside with my friend here just in case.”

Lacy grunted in response as the bedroom door fell shut. She looked around and saw what was by all accounts a normal girl’s bedroom, leftover from one recently departed for the adult world. A bed with a purple comforter over it, golden-yellow wallpaper, a blood red rug covering the floor. But the walls were bare of posters or pictures, and the bed looked like it had never been slept in once. There was a desk in the corner by the window, with a makeup mirror and a lamp and two framed pictures. One was of Danny and his mother, and the other included Alistair, Danny at about fifteen, and a girl the same age as Lacy was now. She had white hair and gray eyes and an angular face.

Elaine.

This was the bedroom of the girl Lacy had killed.

She probably hadn’t stayed here very often, based on the sheer lack of effects, the strange aura of a bedroom seldom used. But this was hers, the dead sister’s room. In the closet were her clothes, which her family expected Lacy to put on.

Lacy started with a shower in the bathroom off to the side, savoring the long-forgotten feeling of being clean. She didn’t deserve it, but she took it anyway. After that, she set about the grim task of finding something to wear.

Searching the closet was like wading through a sewer rooting around for something valuable. She parsed through for a subjective eternity, until finally she found something that fit her: a solid navy blue dress with long sleeves and a skirt that went below the knees, then applied a light coat of makeup.

When she was ready, she stepped out into the hallway, where Mrs. Woodrow waited with her hostage. “You look lovely,” she said, running a hand through Lacy’s damp hair, cupping her cheek. A twinge of discomfort shot through Lacy, but she tried not to flinch. She couldn’t afford to show any fear, no matter how much dwelled within her.

Her jailor led her into the outdoors for the first time in weeks, beneath an umbrella into the pouring rain. Night gripped the town of Dresden like a bear trap, and the air was cold and wet and sharp. Woodrow Manor was a half-mile from town square, and street lamps illuminated the vein of Main Street. Ghouls stood in the rain, and none were in even a remote state of decay. Lacy heard some heartbeats in the houses and shops on Main Street, but not as many as there should have been. She didn’t wanna think about how much of the town was left, or if Coldwater and Cleaver had met the same fate yet. Lacy gritted her teeth as she walked side-by-side with the woman who had moved to this town with her family, had settled into it like a weed and overrun the whole garden. Spreading her roots through the soil, not letting anything else grow.

Town square unfolded like origami, Saint Cecilia’s Catholic Church providing the backdrop. A tarp was spread over the street, with four heat lamps beneath the four corners. At the center was a round dining room table, and with its back to the church sat the King of the Ghouls.

Lacy was seated to Alistair’s left, and Mrs. Woodrow to her left. Directly across from her was Danny, who looked even shittier than he did before. He was cleaned up now, showered and shaved, clad in khakis and a red button-down and a black blazer, but he was somehow paler and more haggard than his erstwhile, argumentative self.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Alistair said as raindrops fell from the tarp and sizzled atop the heat lamps. “But you needn’t worry- none of your food is human meat. Only mine own. I would never force someone to eat it, to join me in so.”

Lacy squirmed in her seat. “Then, uh, what are we having?”

“Fish,” Mrs. Woodrow said.

Lacy’s stomach lurched.

Danny snorted.

“And eggplant,” Mrs. Woodrow said.

Danny visibly winced.

Two ghouls, utterly human in appearance- try not to think about it, try not to think about it- brought platters of food. The fish smelled of freshwater, probably something locally caught, so hopefully it wouldn’t be too fishy.

Lacy served herself and took a bite. No such luck. Danny took a bite of eggplant and struggled not to gag. Lacy tried to eat the eggplant and the fish at the same time. Her stomach’s sheer emptiness was the only thing keeping it down.

Alistair was given its own tray of what looked like sausages.

They were sausages, in fact. Sausages made of…

Of…

Try not to think about it, try not to think about it-

“So,” Alistair said, “How are you both? I feel I haven’t had proper time to talk with you two, to simply chat, since we all returned home. Everything has been all business of late.”

A heavy silence, underscored by the rhythm of rain and the seer of steam.

“Well?” Alistair asked, cutting into its sausage with a fork and knife.

Danny sighed. “Well Dad, I’m detoxing. So I feel like I’m dying. Constantly.”

“Ah. Yes, of course. But you are my son, and so you shall be strong enough to persevere.”

“How reassuring.”

“Lacy, what about you? How are you feeling?” Alistair asked.

Lacy blinked rapidly over her half-eaten food, and then burst into a maniacal cackle. Alistair and Caroline stared at her in confusion, and Danny with sullen frustration. Lacy stopped when she realized, once again, Alistair was being serious.  “I…,” Lacy started, then looked around, past the falling rain in the darkened town. What was it her parents had always gone on about, whenever any of them were in a mood? “I don’t wanna spoil this nice dinner by complaining.”

“Hm? Very well,” Alistair said.

Mrs. Woodrow beamed with a wide smile.

Lacy shuddered. She choked down a bit more of her fish, trying not to make a face.

“How are you both finding your accommodations?” Alistair asked.

Lacy waited for Danny to answer first, who was evidently in turn waiting for her to do the same.

Alistair finished its meat, and set its cutlery on its plate. It took a long sip of a red liquid from its wine glass, then exhaled when it finished. “Ah. This is Rosé, mind you. I’m fortunate enough that while diminished, the pleasures of alcohol are still afforded to me in small quantities following my transformation.”

“That’s nice, Dad,” Danny said.

“Is that sarcasm in your voice, Daniel?”

“Yes, Dad, yes it is.”

“Daniel, honestly,” Caroline said. “I went to the trouble of cooking all this, the least you could do is try to get through the meal without showing that nasty attitude of yours.”

Danny’s shoulders went slack, and he stared down at his food.

“And you, Lacy? I assume you’re pleased with your new room?” Alistair asked.

“New room?”

“Yes, the one you were led into earlier. Where you acquired that lovely dress.”

Lacy stared directly ahead at nothing in particular.

“Well?”

“It’s… It’s great,” Lacy said, her dress a coat of ants crawling over her skin. “I love it.”

“I’m glad. I do hope you find the accommodations nicer than at your old home. Such an ugly place. I attempted to burn it to the ground, but the rain prevented that.”

Lacy dropped her fork and knife.

“I’m still rather famished,” Alistair said, looking down at its empty plate despondently, shaking its wine glass in its hand.

Mrs. Woodrow stood in the air and called, “Reginald?”

A ghoul with dark yet sallow skin, clad in a leather jacket and blue jeans and a beige beret, stepped forward from the line of ghouls surrounding the dinner table. “Yes?” Reginald said in a rich vibrato.

“Fetch my husband some more meat, will you? Don’t be afraid to replenish the stocks if you have to.”

Lacy blanched. She gripped her dinner knife tightly in her right hand. They were willing to- no, they would- no, they already had and would continue to do so. They had to feed their army- it kept their animalistic urges at bay, kept their Entropic magic charged. So in a way, their use of hostages to keep her in check was an empty threat- they would kill and eat the people of Dresden, and presumably Coldwater and Cleaver, regardless of what she did. Focus, Lacy. Focus on Step 2: throw a wrench into whatever plans they have. Force them to adjust as they go. That’s how you get out of this. That’s how you get justice.

“Admiring our work?” Mrs. Woodrow said. “Woodrow knives provided all the cutlery you see at this table. And might I add I’m glad to have had you two as employees- you two moved more units than any other two-person team we’ve had in some time.”

“Great. I’m real fuckin’ proud of myself,” Danny said, sullenly picking at his food..

That was when Caroline slapped her son across the face.

Deja vu, Lacy thought.

“That’s enough, Danny, honestly,” Caroline started, “I-”

She stopped when she noticed Lacy standing up. That was about the same time Lacy noticed herself standing up. “Don’t do that,” Lacy said.

Alistair frowned. “Something the matter, dear child?”

“Talking to your wife, not you,” Lacy said, glared fixed onto Caroline.

Caroline glared back, while Danny slipped into a thousand-yard stare. “I hardly think you’re in a position to be giving orders-”

“And you are?”

“Yes, Lacy. I am.”

Lacy smirked. “Well, you’re wrong. You guys need me to cooperate. Or at the very least, you want me to. So don’t go spoiling dinner, Caroline. I know you worked hard on it.”

Caroline’s smile bloomed wide and predatory. She grabbed her son by the hair and slammed his head into the table, making him bow. “And what is it you’re objecting to exactly? My hurting this boy who betrayed you?” “On your orders.”

“He’s an adult. He could have refused if he wanted to. He’s simply loyal to his family.”

“He’s still your kid.”

Danny groaned.

His mother’s grip tightened. “Is it that you’d like to do this yourself? Would you like to take a crack at him? Is that your condition? If you’re hoping I’ll offer up my son for you to brutalize, let alone to kill, you’re mistaken. That is not your right.”

Time to commit to a really bad idea. “I won’t lie, I’ve been thinking about that. A lot,” Lacy said. “But he’s a small fish in a big pond. He’s nowhere near the top of my kill-list.”

“Then who is? Me? Do you want to punish me for harming this treacherous little worm?”

“No, actually,” Lacy said. She turned her gaze on Alistair, who had begun working on a new sausage. Its eyes went wild with delight.

“Lacy,” Danny said, “Don’t-”

“Not everything’s about you, Danny,” Lacy said.

“Then whom is it about?” Alistair asked. “Me?”

“You and me, me and you,” Lacy said. Step 3: implement prison rules.

Now it was Alistair’s turn to cackle, though Lacy suspected that was just how it laughed normally. “I must confess, dear girl, that I don’t quite understand you.”

“Then lemme break it down real simple for ya: I’m a monster, and you’re a monster. I don’t wanna have to deal with you anymore. So I’m gonna kill you.”

Caroline let go of Danny’s hair. He buried his face in his hands, looking through parted fingers at the display before his eyes.

“Fight me,” Lacy said. “One on one. To the death. Those are my conditions. If you win… Well then you can dig in, I guess.”

Alistair stood up from its chair, loomed tall and proud, beaming with more happiness and pride than Lacy had ever seen on her own father even once. It extended its left hand. “Deal. The day after tomorrow, you and I shall duel. I look forward to it. Know this, however- your fight shall not be over if I should fall. There is still the rest of the Sovereignty to contend with, and an army of ghouls all loyal to my cause.”

“Yeah, I know. I just really wanna tear that smug fucking smirk off your face.”

“And I respect that,” Alistair said.

Danny muttered under his breath, so quiet only Lacy could hear: “Oh God he means it.”

“Reginald!” Alistair cried. “Another glass of wine for the table. None for Danny, of course. But the rest of us, the more able, must celebrate.”

Reginald nodded and snuck away.

“My dearest Alistair,” Caroline said, a measured tone exerted over each syllable. “Are you certain this is the best course of action? Was our plan not to convince her to join our side? For our family’s sake?”

Step 4: keep everyone on edge.

“Yes, but it’s clear by now that is not one likely to succeed. Look at this girl? Can you not see she despises us, utterly and entirely? And why would she not? We murdered her family, we occupied her home, we tormented and isolated her? She has due cause to hate us, and her hatred is pure. It is something that is deserving of respect, this kind of unprocessed, justified rage and hatred. It is pure conviction, the kind our other children lack. She deserves a chance to act on it, if nothing else.”

“But dear-”

“That’s enough, Caroline. Don’t spoil this nice dinner. We were all having a grand time.”

Caroline twitched, but then, like a light switch had gone on, she wore a contented smile. “Of course, dear. Of course.”

Reginald brought over a fresh bottle, topping off Caroline and Alistair’s drinks. He saw then that Lacy hadn’t touched hers, and she gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t thirsty.

Danny’s hands were still wrapped around his face.

“Can I say one more thing?” Lacy asked.

“Certainly!” Alistair said.

Step 5: tell them what you’re gonna do. It’ll make them more likely to underestimate you, and it’ll make the look on their faces when it happens that much sweeter.

Lacy snapped her fingers in front of Danny’s face a half-dozen times, until finally he tore his hands away and met her gaze. “Listen up, asshole, and listen good: I’m gonna kill your dad right in front of you. And when I’ve done that, maybe you’ll understand a fraction of how I feel.”

He laid his hands flat on the table, heaved a heavy sigh. “That’s the problem right there, Lace. I understand perfectly.”

***

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[glaciiermonarch]

The poetic picture that Aang painted of spending time alone on a beach together pulled at heart strings that had been getting too much of a workout in recent months, ones that had felt frozen over for many years. The peace and quiet that was typical of their Taka's home, set to the backdrop of the wind and waves that she missed and craved up here in the far less forgiving (to the Aussie's, anyway) climate of Alaska. The companionship, as much as it left Takaharu wanting, craving, laid bare beneath the crushing weight of the endless sky far and wide— Gods, the could-bes, what-ifs, but-thens of it all squeezed Takaharu's very heart in a vise, until it crumbled away into their gut, leaving butterflies and unease and nausea that they didn't often experience in the face of the unknown.

—but really, how unknown would it be?

Fathomless eyes cast downward as gentle fingertips swept over his skin, guilt curdling in their stomach. It was difficult to pinpoint the source of the guilt most days; but she'd been able to surmise it was from the feeling of taking advantage of Aang, almost as if she was paying for his attention. Which was fucking stupid, Aang was his own person; but caught up between never having wanted so fucking hard in her life, and too many hours pored over philosophy texts that still swirled the drain in her brain, it had cooked up that sickening mess.

Want, want, want— Takaharu always gets what they want, often simply taking it for themself, so why were they so damn hesitant about it now?

He deserves better, he deserves better, he deserves better, he deserves someone less fucked up, someone warmer, someone good, someone less selfish, someone so much better...

"Think I'm a halfway decent teacher," they managed finally, affording a smirk. "Could probably get even your clumsy arse riding some of the baby waves, no?" A glance to the side, rewarding himself with Aang's visage, and lips pressed into a pensive line. Of course you miss me, the cocky, confident side wanted to say, the one that most people saw, the one that drew in even strangers, the one that made everyone want her or want to be her. But why would you miss someone like me?, screamed out the tiny voice beneath it all, the one that craved contact after so many years of being ignored, tucked away because of its weakness.

"Adelaide's alright," Taka finally managed, monotone as ever, rarely betraying the warring emotions inside of her. "You'd probably like it. 'Specially the botanic garden, or the ol' state library. Think you'd get a kick out of it all." He tapped his toes on the grass and gravel beneath the table. "Maybe one day, when I'm less...distracted—" when the old hag kicks the bucket and she's no longer the only thing I think of when I think about my hometown "—then I can take you there, yeah?"

An appraising look, that could have felt like a glare to anybody else who wasn't as familiar with the musician's quirks. "You worry too bloody much," Taka told him for probably the millionth time. She was better at recognizing when her body felt hungry now that she wasn't abusing it so badly with substance, though Aang hadn't known those days. Their appetite ebbed and flowed, unpredictable, often waning, however, when they were feeling distracted and emotional, and/or buried in creating something new in their studio. "You remind me of my auntie in Higashimiyoshi, always trying to force snacks on me." The missing element was, of course, in Taka's time staying with their aunt in their early twenties, they'd still been unhealthy and wracked by addiction. "You'd deffo like it out there, in the Iya Valley, in my ancestral home. Beautiful forests and gorges. Think I wouldn't be able to get you to leave, to be perfectly honest." She'd never been to where the other half of her bloodline originated, Scotland, where her maternal grandparents had come from—nor did she ever care to. "Higashimiyoshi is a couple hours from the Scarecrow Village."

"mnhm." the agreement escapes from his pleated lips as ine laps up the crumbs from his open palm, making them disappear in no time. she’s off his lap within seconds, and her human father methodically wipes his hands clean of saliva and other remnants with a moist antimicrobial towelette. his countenance reflects deliberations of what salt water might do to his restless pores. “you know, i’ve never camped on a beach. i think it would be perfect actually—after a long day of learning to surf.” his voice threads through the tapestry of memories he wished he had, memories they were destined to create if he had any say in their shared future. “making a bonfire for grilling and sitting close while the fire crackles.” the roasted s'mores were only a dream away. “the waves soothing our ears and our eyes on the stars.” he was such a romantic, painfully schmaltzy and sentimental, and perhaps oblivious to the amounts of sand this would actually require. yet, he couldn't help but envision the pair wrapped up in a sand-crusted blanket as the ocean air kissed their noses. “you do owe me a surfing lesson, don’t you?”

he advances swiftly, his set of slender fingers brushing against taka’s skin to move a thicket of bangs away from her umber eyes. mirrored in their reflection is the hesitant housekeeper, careful as he tends to what he considers home, tucking hair away from his countenance as his fingers linger to caress the spot at their temple. he seesaws—teeters on that edge of safety, fearful to traverse the bounds that tether them to each other, worried that those threads could catch fire and fizzle out in a moment's notice. don't take too much, aang, he warns himself, despite approaching the next topic of conversation. “i wouldn’t mind visiting adelaide too.” a notable wince in his tone wavers from a lack of confidence. “i can never stop thinking about you when you leave. i worry—a lot. i worry that maybe you lose yourself in taking care of everything—that maybe you forget to care for yourself.” it was his job to take care of taka regardless of what the other thought.

crowing over the playful reproach and affectionate title, he accepts this answer, “fine." though aang was still intending on cooking, and as for zenki, now that t had put her foot down, he would not be gaining any more treats from aang despite the cute wagging tail. "you don’t have to eat now. we can have something later for supper. you'll need your strength after all this paperwork.” each glance, each touch, was charged with unuttered confessions and unfulfilled desires, yet this one voiced that concern and care that distended beyond job roles and friendship.

[trochekim]

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[ladietblonde]

The other day as I sat across a clear, glass table from my friend watching him enjoy his sushi lunch as I sipped my complimentary green tea I had nothing to do but anticipate the comment that would inevitably come at one point during our extended lunch break – “why aren’t you eating? god you look so skinny right now I could kill you, I hate your willpower.” And of course, my response will always be a polite laugh followed by a sip of whatever free or inexpensive drink I have in front of me (careful not to smudge my lipstick) and a change of subject. This day, however, was different. I told the truth, that willpower has nothing to do with my liquid lunch, that really I can’t afford to eat.

Now, I’m not trying to be melodramatic here, I’m a full-time student with a part-time job, little debt in comparison to the majority of students, no rent to pay, and no one else to support. But really, my money does leave me very quickly. 50% of every paycheque goes toward paying off my $1000 credit card balance, whatever I can spare after this goes towards paying my sorority dues (have to climb the corporate ladder somehow, and this is the most beautiful way to do so), the always-growing list of required textbooks, doing my laundry, necessary cigarettes, and lastly, food. (I’ve almost completely eliminated my craving for a bottle of prosecco and a macaron from the bakery on my street.) However, it always happens that the 50% of my income that I actually have to spend is never enough, and my credit card balance is back up at the maximum by the end of my biweekly pay period.

This blog is not only a way of keeping me focused as I actually get my credit card paid off so I can save and move to London next year as I’ve been planning, but a statement to whoever needs to realise that a minimum wage part-time job is not enough to feed a student, keep them healthy and beautiful, and maintain a GPA that will get them into the graduate program of their choice. I’m not aiming for more really, but I’m going to expose the reality of the poor girl diet, and the juxtaposition of spending your grocery money on appetite-curbing vices when you could spend it on groceries (the reason is, the groceries that you could buy with your cigarette money, won’t fill you as much as a massive coffee and a strong cigarette). You’ll either relate to these struggles, or just realise that I’m the appearance-obsessed bitch I am who is more consumed with her image than her health. It’s your call, really.

I’m the poor chic girl, the one who goes out for lunch every day but never orders a thing, the one who goes for drinks in the evenings and sips the same martini for over an hour, the one who can somehow make clothes from three seasons ago stylish over and over again (even though they’re all too big), and still I’m the bitch whose life you may envy. Keeping up appearances is everything.

[ladyandthewalrus]

Social Class and Income Levels of IDV Characters

I’m back again with a long, intensive IDV post, this time regarding the quality of life most of Identity V’s characters would likely have led before coming to the manor. This list is not definitive and is based on a little guesswork in some areas, and also doesn’t include every single character, as I couldn’t find relevant information for every career, but I think provides an interesting look at character backgrounds, the sorts of resources they would have access to, and what life was like in the 1890s.

This post assumes that the vast majority of the characters live in the United Kingdom and that most of them were born there. As discussed in an earlier theory post, Oletus Manor is 100% in England and the DeRoss Couple and their daughter were English aristocrats. It also refers to fairly readily available information that can be found in various characters’ deduction systems, seasonal events, background and official videos, and birthday letters.

Lots- and I mean LOTS- of info below. 

First, a few notes about the class system in the late Victorian United Kingdom:

- Class was highly stratified, and moving up the social ladder was extremely difficult.

- Class was not necessarily just tied to income. Upbringing, family background, etc were just as large a determinant, which is why you might have an impoverished aristocrat with tons of property but no income who would still be welcome in elite social circles, whereas an up-and coming business owner bringing in £3,000/year would be shunned. Class was who got invited over to dinner; class was whether or not you’d been educated, and if you had to work with your hands.

The Upper Class/Aristocracy/Nobility:

- The top of the class system under the royal family (boo). Men might hold political positions, but members of this class would not have careers, as such. These characters likely have a passive income from investments or land owned and generational wealth. hey own one or more homes and employ extensive live-in household staff, including maids, butlers, drivers, cooks, gardeners etc.They can travel widely and partake of various entertainments, having time to cultivate talents in the arts.

Mary: She is, or believes herself to be (??), Marie Antoinette, an Austrian princess and the Queen of France. Antoinette was infamous for her lavish lifestyle and voracious appetite for fashion.

Joseph: He is referred to as a Count, but French nobility does not actually use that exact title. It’s possible he is a Comte, which is the equivalent of an Earl/Count in England. Either way, this is a middle of the ranking noble title. In the 2021 Christmas Event, he mentions his family owning several manors, so the Desaulniers family has, or had, a considerable amount of property.

An interesting thing that makes me wonder if his family’s wealth is depleted is that he consistently dresses in extremely outdated clothing, but I believe that speaks more to his sentimental obsession with the past than anything else.

Chloe/Vera: The real Vera had the capital to open a store front to sell Chloe’s perfumes. There is no mention of either daughter working prior to this, and the family employs several maids. Presumably, Chloe’s perfumes were a good money maker, as the 1890s marked the “Golden Era” of perfume production and sales. It is unusual, but not impossible, that an upper-class woman would own a business.

Melly: A successful social climber who began as a maid before marrying her employer, who owned a manor. She is well educated, to the extent she has been invited to lecture at a college or university.

Edgar: Edgar does not paint to generate income. His family was able to afford a long-term art tutor for him, and he is not interested in the prize money offered by the manor because his family’s wealth is more than sufficient. He is squarely in the aristocrat category, and enjoyed a lifestyle most of the other characters could only have dreamed of, at least in a fiscal sense.

Galatea: Another individual who pursued art as a passion or hobby rather than actual trade.This would simply not be realistic for anyone outside the upper classes.

Memory/Alice DeRoss: Her father possessed the title of Baron. Her mother is depicted in TOR with an upper-class English accent. Her parents own Oletus manor, which they were able to purchase, and employ two known servants (Burke and Bane). Running such a large estate would require an army of maids, cooks, gardeners, etc, who are not directly mentioned but implied.

Keigan: In her background video, we see her family in very formal dress at a large, lavishly set dinner table. Her brother holds the position of judge at a major court, which brought with it a great deal of respect and import. The average clerk made very little money, but it’s implied she is acting as his unofficial assistant/helper due to sisterly obligation, and does not want for money.

Jack: a bit of conjecture, but Jack at least played at being an artist, and takes on the role of a gentleman. It does not appear he needed to work to support himself.

Annie: Her father is a painter of some note, and her mother was a noted society beauty who left her a considerable inheritance that her father and fiancé conspired to get their hands on.

Luca: A fallen aristocrat with a mother of noble birth. His interests include piano, books, and experiments, all of which point to a privileged upbringing. Only someone with resources could run experiments and futz about with specialized equipment, which is why so many scientists from past eras came from upper class or even noble backgrounds. His father, Herman, blew through their fortune, and after Luca’s incident with Alva, he would not be a socially accepted individual.

The “Educated” Middle Class:

-Individuals or households with an income up to around £1000/ year. The wives do not have to work, but see to the home (oversee staff) and partake in social obligations, plan parties, and help educate the children in the arts. Daughters may become teachers or governesses if they don’t marry or prior to marriage, or in wealthier families, not work at all. They own their home and have live-in staff, such a cook and maids. ( see model yearly  budget for a man making £700/year here.) Vacations, domestic and abroad, and high-end entertainments are accessible. They have some time for hobbies, and probably play a musical instrument if also from a culturally upper-middle class family, such as a piano, violin, harpsichord, etc. Guitars, flutes etc would not be counted here, as they are more “common” instruments. These individuals might move in some of the same social circles as the aristocracy.

Emily: A well established Doctor working in a city hospital could expect to make up to £1000/ year, putting them at the upper end of the middle class. However, an independent Doctor would make much less, and in rural areas, would often be paid in food or services. Given Emily’s difficulties keeping her clinic open, she lingers in the border between being a member of the middle class “culturally”— we know she came from a middle class family and is educated— but she struggles with money and lacks for stability like some of the folks in the lower middle and many in the working classes. Despite a low income, her education would mean she’d be welcome in polite society.

Freddy: A top-payed Lawyer could make £1,200/ year, but Freddy is a bit of a failure. His actual financial status cannot be determined, but he is, like Emily, culturally middle class due to his education and white-collar job.

Aesop: Aesop Carl? relatively loaded, actually. The Victorian era was great for the funeral industry. The elaborate rituals surrounding mourning meant that those in adjacent careers were always busy, and it was fashionable to send off a loved one in great style. The lower classes imitated the lavish funerals of the wealthy, often bankrupting themselves in the process, because it was considered shameful to be unable to lay someone to rest properly, and reputation and respectability were of vital importance in the Victorian United Kingdom. 

As with today, there was an outcry about the funerary industry driving up prices and taking advantage of grieving people to line their pockets even more.A nice funeral, modest but respectable, cost about £11, and embalming services were an additional £10. A funeral with all the bells and whistles would fall at £21. A skilled Embalmer is capable of tending to several corpses in a day. Even if Aesop and Jerry only handled 50 corpses a year, they’d be making £500.  A modern mortician handles about 150 bodies a year, so that’s a cool £1500/year for them. This would mean a nice house with a garden, a maid, and a cook at the very least, presuming Jerry risked having staff around that could possibly catch him on his bullshit. (Though I guess he could just kill them too and replace them with someone who didn’t know better. Fucking Jerry). At least even if he was emotionally starved and groomed into becoming a murderer, he was still eating well, could have nice clothes, and take vacations? 

Another downside though is that then as is often true now, people did not want to socialize with someone who worked closely with dead bodies, and funeral industry workers were often ostracized, making his position here a little tenuous. 

His mother’s family appears to have been upper or middle class, as suggested by Aesop’s dance emote, in which he performs a pirouette. Ballet was an upper-class entertainment, and formal dance training would not be accessible to children of poorer families, and I doubt Jerry was enrolling him in a lot of extracurriculars, meaning he must have learned while still in his mother’s care.

Jose: A First Officer could make around £900/ year. His family was employed by the Queen, and once had a stellar reputation. Although sailors worked with their hands, a high-ranked officer on a ship was seen as fairly respectable.

Orpheus: Some conjecture here. Orpheus is, like Melly, someone who successfully moved up the social ladder, first being adopted by the aristocratic DeRoss couple and then making a name for himself as a novelist. His Survivor version is well-dressed in neat white clothes that would require maintenance and be antithetical to manual work that would dirty them.

Luchino: As a professor, he is educated and respectable, even if his methods are unconventional and his manner of dress hardly appropriate for the classroom.

Alva: He was a student together with Luca’s father, Herman, at an institute of higher education, meaning he is most likely from a family who could afford the expense of educating him.

EDIT: @ivy0309 pointed out that in the Mandarin version of Alva’s first deduction, the language states he comes from an impoverished place, meaning he was probably granted a scholarship and is another case of a successful social climber.

Ann: Ann’s deductions mention she wore exquisite and ornate mourning clothes after the deaths of her parents, suggesting her family had the money for funerals with pomp. She is also left land and at least two houses after her father’s passing.

Manually Laboring Middle Class:

Income wise these careers are middle class, being able to net £1000/year, but there was a difference between enjoying a good quality of life and being socially accepted. Iif you worked with your hands, no matter how skilled you were, you were still a laborer and seen as lacking in culture.

Tracy: A clockmaker made up to £400/year, which jumped to £840/ year if they also worked on watches as well. Her father, Mark, would have netted them enough money to fall into the working middle class, and this is before Tracy’s mechanical genius became evident. If Tracy’s life had gone differently, it is possible she could have become what was known as a Master Mechanic, a skilled worker who could earn £1000/ year, guaranteeing a high standard of living. 

Demi: As a Barmaid alone, Demi would make about £150/ year, which would be difficult to survive on; however, she and her brother own their establishment. Their bar could make about £1000/ year, giving them a comfortable life in terms of amenities, but Barmaids were not respected and often suspected of being easy; many young women in major cities who worked in shops and restaurants took up sex work to supplement their meager incomes.

Leo: At one point appears to have owned two factories, both his initial textile factory and the doomed arms factory. 

More or Less Stable Working Class

Emma: A gardener would make, at a maximum, £400/ year, and a young gardener like Emma would certainly not be able to earn that much. In her previous life as Lisa Beck before Leo made a bad investment, she was likely very comfortable, as Leo did own a presumably successful textile factory. She may be especially nostalgic for her childhood with her father because her situation changed drastically very rapidly, going from living in a pleasant environment with two parents, plenty of toys, good food and clothes/household with a steady income, to being placed in a Victorian orphanage and eventually becoming a manual laborer.

Helena: She wishes to attend college, but cannot afford to do so. We aren't exactly sure what her father does for work, but he is likely in the working class, as many middle class families could reasonably afford to educate at least one of their children, and Helena is, to our knowledge, an only child. They seem to have enough money to provide her with certain accommodations, like spectacles and her cane, though these may have been gifts from Sullivan.

Kevin: the lifestyle itself would be rough, but he could make  around $480/year (sorry for the currency change, but he lived and worked in the USA, and England did not have cowboys).

Bane: A game keeper often had a relatively low income and would by that definition actually fall into the below category, but housing was almost always provided to men who held this job, taking a stressor off his plate. Steady employment/staying at a position for several years was also common, providing general stability.

Working Class and Extremely Poor:

-Families or households often struggling to scrape by on under or around £300/ year, sometimes with individuals making as little as £25/ year. A frugal family at the top end of this budget would overlap with lower middle class and would be able to employ a maid, putting appearances first and sacrificing other luxuries. There is less money for entertainment, and almost all of the income goes to food and housing. Little or no savings. The vast majority of the population falls in this category because things never change, with only 7.7% of workers making £340 or above, and 42.9% £192 or under.

Norton: Coal miners earned around £260/ year. Norton was looking for gold and gems, but it’s safe to assume his standard of living would have been about the same as a coal minder. Compared to some jobs, this wage may have seemed decent, but mining was brutal and incredibly dangerous. Miners typically lived in housing camps operated by mine owners, and had to buy their daily essentials from in-camp stores and commissaries. 

Victor: I had to conjecture a little here, but senior postal service employees were making around £200-300/ year, and newer employees a starting annual wage of £90 so we can guess Victor falls around here as well. We also do not know about his family’s class background.

Andrew: Andrew probably wishes he really was a Train Conductor. In that job, he could have made £900/ year, granting him membership the middle class. Being a Grave Keeper or Grave Digger was an awful job, physically demanding and badly compensated. Cemeteries often stank of rotting bodies, and Grave Diggers had a low social standing because they worked so closely with corpses. I could not find concrete information about how much he would have made, but it would definitely fall below the £300/year mark that is the ceiling for entry into the lower middle class, given that the other Survivors with physical/ unskilled labor jobs seem to peak at the £200ish range.

Worth noting though not necessarily tied to class is the common misconception that Andrew is illiterate, which he certainly isn’t. His dedications include a diary entry he wrote in which he tries to justify to himself his bodysnatching activities, and he also received letters from Percy’s assistant. He might have a little trouble with small print due to his bad eyesight, but he can absolutely read and write. Most people, even the poorer classes, were at least somewhat literate in this period in the United Kingdom.

Outsiders/I Have No Idea

-These are characters with either extremely vague and mysterious pasts or who have extremely unconventional professions.

Patricia: A Voodoo practitioner, it is unclear if she performs the work of a Voodoo priestess, which could be lucrative. Marie Laveau, on whom she is allegedly loosely based, was very financial successful, but to be honest, I think the IDV writers have a very shaky grasp on actual Voodoo practices and beliefs (as do most folks probably who have no idea that a lot of practitioners are also Catholic. It's a syncretic religion so yes, Patricia’s nun costume actually makes some sense.)

Fiona: It is openly stated she comes from an unknown class. There aren’t really historical precedents I could find in my research for occultists of her stripe earning an income, as there’s no indication she goes around giving exhibitions or overseeing seaances. Many Victorians dabbled in the arcane as a hobby, but those who were able to fully devote themselves to their studies tended to come from very comfortable backgrounds, such as Helena Blavatsky and Aleister Crowley.

Kreacher: He is a thief. Nothing else to say.

Eli: Another character with an ambiguous background. We have little information about his family life, but he is considered in his write-up by the organizers of the manor games to be unemployed.

EDIT: @ivy0309 informed me Eli is listed as coming from a middle class background in the official setting book.

Ganji: He is likely extremely poor. I could not find anywhere what a professional athlete might have been paid, but we do at least know he cannot afford travel home to India.

William: He is presumably from a middle class family, given that he attended university. As with Andrew above, I have a seen of lot people claiming William is less intelligent/educated than he is, when he’s actually at least one of the most educated characters in the game. He may have made a poor decision drinking the poisoned wine and come off as a muscle head, but he is far from a himbo. I don’t know what his current social class could be considered, as professional athletes in the Victorian era were not the same was they are now, but William does appear based on his clothes to be a rugby player more or less full time?

Performers/Entertainers

-This is another tricky group to get a handle on, because the role of the entertainer in society meant that one could be exalted and idolized while also not being welcome in polite society. I cannot speak to actual income amounts for these characters, but can provide a few general notes of interest. Also worth noting is that a top-billed musician like Antonio would be treated very differently than the Hullabaloo performers, who were certainly seen as impolite and indecent.

Margaretha/Natalie: Female performers were often characterized as promiscuous and sexually available, and therefore sneered at. Margie is wearing the costume of an exotic dancer (for those who may not be aware, this doesn't meant actually foreign or exotic, it explicitly means a dance intended to arouse or excite). She is not doing well fiscally after Sergei’s death, and is implied by the description of her animal tamer costume to dance/busk for tips.

Her uncle and aunt who raised her lived in Lakeside, and Natalie is described as wearing a cheap cotton dress in a photograph of her  living under their care. Her background then would likely fall under manually laboring/working class.

Mike: Mike is one of the circus’ most popular performers, so he makes more than Margaretha, but that's all I can guess.

Joker: He is less popular than Mike and Sergei, but is allowed his own tent because either he has enough status in the Hullabaloo or nobody wants to room with him.

Violetta: Her family abandoned her, and she was seen as an asset by Max. Likely has little to no money of her own.

Servais: He at least considers himself middle class and respectable, and his dress does suggest he is financially solvent.

Antonio: A musician welcomed at court who played for upper-class audiences. Antonio was raised to be a money-maker by a stern father and did receive royal patronage, but based on his personality traits I am willing to bet he has poor money management skills. His real-life inspiration, Niccolo Paganini, died in debt.

Murro: Treated as a possession by Bernard and then living on the run, it's hard to imagine he had any way of earning money after fleeing the circus, nor the necessary knowledge to exist within society.

Willis Brothers: I believe their situation would be similar to Violetta’s. Disabled sideshow performers could occasionally have quite lucrative careers, but this was rare.

This is far from comprehensive, but thank you so much for taking the time to read this far! If you have any questions or wish to discuss anything here, please feel free to talk to me!

A great resource for approximating the income ranges used above is this database,  this is invaluable for looking at things like average wages, housing costs, price of goods in different countries (mostly the US, UK, and Western Europe) across decades and eras.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Safe House: Night 3

A series of drabbles about Sierra Six. In this part, Six returns but doesn’t offer answers.

Warnings: these drabbles will containt dark content, including blood, violence, possible rape/noncon, and my usual fare. Your content consumption is your responsibility. If you proceed past this warning, you are consenting to reading sensitive content.

As per usual, I would love feedback. I didn’t expect to write this character so for this, I’d love to know if anyone wants to see more.

Your apartment is dark as you enter. The light paper bag swinging from ribbon handles is lighter than it should be for the price. Your co-workers encouraged the mindless purchase and you can't help the excitement, even if you'll regret it come rent day.

You enter the kitchen in the deep blue of the evening and flip on the lights. There's a plate beside the sink, an uneaten crust left in a litter of crumbs. You put the bag down and go to the doorframe that looks out into the living room.

He's there, one ankle hooked over the other against the arm of the couch, which his arms folded under his head against the opposite end.

"Hey, sweetheart, how was your day?" he asks without opening his eyes.

You cross your arms, "I didn't think you were coming back."

"Neither did I," he opens one eye to look at you, a slant to his lips, "or do you mean, you didn't want me to?"

You shrug, "well... I don't really know who you are. I don't exactly like having a stranger in my space."

"Trust me, sweetheart," he lets his other eye open and sits up, turning his legs over the edge and stretching his arms above him, "you don't want to know."

He grunts as he stands, a wet stain oozing through his tee shirt. He's unaffected by the injury but just the hint of blood makes you grimace.

"Yeah, um..." you turn away and go back to the kitchen. You open the fridge and take out a bag of salad.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," you utter, "the way you talk, seems dangerous for you to keep coming around."

"Ha, sweetie, your the safest you'll ever be with me here," he scoffs as he comes to stand in the crook of the counter. "What's for dinner?"

"You're still hungry?"

"I worked up an appetite."

You sigh and reach up to the cupboard, "well, I was just gonna have a quick salad but I could do it up with some chicken?"

"Whatever you're serving, I'll have," he slides the bag over to him and peeks inside, "what's this?"

"Nothing," you lie and reach for it but he swipes it away. You cringe and scratch your neck as he reaches in, pulling out the sating red dress. You were going to return it anyway, it's not your style. At least, you couldn't do it justice.

"Oh? Special occasion?"

"No, I just... like it," you try to snatch it but he holds it awake from you, tilting his head as he dangles it from his fingers as if trying to imagine it on you, "gimme it."

"You try it on? It look good?"

"What do you care?" you his and finally get a grasp on it, "I can't afford it anyway. I'm gonna take it back."

You tug it away and stuff it back in the bag. He chuckles.

"I think you should keep it."

"You do? And what does that matter? You'll be gone tomorrow."

"But I'll be back," he grins.

"Why?"

He raises a hand in an indifferent gesture, "no where else to go. I told you, you should bring strange men into your apartment."

🚪

You yawn as you spread the blanket over your bed, still messy from that morning. You mourn your day off as another day of work looms, though you can't help but be impatient for the morning to come. Then he'll be gone and you can pretend everything's normal until he decides to drop in again.

You change into the loose tank patterned with little pink bows and the matching shorts, a ridiculous set but you got it for a steal. And it's light enough to sleep in.

You pick up your phone and check your messages. Mandy's already bitching about work. You text her back, a creak drawing you around.

Your doors open. The faulty latch never quite catches. You cross the room and peek out. You see the hue of the TV playing from down the hall. You tiptoe out at the noise of explosions from the speakers.

He's sat in the centre of the couch, eyes closed as he leans his head back. He wears nothing more than the dark boxers, the scars across his torso illuminated by the TV, the new gashes dark across his pec. His head lolls to the side and he gives a start before he can drift off.

You back against the wall and hide, waiting until he groans and you hear the couch make a similar noise as he stretches across it. The click of him exiting out of the movie marks a silence and he browses for something new. The intro of some documentary begins and you use the chance to retreat.

You go back to your room and close the door. You push on it until your hear the latch slide into the slot. You'll never be used to his visits.

🚪

You drag your feet across the tile groggily and into the hall, taking the few steps through your door and blindly finding your way back to bed. Your damn bladder.

You fall across it, hooking your leg over the edge of the blanket as your shorts ride up your ass. You grumble and hug the pillow as you sink back into the hazy slumber interrupted by the weighty urge.

You linger in half-doze as you hear yourself snort and wiggle to get comfortable. You murmur as you bend your leg higher, revealing more of your ass as the elastic of the shorts slips up your stomach. The fan blows across your back and cools you.

You hear a whisper, like a breath and roll onto your back. You glance at the door and see his shadow, the curved edges of his muscled arms and his startling height. He grips the frame as he watches you. You don't know what to do so you turn back over and pull the blanket around you.

He hums then his footsteps slowly depart, padding down the hall, leaving the door open and you exposed.