#Scanning his insides for any oddities

[reksink]

Some Pebbles

[capricornlevi]

i have a memory - kishibe x f!reader

cw: brief mention of violence and threat (not graphic), consumption of alcohol/cigarettes, explicit sexual content (oral sex f! receiving, fingering, hand jobs, vaginal sex) - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 8.9k

a/n: thinking about how young cocky annoying kishibe showed up for 3 panels and changed the trajectory of my life forever ... so here's 9k words of kinda-sorta-enemies slash annoying colleagues to lovers .... with a tiny splash of angst too for good measure? i just love this man and think he's a secret softie so here's him successfully pulling for once <3

___

“You’d really say no to a smoke?” 

Kishibe’s question sounds disbelieving as he holds out the box of cigarettes in your direction. Instead of answering, you choose to wave away his offer dismissively. Still shocked, he continues, “you’re not even a little tempted?”

You roll your eyes. You’re one of few devil hunters in the Public Safety Division that rarely, if ever, smokes; a fact that makes you somewhat of an oddity to people like Kishibe, your partner, who seems to keep the tobacco industry afloat through his wages alone.

“Nope,” you reply simply. “They taste bad.”

Your replies are clipped and borderline rude but you can’t bring yourself to care - not when he’s dragged you to this place yet again, at this godforsaken hour of the morning, to “look over your case files” even though he never seems to actually care enough to read them. 

The place in question is a dingy old café on the outskirts of town, one that Kishibe insists on coming to even though there’s a fancy new artisanal coffee shop just down the road. His loyalty to this dump baffles you. 

In theory, you don’t object to meeting up this early - you usually prefer to grab a hot drink at this time anyway, just to keep your hands warm, and Kishibe always needs to take a smoke break, so better to get it out of the way before the day kicks off - but you hate how he never seems to take these meetings seriously. It feels like wasted hours you could have spent sleeping. 

Adding to your resentment is the fact that you have to sit outside in the freezing cold just so he can grab a smoke. He doesn’t like walking and smoking at the same time; it distracts him too much, apparently. 

You hate it out here. As grim as it is on the inside of the café, the exterior is far worse; grey, miserable concrete floors and walls, no decoration of any sort, and just one solitary table for outdoor dining. 

And at that lonely table, there is only one chair - the chair which you’re currently sitting on. Thankfully, Kishibe knew better than to fight you for it since it’s his smoking habit that’s keeping you outside.

He’s leaning against the wall next to you, peering down curiously as you sip your drink with a poorly-concealed grimace. 

“You really sure you don’t want one?” he asks again. 

“Shut up and smoke the damn cigarette. It’s fucking freezing.” 

Kishibe lets out a short huff of amusement, finally fishing a cigarette out of the box and bringing it to his lips. He slips the box back into his shirt pocket and then pulls out his rusty old lighter, soft strands of black hair falling into his eyes as he lights the cigarette. His lips purse around the tightly-rolled tobacco, his cheekbones stained pink from the cold. 

You don’t know why your eyes linger on the sight. To distract yourself, you open up a copy of the report sitting on the table in front of you. 

Kishibe takes a long drag before exhaling with a pleasured sigh, eyes closed with bliss. 

“Doesn’t taste too bad to me.”

“Well, that’s you,” you mutter, scanning over the paper on the table. You’ve just picked it up from the captain of your division - he left it a little late to brief you both, considering the mission starts today - and you want to have at least a passable knowledge of what you’re up against before setting out. 

You’ve worked a few jobs with Kishibe since being assigned as his partner and generally, you tolerate him fine. He doesn’t try to ruin your day (you don’t think, anyway). You even share a few laughs every now and then, once you grew to understand his strange and overconfident sense of humour. He’s manageable. 

But at times like this, times when you should be focusing on the job that’s been assigned to you instead of just fucking around, smoking cigarettes and taunting each other …

At times like this, he can really get on your nerves.

He’s far from a bad hunter, you know that. His strength and skill have given him quite the reputation even though he’s still in the early stages of his career, and he approaches every fight with the sort of stoic level-headedness you could only aspire to.

He’s good. Too good, almost, and it scares you how he manages it all without even breaking a sweat.

That’s the real reason he gets under your skin so often. It's all too easy for him, and it’s a humbling reminder of your own mortality. He may not need to do this much preparation and research in order to stay alive, but you certainly do. You can’t take any chances. 

That, coupled with the fact that you can’t even enjoy your morning cup of coffee indoors anymore … 

“You sure it’s just the taste you don’t like?” he pipes up as if on cue, prompting you to give him a withering look over the top of the report. “You’re not scared of them, are ya? Cos we’re not gonna live long enough to worry about the side effects of smoking, if that’s what’s actually bothering you.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t smoke,” you reply, unimpressed. “I’d rather spend what little time I have left doing things that I actually enjoy.” You gesture dismissively at the cigarette dangling between his lips. “And those things taste like shit, so I don’t bother wasting my time or money on them.”

He raises his eyebrows when he takes his next drag, whisps of grey smoke spilling out into the frosty air as he exhales. “I could get offended here, y’know?”

“Why would you be offended?” you say disinterestedly, your eyes lingering on the part of the report that details the previous fatalities of the devil in question. 

“Are you saying that I taste like shit, then?”

“Maybe you do,” you say, setting the paper back down in front of you with a yawn. “I don’t care.”

Kishibe’s grinning down at you now. He has that kind of smile that always reaches his eyes, and you’d almost find it charming were it not always associated with him trying to tease you. 

You’ve read enough of the report at this point - it sounds awful, but all the death and destruction and suffering starts to blur together after enough time - and so fold the paper in half and slip it into your jacket pocket, trying as best as you can to ignore the grin spreading across Kishibe’s face.

“I don’t taste like shit, y’know,” he elaborates, even though you didn’t ask him to. 

“You’re a freak.”

Your comment does nothing to halt his attempt at conversation. 

“Well, I have these breath mints, y’know - y’know those ones you can pick up at the counter in drug stores? They’re pretty good, cancels out the taste. So I make sure I don’t taste bad.” 

He finishes his sentence by stubbing his cigarette out on the ashtray and opening the little tin of mints that he keeps in the same pocket as his lighter. He pops a mint into his mouth and stays looking smug, so smug you could slap the expression right off his face.

You are in no mood to entertain him any further, so just fire off an agreement in the hope of shutting him up. 

“Fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

But you should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, because not a second later he asks, practically beaming …

“Do you wanna find out?” 

You get up from your chair abruptly, shoving him with your shoulder as you pass him on the way out of the café. He gasps in feigned indignation and is just about to speak up again before you call out a question of your own. 

“Has a line like that ever worked on anyone?”

He laughs, though it ends in a cough. You turn to leave but still hear his answer from over your shoulder. 

“Nope.”

______

The job is a tough one, even by the standards of devil hunters. 

Kishibe has your back and you have his, but it’s not enough to save the many casualties who you had hoped to keep out of harm’s way. Collateral damage is a given in your line of work, but this … this was a particularly bad day.

You and Kishibe travel home in silence. He doesn’t say anything to draw a reaction out of you, and in turn, you don’t make a comment when he pulls his box of cigarettes from his now blood-stained shirt pocket. 

It’s a mutual understanding, and you’re grateful for it. 

_____

The next day, once you’ve had the closest thing to a full night’s sleep you could hope for given your line of work, you’re awoken by the sound of Kishibe knocking on your door. 

You know the sound all too well. He gives three loud raps against the doorframe, all in quick succession; he might pretend otherwise, but he’s a creature of habit. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know that it’s him. 

“I have a question,” he announces the moment you open the door, without so much as a greeting. “Just a quick one.”

“... go ahead.”

You’ve worked with him for long enough to know that it’s better to let him tell his piece first, and then you can ask for elaboration later. You don’t try to slow him down with a ‘good morning’. It wouldn’t be helpful for either of you. 

“A few friends in another division are going out for drinks tonight. Same place as usual. Shitty beer, but it’s cheap and the other division’s buying a few rounds, so they’ll get us drunk as hell. Wanna go?”

“You couldn’t have just called me with this question?” you ask, head still a little groggy. It’s well into the afternoon, but had Kishibe not come for this unexpected visit, you’d likely still be in bed. 

“Nope, because then it’d be easier for you to come up with an excuse to blow us off,” he replies quickly - too quickly, almost as if he’d prepared this little speech beforehand. “So if you really don’t wanna go, that’s fine, no complaints here. All I ask is that you don’t say no out of instinct. I think it’d be good, y’know, to get some space? Perspective, and shit like that? You’ll get to see a few people from other divisions, too. I know you’re probably tired of looking at my face every day, handsome as it may be.”

He’s looking at you directly, presenting his case in such a typically Kishibe way; straightforward, reasoned, calm, logical. And still just a little bit annoying.

Part of you is still a little resentful as to how he can bounce back so quickly and appear so unaffected by all of this. He’s still so unperturbed by it all.

But a bigger part of you appreciates that he gives enough of a damn to come out here and check up on you after a particularly difficult mission. You know of plenty of hunters who get stuck with partners who couldn’t care less whether they lived or died, let alone bothered to check on their mental well-being.

For all his faults, he’s a good guy. Irritating at times and a bit too sure of himself, but a good guy nonetheless. He’s trying to cheer you up and, try as you might, you can’t think of a valid reason to turn down his request. 

“Fine, I’ll go.”

His shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s almost relieved.

“See you there at around eight o clock, so?” he inquires, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Sure thing.”

His smile turns mischievous, a transformation you see far too often. 

“Want me to wear something nice? I have a nice red lacy number you might like-” 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before you close the door in his face. 

“See you later!” he calls out, voice muffled on the other side of the door. You hear his footsteps as they traipse down the hallway of your apartment building, and then he’s gone. 

This is fine. You can stomach a few short hours of socialising with the other divisions. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? You know a few of them already and you have Kishibe there to back you up if any of them get too messy. Your partner is a big drinker, but he can hold it well. Better than most people, actually (yet another frustrating thing about him).

As you start to walk back to your kitchen to make the first of many coffees, you start to notice something. It’s subtle, and you can’t quite place what it is until you’ve finished preparing your drink. 

You groan out loud once you realise what you've noticed.

Even with the earthy aroma of the freshly-ground coffee beans filling your kitchen, you can still smell Kishibe’s aftershave. 

It feels like … like it’s on you, or something. It feels like it’s all over your body.

You’re not complaining about the aftershave itself, obviously. It actually smells pretty nice - you’d never say it to his face, but the man has good taste. 

You’re just annoyed because it’s yet another reminder that Kishibe is everywhere. 

Whether it’s through these impromptu visits, through his frequent texts and emails, or just in the course of your work, he’s absolutely everywhere. He’s there when you wake up, he’s there while you work, he’s even there whenever you try to get some peace and quiet at the café or in bars after work. 

And after last night, he seems to be in your dreams, too, but you won’t dwell on that any further. Not if you have any hope of catching a break from him. 

You don't let yourself panic. You reason that dreams are just the mind’s way of processing what it experiences throughout the day. It means nothing. Having a dream involving a colleague, of him taking you in his arms, holding you close, touching you where you need to be touched … 

… it’s just a sign that you spend way too much time together. 

You clutch your favourite mug in your hands, feeling the heat warm your palms. It’s a standard mug, plain white porcelain with “World’s Best Boss” printed on the side; a gift from your former partner.

You think about what happened to her, and feel a lump form in your throat. 

No. Can’t get too close. 

___

When you arrive at the bar later that night, you find it to be so packed with hunters that the place is flooded with cigarette smoke. The air is so dense it’s almost a fog, the haze of it obscuring your vision slightly. You can see where you’re going but it’s difficult to make out faces. 

You can only hope that you don’t walk up to someone, mistake them for Kishibe, and call them a fucking idiot out of instinct. He’d never let you live it down if he found out. 

You cough to clear your throat as you make your way to the booths in search of your partner, trying to dodge the people pushing past with arms full of beer glasses. 

It’s not long before you spot him - or rather, hear him. 

“Hey!” he shouts to you from over your shoulder, and you spin around to see him standing right behind you. His speech is muffled by the cigarette between his lips, his tie is loose and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and you see the pale-pink border of scar decorating his chest that would usually be hidden by his jacket. He’s holding a beer in one hand and so places the other on your shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness, guiding you over to the booth on the furthest left-hand side of the room. “You’re an honorary smoker now!”

Any other day you’d slap his hand away, interpreting the gesture as being just typical Kishibe trying to irritate you with overfamiliarity. However, after the mission the two of you just had, you choose to let it slide. 

It might be time to start giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe, if you tried, you could even grow to like him. 

… but that thought doesn’t seem right. No, not right at all; because you didn’t have to try. Maybe you already do like him, and it happened without you even realising. 

You take a sip from the glass of whiskey that someone’s just shoved into your hand and you feel the warmth spread down your throat and through your chest. 

God, need to be careful. 

The realisation hits you like a brick wall; you absolutely and unequivocally must not get too attached to Kishibe. You can’t. You won’t. 

Getting personally involved with someone in your line of work is one of the most reckless things a person can do. If luck is on his side and he isn’t killed or seriously injured at some point in the near future, then you definitely will be the one to die instead. Your chances of passing away from natural causes are slim to none.

There’s no real hope for a nice, happy, white-picket-fence future; you gave that up long ago. To indulge in the new and silly feelings you’re experiencing for the man whose hand is still clasped on your shoulder … it would be foolish. 

Your best hope at happiness is to be fond of Kishibe from a distance. To tolerate him as a partner and respect him as a colleague, and leave it at that. No more, no less.

Once you’ve arrived at the booth - his touch still so noticeable on the exposed skin near your neck - he introduces you to three devil hunters. You greet the two men who you recognise as being from another division, along with a woman with an eye patch and striking white hair. From word of mouth, you’d assume this is Quanxi, the famous former partner Kishibe had worked with for a couple of years before being reassigned. 

You take a seat next to her while your partner sits across from you next to the two men, and even as you settle into conversation with the rest of the group, it takes a surprising amount of effort to try and ignore that you miss having him within touching distance.

You need a distraction and, thankfully, you grow to like Quanxi very quickly. She’s blunt and straightforward but makes good conversation. She tells you enough embarrassing stories about Kishibe to last you a lifetime and has a similar outlook on life as you do; she’s practical but not emotionless, reserved but still dedicated to her work. 

Unfortunately for you, she’s also very observant.

“You don’t drink much?” she asks out of the blue as Kishibe gets up to fetch another round. “Kishibe told me you don’t smoke, but from the look of your glass … you’re still on your first beer, whereas those two,” she adds, pointing dismissively at the other two hunters, “are nearly finished with their fourth.”

“ ... I had a whiskey before I sat down.”

“Even still,” Quanxi counters, holding up her empty whiskey glass for emphasis - she must have finished the bottle by now. 

You shrug, unsure as to what your answer would even be. “Tonight’s just an off night for me, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” you admit. It’s uncharacteristically candid of you considering you’ve only just met, but Quanxi seems trustworthy. “I’m scared that drinking will make it … a bit harder to deal with.”

Luckily, Quanxi doesn’t seem too eager to push the topic. “Fair enough. As long as it’s not because you think it  … tastes bad, or something.”

You see her glance over to Kishibe for a split second, so quick it’s almost not noticeable. She grins, then, and you know for sure that he’s been talking about you. 

Kishibe, you swear to yourself. If the devils don’t kill him then you will. 

___

A couple of hours pass before you excuse yourself to step outside for some fresh air. It’s not an excuse - you really do need some air, as even the heaviest smokers in the bar have started to complain about how stuffy it’s become. You don’t feel too guilty about needing a break.

The night air is cold but fresh and crisp and so you welcome it, inhaling deeply into your lungs as you round the corner to the quiet alley next to the bar. Once there, you rest your back against the cool stone of the wall. You’re wearing only a skirt and a silk blouse, your jacket hanging up inside the bar, but you don’t shiver. 

You look up to the sky to try and see some stars, only to find them shielded by a thick covering of dark clouds. 

It could rain at any moment, you think to yourself. You really hope it doesn’t. 

“Quanxi scare you off?” a familiar voice calls out from the corner, attracting your attention. “Anything she told you about me is a lie, promise. Unless it’s good, then it’s extremely true.”

You chuckle softly. “No, just needed some air.”

“Same here,” Kishibe says cordially, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. “Too warm in there.”

You watch him approach you with a soft smile and see that his walk is steady. He’s either not drunk at all or he’s very good at hiding it. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and so you point it out.

“Kishibe, you’re not drinking as much as usual.” 

He chuckles. He’s reached where you’re standing and decides to follow your lead, resting his back against the wall and tilting his head upwards to see what you were looking at before. The two of you stay there, looking at the blank night sky. 

He clears his throat, voice still conversational and relaxed when he starts speaking. 

“Between the drinking and the smoking … you’re awful concerned about my health recently, aren’t ya?”

“Just being nosy, I guess,” you say, writing it off as plain old curiosity. You can’t think of any other reason for noticing it. 

“But you’re right, I’m taking it easy tonight,” he continues. “Not in the mood.”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to come here to get shitfaced?” 

He shrugs. “No fun getting shitfaced by yourself, though, is it?”

“Ouch,” you chuckle, clutching your chest for dramatic effect. “I know I’m kinda quiet tonight, but-“

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he grins with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t know the guys in there all that well, and the ones that I do know are fucking idiots when they’re wasted. Quanxi holds her liquor too well to even get tipsy, and you’re barely drinking, so I’m following your lead.”

Now it’s your turn to feel surprised. You thought you were the more observant of the two of you, but it turns out Kishibe notices the same things.

“I’m a good influence, then.”

Kishibe snorts at that, but somehow the sound is endearing. “Don’t go that far. We’re both still in this shitty job, so you can’t be all that sensible.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you agree, laughing too. “I’m good enough at wasting our pitiful little paycheck.”

“On what?”

He’s still grinning but looks genuinely curious, and huh, you have to stop and think on that one. You don’t really have any major vices (that you can think of), and you’re not a compulsive shopper, but you still manage to spend your money every month.

It’s not worth feeling guilty over, though; you just like surrounding yourself with little pleasures to distract from the grim nature of your work. 

You like getting nice furniture for your apartment, and this certain fancy brand of coffee. You like going to a local gallery and being able to buy any painting you want … 

… and, as you said earlier, you like things that taste good.

“I spend a lot of money on coffee,” you start. “Too much money. More than you spend on cigarettes, probably.”

“That’s-”

“A lot, I know,” you roll your eyes before continuing. “I also buy paint, canvases, brushes … things like that.”

“You paint?”

“A little. When I get the chance.”

He raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. Seems you’ve genuinely surprised him for once.

You keep going - now that you’ve remembered your little shopping list, it’s hard to stop the thoughts from flowing out. 

“And I got this green couch for my apartment. Ridiculously expensive, but I’ve wanted it for ages. I sometimes buy old books, too, and I always get this overpriced lip balm that tastes like apples.”

You pause then, to show you’re finished recalling your expenses. You have to laugh at the bemused expression on Kishibe’s face. 

“That it?” he asks, but he sounds suitably impressed. Like you’ve finally opened up to him in a way he can appreciate.

“That’s it, I think.”

He’s so close to you now that you’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder. You’re both just resting against the wall having a friendly chat, but the closeness feels … it feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You’re used to having him always there, but never within touching distance. Never so casual and easy and enjoyable.

He clears his throat.

“So all that … that’s what you’re wasting all your money on? I’ll remember that next time I foot the bill for lunch.”

”I forgot my wallet one time,” you answer, shoving his shoulder with yours, “one time ever. Surely you’ve financially recovered by now.”

You’re not sure what possesses you, but as you’re still standing side-by-side, you lean your head down to rest it against his shoulder. It feels natural, like something you don't even have to think about. Kishibe was close, he was right there, and you wanted him closer.

His voice doesn’t betray any surprise at your actions, but the way the muscles in his arm tense as you nestle against him shows that he wasn’t expecting it.

But the fact that he doesn’t give you any shit for it or shrug you off means that he doesn’t object.

“I guess we can go to yours for coffee from now on,” he points out. “Since you’re apparently a coffee snob, and I’m clearly torturing you with the shit excuse for a beverage they serve at the café.”

“True,” you agree, “though maybe we can try to have a cup indoors for once. Just for the novelty of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see if it tastes any better when I’m not freezing my ass off while you have a smoke.”

“We could go now, if you want?” he asks then, and you feel everything slow down around you. 

You’re grateful to be resting against his shoulder because it means he misses your perplexed expression, your eyes widening as he finishes his question.

What does he mean by ‘go now’? Go where? The café closes just after lunch. You never go there unless you’re on a case. It’s the middle of the night, there are no other cafes even open nearby … 

As if reading your mind, he elaborates. 

“No, not go to the café,” he says, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. It’s deep now, almost gravelly, instead of that usual ‘so smug it’s almost chirpy’ tone he utilises when he’s trying to annoy you on missions. His voice sounds nice - so nice that an inconvenient tingle spreads in your chest as you hear it. “I meant we could go back to yours. For some of that ridiculously expensive coffee, I mean.”

Is he trying to mess with you? It almost feels like a game, like he’s trying to trick you into saying something that will only make life more inconvenient for the both of you.

“You want coffee at midnight?” you ask, slowly.

“Sure do,” he answers without hesitation. “If you’ll be so kind as to host.”

You draw your head back and look at him quizzically. You know exactly how he acts when he’s messing with you and this isn’t it. He’s not smirking when he speaks; instead, he’s looking at you with an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. It throws you off in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, and so you say,

“Sure, let’s head back to mine.”

___

You grab your jacket from inside the bar as Kishibe hails a cab, and before you know it, the two of you are standing at your doorstep, just as you were earlier today when he invited you out. You feel different now, though; adrenaline coursing through your veins for no discernable reason. 

This all feels surreal. You and Kishibe here, alone, after hours, without the convenience of a mission to keep you distracted. And yet, you don’t dwell on it.

You’re moving as if possessed, desperately avoiding any overthinking of your actions as you take him by the hand and guide him through the door to your hallway, through to the kitchen then. Neither of you says anything as you walk. You only let go of his hand when you arrive at the countertop where you keep the coffee, resting a hand against the surface to ground yourself.

The kitchen is dark since you didn't bother the turn on the lights. Only the glow of the streetlamps illuminates the room, casting a glow over the two of you.

You blink up at him. He stays looking at you pensively. 

You’re still not sure how literally he was speaking when he mentioned wanting coffee. Would he laugh at you if you started to brew some? You want to touch him again, want to feel him ever closer than he was before, but … have you misinterpreted the situation entirely?

Kishibe clears things up for you. He steps in your direction, shoulders set and expression difficult to place. He’s not touching you yet but he’s so gotten so close now …  closer than colleagues or partners or even friends tend to go, only inches away from your body.

He’s so close you can feel whisps of his hair tickling your forehead, you can see the crinkles in his shirt and the outline of the lighter in his jacket pocket.

He stop then, hesitating, eyes scanning your face. 

“You okay?” he asks, smiling at you - a kind smile, not brass or cocky. 

You nod, the movement shallow and jerky and perhaps a bit too quick. 

“Yeah, just … my head’s all over the place.”

“Nothing has to happen,” he replies quietly. “We can just have coffee, if you’d prefer.”

“So you really want coffee?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “We’re sticking with that story?”

“Doesn’t have to be coffee,” he counters. “Tea, water, I don’t care. I just … I like spending time with you.”

You return his smile just as genuinely. “You’re being so … nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am,” you say emphatically. “Did I accidentally bring someone else’s partner home?”

He laughs, a nice sound, and your heart hammers against your ribcage. 

“Nope. Stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

His answer is conversational and friendly, but the look in his eyes betrays him. You know he means it. 

You know it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, because he’s your partner, and you’re supposed to be objective, and it goes against every rational thought in your brain. 

But the idea of being stuck with him sounds so appealing ... you can’t pay much attention to your rational side.

It’s not Kishibe who closes the distance between the two of you; instead, you step closer, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, and then press your lips to his. 

It’s not a slow kiss. It starts intense and it only builds from there, teeth almost clacking together as you tangle your hands in his hair. It’s clumsy, almost; he’s pawing your thighs, lower back, waist, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch first. You take a gentle grip on his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels in your hands, the silky tresses just so tuggable.

You’ll park that thought for later.

Kishibe deepens the kiss, running his tongue against your lips and then pushing into your mouth, not letting go of your body the whole time. 

It’s funny; a part of you thought that he would be as confident and dominant in these circumstances as he is in his professional life -

(Yes, you’ve thought about it before … it’s not as though the thought of sleeping with him has never crossed your mind. You’re stubborn, but not blind.)

- but he’s taking as much as he’s giving, getting as much satisfaction from your reaction as he does from anything else. He moves with you, noting what you like as the moments pass, gauging your reaction from your whimpers and moans and the way you’re not-so-subtly rubbing against his thigh.

He kisses your neck, lingering on your pulse point, leaving a mark that you’re sure will be visible tomorrow. The thought is strangely thrilling; the idea of you and Kishibe working a case together, with marks all over your skin just begging to be noticed. Marks that show he wanted you all to himself and needed everyone to know it. 

When you push your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his suit pants pressing against you, you tighten your grip on his hair. He notices and responds eagerly, grabbing your ass over the thin fabric of your skirt and pressing you flush against him. The heat of his body makes your mind go numb. 

You can smell his aftershave again, all over your body as he kisses and rubs and touches, but you have no complaints this time. 

He leans in as if to kiss you again but stops just short, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. 

“You have no idea how badly I want this,” he murmurs. “How badly I’ve wanted it. But … it might make things just a little bit complicated.”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you whisper, looking into his eyes to show your confidence in your answer. You’re too far gone to back out now. You haven’t felt touch like this in so long, having kept yourself so guarded and withdrawn for years. Kishibe understands; he knows the risks of this job, and he knows how lonely it gets. He knows you so well. Knows what you need. 

“I’m okay with it,” he says, lips quirked upwards. He’s still pressed against you, his thigh spreading your legs open slightly. “Want me to show you how much?”

His eyes flicker down your body past your chest, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about doing. Every inch of your skin feels hot. Your clit pulses at the very idea of what he’s suggesting - it seems like his confidence might pay off. 

“I want you,” you reply. You think about finishing the sentence with something a bit more articulate, but Kishibe’s eyes darken at your earnest response, pupils blown out and expression ravenous. 

He places a large hand on your thigh, the exposed skin tingling under his touch. He slides it up slowly, so slowly, grazing up to the seam of your underwear. He runs a finger over your clothed core and you gasp, hips almost bucking into his touch. His thumb circles your clit then returns to stroking the damp fabric between your legs, so impossibly close to where you need him. 

He’s so close to it. So close - if he just angled his fingers a little more, he could plunge two inside you, wringing orgasm after orgasm from you as you melt underneath him. 

“Please-“ you choke, the pleasure almost becoming an ache. “I … I need-“

“What do you need, baby?” he whispers into the shell of your ear, teeth giving a gentle tug on your lobe when he finishes his question. “What do you need from me?”

“More, please. More.“

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate any further. Instead, he guides you to the countertop, pressing you against it at first, unable to keep from connecting his mouth to some part of you for too long (this time, it’s the swell of your breasts over the neckline of your blouse). 

Once he pulls back, lips leaving your cleavage with a wet ‘pop’,  he helps you up onto the countertop. Once you’re sitting comfortably on the edge, he slides his hands up your thighs again. You feel the cool marble on the underside of your legs, pleasantly contrasting the heat of his hands. 

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips to allow him to pull them down, feeling the cold air against your exposed skin as he does so. You’re so wet and he notices immediately. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, a pink flush having settled across his cheekbones. 

He’s annoyingly pretty like this, looking up at you from between your legs. 

You want to make him feel good with your mouth too. The thought of it makes your head swim; between the tenting in his pants and the look on his face … 

He cuts off your thoughts with a brush of his lips over your inner thigh. He kisses you again, leaving no inch of skin untouched as he gets closer and closer to your core. 

When he reaches the divot at the very top of your thighs, he loses his control just a bit, pressing wet and sloppy kisses, the obscene sound of which would make you embarrassed in any other circumstances.

You let out a desperate, uncharacteristic mewl, but you don’t feel any embarrassment. This side of Kishibe - whose only aim is to make you come undone - you know that he won’t make fun of you. The only reaction he’s trying to get from you now is one of pure and mindless pleasure. 

You gasp out loud as you finally get the contact you have been seeking; Kishibe presses a gentle closed-mouth kiss to your clit that makes your entire body shudder. With barely any contact he already has you quivering, goosebumps forming all over. The press of his mouth against your pussy is careful, explorative; lips and tongue tracing all over your slick flesh. 

The first proper lick stokes a fire in your core, burning hot and desperate as you tighten your thighs around his face. His hands grip your legs and pull them apart further, allowing better access for what he wants to do. 

Long, slow strokes up your folds and circles around your clit, all combining to make you feel pliant and boneless. 

“Please … please … please …” you beg over and over, though you don’t want him to change anything, you just don’t want him to stop. You feel like crying at the thought of it being taken away for even a second, for him to stop the perfect movement of his tongue against your aching cunt. “Please keep going.”

He hums his approval and moves to start suckling your clit with just enough pressure to make your vision go white behind your now-shut eyes. You feel the slightest pressure against your entrance as he presses a finger hesitantly - you throw your head back with a desperate cry of “yes!”, and he pushes it in in one fluid motion.  

You feel a bit conflicted about closing your eyes because the image in front of you is so enticing; a few strands of his dark hair are stuck to his forehead with the faint sheen of sweat that’s building as he fucks you with his fingers, his eyes looking up at you beseechingly through dark lashes with a particularly firm flick of his tongue … 

You want to keep looking at him, you do, but you can’t. It’s too much. The sensation is building quicker than you can react to it, and so you lay back on the counter, your back arching as he keeps up his perfect pace. 

The pleasure is low and warm and unending, deep inside you, and for a brief moment, it scares you that Kishibe is the one doing this to you. 

Kishibe, your annoying coworker who you’re supposed to be keeping at arm’s length - he's the one making you scream and cry out his name as if it’s the only word you can remember.

Kishibe is the one who’s making your eyes roll back into your head, the one who’s taking you apart with just his mouth and fingers (now, two of them). 

You’re surrendering yourself to him, and yet, you don’t have the slightest urge to halt any of it. 

Heat starts collecting in your core, a ball of warm pleasure starting to grow and grow until you couldn’t contain it even if you wanted to. He can feel you tighten around his fingers and speeds up without altering the pressure, just giving you more of what you need. Your incoherent babbling only spurs him on. 

When you tip over the edge and quiver desperately underneath him, coming apart entirely, it takes you by surprise; there was no build-up because it was all too overwhelming, too blinding, to be able to determine at what point exactly your pleasure started to crest.

It just takes over.

When you come down from it, you decide to take just a minute to collect yourself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You close your eyes again, blinking back the tears that collected against your waterline. 

It’s a little strange. You haven’t had a sexual experience like that since … well, ever. 

Thinking about things rationally, you come up with a few reasons for your very enthusiastic response. First and foremost, you haven’t had sex in a long time, not since joining the agency, not since dating became too messy. You’ve been a bit stressed, too, a bit pent up. You needed some relief. You haven’t had any … alone time in a while, either. 

But as you noted earlier, you’re not listening to the rational part of your brain tonight. Not one of those reasons explains the effect Kishibe just had on you.

And the most confusing part is that even after making you come harder than you have in years, you want him even more intensely now. 

Sitting up on the counter, you drag him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You run your hands up his chest, fingers grazing off the tell-tale outline of the cigarette box in his pocket. You move to rest your hands against his nape, feeling the prickliness of his undercut against your fingertips. 

His pants are still on but you can feel he’s painfully hard, straining against his zipper as he clings to you. 

He starts unbuttoning your shirt and you do the same to his, taking in the view of his sharply-cut torso as he sheds his clothes. 

It’s all lean muscle, thin white-lined scars covering his chest, a few freckles here and there. A painful-looking blue-black bruise sits above his hip and you frown upon noticing it. He pries your hand away from his shirt buttons, bringing your index finger to his lips and kissing it softly. 

“I’m fine,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You want to press further but relent at the last moment, going back to finish your task of unbuttoning his shirt. You can be concerned later; now, he needs you as much as you need him. 

“Where do you want to -?” he asks, trailing off at the end. 

You widen your eyes suggestively, glancing down at the countertop beneath you. 

He scoffs. “... here?” 

You shrug, smirking coyly. “Why not? Curtains are shut. And even if they weren't, it's not like we haven't disgraced ourselves enough already.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he says with a grin, eyes flicking down to catch a glimpse of your chest. 

You hop down from the counter and kiss him again, hastily unzipping his pants and taking him out of his underwear. Thick and heavy in your hand - the overconfidence comes from somewhere, obviously - you feel him throb against your touch. 

A few gentle strokes and he’s groaning, eyes shut and head tilted back, beads of precum gathering at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight; Kishibe, having just opened his eyes, snaps when he sees the effect this is having on you. He spins you around and bends you over the counter, tugging your skirt up above your hips. You’re standing here so exposed - no shirt, no underwear, only the thin fabric of your skirt shielding your naked form - but you trust him now, just as much as you do when your life is in his hands. 

He drags the tip of his cock against your pussy and you gasp. 

You’re not sure how, but you feel empty without him inside, even though you haven’t even felt it yet.

You spread your legs for him, wet and stretched enough to take whatever he has to give you. 

As the head of his cock pushes inside you, Kishibe is the one to moan then, deep and low. 

“Oh baby,” he breathes. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel so good already, my love. You’re squeezing right around me, fuck,” he stills against you, hands on your hips preventing you from sliding back against him. “I … I need a second.”

“Done already?” you tease, looking back at him over your shoulder, your shaking legs barely supporting you. You grip the countertop more firmly to steady yourself. “Surely not?”

“Can you wait a few minutes to give me shit?” he retorts, and you feel his smile as he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Usually I’d say you’d have every right, but I don’t think you want to get into that right now.” He pushes in further then, inch by inch. “Or do you?”

“You’re right,” you laugh airily, “you’re right, just … keep doing that, please.”

He slides in further, almost to the hilt now. He grips your hips with both hands as he seats himself fully inside you. 

You knew it would be a stretch, but this - the feeling of being so impossibly and blissfully full - takes you by surprise nonetheless. He stays there for just another moment as you adjust to him and you feel his thumb stroke slow, soothing circles along your lower back as you inhale slow and deep. 

You push back against him when you’re ready for him to start moving, and he doesn’t hesitate. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts back inside you with a groan, the slap of skin against skin echoing around the kitchen. He sets a strong, steady pace; hips snapping against yours as you rest your forehead on the counter, chest bouncing as he fucks into you as though he’s thought about doing this for years.

Kishibe reaches over and grabs your hands from the counter, crossing them behind your back and holding them in place with his own. This position means you arch further, allowing him to thrust deeper inside you, reaching spots you never thought anyone could hit. 

His grip on your wrists is tight but it never hurts; he’s handling you with such care, far more thoughtfully than you would have expected. That being said, he’s not treating you like you’re fragile or breakable - you wouldn’t like it if he did - rather, he’s touching you like your enjoyment is by far the most important aspect of this. He’s treating you like a partner. 

You turn your head so your cheek is resting on the surface. You just want to angle yourself so you can look back and see him. You need to see him, you need to know if he’s as fucked out as you are, reduced to utter desperation, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re so tight and drenched and messy around him. 

When you see him, your breath hitches. Your guess wasn’t too far off.

Kishibe’s flushed now, pink tinting his face and neck, and his chest rises with short, shallow, primal pants. He’s biting down hard on his lower lip, so much so you think it might bleed, and he’s looking right at you, meeting your gaze head-on. His brows are knit tightly together, jaw pulled tight as he keeps his focus on you. He looks to be as close as you are.

When neither of you look away, unable to tear your eyes off eachother, he speeds up his thrusts. He’s chasing his end now; his pace is frenetic, and he lets out a throaty groan when his cock slips out at one point, the speed of his movements and the wetness between your legs making everything a messy, perfect blur. 

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t fucking stand it,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a disbelieving chuckle, “I should have said it sooner. Fuck, you’re so, so beautiful, it drives me insane.”

He lets go of one of your hands, keeping the other pinned behind your back, and you quickly bring it between your legs and trace circles around your clit with your fingers. You’re so wet - both from his mouth and from the way he’s fucking into you now - that you can hear your fingers moving, which means Kishibe can too. 

He leans down and moves his free hand to join yours, collecting some of the wetness between your legs and rubbing your clit in tandem with your movements. You shift your position to allow him to touch you as he wants to, the weight of him against your back and the warmth of his breaths hitting your damp skin wringing a carnal moan from you. 

“So pretty for me, aren’t you?” he says, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. I could do this for hours - could hear you make those noises for the rest of my life, fuck, you’re doing so, so well, my love.”

 You feel it build so quickly that you gasp his name in surprise, the word almost sounding like a question. He understands, keeping the pace of both his thrusts and the circling of his fingers consistent. 

It washes over you like a tidal wave; pulses of explosive pleasure rippling through your muscles, making your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath catches in your chest, only a shaky, weak-sounding moan escaping your lips - you can’t even think of any words right now, let alone speak them. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” Kishibe mutters repeatedly, “oh, fuck, that’s it.”

You feel his cock pulse inside you, his hand releasing the arm that’s still behind your back as he grips your hips instead, grinding into you as deeply as he can. A few more shallow thrusts follow, aftershocks making your cunt flutter around him, and then he stills again, the sound of both your heavy breathing filling the room. 

He doesn’t pull out right away. He straightens you up a little, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck and rubbing up and down your arm. It feels nice; you feel so serenely calm at that point, you could almost fall asleep resting against him.

He straightens up fully once both of your heart-rates return to normal and the sweat on your skin starts to cool, and then he pulls out, grabbing a tissue from the counter to clean for you. 

You fumble with your skirt to pull it further down your thighs - not to hide anything from him, but to provide the tiniest bit of warmth now that Kishibe’s body heat is no longer distracting from the cold.

He picks up his jacket from the floor and walks behind you to rest it on your shoulders. You smile gratefully, letting silence settle between you. He stays there, wrapping an arm around you from behind.

“Do you want me to head away?” he asks, and you can tell from his tone that he wouldn’t be upset if you did. 

You shake your head.

You don’t want him to go yet. Not just yet, not when you’re still processing all that’s just happened. 

“I know it could get complicated,” you begin, trying to reason with him and yourself. “But ... no. I don't want you to go. I ... you can stay over. If that's something you'd like to do.”

“I would."

You let out a short chuckle, half-relief and half-bemusement. “Then I think we shouldn’t talk about complications anymore. For a while, anyway."

“I agree completely,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“First time for everything.”

“You wound me,” he whispers, feigning offence but kissing your hairline anyway. “So does this mean I get a tour of your apartment now?”

Taking the hand that’s wrapped out you, you tug him in the direction of your bedroom. He makes a few characteristic comments on your furniture choices and you elbow him without any malice, pointing out some of your favourite pieces as you make your way through your apartment. 

It feels strangely normal; you crossed this boundary together, but the world hasn’t fallen down around you. 

He’s still the same, you’re still the same … mostly.

You know there’ll be a conversation tomorrow. It can’t go unaddressed considering you spend your working day together, but there’s no use spoiling the serene temporary escape the two of you have carved out for yourselves. 

You reach your bedroom and he follows you into bed wordlessly, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. You interlock his fingers with yours.

Nestled in the sheets with him, you fall asleep more quickly that you have done in recent memory. 

After your entire adult life spent on death’s door, you allow yourself to feel an emotion you barely even recognise anymore.

You feel safe.

[x011011x]

Ma Douce Souffrance

Yandere!Rook x Lovesick!Reader Angst

Trigger warnings: Murder, gore, hunting, animal taxidermy, human taxidermy, smut, mentions of pregnancy, hair pulling, uses of nicknames, lowkey stalking, Rook needs a trigger warning of his own

Word count: 11.4k+

IT'S DONE!! IT'S GODDAMN DONE!! And it's GRUESOME. Lowk sexy too cause of the sex scene but yeah. IT'S SO HEARTBREAKING, HEART WRENCHING (unless you're insane, then it's true love)

"They told me this was a beautiful town with beautiful people. And mon Dieu, were they truthful!" he spoke excitedly, cupping your lifeless face in his hands, eyes glimmering.

You didn't know about much outside of your hometown.

But, it was a peaceful life. The village where you had spent all your life was beautiful. It was abundant in flora and fauna. Most of the village was situated upon a great river that stretched beyond what one could see. Valleys covered with fog swirled around the other side of the village as though it was wrapping the land in a tight embrace, restricting the sight beyond.

The town was remote. The connections it had with the outside world were mostly made because of economical reasons. But this town itself was quite developed, anyone choosing farm work only choosing it for tradition. People were joyous and the celebrations were lined up one after the other. No faces were left unknown, a certain habit of chattiness present in almost every resident in one way. 

That was how you spent your dull, empty life till then. Seeing the same old people every single day with very rare variety. 

'It's odd', you thought, looking into the distance while walking through a part of the vast forest that seemingly only you knew of. It was one of the rare reliefs from the boring circle of life you had been trying to get used to since the day you were born, filled to the brim with all sorts of eccentricities.

There was a lone cabin that resided at the very end of the woods, but you never saw anyone there. Forget the rare occasions where outsiders came to visit, you never even saw any residents in that cabin. You had knocked on the small wooden door several times before, hoping to hear a voice from the inside. To see who this cabin belonged to.

You realized your attempts were futile when your curiosity got the best of you and after two patient years of visiting without a response you opened the cabin door that never had a lock in the first place to take a peek inside. To no surprise, the cabin was completely vacant. It barely had any furniture and was completely devoid of the sign of life. It was apparent no one had set foot in this cabin for many years. But, it stirred your interest in that cabin further. 

You visited that cabin everyday since the day you saw it during one of your solitary walks. 

That cabin, mostly covered by a mist like most of its surroundings, was situated on top of a small hillock. One couldn't see how it truly was without climbing up to it. At first glance, it was a simple two-storied cabin. There was a small set of stairs that led up to the lodge which was placed on a higher platform. The main structure was situated within the balcony that went around the whole cabin. The cabin seemed to be mainly built of wood, with some uses of rock seen here and there. 

The inside, being mostly empty, still did have some oddities laying around. A worn out sofa at the corner of the room, on the left from the entrance. A glass table a bit further away. A staircase on the right side of the room that led upstairs. A kitchen just beyond the staircase, separate from the empty caricature of a living room and… No. 

You had scanned over those things more times than you could care to count, so much so that your eyes became almost tired of seeing the same thing again and again. Your interest lied in other things that were there. 

'Really, it's so peculiar', you thought. Those empty mounts, each lacking a head. Those empty cases hung on the wall, obviously meant for hanging either guns or arrows and bows. And the most odd of them all, in your opinion, an album. 

You found the album upstairs, a floor that seemed like it was meant to be used as a bedroom, but just like the so-called 'living room', the very bareness of the room put the word 'bedroom' to shame. The only things the room had were a single bed with a white mattress and pillow. Even then, the bed had no bedsheets and the pillow wasn't covered by a pillow case. 

Beside the bed though, was a small side table. The first time you came into this cabin, three years ago, you took a note to yourself to not open the two small drawers of the table, choosing to respect the privacy of the people you didn't know. You did well on that note for precisely five months. 'No one has yet to appear. Might as well just look.'

An almost ear-piercing screech ran through the air, the drawer stuck from clearly not having been opened in a long time. A huge photo album sat there, covered in dust and debris. A few bits were, you could connect, insect faeces and remains. It disgusted you in a childish way, so much so that you returned back home that day. Next day, you appeared with tons of cleaning tools. It was clear to you that if you wanted to spend more time, inspecting that album and just generally enjoying your time alone in a place that piqued your curiosity, you really needed to clean things up around there. 

You spent the whole day cleaning the cabin. You dusted the stray leaves off the stairs, mopped the floors, wiped the tables and the counters in the kitchen. Everything had an appealing glimmer to it by the time you were done. Pleased with the sterile scent of cleaning products burning your nostrils after you were done, at the very last, you wiped the album of the dirt it had collected over the years it had been abandoned. Finally sliding your gloves off with a smooth motion, you took the album into your lap. 

'It has to be empty', you tried reasoning. There was no reason for it to not be empty. From the previous day, the first time you saw the album, you hoped it would be just empty. This lodge belonging to someone, and you not knowing that certain someone scared you. Your heart started beating faster as you slowly opened the first page of the book, anticipating nothing yet almost fearing there would be something. And there it was. 

Upon opening the first page, you were greeted with a picture of a young boy. Your heart started thumping. 'Is this the child of the owner of this place? How old is he now? Why have I never seen him?' your heart held all sorts of uncertainties. Suddenly it felt like someone was watching her. Your heart felt heavy, as if someone was tightly and painfully gripping it from the corners and trying to displace it from its rightful place within your ribs. 

Yet, your soul of curiousity turned out to be a greater vice than the threat that lied in suddenly being found out. Because 'This fear is irrational anyways, no one came over for years. Why would they come out to question me now?'

Since then, after a long day at your farm, everyday at the brink of dusk, you would return to that mist-covered cabin once again. It became your usual spot to relax and spend time by yourself. you never told anyone about the spot, opting to bask in the serene and peaceful nature all by yourself. You maintained the cleanliness of the cottage, cleaning it up twice a week. you put sheets on the bed and a pillowcase for the pillow. 

You put on decorative mats on the tables and side tables around the cabin. You even placed a small flower vase on the bedside table upstairs. You placed a few lilies in the vase. And though they kept wilting, you were happy to replace it again and again. You left some dry foods to snack on in the cupboard of the kitchen. A fruit basket filled with red, ripe pomegranates was also left on the kitchen counter. With that, you had customised the once abandoned cabin enough for it to be a suitable place to spend time in.

But your eyes were mainly somewhere else. You had taken to observing that album everyday. It felt eerie. The people in the pictures must have been still alive. To think you were looking without none of them knowing. You felt like a criminal and knew you had to stop.

'But do I?'

And so still, you turned the rough pages. It was more of a scrapbook than an album, the pictures placed messily with a glue. Yet, the further the album progressed, the cleaner the placement of the pictures became. 'The person who placed these pictures was growing up, huh?' 

Those photographs left a lot to be deciphered, yet a lot was clear. There was mainly one person present in the picture. A young boy with blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest you were in, a happy-go-lucky grin plastered on his face. From his youth to his mid teenage years, he had long hair and freckles. The boy was tanned and wore torn clothes. A sudden transition showed that he had grown up quite a lot, his hair in a neat bob cut and his freckles were gone. It even seemed that he had updated his wardrobe. 

In his last picture, he was with 2 people and a cat with flaming ears. 'Ah, he must be a mage, we don't see much of those around,' you remarked mentally, impressed. 

You learned a lot through the pictures. The boy seemed to be from a family that was collectively fond of hunting. There were guns and arrows present in the pictures. Some photographs also seemed to be memoirs of a hunt. The scenery in the background always seemed to change, switching house to house. It seemed that he had five siblings, based on how similar he and the other five children often present in the vignettes looked.

The more you learned, it seemed to be a fuel for your fire than an ease to your nerves.

You found yourself looking at pictures of the boy who had grown into a young man while longing to know his name.

And like a routine, a clockwork that maintained its time dutifully everyday, you were once again returning to the cabin in the woods. It felt a bit different today. The animals were a bit noisier, as if they were alarmed of a predator lurking around. But, you assumed it was just between the animals, nothing to do with you. You climbed the stairs to the cabin and turned the lights on. Light music played from your phone that was in your hands.

It was… normal. Just like any other day. The sofa and table were where they were meant to be. The mounts and wooden display box seemed normal- 

"What is that bow-arrow doing there?"

Your eyes bore into the wooden case that seemed to suddenly have a bow and an arrow placed there. 'Did I put that there?', you pondered, and then came to the conclusion that you must've. For all the things you had decorated in this second home, you must've not kept that one thing empty and soulless. In your hasty inconsideration, you missed the small droplets of crimson splayed on the blade of the arrow as you made your way upstairs.

That's when the real shock came. The bed was as organized as ever, so was the small side table. Yet, there was a charger laying on the table that you had not seen before. It wasn't yours, that was for sure. And then, there was also a suitcase on the floor, neatly placed there as though it was just a decoration piece and not used for carrying clothes and other necessities around during travel. you couldn't believe your eyes.

"Who the fuck…?" you couldn't keep your thoughts to yourself out of pure disbelief.

That same feeling of being watched came over you. Yet, this time it felt like someone was truly chasing you from the behind, and was quite close to catching up to her. Your heart beat so harshly against your chest that a numb pain spread throughout your upper body. your head throbbed in panic of the unfamiliar. The light rhythmic beat of the music seemed to match with the throbbing in your ear.

Five years. It had been five years and this cabin had no sign of life except for that curious diary. Not before you gave this cabin life, the title of secondary but still home. What were all these now? It became clear to you that the bow-arrow was most probably not placed by you. you made quick on your feet and ran to the kitchen. You were overstimulated enough that the mere sound of your shoes sliding against the floor as you ran sounded like a static screech to your ears.

The static reached from your ears to your head, all of the thoughts you had further sounding jumbled and pitched in either tones much lower or higher than your usual note. You blinked your eyes at the beef jerky laying on the kitchen counter. If it was home, you would just grab one and eat it like it was nothing but 'I have never bought beef jerky here.' you were almost tempted to push aside your suspicions about everything and think that you did all of that and just didn't remember but you really didn't bring any of those things you saw in the cabin.

You just knew one thing. Someone came into the cabin, placed all of these odd things here and it was not you. 

You felt that you were not welcome anymore by whoever currently residing here. Turning on your heels to lead yourself back to the entrance that was also the only exit, you froze. A slight sound of rustling came from the outside before the door turned. A man stepped through the door frame with his eyes to the ground, but merely a second passed before his eyes locked in with yours. A vivid image flashed through your vision. The smiling boy in those pictures…

There stood a man with blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest you were in, a happy-go-lucky grin plastered on his face. The boy from those photographs. 

Observing you for only a few moments, moments that were stifling to you, he opened his mouth, chirping, "Ah, you are the person who took care of this cottage in my absence? Merci!"

His friendly voice cooled your nerves a little. So, you weren't hallucinating and this was a person and not a ghost. But, that realization almost made the situation more awkward. You croaked out an apology, "Oh- um, yeah… Sorry, this cabin is yours, I assume."

"My family's, yes," he explained, his eyes almost twinkling and looking through the miniature house excitedly even though he was essentially talking to a trespasser, "We have many abodes across Twisted Wonderland, but what a shame! It's rare we get to use any of them. Most of us just live in Sunset Savanna."

He then looked at you and said, "You have taken care of this place magnificently! Oh, but it was brimming with radiance and love the second I stepped in even after so many years!" 

You kept looking at the man and offered him a disoriented smile, waiting for your eventual cue to leave. But, he was interesting. No other person you knew would take to a stranger managing their home so well. If anything, the man with an odd bob-cut in front of her, was actually pretty friendly. He was babbling about something but you didn't really understand what he was talking about, he was talking so fastly.

After a while, he came to a pause and exclaimed once again, "Ah, where are my manners? I should introduce myself first. My name is Rook. Rook Hunt," he introduced himself and offered his hand in a suave manner.

Your heart skipped a beat. Not because you were falling in love with this random man but because for so many years you longed to know his name. And then you knew it. His last name too, which meant you had an idea on what the names of the other members in his family could be. A genuine, happy smile bloomed on your face as you introduced yourself as well, your hand joined his one in a cheerful handshake, "My name is (Name). I live in this town."

He smiled widened when he heard your name. It felt as though his pupils widened. The tall man looked like a child as he shook your hand in excitement. His happiness was charming. You let go of his hand though you felt as though if you could, you would keep holding onto it. You opened your mouth to confess what you had done in the cabin in the past years. Your eyes blinked faster and your mouth gaped, a bit hesitant to admit to your fascination for the man. But at last, you admitted, "That album… that young boy was you, wasn't he? I've been watching you for years."

Rook looked a bit shocked, which you grimaced at. But, you were glad to see the smile return on the man's face. It seemed as though the other man did not even consider that you were practically stalking him for so many years without his knowledge. He answered honestly, "Oui, it was me. You have a good eye, Trickster!"

You were a bit confused about the nickname but decided not to query him about it. you moved closer to him, not to approach him but the exit and nodded, "Thank you. But, I've overstayed my welcome for about three years now. I'll be then."

The man suddenly grabbed onto your wrists. You were surprised at his strong grip, your (E/C) eyes widening in a small panic. You looked down at where he held you. His forearms were well built and sturdy. Strong enough that it could crush your windpipe without much problem. But when you looked up at him, he was still smiling. It was odd though, he felt so genuine, yet it seemed as though his face lacked something. And you couldn't point out what.

"I won't hold you back right now but do come to visit. I'm on a private work tour. But since someone knows already, I'd rather have company," he explained before pausing. He pondered a bit on what to say before adding with a hearty chuckle, "I'll tell you more about myself, Trickster, I can see you're quite passionate about this cottage and well me. I'm quite familiar with and fond of those qualities."

He sent you off with a wink and a pat on the shoulder. And you were frankly left wondering what the hell was up with him.

It had been perhaps a week since the man who introduced himself as Rook had started staying in the cabin. He said his tour would last half a year. You wondered why it would take that long. You hadn't properly visited that cabin since that day, but when you peeked by during daytime, you could see the cottage was completely empty. And if you peeked by during the evening, you didn't know how but it seemed that the mere sound of your footsteps compelled Rook outside, as he always waved at you. Then you'd have to stop for a while to chat, but never once enter the cabin.

You were in the forest again, walking through the greenery and enjoying the gentle sunlight peeking through the trees just before it would blend into the cold evening. A basket in hand, you were in search of berries. You looked through the plants and were saddened to see empty bushes. You found a poison ivy plant and oddly enough, you felt compelled to eat it. But you brushed that thought away with a light giggle. 

Out of nowhere, a rough hand placed itself on your shoulder. You were shocked, jumping as you looked behind your back. The smiling face of Rook greeted you, his lips parted to show a set of perfectly placed, pearly teeth. You sighed of relief as you scolded him in a light-hearted tone, "Rook! You scared me!"

"My apologies, mon amour" he snickered, heartfelt amusement seeping through his enigmatic green eyes. "May I inquire as to what you're doing?"

"Berry picking," you deadpan, pointing to the empty basket, "Unsuccessfully so, as you can see."

He looked curiously down at your basket. You wondered what he felt so excited about from it, seeing as it was completely empty, representing the desert more with its sandy hue rather than something meant for carrying berries of different tastes and colours. He then looked back at you and offered, "Such a shame that you haven't been able to acquire anything yet! Would you like me to assist you?"

At that time, you awkwardly agreed to his offer of assistance. Now it seemed like he was doing all the berry picking and you were doing all the berry eating. He was going on about a topic, the concept of beauty or something as you both walked through the woods. You were listening to him carefully, trying to understand what he was talking but he just talked way too fast. He had a certain sway in his steps, seeming like a little boy as he pranced through the bushes. 

"Ah, Trickster, don't you think today is a most wonderful day!"

"I mean, it's just any other day. The forest looks fine an-" you wondered why he was so amazed by a common day, "But what do you think? You like sunsets?"

"Of course! The sun is setting and blending into the sky, signifying the death of a day. Yet for chicks, this is the time that birds return home and feed them, which continues their cycle of life–" he said in one breath, "Don't you think a scene that reflects the cycle of life is most wonderful? I feel as if I'm upon the highest clouds whenever I behold such views."

"You…" 

"Hm?" he looks back to see that you were cracking up. You burst out laughing, the loud sound echoing throughout the forest. "Ooh, it seems I have amused my Trickster!"

"It's just-" you said through gasps as you tried to catch your breath instead of continuously laughing, "It's so funny you see it that way!"

"May I ask why?" he asked, interested in hearing your opinion.

"It's just… I've never seen it in such a... romanticised manner. To me the sunset has always been beautiful, but not meaningful in that sense. And the birds? I've never considered them. I'm no poet, Rook. I'm a farmer's girl, like most people here."

"So you see no point in examining beauty? It's much the opposite to me."

He handed you over a few berries while he put plenty in the basket. You plopped the small blueberry in your mouth while you walked, pondering on what to say, "That's true, I've noticed you're a very mindful person."

"Mindful is not the most commonly used word when describing me."

"Then what is?"

"Creepy," he laughed softly after saying that, seemingly amused by the things people said to him.

"I don't think you're creepy!" you stopped to think what you could add, slightly offended by what other had said to this eccentric but very sweet man, "If anything, I'm creepy for coming into your cabin without permission for three years"

"And yet, you're what gave that lodge a lively touch. A soul," his face warmed, his eyes looked like he truly believed his own words by heart

Maybe it was the sweet flavour of the berry that had you in an already good mood because it felt like the gears in your heart had moved a little that afternoon. It would be a lie to say that the man wasn't good looking and it left you a bit red-faced to receive a meaningful compliment like this for the first time. You mumbled out a thank you as you kept following him, not knowing where he would go.

"Where are you going?" you called out when he had gotten too far, confused by his motives that seem to be concrete and yet you knew nothing of them.

"Patience is a great virtue!" he replied back, eventually starting to run. You didn't know where he was going but you ran too, for the berries and for him… Mostly for him.

That day, he brought you to the cliff of the hill, not your usual place to watch the sunset as you had done so from the cabin for the past few years but the view that day was gorgeous. Blue and orange blended into the sky from two sides while small streaks of pink could be seen lightly placed on the clouds. It swirled around in a beautiful spiral. 

When asked about it, while you didn't say much except how the wind looked 'hella crazy', Rook went on another poetic ramble about how ,"The spiral represented the spiral that goes upwards or downwards of a human's life in a sickly yet beautifully painful way, shown through the divine medium that is the sky. A promise from the Great Sevens. An enticing message. It even represents beauty beyond humans, the very galaxy we live in being quite spiral-like in shape. How très bien!"

That day, for the first time in your life, you felt moved. You felt like you saw someone who was truly living. Some shackled with work? Sure, but they didn't let that work shackle their heart.

That's the first time in your life you felt free as well.

Just like that, you and Rook became… friends. He was an odd man. But he was passionate and funny. Quite handsome too, you'd have to shyly admit. You noticed that it was actually a habit of his that once he started talking, it was hard to make him to stop. But he filled your lone days with sweet and wonderful memories. He had told you that it was a private job that he was here for, and that's why you told no one about him being here. You wanted to tell everyone about the new person in town, but you made an oath and you felt the need to do good on it.

He really was a hunter, too. Everyday, he would come back with his hunts. You'd scrunch up your nose in posh scrutiny as you saw him kill and gut those animals. And then eventually forget all the complaints you had when he served up delicious food on the table. It was a bit hard to explain to your parents why you stopped having dinner with them, but you managed just fine.

On a common sunny day, he was placing the head of a moose from a recent hunt on one of the mounts after hearing you complain about how the mounts had no purpose at that point. You really wanted him to remove the mounts themselves but he insisted that adding animal heads would be better. It creeped you out but you swallowed it. It often truly did send chills down your spine how easily he killed animals and mutilated their body in various ways. 

You understood the need for nutrition but hunting was like a passion to him. Something he was truly invested in. But you were, true to the very core of the phrase, a curious being by nature. As such you kept returning to him to learn more about him, the man you had been observing for three long years of your mere 19 years of life.

Honestly? It was hard to get anything out of him. The green eyes beauty marched completely at his own pace. You could ask him a question and while he was never rude about it, never once showing an ounce of contempt, if he didn't want to answer your question, he would simply start talking about something else. It made your heart long to know more about him. It confused you, really. The questions you asked were rarely personal. 

Yet, he became weirdly coy when asked about himself. Even though he didn't seem shy by nature.

You were stirring a pot of penne pasta as you were looking at him placing a head on one of the mounts. At that point, only one mount was left. You wondered what could be hung there as you served his plate. Once again, you smiled a little at how much you had to put on his plate. The first time you made his plate while he was doing something, he smiled sheepishly and told you that it wasn't nearly enough to sate his appetite. After you were done plating, you called out to him, "Rook! Dinner's ready."

It had been four and a half months already since Rook came to town. His job being a secret for whatever reason, you were the one carrying groceries for him from town with the money he gave you. You'd often think that he was stacked, not even worrying about ordering the pricier things in town in favour of making delicious dinner together for the both of you.

The fact that you had a mission to carry his groceries to his place meant you were over weekly. And the fact that you were dying to know more about the man who suddenly appeared in town without a soul knowing about him meant you were over everyday. He liked it, he said. He was never the one to turn down having a partner during leisure, you weren't there anyway when he was out on his job. "It's most magnifique to have the company of a beautiful woman at the end of the day," were his exact words.

While you had originally smacked him on the shoulder for saying that, it was his sweetly-spoken poetic words that attracted you more towards him. It brought you closer, in a sense. Just the way he spoke, the way he looked, the way he carried himself– it was so attractive. Le chasseur d'amour, he liked to call himself, was much of a prey of love himself, too. Well, not to others, who couldn't overlook the fact that he was mostly composed of bizarre personality traits rather than normal ones.

But to you? He was a dream. Why? Because he truly had been a dream, or rather- a medium of your fantasies and thoughts for so long. 

You stared at him as he sat down in front of you. Observing that sickeningly sweet, smiling face of his. He looked better with his hair tied back, that's for sure. He said a dear friend of his once stated that bob cuts were high fashion. You had to suck it up that Rook heeded his friend's words over the fact that he would look much better with longer hair. Even better with your fingers laced through them, but that's a conversation left for some other day.

"Your face always looks like it has something missing," you say to him, laughing at the same observation you have made over and over again.

His eyes move up to yours and crinkle in curious delight, "Oh lá lá, you're going to have to explain yourself after saying something like that."

"I don't know," you sighed blissfully, still observing his face as he looked back at you, cutlery in hand. You put your own fork down to lean your face against your hand in thought. You always tried to figure out just what was missing, yet it seemed as though you couldn't. His radiance was too bright, almost enough to pierce your eyes and blind you of the dangers of a stranger. "I suppose it's like a puzzle that has been solved and while the image is complete, it seems as though an entirely different photo would suit the theme better."

"You're suggesting I should get a completely different face?" he asks, chuckling in amusement.

"No! But… you're always either smiling or curious… I was thinking another type of expression would suit you better. Make you look less… incomplete."

"And what do you think that expression would be?" 

You struggle to answer that, scratching your head, "That's the thing. I can't figure it out."

The blonde smiled at you, knowingly but you didn't understand what he knew, and if he did, the young man probably wouldn't tell you now if he didn't tell you already. Talking extensively about something else when asked a question about something he didn't want to answer, that was the nature of the man. 

"You might not have much time to figure that out, Trickster," he says suddenly after a pause, his usual cheerful tone sullen with a hint of disappointment.

Your eyes widen in surprise. The random thoughts about him in your brain came to a halt as you stared at him. Your heart starts beating faster, already expecting the inevitable though you had never kept that in consideration. But you still had a smile on your face, pretending you weren't too affected by the notion, "Ah, you're leaving soon, huh?"

"Not that soon, fortunately. But, I will indeed be leaving in two months. My work here is almost finished. After that, I will enjoy two weeks here and then leave." 

"You gotta give me your phone number then, so I can contact you later," you cheerfully request, though your teeth gritted in dismay. 

It had been only near to four and a half with him, yet you had become attached to him. It was inevitable in a sense. He was handsome, very charming. Momentarily creepy and odd? Sure. But, he was the most soulful person you had ever seen. He was loving and caring. It scared you sometimes, he could love gently, praising you with flowery words. But then, he could be lovingly vicious too, expressing his dismay when he had to replace the eye of an animal for painted glass to finish his perfect taxidermy. 

An unfamiliar feeling bloomed in your heart that you were scared to admit as you hadn't felt it before. It happened so fast that the control you held over your own heart slipped right out of your grip. You looked at him with eyes filled with hope, praying he would consider your request.

The man shut up at the suggestion. Looking at his plate with a neutral, focused expression. It's the first time you saw him looking like that, except when he was gutting a recent hunt. He tapped his fork against the plate quietly, a relaxing and rhythmic tune playing out. You called out to him again, "Rook?"

"I'm afraid that would be futile," he states plainly, before explaining further, "I change my phone number a lot due to my job."

You were opening your mouth to say something but you stopped. You opened your mouth and closed it several times. At last you just kept your mouth shut, thinking you probably looked like a beached fish. You thought about what to say as you reached your chest, clutching on to it. Breathing heavily, you tried calming yourself down but your shoulders felt a weight on them suddenly. A weight they couldn't carry. You looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears that you didn't realize were there, "Do you have to leave?"

"Oui, I have obligations to fulfill."

You observed him silently. You couldn't hold back your tears as they were streaming down your face already. Your face contoured in a way you thought would disgust him. But rather, he put his cutlery down and pushed his plate aside to reach out and wipe your tears away, looking saddened himself, "Non non, don't cry for me, Trickster..."

He stayed silent before leaning in even closer with his whole body. His face close to yours, he whispered, "I'll miss you, too." 

You looked at him in shock as he tipped your head upwards, pressing his lips against yours softly. It was a sincere kiss. But with your skill, or lack thereof, you could only kiss back clumsily. But, it felt right. It was your first kiss but you treated it like it was your last. Closing your eyes, tears still slipped down your now reddened face. It felt so good, so right. You lifted your hands to cradle his face affectionately, desperately.

Your first kiss at 19 was taken away by a 25 year old man. And it felt amazing. 

After a few minutes of experiencing what felt like a slice of heaven, you came back to reality when he pulled back, smiling, "I'll come back some day, that's a promise."

It seemed the promise upset you further. Promises were just spoken words after all, giving hope but no guarantee that they would be fulfilled. Weeping and whimpering hopelessly, you stood up to come beside him before wrapping him in a tight embrace. "Please don't leave," you begged.

"I'll come back sooner than you think. When you'll see me, it will feel like the time spent without me has slipped in the blink of an eye."

"But-" you tried explaining, but with how you were gasping, your words broke a few times, "I've already spent so much time without you, looking at you without you even knowing my existence. Now that I finally got to have you…"

The tall man smiled softly at your genuine pleas for him to stay. He grazed his hands along your cheeks before leaning down to kiss your forehead, hugging you more tightly. "I know a thousand kisses wouldn't suffice for how long I'll be away… maybe three years, maybe five. But, this time, it will have to suffice, mon amour."

This time, to his surprise, it was you who kissed him first. It was bold of you, considering you didn't know what you were doing. But what you did was out of pure admiration, and something deeper you were afraid to admit. Something known by the name of 'love'.  But he smiled through the kiss, lowering his hands from your waist to hold your hips. 

The kiss soon turned into a heated, sloppy one. The open mouthed expression of love exchanged from one person to another. You leaned back for a minute for air as he looked down at you, smiling. You wanted to say something and he caught onto that pretty quickly. He asked lovingly, "Say it, mon amour. I can sense that something is in your heart."

"More," you peeped out meekly.

"More?"

"More", you were awfully flustered, trying to look anywhere but him. That was enough for him to know what you meant when you said 'more'. 

He picked you up in a bridal style to carry you to the bedroom of the cabin. He was red himself, a serene smile still plastered on his face when he laid you down on the soft bed. For once, the bed actually felt alright. Not because the bed itself was any more comfortable than before, but your focus was on something else. Someone else. He straddled you, leaning down to press soft kisses to your cheeks as he asked, "Are you sure, ma beaute?"

"Y-yeah," you said, your eyes still trained somewhere else. He took a hold of your chin and made you face him, locking eyes. He whispered, "You're gonna have to look at me if you want me to continue."

You nodded dumbly at his soft-spoken command. He smiled and patted your head like one would a pet, "Good girl."

It felt mind numbing to have him call you that. A certain electrifying sense coursed through you when he expressed his approval of you. You held onto his forearms, relishing in the sturdy muscles flexing against your palm. He pressed his thumb against your soft lips and like it was practiced, you opened your mouth. Wrapping your tongue around his finger, you lapped it up submissively.

He chuckled heartily, a sort of laugh that made you swoon. You pulled out his finger with a kiss to his hand to watch him as he started undressing you like you were a Christmas present until you were simply in your underwear. You were scared and shy as it was your first time being so bare in front of someone. But, you had to leave your suspicions aside when he leaned down to press open mouth kisses on your neck. 

It felt weird… good… tingly.. So many things altogether you couldn't really say it in one word. The only thing that left your mouth was a pleasured sigh as you wrapped your arms around him. He left a trail of kisses and soft bites till he reached your tits. His calloused hand fondled one of your breasts as he kissed the other. The size difference between you both was so apparent when you saw him up close. He pressed his head against your soft chest, now using both of his hands to gingerly rub circles into your shoulders.

"It's your first time," he stated as he heard the loud thrum of your heartbeat, quite pleased with himself for having the opportunity to take your virginity.

"Is… is that an inconvenience?" you were hesitant despite hearing his cheerful tone.

"Non, non! It is a great honour actually! I will have to handle you way more specially now, would you not like that?"

You nodded and he smiled before lifting his face back up again. He quickly unclasped your bra to toy with your chest once again, pressing and pinching your nipples. You moaned in delight at his small intrusions, your ears reddening and your vision becoming slightly blurry. He noticed that, feeling proud of himself, he started to talk you through it to make the experience more enjoyable for you, "Oh Trickster, it seems you're quite receptive. Such a beautiful girl."

You nodded in gratitude, feeling even better with each passing second. Eventually his hands started lowering before he grabbed onto your hips. He gave it a playful squeeze and chuckled when you pouted from the teasing. The sweet gasps you made as he spread your legs seemed to inspire him as he pressed two fingers onto the outline of your pussy. Your slick had soaked through your panties, which you felt a little embarrassed about but you were so grateful for Rook's touches, forgetting the weight of what had gotten you here in the first place. 

He took off your panties slowly, his eyes widening at the sight of your wet cunt, throbbing for his touch. And he complied, rubbing your clit slowly to simulate you. That resulted in your arching your back, the first time you had the chance to actually experience it rather than just imagining him doing it to you like you shamefully had so many times. His thumb worked its wonder on you while two of his fingers slipped inside. 

You gasped at the stretch, it was slightly painful but the adrenaline helped you out, the small pain easily blending into pleasure until you were a mess in his grip. Your stomach knotted, you realized you were close. His other hand curled around your neck, yet instead of choking you, he stroked the sides of your neck affectionately. You tilted your head and he reached up to stroke your face as well. The small yet considerate action had you tearing up again, this time from happiness.

You felt like you were on cloud nine, rolling your hips against his fingers that were still pumping into you. The knot in your stomach had snapped with a groan rumbling from right from your chest. He happily let you ride your orgasm, languidly fingering you before pulling his digits out with a wet pop. He plopped back down, licking his fingers as his eyes crinkled in happiness, chirping "You taste so delightful!"

You shyly mumble out a 'thank you'. You dithered a bit, your nervous face didn't match his cheerfulness, far too shy even though you had already gone so far. "How can I return the favour?" you asked, looking at him expectantly for an answer. He raked your hair, a teasing grin present on his face, "That wouldn't be necessary. I'll take the prize myself now."

He said the last line as he grabbed onto your waist and flipped you on your stomach. You yelped, surprised, looking over your shoulder, confused on what he was doing. Suddenly the realization dawned on you, it made you feel a certain type of way. What was the word? It was just in your head yet you couldn't coherently think it out. Quite abruptly, you remembered the word. Yes, you felt elated. 

Nervous but elated indeed, as you watched him unbuckle his belt to lower his pants. The print of his shaft made your eyes widen in surprise. Even with a layer covering it, it seemed so huge and thick. And your expectations came true when he finally took it out of its nearly painful restraint. It was a huge cock, thick and veiny with a red, leaking tip. Your heart thrummed so fastly against your chest that you felt like it would burst out any second. You stammered out, full of concern, "Is that… um- is that gonna fit?"

He brushed your silly concern off with a friendly snicker, "That is precisely what I had prepared you for, mon ange."

He lowered onto you from behind, his tip pressed against your wet hole and his oddly soft lips pressed against your ears. You whined at the sensation both of those created, putting a pressure in between your thighs as you rubbed it for some relief. He instructed you gently, so that you wouldn't feel scared, "Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe in slowly and then breathe out."

You followed his instructions. Closing your eyes, you breathed in. But the feeling of his tip slowly entering you from the back had your eyes reaching the back of your skull, not being able to keep it close. It was painful, really. But it felt so good as well, as if this physical connection between the two of you was meant to be. You wailed against the sheets, gripping tightly as tears watered your lash line.

He observed your reactions with a neutral expression, thinking how to help you through your pain. Though it felt so good to be buried in your heat, something he had imagined for months now. At last, the young man reached in between your legs from behind to rub your clit roughly, rolling it within his calloused fingers to stimulate you. It worked because you called out to him so loudly, gasping and heaving, he was sure it would reach the ears of anything in the vicinity. 

The tears streamed down your face and so did a string of drool. The older man almost felt a bit disappointed. If there was a mirror in front of you two where he could see your fucked out face, he imagined it would be better. It didn't stop him in the slightest though, thrusting into you in gentle strokes. Your pained moans had turned into those of pleasure since a while ago. Now, you were bouncing up and down on him to meet his thrusts. You were mumbling out all sorts of obscenities, words mixing with the anomalistic sounds you were making till they were barely coherent.

One of his hands had wrapped around your hair, pulling on it lightly yet firmly, the sensation made your shudder, a pleasurably numbing feeling washing throughout your head that matched that of your lower body. It didn't help that he had picked up his pace once he realized you were enjoying it, now slamming into you with quick and sharp thrusts, accurately hitting all the right places inside of you. The knot in your stomach and the coursing passion throughout your body left you feeling breathless and vulnerable. That's when you decided to confess your feelings,"Roo- mmh, ah!- Rook.. I love you", you said, looking back at him.

He was smiling down at you, still rubbing circles on your clit, groans of ecstacy leaving his lips as he thrust into you. He leaned against your shoulder, and said those words back at you, "Me too, Trickster- haah- I love you too," he slurred through his own strings of moans. The knot on your stomach released as you came all over his cock that was still driving itself into you. 

You squeezed down so hard on him, overstimulated, you were practically milking his dick of all it had when he eventually reached his own peak too. Through the process of riding out both of your orgasms, a certain air of bashfulness covered you both. He pulled out of your wet cunt, a pleasant expression on his face. Helping you to turn on your back, moving closer to you to take your face into his lap. Rook stroked your face gently, his emerald green eyes scanning through your body.

You shifted uncomfortably as you felt his spent slipping out, whining, "You came inside!"

"That I did," he said, mischievous grin on his face, "It might turn into a telltale sign that you belong to someone else, courtesy of moi. With how cutely you had expressed your feelings in between our little tryst, I'm certain you'd prefer that." 

You listened to his words, half concerned yet half considering it. You rubbed your belly in thought and he chuckled at the sight, earning a pout from you. He choked out through giggles, "My apologies, my heart soared a bit too much when I thought how très bien you would look so full of life." 

You both chose to engage in fluffy conversation afterwards, even though the matter of him leaving ran through both your minds. And while you didn't know how it felt for him, you could tell that it was a crushing sensation, a numbing pain that spread from your head throughout your body. Your eyes, heavy and burning, yet you decided to drown yourself in the physical pleasure he provided you, not pondering on what was certain.

Half a year had passed in the blink of an eye until it was only two weeks till Rook's eventual departure. It was monsoon already, visiting that cabin had gotten harder now like it did everywhere. But, those previous years, you visited though you had nothing except your own curiosity to look forward to. Now you had someone special. Someone special who thought you were special too, and looked for you. Balancing on the slippery layer of mud that was draped over the hillock, you continued visiting daily, deriving a certain type of relief from being able to see his face and feeling almost lonesome that you'd lose that opportunity quite soon.

You sometimes wondered what was the true meaning of power if it was all wasted on laborious farmwork and not at all useful in keeping the things that were meaningful to yourself? You weren't a mage like Rook, a lot of things available for you at the click of your fingers. Everything you did was pure hard work, yet when it came to making him stay, you were completely useless.

Rook had changed considerably too, not in a way you minded, you'd suppose. He'd sometimes stare at you, a blank expression on his face when he did. When asked about it, he'd say with that loud guffaw of his, "I was simply enthralled by your beaute, Trickster!" 

When he was not silent observing you, he had also become more physically affectionate. Hugging and kissing you more and more gradually. It was hard to explain to the pharmacist, who you knew, why you needed so many packs of condoms, but you concluded that it was just a dare. You had barely escaped a pregnancy spent solitarily once and you wouldn't risk it again. 

But that aside, something was certainly wrong. His gaze on you never held even a single ounce of malice yet it often felt sickening. Oddly sickening yet lovingly so. You didn't know what caused you to feel this way and you mostly didn't notice, the feeling only creeping up on you every once in a while. Mostly, you were too engaged with your small blooming romance and saddened with how it'd come to a pause as soon as it got the chance to properly flourish. But, the peculiar changes in his behaviour still peeked through from beyond all your concerns, woes and small pieces of delight.

There were also changes in his behaviour regarding hunting. Previously, he was very interested in doing taxidermy and placing the heads of his latest hunts in the form of a pristinely preserved show-piece. Yet, one mount in the living room remained empty for far too long than what was unusual of him before he started on a new project and when asked about it, Rook would often make the same face as he did when he was silently observing you.

You were packing his suitcase despite his protests, sitting on the floor when you caught him staring at you once again, still shirtless. Your eyes scanned over his toned, muscled torso to his hard and hard chest, observing his attractively muscled arms as you went before stopping at his face. You chuckled sheepishly, "What is it this time?"

It seemed as though your voice had broken his line of thoughts, he looked at you with more focus, answering without his usual cheery face, "Just thinking how long I have to spend without you." 

His sombre tone made you stop in your tracks, leaning against the wide open edge of the suitcase thoughtfully, you wondered what to say back, finally asking a question he had never answered before, "What do you even do?"

He took a deep breath in and then sighed. Laughing momentarily, clearly out of awkwardness till the dull expression once again returned on his face. 'Those eyes don't belong to someone like him', you caught yourself regretting ever asking him, as private as he was, but thought it was important for you to know. He stood up to approach you, sitting beside you as he stated, sounding deflated, "Well, my profession is that of a spy. A family trade, in a sense." 

You hugged your knees as you looked at him, not being able to believe him yet at the same time believing him full on. It was hard to think what you could ask to keep the conversation going when all you wanted to do was stare at him. Maybe yell at him for keeping this a secret from you. At last, you decided to ask gently, "What were you doing in this town?"

"I was sent here to investigate whether a certain cartel from the Shaftlands operated here or not. There were several reports made which led me to take my time with this investigation but fortunately this town is safe," he ranted straight before hesitating, his breath hitched as he continued, "I already have jobs lined up, one longer than the last. In my teenage years, it was rare I saw my whole family together and now I barely remember the last time I had seen them, without a doubt it has been over two years."

You watched him as he spoke, hands snaking around his, leaning in and brushing against the side of his hand. You whispered, knowing he would still hear it clearly, having the acute sense of a true predator of the jungle, "I wish I could stay with you forever."

"I was thinking of a way for that as well. For a while now actually" he said, his voice sounding dead for a second, dropped to a low pitch you had never heard before, never once malicious but rather hurt, and confused, but determined. 

At that time, you were overjoyed. Ignoring his tone as it turned all flowery in the matter of a second. You started to straight up expect a marriage proposal. That never came but the monsoon surely did in its full glory. The rain strong enough to wash away any footprints and any DNA. 

The sky was grey though it was barely afternoon. It had been raining once again, with an addition of thunders striking this time. You know you shouldn't be walking through the forest at a time like this where lightning could strike anywhere near you, but you didn't care. You watched the cabin, visible from afar. The rain had absorbed the mist that usually surrounded the cabin. You were soaking wet, something that Rook would inevitably complain about as soon as he saw you. 

You climbed up the stairs before you were standing in front of the oh-so-familiar wooden door. You contemplated knocking but decided what use it would be, Rook was leaving in a few hours anyways, he probably wouldn't need the privacy that knocking provides. Thinking that, you twisted the knob of the door, the creak that the door made incoherent through the sound of the heavy rain. As soon as you walked in, you saw Rook, sitting on the sofa, cleaning his arrows.

"You didn't do that before?" you asked, curious because he tended to be the more immaculate one in between you two.

"Ah, bonjour, Trickster", he said, a content expression on his face. "I had not, no. But, I might come across a situation where I need them."

You nodded in approval before going down to sit beside him, you leaned on his shoulder and he let you, "I can't believe you're leaving."

"Believe my words, neither can I," he stopped speaking, a bit more quiet than usual and his eyes still trained on his gears as he continued cleaning his equipment. That earned him a light smack on his shoulder as you whined, "Why are you being like this?" 

"Whatever do you mean, mon Cheri?"

"So… quiet? You don't seem distant, but you're acting weird."

For the first time today, he looked at you. His eyes held a type of look you'd never seen on him. A bit fanatic, but the rest of his face looked peaceful. It disturbed you at first, not knowing where it came from. He was acting odd for the past couple of weeks, but you think much of it. Now, you wondered if he was hurt from having to leave you alone for such a long time. He hadn't even uttered a word about the fact that you were drenched. But he had obviously noticed it, from the way he looked you up and down.

Rook stood up out of sudden with bow and arrow still in hand, to lock the door of the cabin. He put the keys in his pockets. It was a sign that the cabin wouldn't be opened anytime soon, it was hard to convince the green-eyed man otherwise when he was set on something. You observed him as he moved in front of you. 

Often, you could guess what he was doing. But this time, you were confused on why he was doing it. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Rook often wondered what was the truest form of beauty. He thought beauty could save the world. It was beauty, after all, that created acceptance. Beauty, that sparked curiosity. Beauty, that made the crime even more ugly. Beauty, that lifted the souls of people. So, he seeked out beauty. In his highschool life, he ran around beauties that piqued his curiosity. Vil, Leona… they were right at arm's distance for him.

Before meeting you, he had slept with many girls, in awe of their stunning countenance, but he never knew the beauty of holding love and dedication towards just one person. But, his first love, oh, it affected him deeply. He thought such a beauty could save him, save his soul from the misery of his job that led him to always leaving everything behind to be on duty, a part of him he tried keeping a secret almost completely because of his dislike towards his profession.

Woefully, the end of this love was decided much before it had even started. Much before he picked up that sweet floral smell in his cabin the moment he returned, realizing that a woman would visit his temporary residence. Long before he realized that the said woman also gave this cottage a hint of life, something it desperately needed. Long before he saw you.

He fell in love with you because despite your hesitations at the beginning, you let him in. All his life, he was never accepted for how he was. Called weird, creepy and a stalker. He accepted that he was all of those, quite happily even. A hunter by heart who could easily become a monster the second his thoughts ran astray. It felt nice though, you were a completely different person yet you loved him.

A child who had grown up looking at the trajectory of people's lives as if they were a beautifully framed picture– he knew himself, but it felt like he only knew a shell that was created upon repetitive patterns and not because he truly knew himself, too concerned about everybody else to have a moment of soul searching.

When he found you, he finally felt like the people behind the glass frame. Observed not to be scrutinised, but to be admired.

So, true to his nature, he decided to be selfish, keep you to himself forever. In what form could that be, precisely, was what he had been figuring out for a while now.

His arms neatly folded behind his back as he gave you an eerily lovesick look. You were scared, already shaking like a leaf. It truly felt like you were just about to be crumpled. It felt like you were an innocent person falsely accused and waiting on a death row with a lunatic of an executioner. You had an idea on what he wanted, his eyes green and with a nauseating lack of soulful reflectiveness that it usually held when talking to you. 

You hesitated, thinking you could be wrong, "R-Rook…? What are you planning to do?"

"You know, (Name)" his grin widened.

"Can I ask why?"

"It only makes sense. I can't love you throughout your whole life. So why don't I love you on your last day and then I can love you beyond your death?"

"Are you... serious?"

"Very much so, yes," he nodded, seriously.

You stood up, horrified, but you couldn't take another step further. Your orbs kept observing him. Sweat clung to you uncomfortably as you looked at him, your face red and your breaths hitching. Insanely enough, you were half considering his words. A part of you wanted to sit down and meet your end. Never having felt loved before or loving anyone before, you were obsessed with the crushing grip Rook had you in. 

That moment, you realized you had seen insanity in not only him but yourself. Because the part of you that wanted to make a run for it, the part of you that wanted to curse Rook and escape from the cause of your demise– that strong desire to survive, it lost. You let out a soft breath as you sat back down on the sofa again. Collecting yourself as Rook continued watching you. He complimented you, "My! What a darling you are. I understand this is an absurd ask."

"It's okay." you closed your eyes, leaning back till you felt the plush of the sofa. A peaceful smile was splayed in your eyes, "I love you, Rook."

"I wonder if I'm making the right decision," he spoke to himself as he lifted his bow up, an arrow pointing towards you, an easy target compared to others as compliant as you were. Before your last moments, your eyes cracked open to look at him one last time. His eyes held something you couldn't explain as he said, "I love you too, mon Trickster."

'Ah, his face looks complete now.'

"Urkh… anytime now," you choked out blood, spluttering it before the liquid went down in a smooth flow.

Rook had wrapped you in a tight hug, head against your chest, listening to your progressively slowing heartbeat. Your blood dripped down and reddened his blonde strands. He noticed that and giggled. "You're not scared?" he asked, childishly curious.

"I was, not anymore- now that you're with me," you spoke through the flurry of blood and saliva that came out of your mouth, your voice hoarse "That- that was mean though."

You were talking about the arrow that had gone through your neck, not completely destroying your ability to speak and not touching any vital nerves. No doubt, a calculated move from his part. At this point though, you'd die of blood loss. The pain was so unbearable at first, stains of tears down your face was the proof. Now it had settled into a dull throbbing. It flared up whenever you spoke but you didn't want to stop engaging with him, these being your last chances to do so.

He looked up at your face from where he was and smiled at the sight of your slightly swollen face. It was paler and bluer than your usual skin tone. Your eyes were unfocused, though it was clear they were trying to look at him. Your lips were stained red as blood and saliva dripped out from in between them. The wound in your neck smelled of a strong cooper. He had smelt this scent many times before but none of them were as alluring as the scent of your blood.

He licked a slow strip on your neck and you groaned in pain. The salty taste of blood spread through his tongue and he savoured the flavour like it was a rare delicacy, and in a sense it was. 

By the time he lifted his head up to look at you to give a sheepish apology, he saw that your eyes had closed already. You had retired yourself to eternal slumber and that's when he realized–

He loves the sight of your dead face, for it meant it was only for him to see.

~♡~

Sometimes, he thanked himself for learning magic. 

He had delicately removed the skin from your body and buried you, save your head, by the cabin with a tablet at your grave, digging your name in as 'Mrs. (Name) Hunt'. Your skin was dried through the use of magic as the sun had yet to peek out from in between the stubborn clouds. 

He observed your brains, your tongue, your eyes. He had severed them to put preservative chemicals on them. They needed more than just normal muscles, being quick to rot. A thick layer applied so meticulously from how many times he had done it before. He spread the same substance in the inner parts of your head before drying them all with magic. There was a sheen on your face, looking like it had just been neatly varnished. 

He felt it would be disrespectful to remove you of your internal organs and just stuff you with wool. Most obviously, wool and glass couldn't replace the softness of your supple skin and the beauty of your charming eyes. As such, difficult as it may be, he did his best to preserve you with all you had. He wondered what to do with the skin he had stripped you off throughout your whole body. Tapping his fingers against his chin, at last, he decides to make accessories out of them.

Your head was placed upon that empty mount. That same mount which left you wondering why it was left empty, even though every other mount had a head on them. Your visage on it looked pretty. Eyes closed, peaceful, so kind that even after death it seemed full of love and life. Your lips felt soft when he touched them with his thumb. He thought it was amazing! He would be able to preserve your beauty in object and in his heart for forever.

So far, he knew no pleasure greater than successfully securing a hunt. This time he learned the pleasure of securing a love in the most hedonistic, animalistic and sadistic way. Straying from the feeling of love and settling admiration into obsession.

Though he had started straying way before you noticed the blank stare in his eyes.

_______________________________________

Don't steal my work alright!? :(

Though taking inspiration is always welcome <33

Be sure to like, comment and reblog if you like this fic, it'll definitely help in my goals of becoming popular (@sakka-kyuu I am showing you my bebeh)

[liaromancewriter]

for the <100 drabble:

Ethan, Max, divorce

Taking Care of Business

Premise: Ethan is presented with an important contract.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 760

A/N: Submission for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 day 25 prompt: surprise; I'm using @choicesflashfics week 52, prompt 3.

The knock came at the most unfortunate time. Ethan Ramsey was feeling harried after waiting two hours for the workers only to have them arrive with the wrong materials and take another hour to return with the right ones.

He swung open the front door to his apartment, his scowl turning right side up when he saw his best man on the other side.

“Well … this is unexpected,” Ethan said, stepping back to let Max Valentine in. “I thought you were traveling.”

“Caught the red-eye from Berlin,” Max explained. He held up a legal-sized manila envelope. “We have business to take care of, mon frère.”

Ethan smiled wryly, shaking his head. Max had started teasing him with that term after Ethan commented last time on the oddity of being anyone’s brother-in-law.

The younger man paused in the middle of the living room floor and frowned at the banging coming from the bedroom.

“Bad timing?”

“Ignore that.” Ethan waved away the sound and invited Max to sit at the kitchen island. “Changing up some things in the bedroom and ensuite before Cassie moves on.”

Ethan switched on the electric kettle and espresso machine at the same time. “Does your sister know you’re in town?”

“Yeah, we met up for brunch earlier,” Max said, brushing one hand down his hair and rolling the kinks out of his neck. His lips kicked up in amusement. “She thought this,” he nodded at the envelope, “would be better handled by me than Huey, Dewey, and Louie.”

“Our family’s lawyers,” Max added when Ethan looked confused. “Don’t worry, they’re not actually called that. Inside joke between Cassie and me.”

Ethan recalled the brief conversation with his fiancée last week. Given the short turnaround between their engagement and wedding, her family had been pushing to get the prenuptial agreement signed sooner rather than later.

Max removed the papers from the envelope and turned them towards Ethan.

“You’ll find the terms are very generous. Cassie wouldn’t accept anything less. You both keep what you bring in, equitable division of marital property, yada, yada,” he said. “Still, have your lawyer take a look and redline it. I’ll forward the electronic document to you.”

Ethan scanned the papers, noting the provisions for divorce, infidelity and dissolution of marriage by either party. The lawyers had done a thorough job of outlining all scenarios. What did it say about him that he was unfazed by this?

“There’s one non-negotiable clause,” Max continued as Ethan flipped the page. “You’ll receive shares in the Hudson Group after the ceremony, but they’ll revert to the family in case of divorce or death unless you and Cassie have kids.”

“Be honest,” Ethan mused, peeking at Max over the papers. “What are the chances of your sister divorcing me or letting me divorce her?”

“Since Cassie will have you buried six feet under before you can finish that thought, I’d say slim to none,” Max laughed. “But the Group’s lawyers don’t share her sunny optimism.”

“Where do I sign?” Ethan took a pen out of the kitchen junk drawer.

“As your best man, I advise you to take this to your lawyer,” Max said, all joviality wiped from his face. “Prenups are serious business, Ethan. No matter how inevitable the two of you think you are, I’ve seen strong marriages falter over the most inconsequential things.”

“Were any of them Valentines?” Ethan asked curiously.

“Not the immediate relations, but—”

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” Ethan interrupted, putting a hand up when Max started to speak. “But I’m not marrying your sister for her money or for shares in the Hudson Group. I have a comfortable life, and my father is taken care of. I don’t need anything else.”

Max drummed his fingers against the quartz countertop and stared at Ethan. The considering look in his green eyes was so similar to the one Ethan often witnessed in Cassie that he almost did a double take.

“Fine.” Max reached for his phone. “I’ll have the lawyers email you the DocuSign link. An electronic signature is easiest and more convenient since they need to file the paperwork before the wedding.”

Ethan smirked when Max threw him an annoyed look, again so much like his fiancée. “Cassie told me you’d do this, but I was adamant that you were too level-headed to sign a legal contract without proper advice. You just cost me two hundred bucks.”

“You can afford it,” Ethan said without remorse before turning away to switch off the whistling kettle. “Tea or something stronger?”

-------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @midnightmelodiz

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate

[existance-stories]

a small piece of my lesbian story:

hey, so the last 3 years ive been working on a story between two girls in a Dutch secondary school bit by bit and i wanted to share a small piece of it here:

feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Main character's name: Ella, 15 (F, 1m 63) Her partner: Evie, 16 (F, 1m 70)

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(...) A few minutes later, the rest of the class enters talking loudly and the bell rings. The mentor starts by shushing everyone before starting with the class. “Good morning everyone! As we all know, the lockdowns are over, which is good news for most of us, but it also can be bad for some, because now you have to wake up earlier than usual again.” He says, to which some people giggle.

“So, how is everyone doing?” He asks, getting several responses ranging from “Eh.” to “Tired..” “I see. Well, good news guys, girls and everyone else, we can give actual physical lessons again! Yaaay!... Anyway, the main starting point of this lesson will be inclusion in classes. Get out your phones and scan this QR code to go to a questionnaire” - (he says this very fancily) - “and fill it in until the very last question. I’ll give you 10 minutes for this, and then we’ll move on to the next topic.” He says as he displays a very big QR code on the screen. Everyone scans it and some laugh, but most people fill it in seriously. The questions are from a scale of 1 to 5, ranging from “Do you feel safe at school?” to “How much do you feel like you’re being seen as who you truly are?”. I overhear some guys in the back, whispering “I’m just gonna fill a 1 in every question..” to which in response two other guys laugh. A slight internal anger starts brewing inside of me, but I decide to brush it off. Evie sees this and wants to say something, but gets interrupted by our mentor: “Guys in the back, that’s exactly the opposite of what you’re supposed to do. These results will be published anonymously, but that doesn’t mean you can fill in whatever you please...” Evie looks at me, smiles and whispers: “Like he could read your mind..” “Heh yeah, it’s almost creepy..” I say as I continue with the list. When everyone is seemingly finished with the list, the mentor says: “Right, so. I can see that everyone is done, if you would put your phones away.. So the first real topic of this class will be radioactivity, since we’re done with chapter 3... Right. Who here knows what percentage of the daily exposure to radiation comes from bananas?” After a small moment of silence, someone in the class answers: “Is it 10%?” “No, but you almost got it right though. It’s 1%.”

A boring lesson passes about radioactivity, and when the bell rings Mr. Martens puts his hand up at me and Evie, inviting us to stay after class. We both don’t notice however that one boy looks behind him and sees us waiting for everyone to leave the class. When everyone is outside of class, Mr. Martens closes the door and asks: “So. What is this chemistry between you two?” To which Evie replies: “Well.” – as she looks at me – “we really like each other, to the point where we started hanging out more and.. kissing.. too..” “Well.. You’re lucky, in this society, this kind of attraction is getting more and more accepted, and it’s less of a thing to be ashamed of. You’re lucky this didn’t develop 100 years ago. I will support the both of you, and just know that I’ll be here for any questions.” To which Evie responds: “Thank you so much Mr. Martens! I knew we’d be able to count on you!” “No problem! Hey, this won’t effect your grades in any way, right?” To which we both laugh, me saying: “Oh it will, it will very badly sir!”

After 10 more minutes of discussing how the general atmosphere is in school in terms of acceptance, we leave the classroom and get stopped by a group of four boys and one girl, clearly waiting for us. One of them, called Lodewijk, steps up, saying: “Well well well, look what we have here. The oddities of the school, asking the teacher for help. Weirdos. I’m sure you’ve seen the video on Instagram already, your reputation is over. How about you give us 30 euros and we’ll delete it.” To which Evie and I look at each other, having to switch so suddenly from the happy, safe environment from a few seconds ago to this. All of the boys around him just laugh. I just kind of stammer, not knowing what to do nor what to say, with Evie taking the lead, saying: “Leave us alone. We’re not paying to get something we’re proud of, removed. Want to bet you guys are just as weird as us in other aspects?”, to which the girl of the group replies: “Boo-hoo. Look at her, trying to defend her” – and she says this while making a vomiting sound – “ ‘girl friend.’ How sad. How about you two just break up already, I think these boys here are a much better pick than whatever crap you are hanging out wi-” but before she can finish the sentence, Evie screams: “Don’t you DARE insult my girl!”, with a punch to the girl’s face. Evie takes my hand and we run away from the group, through all the other students. “Hey! Get back here!” Lodewijk screams at the top of his lungs. We leave the school building, eventually stopping besides it. We catch our breath as we stand outside, with eventually me being the first to say: “Wow.. I didn’t think you had that in you!” “Yeah.. I guess I can be too defensive sometimes.. Heh, we’re undoubtedly in trouble, but it was so worth it.” She looks up and smiles at me, and I smile back. She gives me a quick kiss, taking the role as the dominant one in the relationship. “Did you see whether I did any damage to her ugly face?” “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly paying attention in that situation..”

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again, any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[doomfox]

Goodman/Kessler. For Hire.

David Kessler tried to ignore his friend. He really tried. But Jack Goodman was nothing if not persistent, throwing his arms wide and grinning like an idiot as they walked side-by-side.

“Ah! You smell that Davy?” Jack cackled, rearing back his head and wearing an idiotic smile across his fresh young face, “you smell that in the air?? Know what that is??”

“What, Jack.”

“That’s LIFE my friend! Don’t it smell good??”

“No.”

“ahh, come on Davy-boy!” Jack gave David a hopeless look as they walked. “What the heck’s wrong with ya? you got worms or something?”

David gave his buddy a glare and accelerated his pace. “What do you think, Jack?” He growled, shooting his best friend an accusing glare, “you have any idea how cold it is??”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on! You were ready for a trim.”

“It’s degrading!” David snapped, “I hate everything about it!”

“Well tell ya what,” Jack retorted, “next year I’ll leave you to it and you can overheat. And sleep outside because boy, you are NOT shedding all over the trailer.” Jack dived into his pocket, producing a handful of notes as he lowered to David’s level. “Take a look at this, davy-boy! one thousand dollars for a few days’ work! And half of that’s yours, buddy boy!”

David scowled at Jack, his buddy blocking his path. “Jack. Look at me.” David raised a hairy paw, gesturing to himself best he was able. “I’m a big fucking dog. What in fuck’s name am I supposed to do with money??”

Jack groaned, standing and shoving the cash back into his jacket pockets. “Christ David, you’re a hell of a buzzkill when you’re in a mood.” The two friends continued on their way, heading through the small town of Eagle’s Grove, where they had been living for the last year. They rarely went without the other, and were a local oddity, but the boys had managed to scrape a living doing odd jobs. Or, on the record at least, Jack had. Jack Goodman, and his strange dog, David. “Come on, bud! We are in the money! Let’s go get hammered, huh? You wanna go have some fun?”

“I guess...” David gave up, plodding along on all fours, the night’s breeze wafting over the light fuzz that had been left of his usual thick black coat, “at least I’ll be warm. But first round’s on you!”

“O’ course, buddy!” Jack gave David a quick ruffle over the head, “let’s celebrate our pay day!”

...

The two boys finally made their way to the local tavern, Jack pausing at the door to regard David. “Alright buddy, you know the drill. Time for the Dog Act.”

“Yeah yeah...” David grumbled resignedly, yellow eyes scanning the tavern door. Music quietly sounded inside, some kind of Country-rock. “I get it. But don’t ignore me this time! Gets lonely without anyone to talk to.”

Jack grimaced. “I’ll do my best, bud. But y’know, people think it’s a little odd when the handsome guy from New York starts chatting with his dog.”

“I’m flattered.” David nodded at the door. “Come on Goodman. Open up.”

Jack scoffed. “Of course, your Davidness...” Jack reached out and turned the knob, giving David a mock-curtsey. “After you, Fido!”

David nudged his buddy as he passed, Jack complaining as he was ‘accidentally’ knocked into the doorframe, and entered the warm, cosy interior of the small tavern.

People stared. They always did. It was five years since the full moon, David’s one and only transformation in his parents’ home in New York, and David was not quite the ferocious perpetually angry monster he’d almost become. He could be perfectly vicious and terrifying when he wanted, but when relaxed, teeth mostly hidden beneath his chops and expression at rest, he passed as a big weird wolfish hound. Just. He mooched through the tavern, followed closely by Jack, curious eyes following him as he headed for the bar.

“Mister Goodman! Good evening, son!” The tender, Carl, greeted Jack with a crooked-toothed grin as the man approached. Old eyes lowered from a wrinkled face, the bearded man now regarding David. “Hello there, David! You good there, big fella?”

“Hey Carl!” Jack grinned, joining David at the bar as his werewolf friend reared up to rest his paws against the wood, “don’t mind Davy-boy. He’s a little grouchy cuz’ he had his haircut today, ain’t ya boy?”

“Don’t push it, Goodman.” David released a grunt as Jack reached out to scratch at his back, remembering to maintain his ‘dog act’.

“So I see!” Carl chuckled, reaching behind the bar to retrieve something. “Well, I think I got a little somethin’ to cheer this big fella up!” He retrieved a tub of dried meats. “Here y’are, boy! Get that down ye!” A suddenly interested David sniffed at the treat, gently plucking it from the man’s fingers and scarfing it down.

Jack grinned. “Good boy! Very good boy!” David swore at him internally, and the man chuckled as he retrieved some notes from his coat. “Alright, Carl. Gimme a beer, and a dish o’ water for the dog.

Yellow eyes snapped to glare at him. “WHAT”

“Just kidding!” Jack grinned mischievously, enjoying David’s sudden consternation. “Usual for Davy-boy Carl.”

Carl nodded, pouring Jack’s drink and retrieving a metal dish from beneath the counter. “Never seen a hound drink like this’un. Damn peculiar, ain’t ya boy?”

“Yeah, that’s David all over.” Jack took his drink and David’s dish, “cheers Carl. C’mon David.” Jack clucked his tongue, David took another slice of jerky from the tender, and plopped to the floor to follow his buddy to a quiet corner. Jack set his dish down on the carpet. “There you go, bud. Enjoy.”

“You love this whole ‘dog thing’, don’t you?” David gave him a look, scowling tiredly at the man. “You get a kick out of demeaning me??”

Jack shrugged, raising his glass to his lips. “Always wanted a dog when I was little. You should be honoured, Davy!”

“Jack, have you ever considered not having a face?” David lapped at his beer, froth dribbling down his chin as he licked his lips. “Maybe shedding a few fingers?”

Jack gave him a strained grin as more men approached. “Doggy act, David!” David scanned around, ears raised as he recognised the men. “Hey, Art!” Jack raised his glass, greeting the passing men. “How’s the chickens?”

“Very good, Jack!” One of the men, a big rotund fellow with a flushed red face, beamed back with broken teeth. “Your boy there’s done a grand job keepin’ the varmints away!”

“Pest control is the big guy’s specialty!” Jack replied, leaning down to scratch David’s neck. “Don’t suppose you feel like loaning him for a couple days?”

“You’re doing what now??”

Jack cackled to himself as David shot him a startled look. The big farmer, Art, set his hands on his hips. “Nah, boy! Couldn’t separate a man from his hound.”

“Very kind of you, Art!” Jack judged his buddy with a boot, David grunting irritably as the contact. “David thanks you!”

“David says ‘get your foot off of me or lose it, Goodman’.” Art lowered and gave the big werewolf a scratch, before bidding jack a good night and heading off with his buddy. Jack took a slurp of his beer, David frowning into his own. “Do you enjoy degrading and annoying me, Jack?”

“Ah, get over yourself.” Jack wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. “I wouldn’t sell ya. Wouldn’t get much anyway, ya big throw rug.”

“Wow. Gee, thanks.” David grumbled, unimpressed “I’m honoured.”

Jack grinned, tapping his boot against David’s back. “That’s right, you’re a good boy!” He cackled to himself, lowering to scratch at David’s neck. “A very good boy!”

“STOP DOING THAT!! I AM NOT YOUR FREAKING PET!!!”

“Oh hey!” Jack stopped, suddenly uninterested in annoying his buddy, “take a look, David. Feast your eyes on that!”

David scowled at his friend and looked to investigate what had caught Jack’s attention. He paused. A pair of very attractive girls, apparent strangers, had entered the tavern and Jack was almost salivating as he grinned to his buddy. “Phew,” he whistled, leaning down to whisper to his friend, “fine piece o’ work, huh? Couple o’ firecrackers right there!”

“.. Jack, don’t you dare.”

“Dare what?”

“Fuck off and leave me alone to watch YOU hit on some girls!” David gave his buddy a pointed glare, very aware of his own inability to garner female attention, “I’m not dealing with that crap again, Jack! It’s not fair!”

“Sorry buddy...” Jack finished up his drink and stood from the table, “man’s gotta do what a man’ gotta do...”

“Jack. Jack?” David watched his buddy leave the table, striding across the bar to get to work, “Jack! You asshole, don’t ignore me! JACK!!!” David glared at his friend, scowling as he lowered himself to the floor to sulk. “Asshole.”

...

“So!” Carl wiped a glass, approaching the girls to fix their orders, “what can I get for you fine ladies?”

“I’ll handle it, Carl...” Jack spoke confidently, striding over to join the girls before they could make a sound. The fresh-faced young man beamed, leaning on the bar with the other hand on his hip. “Whatever they want. On me.” The girls grinned to one another as Carl took their orders, looking over Jack with interest. “So!” He said smoothly, sliding a fresh beer across the bar as Carl fixed their drinks, “you girls have names?”

“I’m Tracy!” The dark-haired girl offered, reaching out painted nails with a grin.

“Anna!” The other did the same, swishing her long blonde hair across a shoulder.

“Tracy! Anna!” Jack shook their hands, grinning like an idiot, “lovely names for lovely ladies! Name’s Goodman. Jack Goodman.”

“So, mister Goodman...” Tracy said, blue eyes flashing as she sipped at her drink, “what is it you do around here?”

Jack shrugged. “Ah, bit of this, bit of that... my buddy and I are kinda the ‘odd-job guys’ round here!”

“You have a friend??” Anna seemed VERY interested in this, eyes gleaming as they scanned the bar, “where is he?”

Jack smacked his forehead. “Oh, uh... he’s around. Hey, I’ll get him for ya! David??” Jack clucked his tongue, leaning against the bar as he looked back to the table. “Come here, big guy!” The girls waited expectantly, Jack beginning to feel like an idiot as David apparently decided not to show. “Don’t mind him, he’s just shy! DAVID! Come here, boy!”

The girls frowned, watching and waiting... and released simultaneous gasps, startled as a black-furred head appeared, David loping around the table to resignedly see what Jack wanted.

Jack grinned. “There he is! Hey Davy-boy! Come say hello to the ladies!”

David briefly scanned between the girls, giving Jack a very unimpressed look as he plopped his butt on the floor. “You gonna get my drink or what, Goodman.”

Jack declined to indulge his friend’s silent request, lowering to pat David squarely on the back. “Tracy? Anna? Meet my good buddy David.”

“Oh my God!” Anna raised a hand to her mouth, the two girls gawking at the big strange wolflike creature.

“What on Earth IS he??” Tracy regarded the werewolf with astonishment, David remaining silent as he continued with his dog act.

“Kesslerian Wolfhound!” Jack replied smoothly, continuing to scratch his buddy’s back, “very rare breed! Don’t worry...” He winked, both hands clapping on hairy shoulders, “he might look scary, but he’s very friendly!”

Anna cooed in fascination, lowering to tentatively reach out a hand. “Can I...?”

Jack grinned. “Go ahead! He don’t bite!”

“Jack I WILL kill you,” David silently seethed, resisting the urge to glower at his friend, “are you doing this to piss me off or what??”

“Hey, easy...” David hissed in his ear, clutching the big wolf’s scruff, “I’m gettin’ ya some attention! C’mon, give ‘em those big ol’ eyes! Give that stubby tail a shake! Girls love dogs!”

“Awww...” He’s so SOFT!!” Jack moved aside, allowing Anna to run her hands over David’s freshly-trimmed coat, “hey, big guy! You a good boy, huh?”

“This is the most degrading experience of- oh SHIT this girl got hands”

“Enjoy yourself,” Jack smirked as David flopped to the ground with a happy rumble, content to allow Anna to fuss him some more. “See? He’s a big softie.”

Tracy looked over the big werewolf incredulously, like she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. “That is one strange dog, if you don’t mind me saying so...”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a strange breed. But hey!” He raised his beer and winked, “he gets the job done! Been my best buddy for- uh, five years!”

She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow as she listened. “That so?”

“Yup!” Jack gestured to the floor, amused as David capsized to allow a grinning Anna to rub at his stomach, “boy’s like a brother to me. Been through everything together.”

“You make him sound like a person,” the dark haired woman said, voice tinged with curiosity. “Like he’s a human being.”

Jack scoffed, rubbing the back of his head and laughing. “Yeah... I guess I just love the big lug like that, right?”

“Oh my gosh!” Before Tracy could respond Anna gasped from below. They looked down to find the blonde woman running her hands over David’s chest, parting the thicker fur that remained there, “what happened to him?”

Jack frowned, David staring pleadingly as Anna felt at the scars... the thick, long-healed scars from that attack on the moors five years earlier.

“He got into a fight with... another dog,” Jack said quietly, hoping the questions would go no further.

“Oh, poor boy... wait...” Jack felt a stab of fear as Anna dug around his buddy’s chest, noting David tensing up as he lay on his back, “what are... what...” Anna reared back in confusion, screwing her face as she rubbed at David’s pectorals. “Are... are these his nipples??”

“Oh fuck,” David whimpered, now attempting to wriggle away from his company. “Jack, get her off me... I wanna go home now...”

“Alright!” Jack spoke loudly, knocking back his drink and setting the glass on the bar. “Lovely to meet you ladies, but David and I gotta shoot.”

“So soon?” Tracy frowned, Anna standing and staring down at David as he righted himself and stayed low.

“Yup! Busy day tomorrow! Very busy!” Jack grinned nervously, voice strained as he grabbed David’s scruff. “And Davy needs his dinner! You’re a hungry boy, ain’t ya buddy??”

“Alright, maybe see you around...” Anna said, still frowning at the werewolf.

“Yes, you and your weird dog with his nipples on his chest...” Tracy muttered, eyeing David with suspicion.

David’s response was to hang his head, all but cowering beneath the girls’ scrutiny. “Alright Davy-boy! Come on!” Jack clucked his tongue, giving the girls a casual two-fingered salute. “Later, girls!”

The two girls watched Jack nudge David on their way, yellow eyes glancing back at them from a black-furred face. Jack and his dog left, the door closing shut behind them.

Anna hissed, turning her attention to her friend. “What kind of dog WAS that?? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“I don’t know...” Tracy said quietly, staring at the door as she leaned against the bar, “but I don’t think he’s quite... normal.”

“You girls’d be wise to leave those two alone.” Tracy and Anna turned to find the bartender, Carl, accompanying them in their appraisal of the tavern door. A grim expression occupied the man’s face, his hands spread as he leaned to speak to them quietly. “The dog. David. He ain’t any ordinary beast.”

The girls glanced to one another, leaning closer to the old man. “What do you mean?” Anna whispered, “what is he?”

The man cocked his head with a shrug. “Can’t rightly say... but when they showed up ‘bout a year back, people round here knew that creature weren’t anythin’ natural.” He scratched at his beard. “But they settled in, made ‘emselves useful, an’ people were happy ter let ‘em be. Never hurt a soul, far as I’m aware.”

Tracy frowned. “Then why do you say we should stay away? Is the... is David dangerous?”

“Oh, ‘e’s well-mannered enough. Good boy, very friendly.” He released a huff, reached out to take the girls’ now empty glasses. “But some things are jus’ best left alone. David is one of ‘em.” He sighed, giving the door another glance. “Poor boy. Whatever happened to ‘im... ain’t right.”

The girls gave one another a frightened look, and decided to move on for the night.

...

David plodded home with Jack, electing to remain silent both inwardly and outwardly. He glowered at his own front paws, ears flat, miserably tailing the man as Jack led them back to their trailer at the edge of town. Jack let himself in, stepping aside for David and allowing the perpetual werewolf to enter the hideout they called home. “Well...” Jack said, closing the door and clapping his hands, “that went well!” the young man watched as his buddy flopped onto the couch, plopping his head on a pillow. “Aw come on bud, cheer up! They can’t know anything. You’re just a big weird dog, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me all over.” David’s inner voice was bitter, dripping with sarcasm as he glowered down the length of a forelimb. “that’s David Kessler. Just a big stupid weird dog.”

“You know what I mean...” Jack passed the couch, giving David a pat on the shoulder, “you hungry buddy? You want dinner? I got pork n’ beans!”

“Oh great, pork n’ beans. Again. My favourite.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jack flicked on the small television opposite the couch, tossing the remote to his buddy. “I’ll get food goin’. You wanna beer?”

“Sure. Fuck it.”

Jack poured David a beer, setting it on the wonky table in David’s dish, and went to get dinner cooking. He hummed to himself, retrieving three cans of sausage and baked beans and emptying them into a large bowl. He chucked them in the microwave, grabbed a beer for himself, and went to accompany his friend on the couch. “Hey, come on Chewbacca. Shuffle that hairy ass a notch.” David grunted, doing as he was asked and giving Jack some space to sit, his furry black bulk still taking up most of the space. Jack snapped open his beer, resting an arm on David’s rear quarters and scratched through the buzzcut fur. “Hey, you good there buddy? Kinda quiet over there.” David grumbled wordlessly, yellow eyes glowering at the television screen. “Not what I mean, bud. Come on. Talk to me.”

David gabbled, snarling and growling in response, throat and mouth incapable of forming words.

“Don’t be an ass, Wolf-putz. I’m the only guy you can communicate with, you might as well use that.”

David’s head craned down, yellow eyes scowling at him. “You know it DOES upset me when you call me names like that?”

“Okay okay! I’m sorry!” Jack sighed, ceasing his tormenting and leaving David to sulk. “Jeez man, lighten up will ya?”

David glowered into the carpet, ignoring his dish of booze. “I’d love to, Jack. I’d really love to. But for SOME reason it’s kinda hard sometimes, you know?”

Jack stared at his friend as David flopped to the floor, huffing as he rested his chin on his forelimbs. “Sorry man... still bothers you, huh?”

“Course it does, you shmuck!” David snapped, glancing up at his buddy from his position on the couch. “Look Jack. It’s been five years. I’m mostly over it...” he worked a claw into the couch, idly picking at the material, “but sometimes I remember what I am and that I’m stuck like this and... and I can’t do anything! I gotta follow you around pretending to be a weird pet! It’s humiliating, man. And then people start figuring out what I am and... I hate it. I hate being some big, broken freak!” David paused, leaning his head out to lap at his beer, before releasing a huff and curling up. “I don’t even remember what it’s like being human any more, you know that? If I suddenly, miraculously changed back tomorrow, I don’t think I could handle it. I’m not a person any more, Jack! I lost everything...”

It wasn’t often David spilled his guts. He kept to himself, long having resigned to his new life after the boys fled New York. Eventually Jack found it in him to respond, always a little unsure how to handle these rare moments of his friend sharing his miserable thoughts. “Hey... Dave? You remember that night on the moors?”

“Oh, no. Why would I remember that?” David’s inner voice said dryly, the werewolf giving his friend a sour look. “Whatever could have happened??”

“You remember when it attacked us?” Jack gently ran his hand over David’s flank, doing what he could to soothe his buddy. “And you screamed for me to help? What did I do, David?”

David snorted. “You jumped on it and tried killing it with a flick-knife. You crazy shmuck.”

“Hey, come on! It worked, didn’t it?”

David gave him a look. “It broke your nose.”

“Still killed the bitch!”

“The guys from the Slaughtered Lamb shot it with like three double-barrels. After it broke your nose.”

“Well hey, I softened it up for them.” He lightly thumped David on a leg. “And then when we got back home, an’ you changed for that first time? And I stuck by you and helped you keep your head?”

David physically shuddered. “Not gonna lie, kinda glad I never had to go through that again. That wasn’t fun.”

“No, it wasn’t. Pain in the ass smuggling ya outta New York too, Davy-boy. You’re big, you’re hairy, and you were WAY uglier back then!”

David scowled. “What’s your point here, Jack? Am I supposed to be forever indebted to you or something?”

“The point,” Jack replied, locking eyes with David’s, “is I never gave up on you. You’re my best friend, David! I was never gonna let you down! And that’s still true. Don’t matter that I had to leave my life, hit the road and go off the grid, work crappy jobs and stay on the move just trying to keep us both fed and somewhere to live.” He waved a hand around the crappy trailer, a dry grin on his face. “Point is I’m here for you buddy.” He smacked David on the rump, giving the wolf a wink. “I got your back.”

David stared at his friend, expression softening as he lay his head back down. “Thanks, Jack. I wouldn’t be here still if it weren’t for you.”

“You know it, buddy. And hey! We have some fun, don’t we?” Jack’s tone lightened, the young man unflappably optimistic, “Goodman and Kessler against the world! Till the wheels come off!” He clacked his beer against David’s dish. “Cheers, buddy!”

David rolled his eyes, indulging Jack and taking another drink as the man downed his can. His ears raised as a ping sounded from the kitchen and he looked to Jack expectantly. “Go on then, Goodman. Plate up, I’m starved.”

Jack reared his head back in a laugh. “Oh, sure thing your Davidlyness!” He stood and padded off to fix their respective dinners, allowing David to stretch back out on the couch. “You want bread an’ butter?”

“Sure.” David rolled onto his back, head resting on his pillow, nose twitching in anticipation at the smell of the hot food. He frowned. He leaned on an elbow and scowled into the kitchen. “Hey! Did you call me ugly a minute ago??”

“Relax!” Jack’s voice called back, “you look great! Very handsome boy!”

David huffed, glowering as he rested back in his reclined position. “Dick.”

...

[xstarxgazerx]

Dreaming

Astrid looked around the airplane, she knew her friends were on board and couldn’t seem to figure out why they weren’t all seated together. Though she couldn’t seem to remember planning the trip, or even getting on the plane, she knew exactly where they were going and that they’d been planning this for months. Standing up, she looked around the cabin to find her two friends and that’s when she felt it. There were eyes on her, something that felt foreign and threatening. She scanned the area again, trying to look casual as goosebumps rose on her skin. The moment she met a pair of brown eyes she had to fight the urge to curl up into herself. She knew. She knew then as well as she knew her own name, this man was sent to kill her.  

“Get in the car, hurry up, my Nana is waiting for us, I don’t want to be late.” There was a smile on her face as she rushed her friends into the rental car. While they were in a foreign nation, Az seemed to know exactly where to go and what she needed to get there. Right now she needed to get them moving while the hit man was stuck behind a plane full of people. They were going to need to drive creatively to make sure he wasn’t following them, she knew he was a hired gun, but she knew she would be able to shake him. As soon as she climbed into the car she looked out the window to see her grandmother waving at her, the car parked in the driveway of her childhood home. She was so happy to see her Nana that she didn’t stop to ponder the oddity of the home or the location. As she opened the car door and stepped out, she found herself inside the house with the sun already beyond the horizon.

‘Stay low so they can’t see you through the window.’ Her thoughts were bombarding her as she peeked out the window to see three different hit teams on the street. She knew they were here for her. Knew there was no way to stop them from killing her. Just as despair threatened to drag her under she heard the front door swing open and slam closed, sending a wave of panic over her. The feeling only intensified when the stranger from the plane rushed into her room, closing the door behind him. Tears filled her eyes as she looked for anything she could use to defend herself, only to be startled when he held his hands up to show he wasn't a threat. Her eyes narrowed as he moved closer, with each inch he covered she backed away another until she was backed against the wall with no room to retreat. 

“If I was here to hurt you I would have already. Please, just look. There are three cars out your window there, I’ve dispatched two of the teams already. I… I was sent to kill you, you’re right, but when I realized I couldn’t do it, they sent more teams to make sure it was done. I’m here to protect you.” She knew he was telling the truth, but in that same moment she knew that she had to die. Hopelessness for saving her own life descended, but it was overcome with the determination to save the people that she loved. If those assassins came in here to kill her, they wouldn’t be leaving her Nana and friends alive, not to mention this man she didn’t even know that mysteriously pledged to help her. Clearing her throat, Astrid shook her head and pointed at the weapons on his belt. “You have to do it…. Please, make it quick…”

Astrid bolted up in bed with her hands clutching her chest. The tears in her eyes welled up, it wasn’t the fear that made her shake in these first waking moments. It was the desolate hopelessness. Coming to terms with the fact that there was no way out for her. It left a hollow feeling in her chest, one that felt like a decaying nerve. A cavity that grew with each breath she took. Wiping her eyes, she turned, pulling Ryker’s arm around her and burrowed against his chest. If she had any hope of finding sleep tonight, it was going to be here, in the comfort of his warmth.

[tumblingxelian]

Okay so, unused DREAD Unit voiceline explains why Moon can jumpscare you even when hiding in Freddy:

Basically, when the power is rerouted to the Charging Stations at 12:50, 1:50, 2:50, 3:50, 4:50, and 5:50 AM, DREAD Unit scans the building to see if any Animatronics are outside of their charging stations. If it detects a loose animatronic, Moon is released from the Daycare to subdue it and take it to the nearest unoccupied recharge station.

The issue?

If there are any PEOPLE in the same area as the animatronic, then Moon will attack THEM with the force required to subdue Montgomery Gator at his worst, and then shove their corpse into a recharge station. This is what makes Moon so dangerous that they keep the lights on in the Daycare 24/7: they ALSO use this force on CHILDREN due to not realizing that they're not as durable as a Glamrock Animatroonic.

This is also why they attack you even if you hide inside Freddy: Moon ISN'T pursuing Gregory, they're pursuing FREDDY, but will still attack Gregory if he lingers around them for too long.

This is ALSO why Moon takes Freddy to Parts and service at 3:00, that's where the nearest unoccupied recharge station was.

Iiinteresting, that does explain some oddities.

[ferallymine]

AOC: Cardplayers

a/n: I asked my deck what a reading for this trio would look like and here we are. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hut was small in comparison to her study- both rooms could easily fit inside it judging by how it looked on the outside. How could a space be so small, yet house so many oddities? The hut’s outside appearance lied to all watching about what it could possibly contain.

 Zelda admired the trinkets and haphazardly displayed plants, potions, and other assorted goods in Iris’ living space. There’s just so many things to ask her. If she didn’t know better, Zelda would only think of her as a mystical hoarder. The bedroom door was closed, but she imagined what other mysteries could be inside. Even the dust highlighted in the sunlight from the window felt ethereal and specially placed. Her own study could never feel this cozy, no matter how much Zelda loved being in it.

 Link simply sat beside her, silent but also curious. Only the ones who knew him best could tell by the glint in his eyes- often the only way to gauge his true thoughts. He didn’t have any burning questions, unlike the royal to his right. He felt her fidget in her seat, eyes darting everywhere.

 Was it dust, glitter, dirt, or remains in that tattered leather pouch? What’s in all those corked bottles? Why are some of them sealed in wax? Some of these plants should be impossible to plant inside- how did she do it? Was that a-

 “My Lily, you could summon a horde with the sound of your thoughts,” The witch laughed, turning from the counter to face a now flustered Zelda. “Do you want to ask about my living choices, or would you like to use our time on the cards?” Such an air of friendly teasing in her words.

 “S-sorry! The cards please.” Zelda didn’t mind the nicknames Iris gave, but it always made her feel special in a strange platonic sense. It was a similar warmth to Urbosa’s ‘little bird.’ It was soft- gentle, even- in a world where a cursed prophecy required the worst parts of themselves to be put first.

 Zelda realized she had spaced out, returning her gaze back to Iris.

 She pulled beautifully worn cards from a sage green cloth. Iris closed her eyes, shuffling the cards with mastery. Her fingertips seemed to blur together as the cards moved. There was a faint energy in the air. All three of them felt it pull at their inner selves. What power could pull their questions into a carefully detailed piece of paper?

 In rapid succession, Iris laid out seven cards. “Alright… what do we have?”

                In front of Link lay the Page and 4 of Cups.

                In front of Zelda lay the Hierophant and R! 8 of Wands.

                In front of Iris lay the R! Sun and the Queen of Wands.

                In the middle lay Justice.

 “Ah.”

 “Ah? What do you mean ‘ah,’ Iris?!”

 “I mean ‘Ah.’ Like a pompous way to say the last syllable in your name.”

 “Well, what does it say? Tell us!” Tell me, please…

 “Don’t rush what you don’t yet understand, Highness.” Iris hummed as she looked the spread over. Her fingers gently hovered over each card, thoughts collecting before she spoke, “I think I know what it’s saying…”

 “My Alium,” She turned to Link- his poker face unchanged, “…your cards mean to trust your instincts. Your passions and talents are unmatched in skill, yes, but there’s more to find if you look around. Let others help you; Don’t get tunnel vision.”

 Link slowly nodded, pieces of his hair drifting over his face. Iris sensed reservations in the way he held his fists by his side, but said nothing. She shifted her weight to face Zelda- who was frantically scanning over all the cards. Easy there, Lily…

 Zelda waited, anxious nerves tingling just underneath her skin. When Iris had told her she once knew cartomancy, she immediately begged for a reading. Zelda hoped that the cards would help her directly talk to the powers above, or at least give her answers to why her power wasn’t awakening.

 “This figure is the Hierophant. Since it’s accompanied by the reversed 8 of wands, I think the powers want you to face your frustration with traditions and authority.” Iris closed her eyes, wiggling her fingers to find the right words. A breath before she continued, “You’re feeling stuck, most of it being entangled with standards of religion. Maybe let yourself be, well, yourself, instead of what His Majesty demands.”

 “This is just what we already know!” Zelda stood in frustration, but hit her head off the bookshelf above the seat. She furiously rubbed the bump, both as a distraction from the pain and to just… move. Scream without screaming. Why can’t anyone give a straightforward answer!

 Iris scooted her chair back, pulling the table with her. She figured that letting Zelda do what she needed would be better than anything else. Link followed suit, keeping his eyes on the environment for anything dangerous that could fall. The cards were jostled, but nothing overly disruptive disturbed their placements.

 “I don’t mean to put so much into something so meaningless,” Zelda blinked back tears, “But by the Goddess I wanted some sort of straightforward answer.”

 Iris cocked her head, “…I understand where you’re coming from, but this did give some insight-”

 “NO IT DID NOT!” Her sudden yell silenced everything. It was as if even the very dust in the air came to a standstill, the plants seemed a bit less green, and the sunlight faded as clouds began to blot the sky. Zelda’s breaths became heavy as she tried to control her emotions. “What about your cards, huh? What do they say?! That you’re perfect and mighty enough to face this?!”

 “I will not answer to someone yelling at me like that.” Iris interlocked her fingers, face stone cold. “Take all the time you need, but I will not tolerate this in my home.”

 “You are to help me, Iris! You swore allegiance!”

 “My allegiance is to Hyrule, not to someone who thinks yelling condescending insults will get her answers.” Iris waved a hand, maroon smoke sending the cards flying into the air. She reached out, randomly grabbing one as the rest fell wherever.

 “Hmm… 9 of Swords,” Iris looked back at Zelda, “Go rest. You’ve got too much on your mind for clear thinking.” Another wave of the hand opened her bedroom door. Zelda stood defiant for only a moment, then sighed and retreated. The slam of the door rattled some pots, but nothing fell.

Link sat still, stunned at the sudden outburst. Not knowing what else to do, he knelt to pick up some of the scattered cards. Iris swirled maroon around, gathering ones he hadn’t grabbed.

 “What did your cards say?”

 Iris paused, looking up to make sure she heard correctly. Crimson met blue as their gaze set on each other. Link’s face blushed, realizing this was one of the very rare times he allowed himself to speak. He dared not move, suddenly too embarrassed to do anything beyond stare at her.

 Iris’ face softened, thought a light blush graced her face. “Mine said that I’ve got to face some inner sorrows, but if I remain confident and determined, I should come out relatively okay. Anything could define that term, though. The middle card invited us to realize our impact on the Calamity if we stay to what’s true.”

 Link smiled, looking at his hands. Seeing the remaining cards, he quickly offered them to her. There were only a few and they were all haphazardly clumped together, facing many ways. The Lovers card lay on top, just under his thumb. Iris chuckled before accepting them.

 She knew that puzzled look on his face as she put the cards in the cloth. “The Lovers can be quite literal when they come up. Often times, though, they represent a choice to be made. There’s a duality to life that we tend to forget as we move along.” She finished tying off the cloth, moving to set it on the shelf, “But these are the cataclysmic prophesied times, so who knows how many choices we’ll have to make await us.”

[purplepossessions]

 “Curiosity killed the cat!” Pt1

Seventy-Eight-year-old Joey Scovell is a Cajun man from Avery Island, Louisiana. Where the Bayou’s fingers sprawl out like the Spanish moss-covered branches of the Angel Oaks.  Where tabasco sauce and fried alligator are served up hot and the Bourrée is played at 6pm sharp every Saturday, but Poor old Joey seemed to lose every night since he started 70 years ago when his grandmother taught him. She always said, “If you didn’t have bad luck Joey, you wouldn’t have any at all!” and she was right. He didn’t seem to win much at anything. Like his black cat Jinx, they were both cursed with bad luck and curiosity, and neither was good for them. Curiosity kept him playing and bad luck kept him losing.

            “Look like you out some food Jinx. I’ll go get some for ya before the game little buddy!” Joey scratched under Jinx’s purring chin and left his bungalow.

  As Joey walked down his street, he noticed an unfamiliar store glowing purple from the windows and his curiosity got the best of him. He figured he had some time before heading to Earl’s for bourré and went inside to see what it was all about.

            When Joey entered the store, he was met with strange artifacts and the sound of windchimes singing from the door. Talismans, amulets, and charms hung from wooden jewelry arms. Jars and crystals refracted dancing light on the walls, and an older looking woman reading a letter, dressed entirely in purple stood by an old-time register. She looked up at Joey and greeted him with a warm smile.

“Good evening, is there anything I can do for you?” Sylvia asked kindly.

            “Oh, I’m just looking around, but thank you.” Joey said.  

He peered into display cases taking in the oddities and scanning the table in the middle of the room where more artifacts were. One it seemed to have had captured his attention for Joey kept looking over to it. Joey felt drawn to it and he couldn’t understand why, but he had to have it. A silver skeleton hand loosely pointing, but his pointing finger was a skeleton key.  To Joey it was unique and so he bought it.

[imagineimpact]

Could i request Diluc angst oneshot where reader and him get into a big disagreement or argument where Diluc makes them cry and feel really bad about themself so they go and end up hanging out with Kaeya a bit much cause he offered to cheer reader up and Diluc won't apologize. until he see's his s/o hanging out with Kaeya

I actually wrote 2 different versions of the ending for this, but this is the one I decided to go with! If you want the more angsty version do let me know.

Anyway,

Harsh Words

Diluc x Reader

Screaming. Yelling that could be heard throughout the Dawn Winery residence late into the night, heard only by the maids, the night security, and perhaps a late worker or two.

And of course, by the two individuals who held the voices.

It was rather unusual for the two of you to be at odds; and, on the occasion in which you were, it wasn’t nearly to this degree.

But the two of you were outright screaming at each other. It wasn’t even about one thing anymore - it was everything. Whatever you had been arguing about had reached the point of irrelevance; It never should have reached this point and you knew that, but you were under fire and you couldn’t stop.

All you knew was that this was Diluc’s fault, and that you couldn’t take this kind of argument.

“If you just thought about your actions for once-”

You cut him off, “Oh don’t try me with that, you’re the one treating me like I’m an idiot and trying to control my-”

“If you had just listened for once and been less of a selfish bitch then I wouldn’t have to!”

His words had cut far deeper than either of you had expected, and you physically recoiled at the words, a sudden wave washing over you which forced tears from your eyes. The truth in his words was irrelevant - It felt true, even if it wasn’t.

You turn away from him. In spite of your state, he makes no move toward you. None, not even to give you the slightest feel of any comfort. You knew - he wanted the words to cut through you.

You go to the door and slip on your shoes, leaving the room as fast as you humanly could.

You can’t take this anymore.

But you don’t make it past the front door. As if by telepathy, Diluc has two of his night security waiting by the door in a stance showing you that they’re ready to make sure you don’t leave. They block your path, silent in their menace. When you turn around, only then do you notice Adelinde and Hille quietly staring at you. Diluc’s footsteps down the stairs are a slow horror, an even pace which served to only emphasize that feeling of dread; Very easily, this felt like the perfect time to be murdered.

The drawl of footsteps approach, yet cease a few meters away - he’s far too distant to do anything himself. His eyes lock on yours, quietly assessing you.

“Diluc, let me leave.” You hiss through streaming tears. You nearly choke on the tension in the air.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes don’t show any expression, show any remorse or guilt, or even happiness. Truly, there is nothing in his eyes.

“Let me make myself clear: You are not leaving this premises in the middle of the night. Do you understand me?”

“Not even slightly.”

Silence. His eyes flicker, the way they do when he sees an abyss mage, or when Kaeya makes a comment that goes a little too far - pure anger.

“Adelinde, fix up the guest room.”

“No need. I’ll be leaving now.” You scoff.

Diluc tilts his head, peering over you and towards his security as if to say ‘don’t you fucking dare let them through’.

Then another look, and you feel yourself being pushed into the house again, the slam of the doors behind you.

A wave of anger washes over you, and you can’t help the excess of tears that fall, harder now than they had been before.

Diluc holds his ground, staring at you silently. You shake your head and look away, not sure what to do with yourself. Their staring puts you in pure disarray.

“Adelinde.”

“Yes, sorry.” She mutters, bowing and taking her leave in the direction of the guest bedroom in order to prepare it for you.

When she’s gone, you shake your head. “I’m not going to be sleeping.”

“Then stay in your room. I don’t care.” He huffs, turning away and wandering back up the stairs, his footsteps seeming less menacing now.

The argument was done.

Your eyes catch a light outside the window, seeming to exist a far distance away. Maybe it was the fire of a hilichurl camp.

What time was it? Surely the sun would be up soon anyway.

Fine. You would leave then, no matter what.

When you got to your room, you actually did manage to sleep. Not nearly enough; An hour was nothing in the long run, but it was still just slightly enough to not feel entirely exhausted.

Still, the sun was up when you arose, and you lay in the bed, uncertain as to what would happen when you left the room.

If Diluc wasn’t going to apologise, you wanted nothing to do with him.

So, after a little while of resting, it was a surprise to hear a knock at the door. You were summoned to breakfast. Nearly the entire time, you and Diluc sat across from each other - an oddity indeed considering he would always insist that he wanted you seated beside him - this time, however, you were as far from his as possible within the confines of the seated table. The usually empty seat felt hard beneath you, not softened by an everyday presence. Your usual seat to his right - where your plate had been placed before you had taken it to where you were now - was empty.

Neither of you could look into each other’s eyes. The silence, broken only by the light clinks of cutlery, felt burdenous.

You expected him to say something, anything really. You could barely eat the food on your breakfast plate, and without any words, you didn’t feel all too comfortable anyway. You let out a quiet sigh and stood up, tucking in your chair and lifting your plate to take it back to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Diluc’s voice was quiet but the harshness in it was unmistakable.

“I’m not hungry.” You looked down at the plate in your hands. “I’m going to Mondstadt.”

Diluc stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair and stepping close to you. The sudden movement caused you to shutter slightly, and he pulled back a bit. Still, he tore the plate from your hands and placed it on the table. “When you return, be ready to have a serious conversation.”

Oh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but then huffed and turned away. “Right. I’ll look forward to getting yelled at again.”

Diluc scoffed, “Stop acting like a petulant child.”

“I’m not doing this right now, Diluc.” Your feet are moving before you can even think about it. This time, as you approached the door, no one was there to stop you. You left with no present company to watch over you, and you knew that today was going to be a long, long day.

——

Mondstadt thrives with life, as per usual. Because of how bright and pleasant the place is, any spec of gloom is extremely obvious on a day like this.

You took to the adventurers guild to take some commissions. Maybe killing some hilichurls or slimes would take your mind off of it all, or maybe just delivering some needed materials to someone.

The entire time you had been speaking to Katheryn, you felt eyes watching you, but you didn’t want to make it obvious you knew. Alas, it was only moments later that you startled at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

“No need to be so surprised.” The familiar voice chuckles beside you.

“Good morning, Kaeya.” You let out a soft sigh, the exhaustion of the day before wearing into you. You thanked Katheryn and turned your attention to Kaeya. His eyebrows twitched and his expression shifted as he studied you.

“What happened?” He asks rather blatantly, eyes clouding over. “Was it Diluc?”

You took a deep breath. “Wanna join me for commissions?”

Kaeya scans your eyes. “As long as you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Come on.” You nod, wandering out of Mondstadt with him.

The slowly falling night brought you back to Mondstadt. You agreed to go to the tavern with Kaeya, a subtle kind of thank you for spending time with you today. It wasn’t like you were doing anything else anyway.

The tavern was already busy before you got there, people crowding around for a nights drink. You subconsciously step towards Kaeya as if shading yourself away from the crowded atmosphere and he is wary of your proximity. He draws you to his side, a friendly notion, and steps inside before you.

Charles waves at you both from behind the counter. Kaeya quickly orders a round of drinks and takes you to a table away from the bar.

“Hey, look who’s been dragged in.” Rosaria wanders over, quietly making soft chatter with you. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to spend some time together.

Kaeya eventually wanders away, grabbing your drinks and bringing them back over.

Time seemed to dwindle away, the mindless chatter with your friends giving you more than ample distraction from anything else that might have been happening.

“Master Diluc! Didn’t expect to see you here today.” Charles’ voice rings out.

Of course, that wasn’t going to last long.

You lift your head slightly, tensing up. Diluc is scanning the room, twisting his wrist lightly as he speaks quietly to Charles; The words miss you. You freeze as your eyes lock. For just a moment you’re caught in that discerning gaze before he nods at you and turns back to talk to Charles. Kaeya draws your attention back away, and you slip back into your conversation, not wanting to deal with anything else.

“I’ll get another round.” Rosaria gets up and makes her way through the tavern, leaning over the bar and making another order for the table.

“How many are we on?” You ask, already flushed from the… how many glasses had you even had?

“Five.” Kaeya laughs, leaning on your shoulder. “But now that the killjoy’s here, he’ll stop us from having our well-earned fun.”

“I heard that.” Diluc scoffed, passing by you.

“Good.” Kaeya wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, more out of a delicate affection than anything else. Diluc’s eyes narrow at his brother, who just laughs in response.

“Get your hands off of-“

“Oh don’t worry, brother. I would never keep them somewhere they don’t want to be.” Kaeya mocks. “You, on the other hand, can’t say the same.” Even with his words, he loosens his hold on you and leans back a bit.

Rosaria returns with your round, greeting Diluc casually as she slips back into her seat. Your pissed off boyfriend wanders away back to his work.

It clicks in your hazy mind that the only reason he’s here is likely because you are. You laugh at the thought, then clink your tankard to the group and drink.

—

As the evening wears down, many people in the bar until it’s pretty much only your group and a few others left there. Diluc lets out a soft sigh as he watches you, trying to soften that jealous pounding of his heart. He takes a sip of his own drink - apple cider, of course. He could never slam back drinks the way that your group currently were. Where had the hours gone?

Oh, no. How many drinks had you had? Whatever was next, he swore to himself that he would make sure that it was watered down. At this rate, you were pretty much welcoming alcohol poisoning with open arms.

Kaeya, wobbly as ever, decides to be the one to approach the bar this time (mostly because Rosaria was leaning against the table, head folded into her arms as she groaned). Diluc shook his head. “No, no. The three of you will drink this whole tavern dry if I don’t stop you.”

“Oh, I’m not here to get any more.” He leans on the countertop. “I just want to know what the hell you did.” Kaeya motions over to you. You’re just giggling at Rosaria’s complaining, leaning over and patting her on the head.

“I’m not talking to you about this.” Diluc leans back, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Suit yourself.” He straights up. “I should probably get her out of here before you say something stupid.”

“I’m not going to be saying anything stupid.” Diluc shakes his head, looking over the list of all the drinks you’ve had this evening. “You’re all wasted.”

“And yet, you haven’t said last call.”

Seemingly to spite him, DIluc immediately does. He signals over to Charles to round up the remaining people. He knew to leave you last.

Kaeya’s laugh is enough to haunt him. “You make this right, Diluc.” He runs his finger over the counter. “Otherwise I will.”

“Get out of my sight.”

The cavalry captain laughs again, then wanders over to your table. He practically drags Rosaria back up, but she pushes away from him and made her own way to the counter - always a good spirit, she paid for her own portion of drinks and left. Being a nun, she probably didn’t need to use the money elsewhere.

Kaeya was two steps away from just carrying you out the door, but through his drunk mind he finds the clarity to understand just how absolutely inappropriate that would be to do, especially in front of Diluc. Alas, you lean on his shoulder as he assists your steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Diluc’s voice calls out, as if to stop you both.

“Usual billing.” Kaeya calls back.

“No, no.” You both look back at him. He shifts on his feet, eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be damned if you go home with him.”

“Then damned you are.” You roll your eyes, turning away.

He calls your name softly. “Step away from him. Come here.”

You take a deep breath. “I am so glad I don’t have to remember any of this.”

Diluc places a glass of water in front of you. “Drink this. You wreak of alcohol.”

“And you wreak of your hatred.” You sit down in front of him, knowing that it wasn’t about to get better.

Diluc’s eyes flicker up to Kaeya. “Get out.”

“Not happening.”

“Kaeya, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Their safety is more than enough concern.”

“It’s alright, Kaeya, just wait outside.” You pipe in, not wanting even more stress.

Kaeya agrees, quietly slipping out the door. Charles is told to escort him away, an act which may have varying success.

Either way, you sat in front of Diluc, not sure what exactly to say to him.

“I’m tired, Diluc. I’m tired of this. I can’t put up with-“

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out, interrupting you. “Please, hear me out.”

“I’m not going to remember-“

“Then I’ll tell you again when you will.” He leans over the counter, not wanting to be apart from you. He calls your name again, as if to hold your attention, “Can we talk about this?”

“I think we talked about this already.” You groan. “Yesterday, plenty of yelling. The Maids and guards can confirm.”

Diluc takes a long breath out. You lift the glass of water and take an even longer sip.

Maybe the barrier of the counter between you made you feel better. But, as tears sprung to your eyes, you felt so, so much worse.

“Do you hate me?” You ask, your voice squeaking. “Do you want to break up with me.”

“No, Y/N.” He reaches for your hands, but you had pushed your stool too far away from him beforehand that he couldn’t. He circles around the bar and gently grabs both of your hands, soft enough in his hold for you to be able to pull away. “Don’t ever say that. I love you.”

“Then, why?” You sob, turning your face away from him, hands still in his. “Why did you yell at me? Why wouldn’t you talk to me this morning?”

“I…“ Diluc stops himself, taking a deep breath. “I was angry. We were both angry.” He shifts, pulling out a stool and sitting in front of you. “I wasn’t acting rationally.”

“When you said you wanted to talk this morning, what were you going to say?”

Diluc hesitates, gripping your hands just a little bit harder. “I was going to ask… I was going to ask if you were happy.” He admitted, quietly. “But I can’t do that. I can’t put you through that.”

You tug him toward you, pulling his hands close to your face. “Why would you say that? I love you.” You sob into his soft skin.

He takes his hands away from your gently, slipping them around your waist and pulling you close to him, into his lap. He tightens his grip. “I’m sorry.” He repeats. “I’m so sorry. I never want you to cry.” He feels his heartbeat heavily in his chest, a distraught washing over him. “Don’t ever destroy yourself like this again.” He runs a hand over your back.

You don’t say anything. You’re way too drunk for many more coherent thoughts to pass your lips. You lift your head and plant a soft kiss on his cheek, and he softly kisses your forehead, pulling you back to his chest so that you don’t try to kiss him anymore - He wasn’t about to let that happen, you were far too drunk.

Diluc was ashamed of his thoughts. His guilt, rising only when he saw you in the present company of his brother, showing affection and finding comfort anywhere except for him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, nor to you, but as you cried into his shoulder, he couldn’t help the wave of disappointment in himself that washed over. Why could he never be there for the people who needed him most?

“Come on, finish your water, let’s get you home.” He insists, though he holds you tightly still until you stir.

You take the water, sipping it with a slight indignance. He would have to apologize to you again in the morning, but he would do anything to get you to trust him again.

(Part 2 here)

[haiseovo]

Flowers only grow to rot

William Afton x Fem!Reader

part 2

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety and depression, my trash writing. other than that no warnings for this chapter. 

you were gullible, naive even. so stuck in your own head that you couldn’t see what was going on around you. picking at your skin with anxiousness flooding your veins, too scared to look anywhere but the ground. maybe thats why you didn’t notice? you didn’t notice the way your new boss stared at you, taking in every little movement like a hymn, letting every shaken breath become one with his being. he was infatuated with you like no other. you were innocent, but not too much so. a meek little thing, like a feral kitten. you had made his heart race in a way no one else ever had. not even his wife could get such a reaction out of him no matter how hard she could have tried. you were something strange, an oddity he had to obtain. of course you were too spastic in the moment to notice that, maybe you would never notice, not that he minded. on the contrary, he hoped for you to stay oblivious for as long as possible. 

the next day couldn’t come soon enough, you were bursting at the seams ready to start working. sure, you were also a bit scared, but this would put a little money in your pocket, and with the way your fridge was looking, you could really use it. empty, nothing but expired milk and a half drinken powerade sitting on the shelf. how depressing. well, maybe you could stop by your moms or grandparents house after work? they never said no to you staying for dinner, and you missed them anyways. you made a mental note to call later and let them know. it wasn’t until you were already showered and in your closet that you realized, you had no idea what the uniform for work was. you tried to recollect your memory; maybe you had seen someone working while you were there? nothing. you had nothing. well, you had to improvise now. what would be appropriate? you looked through the few clean clothes you had, settling on a black turtleneck and a navy blue tennis skirt. it looked kid friendly enough, right? it would have to do, its all you really had at the moment. you tied up your non slip work shoes and grabbed your keys before heading out, opting to drive this time so you didn't have to return to your apartment after your shift. it took your car a moment to warm up, it being an older model and in desperate need of some work, but it got you from point A to point B. after a couple of minutes you pulled off, the dive to the family diner being short, but it felt painfully long at the same time. finally the vibrant building came in to view, parking lot full as ever, leaving you to park in the back. you turned off your car and stepped out, hands once more shaking, making you pick at your cuticles. the nerves were rising again, your body became tense and shaky. you had to stand there and take a deep breath, a low rumble of thunder being your only motivation to go inside. once the door opened, you were greeted with the same sounds of music and children's laughter, along with the smell of fresh pizza. it was warm, but not overly so, just enough to soothe a person from the chilly outdoors. rain started to patter against the glass, making you silently thank any god out there that there was thunder for warning. you scanned the area with nervous eyes, your breath catching in your throat as you finally spot your new boss, happily chatting away with what looked to be a customer. you tentatively approached, each step being more difficult than the last, but you pushed through. the customer has went on there way by the time you made it up to the tall man, leaving you with no choice but to converse immediately. you cleared your throat before speaking up. “good afternoon, Mr.Afton.” you greeted quietly, fiddling with your sleeves, earning your bosses attention. he gave you a quick once over before meeting your gaze, to which you soon averted. “good afternoon, (y/n).” he hummed warmly, checking his watch before a grin broke his stoic face. “12 o’clock on the dot. punctual, aren’t you?” he praised with a little chuckle. oh how obedient you were. he loved that. you smiled faintly, just barely able to make eye contact again. “you ready to start working?” he asked with a hint of enthusiasm, earning an almost spastic nod from you. William laughed lightly and ruffled your hair before leading you off to a counter, a large sign over it with brightly colored letters spelling out “PRIZES”. you stared at it briefly, silently fawning over the adorable stuffed animals that rested neatly on the shelves behind the counter. William seemed to notice this, but didn’t comment on it thankfully. he found it adorable how innocent you were, how easily impressed you could be. he wanted nothing more than to watch you like this forever, but that wasn’t possible, not yet at least. “i’ll have you stationed here at the prize counter. you’ll only have to handle kids, and it shouldn’t be too overwhelming for you. i’ll stay here with you today to help out, and if it gets to be too much you can always let me know, ok?” he explained in a softer tone. it warmed your heart how caring he was being, how accepting he was of all your little problems. most establishments would tell you to get over it and throw you in without a second glance, but Mr.Afton was different. he seemed to genuinely care about your well being. the thought made your cheeks warm. “thank you, Mr.Afton, i really appreciate it.” you thanked gratefully, managing to send him a small kind smile. William felt an unfamiliar swell in his chest at your expression. eyes filled with worry and uncertainty, yet so trusting in him, so bright and starry. he could gaze at them til the end of time. but for now, he just smile and opened the door leading to the prize counter for you. you gave him another quiet thank you as you stepped in, him stepping in right behind you. the first hour or so was pretty slow, so you had time to get accustomed to everything without too many interruptions. it also gave you time to kind of get to know Mr.Afton. he was well spoken and confident, his slight westminster accent giving him a bit of his own unique charm. he was kind, not too harsh with you, but pushed you to do your best nonetheless. soon enough the rush was in full swing, and kids were cashing in there tickets left and right. William was right, even with the surplus of kids, it wasn’t overwhelming. just count the tickets and give them prize.  the only issue that arise was when one kid in specific had over 1,000 tickets, and the prize he wanted was on the top shelf, well out of your reach. there was no step ladder or stool behind the counter to help you reach it. you were in a bit of a tough spot. you did your best, getting on your tippy toes and pressing as close to the shelves as possible in an attempt to reach the large plushie, but it was just barely brushing against your fingertips, leaving you unable to grasp it. you began to get nervous, not wanting this child to be upset that you couldn’t obtain the prize he worked oh so hard on. you didn’t know what to do. in the midst of your panicking you didn’t notice the presence behind you, watching with an amused gleam in his eyes. he let you struggle for a few more seconds before intervening, pressing to your backside and grabbing the large plush with ease. “i’ll get a step stool for you back here.” he said with a laugh before pulling away, giving the young boy his prize. heat burned your face, frozen in place. William was no longer behind you, but the warmth of his body was still as present as could be. his voice was quiet and rough when speaking to you at such a close vicinity. his form was firm, you had felt every dip and curve. it left you unable to even breathe. you quickly recollected yourself an excused yourself to the restroom to splash some water on your face, mentally scolding yourself.  

he was your boss. you just met him. sure, he was kind. and his voice put all your worries to rest. and he was so tall you had to look up just to make eye contact. and his hair looked soft. his cologne was sweet smelling and always filled your senses when he was near. his eyes were breathtaking. and- oh god. oh god. did you already have a crush on him? no. no. you had to shake those thoughts off. you needed this job, don’t let your emotions ruin this one too. 

but...it was a nice thought to indulge in. when you were alone at least. 

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

--------------------

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I��m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

[ranhaitanisgf]

;; 𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖔

otherwise read as: you’re a stressed out bitch and albedo is worried

--

❧ masterlist

Being an assistant to the Acting Grandmaster of Monstadt is no easy task. It was your job to make sure that Jean wouldn't get overworked again, and to keep her in tip-top shape.

When the job was offered up to you, you immediately accepted; Jean was a close friend of yours, and it hurt you to see her so stressed out every day while still tending to the everyday tasks of helping the citizens of Monstadt. You were willing to take on her mountains of work to give her a break, because Barbatos knows she deserves it. [perhaps he does-]

"Are you sure about this (Y/N)? It's a lot to get through, surely I can at least help somewhat-" You rolled your eyes at her, shooting her a playful smile.

"Jean! It's finee, I got this! You just go take a break, maybe go out for lunch with Lisa? I'm sure she would be more than happy to oblige!" You winked at her, laughing at her slightly flushed face

"Well, if you're sure, then I will be taking my leave. But please let me know if you need me to come back at any moment, and I will be sure to come and help." You turned her around by her shoulders, marching her out of her office and leading her to the doorway of the library.

"Now! Go and take a break! Go on a date and romance that-"

"(Y/N)!!" You giggled at her reddening state.

"Alright, alright...LISA!! JEAN'S HERE AND SHE HAS SOMETHING TO ASK!!" You called. You saluted to Jean, who was looking at you with panicked eyes.

"(Y/N)!!"

You raced back to her office, quickly grabbing the piles of paperwork and list of commissions to do today and sprinting down the steps into the basement of the headquarters. [idk where the lab is so bear with me here]

"(Y/N)!! Get back here!!" You could hear Jean yell in the distance.

As your assistant, it is my duty to help you with your future, and that includes matchmaking. You'll forgive me when you have a girlfriend.

"Albedo!! Door!!" You yelled out into the hallway. Sure enough, just as you were about to run into the door, it opened, letting you inside before closing swiftly behind you.

Panting, you heaved the piles of paperwork onto a nearby cluttered table, accidentally knocking over a few oddities.

"I was about to visit you, but it seems you visited me first." He chuckled.

Ahhh, cute!!

"Do you mind if I do this work in here? I wouldn't want someone to walk in looking for Jean and just find me lurking about." Albedo nodded, and you sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair and rolling your neck in preparation for the time that would be needed for the mountain of paperwork in front of you.

"Did you give Jean another break today?" Albedo asked softly.

"Yup! As her trusty assistant, I gave her a date as well!" He chuckled at this, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind and resting his chin on your head.

"And I presume that's why you ran in here full speed?" An amused tone filled his voice, and you could imagine the playful smirk on his lips.

"Yup! Now, to get this work done!" You thought that once you started, Albedo would go and work on his experiments and whatnot, but to your surprise, he stayed behind you, watching as you filled out forms and whatnot for Jean.

"Albedo?" It had been almost half an hour, and while you not were displeased that he had stayed, you were a bit confused as to why.

"Ah...nevermind." Yeah, you weren't about to risk him leaving.

After a while, he got off and moved to the chair beside you, reaching to the main table in the middle of the room and grabbing his sketchbook and a pencil. He started sketching something on the paper, and you tried to lean over to see, but he angled himself back. You frowned, pouting as you laid your head on the table, continuing to sign papers.

"(Y/N), are you almost finished?"

"Not nearly, why?" Albedo let out a long sigh, not responding to your question. You brushed it off, not thinking much of his response.

--

Several hours passed by, and you were almost done with the paperwork. Albedo had stayed in the lab the entire time, sketching for a majority of the time, using the time he wasn't sketching to briefly tidy up a bit.

"(Y/N), are you done yet?" He asked, shutting his sketchbook and placing it on the table.

"Almost done, I probably need like another hour. I have no idea how Jean did this all by herself before..." Your head rested in the palm of your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of how exhausted Jean must have been, especially with the Fatui in the city, as well as the Stormterror threat that had happened a few months back.

If only I had noticed sooner...

Your pen paused against the parchment as you thought of your actions in the past.

"How about you finish the rest tomorrow (Y/N), and we can maybe grab some dinner and go home?" Albedo's hand gently grabbed the pen out of yours, setting it down on the table.

"No no, I should finish it now. It has to get done at some point; besides, I'm doing this for Jean. I told her it would get done, so it's going to get done." You picked the pen back up and continued on with doing the work, rapidly scribbling across the parchment as your eyes scanned over the document.

A frown appeared on Albedo's face. You hadn't told him, but he knew you felt guilty for not noticing Jean's fatigued and stressed self before. You didn't really notice it, but you were always working just as hard as Jean, just in a different way. On top of being Jean's assistant and taking on her work, you were always helping people around Monstadt with little errands, doing extra commissions on top of the ones assigned, attending to emergencies in Monstadt, Dragonspine, and Liyue, and so on.

He was getting worried about you; he didn't want you to end up fatigued like Jean was before. The only problem was that you were quite stubborn and didn't like to listen to other people when it came to your well-being. you always said that you would take a break if you weren't feeling well, but Albedo saw right through that lie.

"(Y/N), please. I'm worried about you." You looked up at him for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed in a confused look.

"Why are you worried about me? I'm fine Albedo, really." He merely sighed in response, his gloved fingers reaching out to gently brush your darkening eyebags. You looked to the side, groaning  

"You're reminding me of Jean when she kept overworking herself; she said the same thing to me. I don't want to see that happen to you (Y/N). It's not healthy to keep taking on all of the work, so please just come and rest. Do it for me?" You could see a glint of sadness and desperation in his eyes, and you nervously looked down at the documents before looking back to him.

There isn't too much, so I might be able to get the rest done tomorrow...

"Ahh, okay then, you've convinced me. Let's go." You stood up from the chair, stretching out before stacking up the papers before you left.

As you walked out of the lab with Albedo, he discarded his gloves and put them in his pocket, and laced your fingers together, enjoying the feeling of warmth from your hand. the two of you made your way to Good Hunter, quickly grabbing some food before heading home.

It was late at night, which meant that the stars were out and shining in their full glory. the moonlight poured out, spilling onto the streets with a milky glow.

"Albedo, thanks..." He looked towards you to find a most amazing sight indeed.

You shyly looked away, a red tint coloring your cheeks. As he looked at you, you slowly made eye contact with him, giving him a small smile.

His unoccupied hand shot up to cover to lower half of his face as he looked away; he could feel the intense flushing of his cheeks at the cute look you had sent him.

"Ah, it was my pleasure..."

Cute...

~~