#also the guests at the front in the first panel is me and my mother and one of my best friends !!

[thedustyleaves]

I haven’t forgotten about my comic; uni and work has just dug their (very interesting and relevant) claws into my soul and won’t let go, so here’s some wip’s C: 

[your-lovely-rose]

“They’re cute” Part 2/2 (Nakime || Request by @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme)

Rating: Explicit

General genre and genre for this part: Romance || Dark fic

Word count and reading time: ±15.8k (1h)

Pairing: (Biwa Demon) Nakime x Human!Reader

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death, Dead bodies, Desecration of a human corpse, Larvae and flies, Blood, Falling into madness, Jealousy and possessive behavior, Mental problems, Presented the character's past (from "Kimetsu no Yaiba Official Fanbook: Kisatsutai Kenbunroku 2"), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining, || NOT EDITED

Autor’s Note: Okay, so before you read this, listen to me, my reader. The reason why this Request is divided into two parts is that with Nakime I immediately filled the limit of 1k text panels. And also the previous part with Daki and Mukago was light, but here it will be very heavy and dark - I don't even know how it happened because it was supposed to be another fluff. All of them were supposed to be fluffy and light, and each of them with a maximum length of 3k words, of which Daki would be the longest (I expected 9k from the start)! I really have no idea what happened here... I swear! All of a sudden, I felt like it was boring, and I panicked a little bit, and then it got wild. After that I felt like it was boring again, and I kind of forgot the exact request that was... And this was created. I hope the characters aren't too OOC here. I will humbly accept any harsh criticism for this.

➵ “They’re cute” Part 1/2 (Daki & Mukago)

> Nakime Masterlist

➻ Little dictionary:

Zataku (座卓) - is the generic term for this kind of low table.

Hadajuban (肌襦袢, はだじゅばん) - are a type of kimono undergarment traditionally worn underneath the nagajuban. Hadajuban are even further removed from resembling a kimono in construction than the nagajuban; the hadajuban comes in two pieces (a wrap-front top and a skirt), features no collar, and either has tube sleeves or is sleeveless.

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased.

Jitō (地頭) - were medieval territory stewards in Japan. Appointed by the shōgun, jitō managed manors, including national holdings governed by the kokushi or provincial governor.

Okyia (置き屋) - residence maiko or geisha and may be inhabited by several of them. The first step of a woman, who wants to become a geisha is to accept in the okiya. The owner of the geisha house, okāsan (Japanese: "mother"), pays for the upkeep and training of their wards. In return, they give part of their earnings to support the house and other non-geisha residents. Okiya isn't a geisha workplace, they work in teahouses called ochaya.

Geisha (芸者) - in Japan, a woman with artistic skills, entertaining guests with conversation, dancing, singing and playing traditional instruments (e.g. shamisen, koto or shakuhachi). She can also conduct a tea ceremony (chadō) and she's as well-read as oiran. They dressed very modestly, but with taste and boasted sugao, i.e. face without makeup. In the opinion of the Japanese, they were considered the ideal of bijin ("beautiful woman"). Before a woman becomes a geisha, she must pass a six-year maiko period. If a geisha has a permanent partner, she must move out of okiya and okāsan can adopt a geisha. She then gains the privilege of a permanent resident of the house. Her debts to okiya are cancelled, but at the same time all of her income goes to upkeep of the house.

Knock, knock, knock.

A loud knocking sounded in Nakime's head. She knew everything that was going on at Infinity Castle.

She could hear the whistling of air as Kokushibo swings his sword when he practiced, the cries of Douma's victims from his Eternal Paradise as he fed and and where its dangerous snares also reached or the hundreds of footsteps of stray, weak demons wandering through her dimension.

It was her domain, her territory, her kingdom. Her world. She was in charge here, and nothing could surprise her.

And yet she didn't expect it.

She knew it was wrong and also that he knew it too. After all, she had His blood in her and could not hide anything from Him.

If he noticed something, he didn't pay attention to it. He was too busy with his tubes and the reactions going on in the glass vessels. For several hours he worked relentlessly mixing his blood with various substances and despite many failures he still managed to remain calm.

'Still' is the keyword here.

Because even he, after millennia of unsuccessful attempts, could finally lose his patience.

Before the knocking could irritate him, she tugged the strings of biwa and moved to another place, the old washitsu room, where her domain merged with the outside world.

So where?

Here, where the smell of blood and stale liquor still hovered. Here, where everything is familiar, though strangely different from what she has created herself with her art and sound.

And where she didn't like to be. This place confused her - filled her with many emotions that she thought she had buried deep and long time ago in her forgotten past, when she was still human.

Sitting straight on tatami mats, she looked around the traditional Japanese room as if it was her first time. There was not much in it: only a low table, at which still stood a clay glass for sake, and a pitcher lying next to it, the contents of which had spilled on the floor long ago.

The zabuton pillow, which she used to use while sitting and practicing on her beloved instrument, began to rot from spilled rice wine and large blood stains staining the floor around her.

The mats were completely ruined by it and had to be replaced, but this was no longer her problem. It belonged to her old life. Just like this house and the emotions it aroused in her.

Anger, grief and sadness all combine into one, giving her both headache and a tightening of abdomen. The smells irritated her nostrils and burning her esophagus.

She wanted to raze this house to the ground to cut herself off from her pathetic, weak, human self once and for all.

It was not her place now.

That woman was dead. She died in an alley by getting carried away in a sea of endorphins, blinded by pride and overestimated her abilities.

Did she really think she could hurt Him? Stupid, pathetic thinking of a weak human.

She lifted up her slender hand holding the wooden batchi pick tighter, ready to give a full show of her power until another knock pulled her out of trance again.

A quick "knock, knock, knock" sounded in the room this time, and it wasn't so loud when it was not only thundering in her head and had to overcome the distance to her in the air. Through the thin shōji door, she could see the shadow of the figure standing behind them in the rays of the rising sun.

She was about to pull the strings again to snagged the person standing at her door, but she heard how familiar voice called her by a name she no longer recognised, adding the honorary title '-sama'.

This voice... evoked a pleasant feeling in her chest, and before the eye of her mind appeared the image of a human. She could not remember the face, because it was shrouded in a thick mist of forgotten like so many elements of her past, but she knew where she remembered this person from.

This human used to come to her shows. Before she was transformed by Him, she made a living entertaining people with her music.

Although many people (traders, craftsmen) came to relax with the sounds of her instrument, she could not afford much at home. Most of her paycheck was taken by her husband...

He was a gambling addict.

And he lost. Time after time. One loss after another. Until finally he finally went too far, took something precious from her and lost it. That was the last straw.

A black-haired woman grabbed her head trying to interrupt the flow of memories. She plunged her sharp, blue nails into her long hair and unconsciously began pulling on them to distract her from them. Wanting to turn the bitter pain of past wrongs into physical.

She couldn't stand it and... What did she do?

Ah, yes.

She killed him.

Now she remembers it exactly. She used a hammer and smashed his head for losing her only kimono in which she could perform, and then she went on stage as usual.

In her head were the voices of people who began to mock her, and their howl hurt her ears. She felt their malicious, unfavorable gazes judging her poor, useless, holey clothes.

The only other kimono she found in the closet that could replace her previous one.

Although she was frightened and humiliated, she tried not to show it and humbly looked down to somehow escape, to separate herself from them, when her legs were heavy as lead, her feet were planted in the ground.

Then her eyes met the only friendly look. Its owner sat the closest to the wooden stage and did not show her the pity, that you feel for a pathetic dying animal. It would only humiliate her even more. He really felt sorry for her. Those eyes were so sweet and gentle. Looking at them from behind her dark bangs, she began to play.

The slender fingers, on which, despite the long friction and washing, she still felt warm blood, moved themselves along the long neck of the instrument, pressing the appropriate chords and getting out of it as much as she could.

The other hand was not left behind, pulling the strings and creating together an unusual composition, although inside her body she was trembling.

She was afraid they would know. That they might already figure out what she did. The tension in her rose and could be felt in her music. Her hands were shaking and sweat was all over her body, but she never stopped playing.

The sounds were as clear as a calm surface of water in a lake and spread throughout the room hypnotizing everyone.

Despite the loud tones of her biwe, she could hear the audience holding their breath at more tense moments or whispering quietly to each other, covering their mouths with their hands or paper fans.

She had nothing left - no kimono, no means of subsistence, no talent...

When she finished playing the first tune, she felt mentally exhausted. She waited for the first signs of discontent among the crowd, but they remained silent. Uncertainly, she looked up from the floor and saw everyone staring at her like enchanted.

A moment later, someone from the end of the room called for an encore, and the rest of the gathered people follow up him, and then everyone chanted for more and more.

Before anyone had time to notice, the night passed them all like a dream. It was... Her best performance so far.

Tired, but drunk with many applause and praise, panting heavily, she returned to her house. Where the smell of alcohol and blood still hovered.

Her hands were all numb and aching from squeezing strings, when the customers was still called for more. Even the owner asked her after the show if she would come the next night and paid her handsomely for her work. She's never made this much money for one show before.

She was planning on buying herself a new, better kimono tomorrow. Maybe even two.

However, when she got home, all her good mood with blush disappear, when she remembered her problems. Actually, the one that was still lying there like she left him all night.

She had no idea how to dispose of the body. Where would she possibly hide them? How long would it take to find them?

Without more thought, she undressed her last kimono and dragged the inert corpse to the other room, which had previously been her bedroom. There she covered them with a sheet and left them.

She was aware of the stench they were about to emit and what might happen to her in return, but she didn't think about it then.

She resisted them and tried to live as before. With an old rag she tried to wipe away the already dried dark stains of blood with tatami, but no matter how much and how hard she rubbed, they remained.

After bathing in the bowl - wiping herself with a damp piece of fabric, she pulled out another futon and lay down in the living room so she not to have to lie next to the corpse and as soon as her head touched the pillow she fell asleep. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon.

She had no dreams that night.

Still hoping for a better day, she got up late in the afternoon and, as she had planned, went out to buy a new outfit.

However, already on the threshold of the house she saw a parcel left at her door. The paper, in which the package was wrapped, rustled when she took it in her hands and after tearing a hole in it she saw inside a beautiful dark material.

It was kimono with silver thread embroidered patterns and multicolored flowers. Among them, she recognized red tsubaki, light pink sakura, purple sakurasou and white ume.

It was beautiful and certainly expensive. She thought it might have cost even more than her paycheck yesterday.

Who could have given it to her?

She'd been offered a patron or danna-san, but she wasn't a geisha. She never went to special schools and was never a maiko. And she's already married, which is unacceptable to a geisha.

Nor was she weak or pathetic enough to accept alms. She could take care of herself and earn money.

But unfortunately, when she returned to the venue in the evening full of energy, her performances were not as unusual as before...

Even though the place was full of people, even though she was wearing a new kimono - a simple, dark brown kimono that she bought the same day from an older woman who ran her own store - and she was calmer than last time, she didn't do so well.

No matter how hard she tried and how much her fingers hurt from the strings after all, she couldn't repeat the success of the night before.

When she finished the first song she looked at the crowd and saw people whispering to each other with disgruntled faces, and the owner looked at her with doubt. Among those closest to her, she even saw a few looking at her with worry written on their faces.

Hoping to improve the situation, she tried again and again, but it was... mediocre. And that was until she started getting nervous and making amateur mistakes.

Anxiety and cold sweat overwhelmed her more and more as she confused the chords or made unclean sounds by improperly pressing the strings. She didn't know what was going on.

Feeling like she was fooling herself, she finished her show earlier than the night before and left. Or rather, she ran away.

She had to get out, she just had to get as far away from them as she could. She felt small under the weight of their eyes and that she was suffocating from the tension.

On the way home, she heard someone calling her. She pretended not to hear the voice, but the pushy person stopped suddenly in front of her, consciously or not, blocking her way back home.

She recognized the person as a client from the place closest to the stage. This was the same customer, who was the only one who looked at her with compassion during her performance last night and today looked worried about her condition.

"May I have a moment?" You asked kindly, bowing and introducing yourself. You was still breathing heavily from running after her.

She think that you have to even fall in the mud, which could be indicated by your dirty clothes on the right side and your wet sleeve.

She didn't want to talk to stranger, but out of courtesy she decided to see what do you wanted from her.

"I saw your performance, and I'd like to ask... Is everything all right?"

"In what sense?"

"During the first performance, you came in a ruined clothes, and today..." You stopped, not knowing how to define today's fiasco.

"Everything is fine, please do not make any more insinuations."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend you," you said, trying to defend and not upset the woman even more. It wasn't your intention at all.

"So leave me alone now."

Nakime walked around you and was about to left you behind her back, but you showed up right next to her.

"Could I at least walk you home? It's dangerous to walk alone at night," you said, fall into step with her.

She only answered you with a short, sharp "no" and sped up her step even more. You did the same thing, getting on her nerves.

"Then may I at least ask why you did not wear that kimono?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, but she didn't slow down. She frowned in anger. "So it was you. I do not need anyone's pity or charity."

She said through clenched teeth and her fists until her fingernails left crescent moon prints inside her hand.

"Oh, no! No, that was never my intention! I would never dare!" You defended yourself by raising your hands to your chest as a gesture of submission.

"I do not need this. I can take care of myself."

"I just wanted to help..."

"It is not necessary."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was worried to see you like that. You've never performed like this before..."

Sweating from nerves and feeling the anger of a dark-haired woman, you slowed down until you finally came to a complete stop. She didn't do the same and didn't even notice your confusion. Your last words were echoing in her head.

Does that mean you've been coming to her shows for a long time? How much could you know about her?

After a moment of hesitation, you followed her a few steps after her. The night could be dangerous even for a single man, let alone a woman.

She heard rustling of your shoes on the ground, but she didn't stop to look at you again. She didn't want to pay attention to you, hoping you'd get bored soon.

In the end, you escorted her all the way home.

- - -

On the third night, when she again failed to reach the previous level with her performance, she started lost her mind again.

Everyone seemed to look at her with contempt or regret or as if they knew what she had done. In a hurry, she fled to her home, wanting to hide in the safe four walls as soon as possible, but even they did not give her comfort.

You walked her home quietly again. You haven't said a word to each other, and that's fine. Otherwise, she felt like she'd scratch your eyes out or pull your tongue.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong, why she couldn't play like she did then. Is there something wrong with her instrument? Or is it with her?

In desperation and to get rid of the excess of overwhelming emotions, she began throwing clay, decorative jugs and screaming. She did not know how much time she had spent demolishing the room, but when she finished, she was kneeling sweaty on the mats, breathless and on the verge of collapse.

She's been so busy she hasn't heard your quiet knock. She only noticed you after you asked her through the door if she was okay.

She told you to leave, and despite the silence, she wasn't sure if you'd listened to her.

- - -

The next day, she didn't go on stage. Nor the next one, or even the day after that.

She lay apathetic in the middle of the room among broken glass, her long hair looked like a big pool of black blood and listening to the sound of flies buzzing behind a thin wall. The body must have started to rot and give off that characteristic insipid sweet smell that had not yet reached her.

She didn't feel up to anything, even to eat or drink water. When she heard the silent knock, she thought it was just a dream.

Sleep was no longer her salvation and escape from reality. She felt threatened all the time during it and was even more tired after waking up, until she stopped sleeping. Time slipped her slowly as she saw changes in the light coming through the window under the very roof.

Soon after, she was no longer sure she was still trapped in her sleep. An endless nightmare she can't escape from.

Only after long hours, when finally the thirst began to overwhelm her, she get up to drink from the nearby well.

With a slight trembling on her limp and weak legs, she moved to the door and almost fell over the pitcher standing next to it. The vessel tipped over pouring water around. There was also a bowl with a clay lid on it.

Nakime barely sit on the ground. She got dizzy and feel foggy for a while, but she managed to come to her senses.

She lifted a warm lid, and the strong smell of spices and hot steam from her shoulder struck her face. Then she felt a pain in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't had anything in her mouth for a long time.

The bowl had ordinary ramen in it. The black-haired woman swallowed the saliva that flowed into her mouth and lifted the overturned jug with some water left in it. Unlike food, it was pleasantly cool moisturizing her dry throat.

She was about to start crying while she was eating. Food has never tasted so good.

Feeling better, she went home leaving empty dishes on the doorstep. She knew who brought it, and she expected you to come back.

The food was warm, which would indicate you were here recently. Did you come earlier to check on her, too? Were there any more meals? How did it feel to see that she didn't touch the food you brought?

She went to sleep again when she was full. She felt tired, but this time her sleep was peaceful. When she woke up, she felt better, so she decided to do something (although she was still weak).

She carefully collected the glass from the tatami mat and ate the scraps of food she found at home. With the money from the show a few days ago, she bought a big bag of rice and some meat in addition to a kimono, so she still had something to eat.

She hasn't touched any more of the dishes you left her. She was grateful for the meal earlier, but when she didn't need it, she wasn't planning on taking any help from you.

But she didn't spend the day just cleaning room and herself up. All this time, she was thinking too.

Why?

Why aren't her performances so good anymore? Why can't he play like that a second time? How was that show different from the others?

And when someone knocked on the door again, she came to the most frightening conclusions.

- - -

Fuku Ogawa stood at the shōji door of one of the houses. He picked up the dishes earlier that day, before it started to get dark. He was a butcher by profession and a friend of yours privately, so after you asked him to deliver the food here, how could he refuse?

Exceptionally, you couldn't do it in person right now. Well, these things happen sometimes - you have plans, but something came up, something happened, and you have to get out of the routine once or twice.

Fuku knocked on the door again. He heard a murmur behind them and the sound of silent footsteps. For a moment he felt a cramp in the abdomen - the discomfort that occurs when something is wrong. A slight anxiety gently fills our mind and body like poison.

Before he could do anything, the door opened and he saw in it a young, beautiful, but also tired woman. She had long, black, damp hair and pale skin. He saw a slight bruise under her eyes pointing to heavy nights and a black kimono with floral embroidery on it - he recognized them because you bought them a few days ago.

She looks surprised. It was certainly not him she expected to see outside the door, but there was nothing he could do about it. He introduced himself briefly and drew a bowl of food and jug of water towards her.

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring the dishes in front of her. Instead, she grabbed the kimono with one hand and covered herself tightly. The other hand hung loosely, completely tucked into the sleeve.

"A friend," he said again short, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. There was a slight, insipid smell coming out of the house, which he did not like and this woman make his hair stand on end.

"Could you take this inside?"

She asked and took a step back to let him come in. He didn't want to do it, he was uncomfortable with that woman, but he also didn't want her to accuse him of being rude.

He carefully entered without taking off his shoes and looked around the dark room. He didn't like the fact that there were no candles burning here and the only light that brightened a few meters in came from the full moon behind him.

"Put the dishes on the table."

He heard next to him. In the dim light on the other side of the room, he saw the outline of a low table and moved towards it, still holding the dishes in front of him.

But with every step he smelled a stronger scent in the house and heard the quiet buzz of insects. He knew it from somewhere, but couldn't tell from where.

Tap, tap, tap - her bare feet made on mats until she stood behind him. He could almost feel her heavier breathing on his neck and the smell of the perfume oils she used for her bath.

He was about to turn around and ask whether to bring some candles for her, if she didn’t have any (he just really wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, he wouldn’t come back here again for all the world) when a heavy object fell on his head.

In contrast, all turned white in front of his eyes from pain and he fell with a bang on a wooden piece of furniture, almost breaking it. The wood crackled silently in protest under his weight. The impact was so strong that he passed out almost immediately, but he was still barely conscious.

Then there was another and another. All he knew was what he got before he lost feeling and awareness of what was happening to him. With the remnants of consciousness, he finally knew what was the odor he smelled at home.

It was the smell of rotting meat.

- - -

Nakime kept hitting the man's head with a hammer until she got tired and left a bloody pulp. The remains of the man's hair and gray brain clung to her murder weapon, hand and also splashed on the zataku underneath.

She was trembling. Her breathing became heavier. She did it. Again.

She looked at the biwa standing on the other side of the room, illuminated by the light coming through the folded door. The strings in the cold light looked like silver thread of a spider. They lured her and summoned with their mute voices.

Now she has to go.

She must be in a hurry.

- - -

At night, you couldn't force yourself to show up at any place to have fun and relax a little. You didn't feel like it, even though some of your friends asked you to come.

They wanted to celebrate with you another big order to some remote place in the mountains. The locals were practically cut off from everyone else, which was perfect for you. Every month you were to send them three wagons with basic food and items - vegetables, flour, rice, spices, pasta, meat, materials and much more. You didn't ask where they got the money, it wasn't your part. What mattered was that they paid.

You liked to talk with them about a lot of things and eat with good music, but... you didn't want to. Why? You had your suspicions, even though you weren't entirely sure.

You've been up all night lying in your futon and flipping from side to side. Your head was still playing the tune of the biwa from a few days ago.

You felt thirsty in the desert. Like a drug addict in rehab. Like a believer who's starting to miss the presence of his God.

But what could you do when your only cure was gone?

Hours went by and you couldn't sleep. You couldn't think either, because your thoughts were filled with one person and their music.

You could've tried to run away until those feelings died off. Stop showing up in pubs, but how could you escape your own thoughts?

How could you hide from the part of you that loves her?

Loves her?

Yes, you could admit you admired her, but loves?

Surprised, you sat on the mattress and ran your hand over your face. You felt stupid. How old were you to fall in love like a naive teenager?

And yet the pleasant warmth inside you and the butterflies in your belly spoke for themselves. Even your friends noticed that you were different after that woman's performance. They teasing you for it, and you couldn't hide your red face or look them in the eye when you denied it.

Everyone thought she was new in town, but that wasn't true. You've noticed her long time before, because you liked her music, even if it wasn't outstanding.

You liked how she kept calm on stage and was always very restrained and elegant. If it weren't for her modest kimono, you'd think she belonged to the aristocracy.

You suppose that's when the feeling began to sprout inside you like a cherry blossom.

But when she showed up that night - terrified, haggard and wearing an old, torn kimono - all you wanted to do was go up to her and comfort her. Take her away from those eyes that surround her.

But then your eyes met and she started playing. She tugged the strings and as if at the touch of a magic wand all the stress and anxiety went away from her.

Then everyone else ceased to exist for you. You thought you and her were the only one in the room... No, in the whole Empire of Japan, or even in the whole world. It's just you and her.

Time stopped, and you could feel your heart beating with hers heavily breathe. Nothing else existed at that time - just you and her, and her music.

When she was done, the spell burst like a soap bubble. Suddenly other people appeared around you again and time went on its normal course.

Yes, it was then that the seed sown in your heart fully blossomed during that one song and gave birth to ripe fruit.

You listened to the rest of her performance breathless and with red cheeks, like she was playing just for you.

It was stupid to think so - she probably had no idea you existed, but there was nothing you could do about it. Everyone likes to dream and think they are special to someone.

So why should you be the exception? Besides, no one will know, it's just your thoughts anyway. Your own private place where you can hide when reality is too hard.

You opened the wooden shutters on a dark night. The moon was hidden far behind the clouds, and you couldn't even see the stars from here. In the background you could hear the quiet life of the insects and the sound of the wind running through the tall grasses.

She doesn't show up for some reason and she doesn't accept your presents.

When you gave her a kimono, you didn't mean to be rude or make it look like you felt pity for her. Same as when you brought her food. You really wanted to help her, but she was too proud.

You were worried about her.

You went out on the wooden engawa at the back of the house and sat down looking out over the meadows and the dark forest towers over the town.

If you wanted to, you could move to a bigger city. Maybe Osaka or Kobe? You could try your luck there. Open a new business of your own. Then maybe you could even afford an apartment in Tokyo? Or not, you don't think downtown would be a good place, it would be crowded. Maybe in one of its neighborhoods? Asakusa? Or Yoshiwara? You could meet a real Geisha or Oiran–...

"No, that's stupid." You scolded yourself in your thoughts. You'll act like a coward, and running away won't bring you anything, but a stain of pride and honor.

You'll keep thinking back here to her. Even if you leave, your heart will stay with her bleeding, because she won't even look at you.

The night was peaceful and quiet. The noise and singing of the wind dancing among tall grasses and branches of trees suppressed other sounds.

Your night passed slowly, looking at the full silver moon as it came out from behind the thick clouds.

Smelled like before the rain. Fuku would say, looking at a scene like this, it's going to be a tragedy. He's always been very superstitious.

But you were here alone.

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

You thought you heard her music from afar, but it was too quiet to be considered real.

- - -

The next morning, your friend find you in front of the house. Initially, you expected to see drunk Fuku, who liked to visit you at any time and was sometimes in a state of intoxication before noon.

Did he have some work today? He was a hedonist, but he was also responsible enough not to drink before job.

But no, it was Kiyoshi Hirano. A clerk. You invited him in and offered to make some tea.

"I just came to tell you that your friend with the biwa is back. You've been a little sad because of her lately..."

"What?" you turned to him with a clay jug. The movement was so fast that the right water poured out of the spout of the dish.

"Last night," he began slowly watching your face. "I was waiting for Fuku, where we used to meet to have a drink when she appeared on stage and started her performance again. She was... good. Looks like her lucky streak's back."

"Really? Do you think she will play tonight?"

You put the teapot in the cupboard where it was before, completely forgetting about the tea, and walked up to Kiyoshi again. You didn't notice his serious look and how closely he watched your brightened face.

"I don't know, I guess so. After all, it's what she does for a living." He interrupted your next question with a hand gesture. "I'm not going there today."

"Why?"

You were surprised by his cold reaction. He seemed angry or concerned about something.

"I'm going to check on Ogawa-san. I didn't see him yesterday and he still didn't show up today. From what I see, he's not here either."

"No, he's not here," you repeated deafly. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Did he say something? What he was planning or where he was going?"

"No, I don't remember anything like that."

"Yhm. So nothing here for me. If you remember anything or see him, let me know."

"Something happened?"

"No, nothing. It's just my stupid hunch. But if I don't find him, I'll go to jitō."

Jitō was the deputy owner of the land on which your town was located. He was supposed to watch over his goods and peace, if a problem arose he had to solve it.

You just nodded at that. You didn't understand his concern about Fuku, you saw him yesterday, and he was fine.

"Okay, so be it. I hope to see you both at the show tonight."

"I hope so too."

He said grimly unconvinced and turned his back on you.

- - -

The orange sun had not yet hidden behind the horizon and you were already sitting in a local restaurant, at one of the tables closer to the stage.

People were elegantly dressed, some even more than was required stepping inside and taking their seats. It wasn’t a real okiya, so you didn’t quite understand their efforts to pretend to be better than they were, but you had no intention of pointing it out to them.

It was quiet. Conversations were conducted in a whisper. Glasses were not brought in toast. You could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone.

Finally, after a time that seemed to last an eternity. After the sun and its last rays resembling the hands of a drowning man reaching out for help disappeared from the sky, covered by the deep black of the great scape filled with millions of stars, she appeared.

She wasn't looking at anyone. She did not wander around the room with her eyes like a frightened doe. She just took her seat and started playing.

And the music itself was flowing from under her fingers. The sharp notes flooded their all minds.They could not think of anything else, everything outside was in the background. It was just her and them. Her audience.

After the performance was over, there was thunderous applause. Everyone wanted more and more. As we can see, she returned in grand style.

You also listened enchanted. You didn't care that Kiyoshi didn't join you all night. You didn't even notice it. The world outside this room no longer existed.

- - -

"I'm going to the jitō," Kiyoshi told you when you met him buying rice and asked him why he was dressed solemnly.

"Business?"

The man looked at you in surprise, tilting his head as if he wanted to ask if you were kidding.

"I told you I'd go there if I didn't find Ogawa-san anywhere. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Oh, no. Maybe a little. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I can see it," he squinted, looking at you critically.

"Have you been at his place to see him?"

"It was the first place I visited. I asked his neighbors if they had seen him, but no one has seen him since he left for work two days ago."

"Then I guess he's not at the slaughterhouse either."

"Exactly."

"Listen, why don't you wait one more day? We'll go to the jitō together if he's still gone. Perhaps he's lost his way back, because he is drunk again."

Although improbable, such situations have happened. One time he took the wrong directions and tried to get into someone's house. The landlord of the house beat him hard, and for a week he walked around with a swollen face and purple bruises all over his body. Another time, he fell asleep in a truck loaded with bags of rice and was driven kilometers from here.

Although Hirano was unconvinced, he accepted your offer and you spent the rest of the day together.

In the evening, you went to your favorite place to eat with music. You only managed to get in because you came earlier - soon after sunset there was such a crowd that no one else could enter.

You saw Kiyoshi looking for your friend, but he didn't even see anyone even remotely resembling him.

When your food were served, she went out on stage. As always, she moved gracefully and without unnecessary movements, as if she knew that part by heart.

The long black hair fell before her face like a funeral veil. She was still wearing a simple brown kimono, and you were a little disappointed that she dismissed your present with contempt.

She raised a pale hand with well-groomed nails holding a wooden bachi pick. The sleeve of the kimono slid down her arm, revealing more of her slender body and silky skin.

You almost fell back into that stunning trance hypnotized by her music when something discreetly pinched your thigh. It was Kiyoshi. He seemed worried.

Surprised at his behaviour, you raised your eyebrows didn't understand.

"Blood," he whispered. His mouth tightened into a line after he repeated it. "She's got blood on her clothes."

And when you looked at the musician you could see how under the kimono, where the collar around her neck covered part of the white hadajuban was a small red spot. If you had sat further away you would never have seen it.

"It could be anything. Maybe she got dirty?"

"Maybe," he admitted grinding his teeth and not taking his eyes off her. Focusing on a small, meaningless speck. "Or maybe not. It will be revealed. Remember, we still haven't found Fuku."

For the rest of the evening, he didn't speak to you, looking for your friend. You too could no longer focus on the music and let yourself be carried away by the pleasant atmosphere - the stain on her collar was bothering you.

What if someone attacked her? What if there's a dangerous animal in the area? Or a madman? What if something could happen to her?

Your restless thoughts rushed more and more as wild mounts were let loose into the increasingly unpleasant, dark recesses of your mind where irrational fear and unlikely scenarios ruled.

But you still haven't found Ogawa-san, have you?

True, but maybe he just got lost again. Maybe he's tired and sleeping at home now. Maybe it's all one big misunderstanding. Maybe the stain on her collar isn't blood.

Maybe.

- - -

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, you set off with Kiyoshi to Fuku's house. You wanted to be absolutely certain, and according to your comrade's supposition, he wasn't there.

Everything looked as usual. There was a bit of a mess inside, but it was nothing disturbing or new. Ogawa was not one of those who paid attention to where he lived.

The futon, instead of being tucked into a closet, lay on the side of the large room with a blanket rolled up into a ball, as if it had just wake up. Around the room stood many pots of sake, which he did not want to throw away, and other things that he probably used lately.

Yeah, it was a mess, but it wasn't unusual.

"Let's go ask the neighbors," you said quickly leaving the house and not looking at Kioshi.

He managed to stop you by grabbing you tightly by the shoulder.

"I already told you, I did it."

"So what now?"

"We can only go to the jitō and he will hire samurai to guard the security. I think that's all we can do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, for now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I want to know what happened to Fuku. They won't be looking for the missing." He paused for a moment, feeling his anger rising. "They'll just try to prevent more disappearances. They don't care abo–"

Suddenly he stopped before his voice broke completely and then you noticed how tightly he clenched his fists. As he tries to stop the tears in his eyes and not let them flow down his cheeks.

You... You didn't know he was in such pain. That he feels that way.

You felt guilty that you didn't care more about your friend's disappearance, that you didn't start looking for him right away. That the first person you were worried about when you heard about his disappearance wasn't him, but was someone else.

"Listen Kiyoshi," you started insecure. "I want to hel–"

"No." He cut you of. "You would only be in my way, I prefer to work alone."

"Oh... okey."

You agreed, but you were hurt that your friend wouldn't let you join his investigation and also didn't want to argue with him. He was smart, so you knew he could handle it.

"Ah, and one more thing."

He added before you left the house. That was the last time you saw him, but none of you knew it yet.

"Stay away from that woman. Please."

• • •

The man decided not to involve you knowing how distracted you've been lately. Because of that musician, you couldn't concentrate, and you missed a lot of obvious things.

He was no longer just talking about a bloodstain or a lack of concern about Ogawa.

Yesterday, following the woman from a safe distance (so she could not hear you), he noticed that she was not afraid to travel alone through a dark town or wooded area.

It turned out that she did not live in even on the outskirts of the city, but in a village about an hour away on foot.

She never turned around to see if anyone was following her, and that should be a natural reaction for anyone traveling alone in areas where disappearances occur. Especially women, who are inherently weaker than men.

Almost everyone is talking about the disappearance of Fuku - together with a local vet, he had to help assess whether the animal is suitable for curing or going for slaughter.

Local traders and meat farmers ask about him because he was the cheapest specialist in his trade.

If there were any rivers nearby they could be turned to fish, but within a radius of many kilometers there was none and the delivery could cost them a lot.

Sometimes local doctors needed his help when the only way to save their patients was to amputate a limb.

Did Fuku practice on dead animals for fun, or is the profession of butcher and doctor so similar? He didn't know, and he never wanted to ask.

So what could have happened before he disappeared? And how could a musician you love have anything to do with this?

Unlike Ogawa-san, he was not superstitious or relying on mere hunch, but when he looked at the dark-haired woman he saw cold sophistication in her eyes.

Why a woman traveling alone in the dark didn't fear an attack?

Did she have any weapons on her? Or did she know something that others don't? Maybe she knew she had nothing to fear.

Another thing that caught Kiyoshi's attention was the strange smell around her house.

After "walking" her home safely, he ordered to come closer. Kiyoshi wanted to investigate the source of the scent. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was already determined to solve the mystery.

He knew that the more days passed, the chance of finding a friend alive dropped drastically. His mind said he was probably dead, but deep down he still hoped of finding him alive.

It's silly how emotions can affect a person's logical thinking and behavior, but there's nothing he can do about it.

After all, he was only human.

Standing in front of her door, he listened to all kinds of sounds from inside, but there was complete silence. The only thing disturbing it was the sound of buzzing wings of flying insects.

Something sat on his hand and automatically killed the bug. He couldn't see what it was, it was too dark for that, but the next one sat on his forehead and another flew past his ear.

Flies?

You tried, slightly confused by his prying behavior, to pull him away, but he just went to the back of the building where the smell intensified.

"Kiyoshi, please sto–"

"Shhhh, be quiet and help me."

"Wha–?"

"Don't talk, just stand against the wall."

He cut off the conversation quickly so the woman couldn't hear you two and showed you where to stand.

In the dim moonlight, he saw a triangular window under the roof. Because the houses in the village were not tall, he could look through them, but he still needed help to reach it.

"Look, I don't think–"

"Shhhh."

You stood straddle and folded your hands, so he could put his foot on it. Then, with a slight swaying, he jumped on your shoulders.

"But listen, I don't–"

"Shhh, ladders don't talk!"

Holding on to the old boards, he tried to find something he could hold on to. Any holes or roughness.

"Stop fidgeting!"

He rebuked you in a whisper almost falling.

"Then don't stand on my head!"

When he stopped wobbling, you grabbed his ankles harder and at his signal, you slowly began to straighten up. Unfortunately, he still didn't reach the window.

He couldn't even pull himself up because he was still missing quite a bit with his hands stretched forth.

"And what? Do you see anything?"

You asked, in disbelief. Did you just help your friend 'peep at' spy on a woman?

"I really don't like what we're doing. Are you listening?"

But Kiyoshi didn't listen. He was mentally preparing for what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath. Then another one, and curled his knees trying not to fall. If he fails, he'll break his leg or arm.

The moment he jumped up, you walked away from the building. He grabbed the edge of the window and the old wood under his weight crackled in protest - they sounded like they were about to break.

At first he wanted to curse you for it, but suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the other side.

You were too loud.

"Is anyone there?"

A harsh female voice spoke up and he froze. He heard you burst through the bushes surrounding the house, rushing to the nearby trees and she stopped just below him.

Time stopped for a man then. Seconds turned into centuries. Flies flying around him sat on his hands and face, tickling him by thier little legs as they walked on him and bit his bare skin.

To keep them from getting up to his nose, he hid his face in a long sleeve, praying that the wood would stand up and that she would not look up.

The black-haired, looking like a yokai in front of her house, stood there for a moment watching the backyard. Long grass could reach her hips - her husband didn't care much about anything but gambling and alcohol, and none of her neighbors ever had the idea of trying to cut down the plants before they became miniature version of the wilderness for rodents and other small animals.

She was sure she heard the conversation, and the tread in the grass clearly indicated someone was here.

Or was it just her imagination? Maybe she's going crazy? Is it possible the smell of carcass lured the predators?

Still, she should be more careful and dispose of the bodies.

When she finally got back inside, Kiyoshi's arms couldn't hold him longer and he let go. He managed to land on his feet, but he leaned back and fell out of the engava into the sticky mud, which with the thick and long grass cushioned the impact like a pillow.

Scared, that she might come back, he quickly hid under wooden porch to wouldn't get caught, but this time he probably didn't make so much noise, because she never showed up again that night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pull himself up to look inside nad he wasn't even sure if the moonlight allowed him to see anything.

He liked to think of himself as a rational person and more intelligent than the common man based on his intuition, but the smell was too suspicious.

Maybe it's feelings, but he believed that if anyone could know anything about Ogawa's disappearance, it would be her.

He couldn't ask her directly. He'd just freak her out and she'd do something unpredictable. After all, a trapped animal is ready to do anything to survive.

• • •

The next afternoon, Kiyoshi left the house and instead of going to work, he went straight to the jitō that controlled the surrounding area.

He was a clerk, so his request might have meant more to him than to an ordinary farmer.

Personally, he didn't like Hiroto Sasaki.

He got this job only by acquaintance with the landowner and did the necessary minimum of his work - all the money from taxes (which he did not pay to the landowner) was spent on alcohol and courtesans. He often hosted parties for friends in his home and did not care about the problems of the inhabitants.

People often asked him to stand up for them because otherwise he wouldn't even let them in or send them back home.

Kioshi did not have time to take three steps from the gate when an older, stooped woman approached him (as fast as her rheumatism allowed).

She had grey hair tucked into a low bun and a face full of wrinkles showing how her life was filled with both, happiness and worry. Her hands were resting on a long stick that must have helped her on her way here.

"Hirano-sama?" She asked in a quiet voice full of sadness and her half-blind eyes were even sadder. She bowed slightly to him. The man bowed and asked what she had to do with him.

"You see... My son, Kai, went missing yesterday. I can't find him and he's my only support after my husband's death."

"I see, so what can I do?"

Although he asked, he already knew the answer and with even greater determination went to the jitō headquarters to solve the problem.

One of the servants, whom he had managed to meet during his few visits, led him to the back of the mansion.

There, a fat man dressed in gold and surrounded by comfort women, was eating sweets and fruits.

In the background on biwa played them a geisha, sitting under a cherry tree - delicate petals of flowers swirling around her added her femininity and grace.

Kiyoshi, however, shuddered when he saw her resemblance to Nakime from afar. He probably would never have thought that she looked like her up close, but he still hadn't snap out of after yesterday's close encounter with her.

He did not want to look at her, but the sounds constantly emitted by the instrument remind him, that she is there, not allowing to gather thoughts and relax tense muscles ready to fight or escape.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Sasaki hated Hirano. He thought the clerk always poked his nose into his business and added jobs to him. He hated his visits, but his uncle (and the owner of the land he managed) ordered him to let him in because he had already met Kiyoshi by himself.

He said his remarks were accurate and he was able to listen to people. He thought he'd be a good right-hand man for Hiroto, but he knew he was doing better on his own.

The clerk refrained from roll his eyes hearing him and immediately told about the disappearances and pointed out, if the situation doesn't change, they could suspect either a wild dog attack or a serial killer in the area.

"And what do you think I can do about it?"

"Bring the samurai."

He answered without hesitation, instantly enraging the jitō. The fat man blushed so much with anger, he looked like a tomato.

The glass of saki he threw at Hirano luckily passed above his head and crashed somewhere on the rocks behind his back. All he felt was a few drops of alcohol drenching his clothes.

"What do you think you're proposing? Whose money?! Do you think I have no expenses?!"

"Maybe from the taxes we pay you?"

Only the quiet sound of the wind in the branches of the old trees answered him in their own language and the birds singing in them.

The geisha stopped playing as soon as the clay vessel was broken, but even the man, sitting on a chair resembling the emperor’s throne, fell silent.

The clerk, bent all the time, raised his head slightly to see how Hiroto calmed down and turned pale.

As he suspected - all the money went to his and his friends debauchery.

"If you don't think it's appropriate or unnecessary, I can always write a letter to–"

He couldn't finish because Sasaki came to his senses.

"No. There is no need for that. Starting tomorrow, I'll bring in someone to keep an eye on things."

Several times in the past, Kiyoshi threatened to write to his uncle, but it had to be a complete last resort, because he knew Hiroto would be willing to hire an assassin for him.

Not feeling completely satisfied, he had to agree and let go.

He would rather Sasaki did it today (since many samurai looking for new masters to serve recently), but he also knew that after spending all the money that idiot had to somehow get them now.

He could only hope that by tomorrow there would be some samurai in the area.

• • •

As the sun went down, Hirano was already watching the musician's house from afar. He waited for her to come out, so he could sneak in.

She went out to the perform practically every night, so Kiyoshi knew he should soon see her leaving the building and walking along the sandy road.

And an hour after sunset, a woman appears at the door and stands on a wooden engave looking around the neighborhood. Her eyes were scouring the yard like she was looking for something or waiting for someone.

With loose hair and a black kimono, she looked like a yokai demon.

But he didn't understand why she hadn't left yet. Did she know she was there?

No, it's not possible. He made sure he couldn't be seen by her.

So why?

Suddenly, incredibly brisk for a woman of her small stature, she took a large package wrapped in fabric and ran to the back of the house.

What could be in the package, which she was secretly trying to get rid of? She hid letters from her admirers from her jealous husband? She gave birth to an unwanted baby? Or maybe the murder weapon?

The clerk planned to approach there, but also preferred to wait until she went to work. He didn't want to get caught again, and he was afraid it might be a trap.

That she could watch the backyard from the window, and when she saw him, she'd attack him with something. Although Nakime was a woman, he preferred not to underestimate her, especially since their last meeting had completely frightened him.

So he waited.

And he waited all night.

However, she did not go out again and after sunrise - when farmers began to go out to look after animals and crops - he left.

• • •

During the day, Kiyoshi could no longer watch her - as an clerk he had his duties and had to be careful not to fall asleep.

But it wasn't an easy day for him.

Once he poured black ink from the inkpot, staining the sleeve of a silk kimono, and flooded the papers lying next to it. Or he also had to re-read documents a few times because he couldn't concentrate.

He felt completely exhausted, although he didn't feel that way coming here. Tiredness began to catch up with him.

He looked forward to the sunset indicates the end of his work. The steady sound of rain hitting wooden walls or ceramic tiles made him even more sleepy, and he hoped it would clear up by then.

And as soon as it changed from a sad, grey sky to a blood-red color, he immediately went out. There were large puddles everywhere and it still smelled of rain after a few hours, so he took one of the umbrellas with him.

He hoped that someone hired by the jitō would show up during the day to get a map of the area, but no one showed up.

Neither samurai nor any local villagers he would hire to save money.

As he walked, he could hear Fuku's disapproving voice in his head, who, looking at the sky, would say, "Someone good will die today, the sky and the gods are in mourning."

Many times then he looked at him with a sly smile trying not to taunt him after by quoting his grandmother, but now he misses his superstitions.

How much he would give to be able to sit with him and you on an engava and look up at the sky, drinking sake after work and celebrating the start of the day off.

He came to his home first. He wanted to change into darker clothes, so she couldn't see him.

He was hoping she'd leave the house tonight to perform. If not, he's gonna try to look around the back of the building to see what she's hiding.

Kiyosji looked at the unfolded futon, which he didn't hide. It looked so appealing that he lay down on it for a while - after all, she didn't come out with the sunset anyway. He still had time.

And with that thought - he fell asleep.

- - -

He woke up when it was completely dark. Afraid he was running late, he ran towards her house. If he showed up too late, he wouldn't know if she left.

The run didn't last long, he didn't like to practice. If it weren't for his limp stature, you probably never would have been able to hold him on your shoulders.

Intermittently, he switched once from running to marching and his wooden shoes loudly let the surrounding residents know that he was in a hurry. He was panting heavily, like a wounded animal and he could feel that he had fire in his lungs, but he would not stop.

At least until a black-dressed figure stood in his way.

Nakime walked slowly, holding her precious instrument in her hands. One of the sleeves completely concealed her hand, which surrounded the body of the instrument like a mother hugging a child.

Unbelieving (and feeling goose bumps on his sweaty body) he stopped to catch his breath.

The woman passing him did not even look at him.

He looked at her for a moment - she, as if feeling it, stopped and turned completely to face him. A distance of 20 meters separated them, but for him it was still too small.

They stood in silence waiting for any movement of the other person until they were interrupted by a man in armor.

Samurai.

"So this useless pig did something useful at least once." Thought kiyoshi

The man approached the musician and asked if everything was all right, looking suspiciously at Kiyoshi. He was not surprised, but he was still outraged.

She was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

She calmly replied him. Her voice was serious, but pleasing to the ear.

There was also an aversion to the samurai, who had to put on heavy armor just for the show - it was impractical if he came to chase someone lighter and would only slow him down.

After a while, each of them went their way - Nakime to the restaurant, he headed towards her house, and the man watched them.

He was probably making sure Kiyoshi didn't hurt her.

But that's good, because now he's sure he won't get attacked from behind and the house is empty.

Suddenly he realized he was more and more convinced of her guilt, although he had never approved of hasty judgments. He believed everyone was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law or evidence was found to point to the culprit.

Meanwhile, what did he have? Terrible smell coming out of her house and strange behavior. In the past, it wouldn't have been enough for him to pass judgment, but since Fuku's disappearance, his thinking has changed completely.

Standing in front of her house, Hirano stopped and began to listen. The only thing that could be heard from inside was the noise of a flock of flying flies on which the sound he trembled. He hated all kinds of insects, but he forced himself not to vomit or run away.

The odor's gotten worse since the last time he was here, and he had to put a long sleeve on his nose and mouth. He must have blocked it somehow.

It didn't help much.

He planned to get in and out quickly. The building wasn't big, so it couldn't have taken him long.

The door was not locked - probably the smell itself discouraged entering.

Inside, he left them open so the faint moonlight would illuminate this room. He saw the outline of a low table and two seat cushions. In the corner of the wall with the door, there was something white that he thought was bedding.

But in the current light, he couldn't recognize the huge stains on the tatami mats. He needed a candle.

Holding his breath from time to time, he searched the few cabinets inside and found some hidden next to a bag of rice along with a flint.

Satisfied that he managed so well, he started hitting stones against against each other and watched as the sparks light up the room for a moment until he managed to ignite the wick.

What he saw next made his heart stop and all the color drained from his face, making him look like a ghost. At the moment, although he was alone, he felt threatened and wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He felt like a deer on a hunt.

Blood was everywhere. Dark stains covered the floor at the table, one pillow and led into the other room behind the shōji door.

On the table he saw overturned white sake glass, also stained with blood, and nearby there was a jug in which there was still some alcohol.

Feeling his body getting heavy he moved into the other room and when he reached out to open the door, he saw that he was trembling. There, the smell and the sound intensified like a warning not to go in.

He was afraid of what he'd see, but he had to...

With one quick move, he opened the door. It slammed and the smell hit him in the face with double force, pinching his eyes. Flies immediately sat on him, looking for something to eat, biting his exposed skin and drinking sweat.

There, in the middle of a small room, were two bodies. He saw the white larvae moving in what used to be the heads of the wretchs, and how far the rotten process had gone.

He couldn't hold out and threw up. It was too much for him. He had to get out. Now. Immediately.

But he didn't even have time to take a step because as soon as he turned around, the hammer hit him in the face, smashing his completely nose and knocking out his teeth.

Through the black spots appeared before his eyes, Kiyoshi saw a figure in front of him and then fell, when she hit him a second time, falling into the death chamber. He managed to block the blow with his hand and heard a loud crack of a broken branch.

He didn't think about it then, but that was the sound of his broken fingers. Because of the adrenaline, he couldn't feel it now.

Unfortunately, he didn't see anything else. The candle fell out of his hand and went out.

He felt a weight on his stomach as the woman sat on him and tried to hit him on the head again. He was still covering himself by his wounded arm and trying to get it off her somehow, but she was too heavy for him.

He hoped that someone would hear his scream and come to help him, because at every moment he weaken.

But no one came, and another body was found in Nakime's room. Now she's done her ritual and she is ready to perform.

- - -

The venue was buzzing of impatient voices. All the gathered people were looking forward to the arrival of their favorite musician, who rarely made herself time off. The long-haired woman hypnotized with her music, causing clients to come back for more.

Her fame quickly spread around the area and it became harder and harder to find a place inside. You had to come a few hours earlier to listen to her melody.

Because of this, some (those who never heard it and just wanted to eat) thought it was stupid. They didn't understand and called her audience fools.

And you were one of those fools. You're in front of the stage again, waiting for her to perform like a dog for a treat. Despite your most sincere attempts to stop or listen to your friend, you could not stop coming. She was like a drug.

Every time you've seen her, you've felt the butterflies in your belly start to dance inside and your mind becomes incredibly light, like when you're drunk with alcohol. But you didn't drink sake so you wouldn't be distracted and fully enjoy the performance.

But today she still hasn't shown up. People began to get impatient and the owner of the premises upset - thanks to her his income increased significantly and if she decided to change workplace meant problems for him.

Some of the guests left mad, and some started wondering out loud where she was. At some point, they started chanting her name, thinking it would make her suddenly show up.

You'd probably be the last person to leave this place and still wait a few more hours for her.

You missed her and her music during the day, waiting for the night to see her again.

But you didn't have to because she finally showed up.

She was wearing a black kimono that you once gave her, but something that caught your eye and prevented you from fully enjoying the performance was the numerous tearing of the material that you seemed to be the only one to see.

• • •

Nakime came home in the morning at her regular time. She was fine, both physically and emotionally, despite the scratches on her forearms and the bruises on her abdomen caused by that burglar. Even a not-so-pleasant meeting with a neighbor did not dampen her spirits.

An old woman called her attention to yesterday's noise and said she already thought her husband was dead. Until recently, quarrels and shouts in their home were standard fare.

It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't even know how much of it was true. She also told musician to take care of the horrible smell coming out of her house.

She didn't care much about her as she was about yesterday's guest.

She did the right thing coming home. Meeting the samurai made her feel a little insecure and afraid of detection - killing someone outside meant more risk.

She wanted to go back and keep trying to dispose of the bodies. Although they made her nauseous, she found the willpower to cut them into pieces and wrapped in her previous kimono.

She finally appreciated the clothes you gave her because you can't see the blood stains on them. But she felt that if she came out on stage all covered in blood, no one would even notice - everyone was mesmerized by her music.

Sighing, she undressed and went to bed. Then maybe she'll try to get rid of the body parts again.

It was a tedious and difficult task. She had to do it in such a way that the origin of the meat could not be determined immediately.

But she was glad she took care of it because otherwise she wouldn't have found the footprints and other tracks behind her house suggesting an unwanted presence.

She was sure it was her night visitor, but who was the other person? Why didn't they come together?

A normal person would feel scared in a situation like this, but after tonight, Nakime felt invincible. The power she had and the impunity with each subsequent murder made her as drunk as alcohol. She became more and more confident and less cautious.

But she now fell asleep without fear.

- - -

Her work was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her fingers and wrist hurt from cutting hardened cartilage, and her knees from long kneeling.

She got up unstably and washed her hands in a bucket of cold water before she opened the door.

Is it that crazy old lady again? Anybody else in the neighborhood who's bothered by the smell? Maybe it's a samurai?

But it wasn't any of them.

That was you.

You stood insecurely, holding a package wrapped in brown paper in your hands. You didn't look her in the eye. Instead, you focused on the floor.

You took small, short breaths to somehow bear the stench from inside, but you did not make a face. You asked if you could come in and talk.

Nakime moved away from the door to let you in. She tried not to show it, but she was glad you came - she was shaking all over her body at the thought of smashing your head and going to perform again in the evening.

You stood in the middle of the room, and the setting sun lit the room for a moment until she quickly closed the door and darkness set in. She didn't have any open windows here.

"I know everything," you started before she had a chance to come up to you. She quietly took the hammer lying on the cabinet near the door.

"And on the one hand, I didn't want to believe it, I've been denying it all the time... But I can't do this anymore. It rips my heart between what I should do and..."

"What do you mean?" She asked, but she wasn't interested in your answer. She just want you to didn't turn around for a second.

Nakime was standing right behind you with a hammer ready to strike.

"You are the murderer, aren't you? You killed Fuku and Kiyoshi..."

Suddenly you turned around when she had her tool raised and made her hesitate. It gave you the precious second to grab her wrist and lowered it, asking her to talk for one more minute longer.

"I should turn you in, but I can't," you confessed. "I'm hurt by what you did and it will never stop, but for some reason I can't do anything against you."

Your voice broke. She was so close now, she saw you were on the verge of mental breakdowns.

"Please tell me what I should do. If you think it's best to kill me, do it and put an end to my torment."

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She felt she should end it with one punch, but instead she told you to leave.

She didn't like the new kind of arousal caused by your confession, the fluttering of her heart or how the blood came up to her cheeks. She felt she was getting a fever because of you. Her legs are even weaker than they were before.

"Then you'd better kill me," you said firmly, surprising her. "Because I can't live without you–your music."

You were too embarrassed by what you said, so you quickly added the first thing that came to your mind. You were hoping it was too dark to see your blush.

But she couldn't bring herself to lift the hammer anymore. When was the last time she felt that way? If ever it must have been a long time ago.

"Get as far away from here as you can," she began in an imperiously tone. "And come back exactly ten years from now, if you still feel the way you feel, you will come back here and I will play only for you."

And you left her with a bleeding heart after an indescribable loss. Nakime thought she was merciful to you, she condemned you to an even worse fate than if she had killed you - from now on you will carry her sins on your back, the betrayal of your friends and miss her for each of the 3 652 days.

Awareness of all this will not allow you to sleep peacefully. Her absence prevents you from eating and function normally. Losing your friends isolated you.

You never stayed anywhere longer after that, looking for your place and running away from that house at the same time.

She was both, your cure and curse.

- - -

You went to her show last one time and left the next morning with the first rays of sunshine.

Nakime put on another kimono, that you brought her - simple, black, because you noticed she doesn't like glamour and extravagance.

In the full light of the room, she could see how the events of the last few days had affected you. You were pale, lost weight and had big bags of sleeplessness under your eyes.

You looked like a shell of your former self.

It gave her the thought that now you belong to her - she will never leave your mind or heart and will be your only one. For the rest of your days, even though you're not together, she will haunt you in your life as a ghost of the past, when you awake and in your dream.

For some reason, she liked the power she had over you.

The melody of that day was very sentimental and passionate. The performance was definitely different and even better than usual. Some felt goosebumps and coldness during climax moments, and wiped away tears at the slower ones.

It wasn't just music meant to show her talent and entertain the audience - it had a message behind it. And everyone felt it.

It was her goodbye to you.

People talked about it for a long time after you left, hoping she'd do it again, but she never did. Her fame came as far as you ran away, haunting you and never letting you forget your sin of silence.

You pretended not to hear and didn't speak up when the subject of a genius musician was raised. All the venues, where the music played you avoided like the plague.

After you left, she felt like she lost something, looking at the table you used to always occupy. She also became even more ruthless in her actions, which led to her demise.

This one time she chose the wrong person, because he could not be called a human, and gave her a new life as a demon.

You, looking for relief after a few years, ended up with one of your clients. A platinum blonde with rainbow eyes greeted you with open arms after seeing your condition.

His closed community was located in a remote area in the mountains. People there like you were broken and destroyed by life or loved ones.

And what it meant to you, they've never heard of her or her music.

Honestly, it didn't surprise you that most of them were women, inherently weaker physically than men. They couldn't defend themselves, so they always had to run away and hope they'd be better off somewhere else.

Every time the Founder called you a "poor thing", you felt like you were getting goosebumps and when he looked at you with those sad eyes, you thought something was wrong. Like he's faking it.

But it used to be, because with your current state, you didn't care.

You felt a slight discomfort associated with the honor of eating in his private chamber, but he did not seem to care.

You didn't notice when you were talking that he doesn't eat anything from a table full of food prepared by his followers. All he did was push plates towards you to make sure you tried everything. And with his elbows on the table, he listened to you like you were telling a fairy tale. You didn't want to talk about her or your problems, so you told him where you were and what you saw.

With his chin resting on his hand with blue long claws nails and sleepy eyes, he listened to everything like enchanted and curious about you.

He, in order for you to stay, persuaded you to hand over your business to someone else and join the cult.

He argued that by your constant fatigue and lack of strength to handle it. He promised to improve your condition after you moved here - he praised the brisk mountain air, pure waters full of minerals and his connection with the gods, giving comfort to his followers.

You weren't convinced by the idea of being one of his followers, who loved his every move, so you got the role of his guest.

You lived with the rest of them in a big common room - the men and women (with children) had their own separate wings in the large building.

You had there your own responsibilities that weren't too heavy, because the Founder of the cult told you to focus on recovery.

And just like anyone else, you could leave whenever you wanted (in theory).

Many times during the talks he offered you the attainment of your own eternal paradise - explaining that it means a state of eternal peace and happiness, without any worry and pain. His ultimate mercy toward broken people.

The offer sound tempting, you had to admit it, but you had a promise to keep, and sinners like you have no place in paradise.

And now, you found yourself again in front of the same door as ten years ago.

Douma was slightly opposed to your departure, saying you were still unhealed and tried to convince you to stay, but you were adamant about it. He gave up after you promised you'd come back and maybe you'd finally accept his offer.

You had to find out if the last ten years of your life were in vain.

To meet her, you left Douma's cult five days earlier and spent the night at the inn, because you arrived a day too early (than you assumed) and you sold your house a long time ago.

The wood on the door started to splinter, but it was strong enough to withstand your knock.

For a moment you wondered if she was still there or had not been caught, until the door with the loud squeak of the old hinges opened itself.

Inside, you thought nothing had changed - only the smell had left. Where there used to be a second room (with the bodies) she was sitting with her biwa. Behind her was an impenetrable darkness as if there were no walls behind her.

After called her by her old surname (which you didn't even notice slipping out of your mouth) you didn't speak to each other anymore.

You were surprised she still had the same kimono you gave her. You know this, it was made especially for your order, because you could not find anything in her type.

As soon as you took your seat on the only pillow (like it's specially set up in front of her for you), she started playing, and you thought the last decade was just a bad dream.

You've both fallen into a trance by hypnotizing each other. So much has happened that she's forgotten your promise, and if you hadn't come, you'd be a relic of her past.

In the morning, before the sun had time to rise, you left with the feeling that you belonged to each other. She was the musician, and you were her audience.

But before you left for the next 29 days, she spoke to you only once to telling you to call her Nakime.

And with every full moon, you'd come back for more. She didn't invite you but you knew she'd be waiting for you and she knew you'd be back.

She never spoke to you, but you didn't mind. You both understood each other without words and your roles in the relationship.

Sometimes after her performance you felt happy, sometimes more depressed than usual which Douma noticed and always asked about. He seemed to care very much about his followers, so you believed it was a real concern.

As history has shown, you are sometimes very naive and blind.

After a long and tiring series of questions from him, you finally revealed the reason for your sudden departures and current changes in mood.

Once Nakime was ordered to bring in all 12 moons, but she had a problem. Douma, as always, had company in his audience chamber and could not move him, when people were close.

She waited patiently to bring him, when she heard you come in to inform him of your another trip. You wanted to do it when he had an audience so you could get out sooner, but unfortunately he was willing to discuss it with you.

"Oh, you're leaving so soon again? Ahh, I was about to call you. I'm soooo bored here alone. Are you sure I couldn't go with you? Please, I'm begging you."

The blonde asked you with a smile and folding his hands as his followers do in prayer, excited as if you'd already agreed. For some reason, you felt like he was putting more and more pressure on you as this time of the month came.

"Douma-sama, you have responsibilities, and I'll see you in a few days."

Sitting cross-legged on a big pillow, a man puffed up his cheeks like a baby. Sometimes you wonder how old he really is.

You refrained from sighing and running your hand over your face. To stop him from pleading further, you drew your last card against him.

"Besides, I thought you couldn't leave the building during the day. And I couldn't just travel at night, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it'll take so long and you'll be sad again because of that woman."

He closed his eyes and leaning slightly forward started whining in the tone of a child stating the sad obvious.

Untli he suddenly straightened up as if a new energy had entered him and, clapping his hands, said pleased with his new idea.

"I know! It will be better if you stay here this month! Then you will not take a step backward in your treatment."

But you instantly frowned and clenched your fists. His insistence was slowly starting to get on your nerves.

The blonde, feeling as if he were on thin ice, became sad again and rested his chin on his hand. In the second, he was holding a golden fan.

You once had a chance to get a close look at it, during the affiliation of new members in his this same chamber. He covered half of his face with it after hearing another sad story.

After several times spent with him during this meetings (at his request) you noticed that although all the stories were always tragic, they also sound very similar.

You're surprised they didn't affect his psyche after all these years of listening to other people's problems and expecting them to solve them.

Although perhaps that was the reason for his sometimes childish behavior? When he needed to, he was able to remain serious, although most of the time he acted like an actor on stage - sometimes all too exaggeratedly.

Normally, he'd keep pushing you to stay until you escaped into the sunlight, but he's noticed you've become distant and inaccessible to him lately. This prompted him to rethink and change his tactics.

"I'd better go."

"Will you come back?"

"As always," you said, turning your back to him.

You were getting more and more tired of his personality. And it wasn't just you, Nakime listening to it was also running out of patience.

"My, my. You're really quickly trying to get away from me. Wait a minute longer. I have one more question."

You sighed.

After Nakime performances, you discovered that you are finally managed to sleep peacefully all night without the corpses of your friends blaming you for their deaths, and you waited impatiently for her. On the one hand, it gave you relief, and on the other, a sense of guilt.

You wish you were on your way already, but as a courtesy, you always came to let him know you were leaving and then you had to regret it.

"Yes, Douma-sama? What do you want to ask?"

You asked dryly, wanting just to get out. For some time, Douma seemed too interested in your travels and invited you to spend time together much more often. Even when you were too mentally exhausted and didn't accept the offer, he would come to you. He was literally like a little kid, who didn't understand the word "no."

The black-haired woman clenched her fingernails on the instrument until the wood crumbled a little. If she'd used a little more force, she'd have broken her biwa like a stick. The blue fingernails pierced the neck of the instrument, creating holes, but she didn't care about it now.

"What is she like? You never told me much about her."

"Is that all you want to know? After that, can I leave?"

"Of course," Douma said straightening up and putting his hand on his massive chest dressed in a red turtleneck with a black top. "I always keep my promises."

A man was looking at you with those peculiar rainbow eyes waiting for an answer. They were simultaneously alluring and dreadful. Everyone said they were his gift from the gods.

But like you, he also had his curse and it was those beautiful eyes. Maybe that's why blonde demon thought he was the only one, who understood you and what it was like, in his own twisted way, remembering his beginnings from time when he was human.

Knowing that it would be better to answer him (because you may later regret it by his insistence upon your return), you pondered for a moment.

What is Nakime like?

She was elegant, cold and cruel. Merciless. Yes, but you can't deny that you've noticed the silent acts of courtesy she made to you during your meetings. She was too proud to admit them out loud.

The interior of the house has somehow changed, the blood has disappeared and it is definitely warmer for you on cold nights.

Sometimes you seemed to sense a delicate scent of flowers, completely different from Douma - a strong, suffocating smell of lilies. And sometimes you seemed to sense something else underneath it on him.

She was above it all, but she was also...

"She's cute."

You said with such confidence, that the woman's face instantly turned red. Her heart beat faster and in her belly the long-sleeping butterflies woke up.

What did you do to her?

Douma unexpectedly laughed behind his hand. The joyful, spontaneous sound echoes through the walls of the spacious room making it even louder.

When he finished and did nothing more, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

"Hm? Did something happen? You decided to stay?"

"No, I'm just wondering if that's it."

Douma smiled at you as if you were telling a joke.

"Just like I promised, you're free now." But before you disappearing completely from his sight, he added:

"And remember I can always give you eternal paradise if you ever decide. Then you'll never have to suffer again."

As soon as the shōji door with the painted lily on canvas closed behind you, he was moved to Infinite Castle.

Muzan asked them about their progress in the search for the Blue Spider Lily and their success in eliminating the Ubuyashiki clan, at the same time strongly criticizing and calling them useless. Sometimes he had to relieved his anger on them and somehow get them to work so they wouldn't get too lazy.

Some of the blood of the lower moons was spilled and some of the upper moons were reminded of their place in the hierarchy. Nothing new.

And when the meeting was over in a few strokes of the strings, she sent everyone back where they were. Except for one person.

Douma looked around in surprise wondering why he was not yet in Eternal Paradise in his chamber. As soon as he saw Nakime sitting in the distance, he stood up and waved to her.

"Oh, Biwa Lady, what's wrong? Are you bored too?"

Nakime ignored him and, squeezing the plectra tighter, said imperatively.

"Stay away from that human."

"Hmm?" He muttered, putting his finger to his cheek and tilting his head slightly, thinking for a moment. After that, the man asked carelessly.

"Which one? I have a bit too many of them to guess which one exactly you mean, hahaha."

Douma laughed innocently, pretending not to know what she meant, irritating her even more. If the bangs hadn't covered her face, he could have seen her veins pulsing furiously across her forehead.

As a final warning to him, she repeated this to him through clenched teeth.

"Leave. That. Human. Alone. And. Never. Bother. Again."

"Oh, you mean my friend?"

He tilted his head slightly and with a satisfied smile added.

"But your chosen one lives with me, how could I ever leave my dear friend alone in need?"

Blonde bowed his head slightly, wrinkled in fake worry thick eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Oh, my, my. You're putting me in a difficult position. Friends should help each other and besides..."

He looked at her half-closed, with a predatory smile, and said in a lowered voice. "I don't usually share with my food."

Suddenly Douma was crushed by a wall falling on him from above. When she released him, he looked like a moving mass of flesh and meat.

He recovered quickly as a upper second moon befits, laughing at the woman's reaction. If he wanted to, he could easily avoid it with his speed.

"Oh, my, my, hahaha, you really need it, you're a quite strong, but still too weak and little too slow, my dear."

Seeing that he raised his hand again, he added quickly.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I just bait you. I didn't know you cared so much about this one. If you'd explained it before, I'd understand."

"There is nothing to understand here. Don't elaborate. You're just supposed to stop."

The cult leader giggled again and with a friendly smile refused.

"You see, this is my friend, who came to me for help. Who would I be if I didn't help him get rid of the pain? After all, it's my job."

Before Nakime could pull the strings and hurt him again, he said:

"You're cute."

Imitating your voice and tone. He wasn't the best at it, but it worked well enough that she hesitated for a moment and almost dropped the instrument. Grasping the neck of the biwa again, she changed the acrod, and instead of cutting him vertically with a shōji door, she sent him back to his audience chamber.

It took less than a second, but Douma noticed it, and he was complacent. Although he did not consider himself a master of deduction, as demonstrated by his least fruitful search for the Blue Spider Lily of all the moons.

Who would have expected Biwa Lady to have feelings for human?

But she must have forgotten one thing, when she was ordering and trying to intimidate him, is that demons are very territorial and jealous of their food - especially the upper moons.

Nakime still had over 72 hours left until you arrived, and she started wondered during that time whether it would be better to just lock you up at Infinity Castle after all.

[indraste-darktalon]

The Wedding (Indy)

Word count: 850 Summary: Indy and Blix get hitched, pre-timeskip! I had her vows written and I was on a plane today and figured I’d write out a little thing so I could show them off to Blix’s player. So here’s a little glimpse into the wedding for everyone. :D Mentions: @blixvoronin @celesterunewhisper @ranekvilmas @mekandawn @xarianazphel (I'm not gonna double ping for those of you who have multiple characters.)

It was strange, having every different little section of her recent life finally gathered into one place. First, the location: a river delta in Nagrand, beneath a large tree, which used to be her favorite place to fish. Second, her friends: Celeste, who had coordinated everything for her and Blix; Ranek, who had agreed to be her best man; and Caythaes, who had written an entire ceremony to marry them by. Twist, too: he had actually arrived early to help her get ready. And then Xarian, whom she’d met in a tavern brawl while Blix was missing, had even agreed to come even though there would be no fighting. Last but not least, her family: her brother had agreed to spend time around their parents to be there for her. And her mother and father had agreed to give him a wide berth.

That was as good as it was going to get for the Darktalons, at least for now.

Her old home. Her closest friends. Her newly rediscovered family. And then, most importantly: her wife, who was also surrounded by her own family and friends. It was the most positive gathering of people she’d been in in decades.

Blix looked stunning. (Indy honestly thought that she looked stunning in almost every situation, but today there was a brightness around her that had been less common since she came back.)

Indy, for her part, had tried: her hair was in a looser, much less severe braid down her back, leaving hair to frame her face. Twist had helped her weave pale yellow flowers into the braid, which was a step up from her usual mess of feathers. She was in a sleeveless dress that she had been working on for months; a soft green, made of leaf-shaped panels of varying sizes layered atop one another to form the bodice and the skirt. She was still barefoot, but she had lip stain on; red, to match her tattoos.

Today wasn't a day for stress. She could get through it without talons and feathers ruining her look.

There was a twinge of stress, though, when the ceremony began and Cay had her and Blix stand in front of them beneath the tree. She felt all the guests' eyes on her, and had to remind herself that every single person there was there to support them. So she held Blix's hands, and smiled down at her, and waited for the time to say her vows. She was going first, and she desperately hoped what she had to say wouldn't turn out to be too long.

Cay indicated it was her turn to speak. Indy took a deep breath, met Blix’s eyes, and squeezed her hands.

"I'm going to start this on a sad note, which is probably not surprising to anyone who knows me." There was the faint sound of scattered laughter, but that was fine; she'd meant it to be a bit self-deprecating. "But you'll soon understand that this time, it's good to start sad."

Blix raised an eyebrow, and Indy continued: "Two decades ago, I lost my hope. Two years ago, I lost my faith. After Outland and Teldrassil, society became unbearable for me. My instinct was to fade away into the wilderness and not give the world a second chance."

No laughter, this time; the only sound when she paused for another breath was the wind in the grass and the branches of the tree above them. Blix was staring up her, expression earnest.

"But then I met you by chance, and within minutes you'd turned one of my most stressful days since coming back into something light-hearted and fun. And then… you just kept doing that."

Indy smiled and reached out to cup Blix's cheek in her hand. "Blix Voronin, you make me want to greet the day again. You make me want to improve my health, and rebuild my connections to other people. And every moment I'm with you, I find something else about you that's worth loving. You've given me a reason to come back to real life, and work through those days that are struggles. You've been endlessly patient with my quirks: my sometimes-talons, the feathers always on the floor of our home… and with my kids, who hopefully haven't flown off with the rings by now."

More laughter, and she and Blix both looked over at Ranek and Kenorian, who had both been tasked with being a perch for Asha and Tilly until it was time for them to fly the rings over. Each of the men had one of the darters on a shoulder.

No crisis so far.

Indy turned her attention back to Blix, and they met eyes again. "By the Night, Blix, I swear to you that I'm going to do everything I can to be just as wonderful to you as you are to me. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you well. I'm your healer, and I'll be at your side every time I'm needed."

She squeezed Blix's hands again, and said the last part of her speech: "I love you, Moonfire. And today, I'm standing here to link myself to you, and tell everyone present that I will always cherish our bond."

Indy's shoulders relaxed, and she exhaled deeply. She'd made it through without stumbling over or forgetting words. The hard part was over; now, all she had to do was listen to what Blix had written, put a ring on her hand, give her a kiss… and then go dance, drink, and party with people who loved them.

Things were good, and while she knew it wasn’t going to be easy… she had faith that they were going to stay that way.

((Indy's wedding dress ref:))

[corvus--rex]

Another one that's been put down for a nap. I actually have the four planned chapters outlined, it just takes a particular head space to write. It's a 90's au, which means that there is period-typical homophobia involved. Our boys are musicians still in the town they grew up in. Note: they both smoke (I'm sorry), and there's a brief mention of underage sex (both are high school seniors).

@jilli-bean, this is more of the au my paragraph came from. I remembered you asked if I would tag you when I wrote more of it. Here it is so far!

~*~*~*~

~~*~~ present day – June, 1997 ~~*~~

“So, like, I guess he’s gay or whatever. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just, like, y’know?”

The voice belonged to a girl in a sundress talking to her two friends while walking by. Keith stayed where he was leaning against the side of the building and flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke in a sigh. Saying “there’s nothing wrong with that” was just the same as saying “no offense” and then being offensive. He’d lost patience for that phrase a long time ago. But even as done with it as he was, it was still better than getting kicked out of his last foster home three weeks before his eighteenth birthday after being outed by the family’s biological son.

The boys were the same age, and Keith’s foster brother Wyatt was upset at the time for Keith having better grades and, more importantly, attracting the attention of the girl Wyatt had a crush on. The ensuing fight over the girl led to Keith confessing his sexuality, and petty jealousy led to Wyatt telling his parents. His social worker was a godsend, and after a conversation with his best friend’s parents, Keith found himself moving in with them that night. The guest room became his permanently after that. He’d moved out into his own apartment with his best friend Lance McClain-Sandoval when he started college, but the McClain-Sandovals were one of the closest things to a real family he’d ever known. That first night felt like coming home for a second time, and the midnight conversation they had while lying on Lance’s bedroom floor would be forever burned into memory.

~~*~~ October, 1991 ~~*~~

They were supposed to be in bed already. The next day was a school day and both boys knew that Mariana would have their asses if she knew they were still up, but they didn’t care. Lance knew how bad Keith’s foster family was and had nearly crushed his mother in a hug when she got off the phone with Keith’s social worker. He had been the one to pick Keith up from his social worker’s office. And he’d been the one to drive to the Jacksons’ house with him to retrieve everything Keith had left behind. They found it all boxed up on the front step with a note reminding him that they just couldn’t have “someone like him” in their home and around their children. Keith, and Lance, took great pleasure in watching that note go up in flames in the fire pit in Lance’s backyard.

Keith had been fostered in the same large town of Arus for the last three years, and he and Lance had been friends since the first day Keith transferred to Arus High School only two months after the beginning of their freshman year. They had come out to each other in the summer after sophomore year, both relieved that they wouldn’t lose their best friend. They were even more relieved when Lance’s parents Mariana and Diego told the boys that they would love them both no matter what, and that it was no one’s business who they loved. Now it was only one month into their senior year and life was changing again.

“Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” Keith sighed.

“Yeah, it probably will. Wyatt’s an asshole and he’ll tell everyone. Probably starting with what’s-her-tits and blowing any chance he has with her,” Lance agreed.

Keith couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Michelle? Yeah, little fucker never had a chance with her to begin with. She’s been banging Chris Proctor all summer. Won’t shut the fuck up about it, even when she’s hitting on me.”

That made Lance roll to face his best friend. “Wait, seriously? I thought she hated him. Something about basketball players not being as good as football players.”

Keith rolled onto his side. “Yeah, that’s what I’d heard, but I guess she doesn’t hate his dick.”

Lance snorted, but when he saw how the strings of fairy lights lit Keith’s face and the sparkle of laughter in his deep violet eyes, his breath caught. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was a bad idea. It had been only hours since Keith was kicked out of the Jackson house, and this wasn’t some summer sleepover spent fantasizing about the future. The crush he’d been nursing for his best friend burst into full bloom, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Noticing the change, Keith’s brows furrowed. “Lance? What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, “You’re beautiful, y’know that? I’ve been wanting to tell you that for so long.”

Keith’s expression softened. Lance confessing to feeling something more than just being best friends made a warmth settle into his bones. He’d thought his own crush would go unrequited forever and had begun to adjust into the idea that they would remain best friends and nothing more. Lance had just given him hope, and he wasn’t going to let the moment pass.

“Yeah? So are you. I thought I wouldn’t ever get to say it. But if we’re confessing…”

Impulse overrode higher thought, and Lance found himself inches away Keith’s face before he realized what happened. “Can I?” he asked in a soft whisper.

“Whenever you want,” Keith answered just as quietly.

Their first kiss was soft, gentle. It carried the relief of finally knowing how the other felt, and the promise of exploring those feelings. It was hesitant, nervous. It felt as though they were both worried that it was nothing more than a dream and that they’d wake up sore from falling asleep on Lance’s bedroom floor. But the very physical sensation of touch – Lance’s fingers threaded through soft black hair, the light touch of his thumb across high cheekbones, Keith’s hand sliding up soft t-shirt fabric, gripping the lean, compact muscle – it reminded them that they were very much awake, and that their kiss was very much real. When they separated, Lance pulled them back down, Keith nuzzling into his neck.

“I never thought kissing my best friend was something I’d ever do,” Lance said, basking in the afterglow of their kiss and the feeling of Keith in his arms.

“Mm, maybe not, but what about a boyfriend?” Keith asked, delicate fingertips tracing patterns into the t-shirt he had been holding so desperately only moments before.

“Yeah, I could get used to that.”

~~*~~ present day – June, 1997 ~~*~~

Keith was so lost in the memory of his first kiss with Lance he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until there was an arm on his shoulder and the cigarette was gone from his hand. He startled, then realized it was Lance. Keith was well aware how much Lance loved his leather jacket rocker look. It went well with the core of his music taste – a little punk, a little grunge, a splash of metal, a healthy dose of rock. He didn’t look it, but Lance’s tastes ran pretty much the same; it was one of the things they became friends over. But as much as Lance loved Keith’s daily wardrobe, Keith loved Lance’s more casual outfits, almost always topped off with the denim jacket whose back panel he had painted with a dragon and phoenix before gifting it to his boyfriend for his 18th birthday.

“Fucking hell, don’t do that!” he hissed. “Also, excuse you, that was mine.”

Lance just laughed through the smoke. “What, you worried about germs? We do a lot more than just swap spit, babe.”

Keith heaved a sigh, shaking his head at his boyfriend. “Yeah. I know that, and you know that, but I don’t think all of Arus needs to know that.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve figured it out by now. I’m not exactly subtle, and almost the whole town knows about you after senior year of high school.”

“Fuck I still hate that asswipe. Ok, I’m done talking about him. You, me, Mario Kart, and the six-pack in the fridge.”

Lance crushed the cigarette butt under his sneaker. “Ooh, Mario Kart and pizza night. I still need to beat your ass at Rainbow Road.”

“Not gonna happen,” Keith threw over his shoulder as he walked away. He took off running when Lance gave chase, barely beating him to the truck.

As much as Keith’s true passions lay in art and music, he was also a skilled mechanic thanks to his foster father Carlos. He’d been with the Villalobos family for two years before a family emergency meant that they had to leave California for their parents’ native Mexico. If there was any other family that had felt like home, it was theirs. Carlos and Pilar treated him like one of their own children, and Keith got along with Daniela and Alejandro (Alex to his friends) like real siblings. They were back in California now, and he’d been able to reconnect with them and fill them in on what had happened with the Jacksons and how it had ended well despite them. After hearing about what had happened after they left, Carlos and Pilar had immediately called Lance’s parents, and now the two couples were good friends, the Villalobos slipping seamlessly back into Keith's life.

Keith had worked his way through college, and kept him working currently, thanks to the skills Carlos taught him. It was also those skills that got him his second most prized possession, the first being his his guitars. Keith had been working when the truck’s first and only owner brought it in on the back of a tow truck. He had bought it new, but the transmission on the ’94 Toyota Pickup blew out, and it wasn’t worth fixing. Keith said that it was a total waste of an otherwise solid pickup, and the owner told him that he could keep it if he promised to fully repair it. Six months of working on it in his spare time, and Keith had a rebuilt transmission and a fully working Garnet Red Pearl, extended cab Toyota Pickup.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 6

AN: I feel like I’ve got my mojo back with this fic a little bit, this was so fun to write and I hope it’s fun to read too!

masterlist

------

First days were always nerve-racking, and this one was no different.

Aelin knew she had no real reason to be nervous other than the fact it was new, she had prepared what she needed, even taking extra time this morning to make sure she had put on a swipe of make-up and a smart outfit to feel primed for the day.

She’d taken it upon herself to wake Fenrys up half an hour earlier than normal to make sure he would be ready to leave on time, she knew he normally rocked up to the school right on the bell, but she needed to be at least five minutes early to meet the principal, lest she look unprepared.

Fenrys had left her outside the principal’s office, waiting for the woman to arrive, taking in the blue carpet of the floor and the wooden panels of the walls. The school was in an old building, with mostly traditional décor that gave it character unlike her old school. She liked it. Even though the chair she sat in was hard and uncomfortable as she shifted her weight while she waited for the principal to appear.

She had been thankful for Fenrys’ comforting presence in the car on their way, he had chattered away filling her in on the harmless school gossip, distracting her from her worries about the new school, but now he was gone, off to teach his own classes for the day, the nerves had settled back in.

He had been almost more excited than Aelin about her new role, glad to have her at the school, and he had championed most of the drinking the night she had found out. She had had a great night, each of her friends seemed genuinely happy for her and had toasted to her all night, even once she had gone to bed they had continued to celebrate.

She hadn’t managed to quiz Lysandra after her kiss with Aelin’s cousin, whenever Aedion came up between the two Lysandra had been quick to change the subject, embarrassed at her drunk actions and the fact that they had even played truth or dare at all.

Aedion had recovered well, from Lysandra’s determined ignorance of his existence every time she saw him since, and Aelin was relatively sure he had brought a guest home from the night she hadn’t made it out to and had instead gone to bed.

Gone to bed might have been putting it generously, she remembered the way Rowan had guided her to her room. A gentle hand making sure she didn’t stumble, tucking her sheets over her and leaving a glass of water for her to down in the morning.

Her heart gave a squeeze at how gentle he had been.

Heels clacked against the cheap flooring and she glanced up. The woman striding towards her was dressed smartly in a black pencil skirt and a navy blue blouse. She had a couple of decades on Aelin, but her dark locks didn’t have even a hint of grey, nor did her harsh face have the beginning of a wrinkle.

The woman strode up to Aelin and presented her with a hand.

“Miss Galathynius I presume? Welcome to our school.” Her voice was stern but polite and Aelin stood and shook the hand she was offered. “I’m Maeve Valg, Principal, we’re glad to have you on board. Please follow me.”

The woman, Maeve, led the way into the office Aelin had been sat outside. Aelin nodded, greeting the woman and following her in.

Inside the office it was tidy, shelves lined the walls, overflowing with books and files, but organised in a way that Aelin was jealous of. Her own organisation wasn’t lacking, it couldn’t be, as a teacher she needed to know where things were, but she could never reach this level of military-style precision.

The Principal took a seat behind the large wooden desk in the centre of the room and Aelin dropped to the seat on the other side, facing her.

“Welcome,” She said again, a polite smile on her lips.

“Thank you, it’s great to be here.” Aelin said, folding her hands in her lap.

First impressions were important, and she knew she’d be able to get away with much more at a later date if she gave Maeve the initial impression that she was to be trusted.

Maeve nodded.

“It’s great to have you here, I was impressed with your interview, and I’m confident that you will fit into our school ethos well.”

Aelin smiled. She knew from Fenrys that the school valued the community spirit and communication between teachers a departments, she was excited to get stuck in. She told Maeve as much and she received another slight smile.

A knock sounded at the door behind her and Maeve called for whoever was on the other side to come in.

“Ah yes,” Maeve said standing from behind her desk. “I’ve invited Mr Havilliard to show you around. He can give you a bit more information than I can as I have to attend a meeting now.”

Aelin turned to the man in the doorway and saw he was grinning at her.

He was as handsome as a Disney prince, his thick dark hair curled around his ears, and his deep blue eyes were striking and sparkling. She took in his clean white shirt and pressed trousers where he stood. He wasn’t as tall as her roommates, but he still tilted his chin to smile down at her.

“Dorian Havilliard.” He offered his hand. “At your service.”

She shook his hand. “Aelin Galathynius.”

He grinned at her even wider than before. “Follow me Aelin,” He turned to the door with a nod behind her at the principal.

“Thanks,” She smiled at the dark haired woman before following Dorian out the door.

Once in the hall, his posture relaxed, and Aelin adjusted hers in response. He led the way down the nearest hallway, the corridors empty of any students given that the first period had already begun.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s a hard ass, but you get used to it.” He told her, his voice was low and smooth.

“Right, good to know,” She joked. “I was worried.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. She’s like that with me still and I’ve been here for years.”

She blinked; he couldn’t have been much older than her. He must have sensed her confusion, or seen the look that crossed her face, and said, “I’ve been here seven years, got the job straight out of college, worked my way up to be one of the assistant principals last year.”

Impressive, Aelin noted. He must have been at least couple of years older than her then, making him maybe thirty, if her quick mental maths added up.

“What do you teach?” She asked him, curious about that path he had taken to get where he was.

“English,” He told her. “I love it, have loved it since I was a kid.”

Aelin shared his interest, she had loved reading ever since her childhood and her mother had bought her book after book when she devoured the stories one by one. She supposed that was where her interest in history had stemmed from, reading historical fiction had led her to historical non-fiction and she found the tales of knights and kings and queens to be fascinating. Sweeping her away into tales of honour and warfare and romance, distant enough from her reality to transport her away.

They were making their way down the halls, Dorian pointing out the points of interest on their tour, telling her where the cafeteria was, where the main hall and staff rooms were. He showed her where her office would be, and they walked past the classroom that would become hers once she had time to make it her own.

“So,” He turned to her after walking her through the grounds of the school, showing her the sports pitches and athletics track. “What’s your story?”

She pondered his question for a moment, chewing the inside of her lip slightly as she took in his smile and the way he was walking close to her, his shoulders leaning into her own.

“My story?” She shrugged, flicking her eyes out across the field in front of her. “I lost my old job to budget cuts, but I’d been there for a couple of years. I actually moved here after college when I qualified and then got the job pretty much straight away.”

He nodded along as she spoke, a dark curl of his hair bobbing along his forehead as he did, but then he tilted his head at her, a piercing look in his sapphire-blue eyes.

“I knew you weren’t from around here, but I couldn’t place the accent.”

“I’m from Terrasen.” She told him, thinking fondly of her home country and her parents who lived there still. It’s rolling mountains and grassy plains that she had explored as a child, sometimes alone, sometimes with Aedion when him and his parents came to visit.

“My accent isn’t as strong now that I’ve been in Adarlan for so long.”

Dorian only smiled at her. “I like it.”

She smiled, unsure how else to respond. Was it wise to flirt with a colleague? She wasn’t truly sure she wanted to flirt with him, and she fought the part of her brain that flashed an image of Rowan up at her. She was trying her best to keep her distance, at least in that respect.

“I teach history, I love it, but I love reading too. I also live with Fenrys, I don’t know if you know him?”

“Fenrys?” He questioned. “Coach Moonbeam?”

She nodded and watched something flash across his face at the confirmation, something she’d have to ask Fenrys about. If his reputation had ruined her first friendship at the school before it had barely had chance to start she’d kill him.

“Yeah,” She confirmed warily. “We live together. He told me about the opening here.”

“I see.” She couldn’t place Dorian’s reaction to her roommate, so quickly changed the subject.

“Any advice for this school?” She asked as he held the door open for her to re-enter the building.

“Not really,” He huffed a slight laugh, scratching his jaw. “Stick with me, and a couple of other teachers here that are pretty sound, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah? You’ll have to introduce me.”

Maybe if she could make her own friends here she wouldn’t have to follow Fenrys around like a lost puppy.

He checked his watch, something silver and clearly expensive before saying, “Actually, I think some of them might be free now.”

He led her back through the hallways to the staff room he had pointed out earlier and pushed into the small room.

There were kitchen counters around the sides, a number of cupboards no doubt stuffed full of mugs and plates, standard for a school staff room. There were tables and chairs dotted about the space and at one of the tables sat a man and two women, each nursing a mug that based on the smell she knew contained coffee.

“Aelin,” Dorian began. “Meet Chaol, Yrene and Nehemia.”

He pointed around the table as he made the introductions.

The man, Chaol, was stern looking but his expression lightened when he offered her a small smile, his copper-brown eyes crinkling at the motion. The woman next to him smiled widely at Aelin, Yrene, was beautiful, and her brown hair fell in spirals down her back, golden highlights standing out. A shining ring on her left hand glinted as she waved at Aelin around her mug.

The final woman, Nehemia, was striking. Her dark skin was smooth and her raven hair, braided down her back, had small elements of gold scattered throughout. Nehemia shot her a sly grin upon introduction, Aelin liked her immediately.

“Guys meet Aelin Galathynius. The new head of humanities, Terrasen native and Fenrys Moonbeam’s roommate.”

At Dorian’s introduction Chaol nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee and Nehemia outright cackled. Aelin needed to ask Fenrys about it.

“Hi Aelin,” Yrene smiled at her, her face kind as she waved a hand at the teachers on either side of herself. “Ignore them, welcome. How is your first day going?”

“It’s fine so far,” Aelin said as she followed Dorian over to where he was fetching a cup of coffee and grabbing her own. “I’ve had a great tour.”

Nehemia laughed again, “Right.” She said sarcastically and Dorian flashed her the finger.

“Where did he show you? I’m sure he probably managed to leave somewhere out,” Chaol cut in, his tone ribbing Dorian again.

“Everywhere, I think. Or at least I’d hope so.” She said, taking her seat next to him, Dorian slotting in on her other side.

“Hmm,” Chaol hummed, shooting an unimpressed look at Dorian who held his hands up, grinning at Chaol.

“I did!” Dorian protested to Chaol who rolled his eyes and sighed a laugh. Aelin laughed along, she could tell Chaol was exasperated, but fond of Dorian.

The dynamic between the group was easy, friendly and teasing, but clearly a very tight knit group. Chaol and Yrene were an adorable couple, very much in love, Dorian had sung at her when she had asked. Nehemia had a killer sense of humour, mostly at Dorian’s expense, but he always laughed along, taking the jokes in his stride.

He had been extremely friendly towards her. Filling all of the gaps in her knowledge without her needing to ask, touching her gently on the arm when he directed the conversation to her.

He was an extremely attractive man, with a charming kind of confidence that she normally would have been all over. Had she met him in a bar, she could see herself sliding into the seat next to him and flashing him a small smile while she accepted the drink he would have offered to buy her.

But they weren’t in a bar, they were at work, and he was technically her boss.

She could hear Lysandra’s warnings, you know it’s a bad idea, she would tut before reassuring Aelin she could find a man anywhere else, that she didn’t need Dorian and his disarming smiles.

Lysandra, as per usual, was probably right.

------

The rest of her day flew by quickly. She had a brief introduction to her classes from Maeve, fresh out of her meeting with the school board, and she had had some time to move her belongings and teaching aids into her classroom. Tomorrow would be her first full day of teaching and she was prepared.

It was only later that evening that she remembered to ask Fenrys about Dorian and his friends’ reactions to his name, even though they had driven home together he had filled the journey with tales of his students and their inabilities to play simple games.

She cornered him in the kitchen as he grabbed a beer from the fridge, resting her hand against the island, blocking his exit as she asked.

“Dorian Havilliard?” He questioned; his face carefully blank.

“Yes, do you know him? He had an interesting reaction to your name.”

More than just that, his friends had outright laughed at Dorian when Fenrys’ name had been mentioned. Surely all of the outlandish situations her imagination was telling her were way off, it had to be something small.

Fenrys sighed, taking a swig of his beer and lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Dorian Havilliard and I have a history.” He winced as he said the words.

Aelin groaned. She could try to repair any fights they had had; she knew she could definitely blackmail Fenrys into an apology, she liked Dorian and his friends.

“What kind of a history?” She narrowed her eyes.

A blush started on Fenrys’ neck, spreading up to his cheeks.

“A… sexual history.”

“No!” She gasped.

She ran through the interactions she and Dorian had had today. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, she had thought he had been flirting with her, complimenting her accent and the way he had been leaning into her. How had she read it so wrong? And Fenrys had a… history with him?

Fenrys bit his lip as he nodded.

“Oh gods,” She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought he was flirting with me.”

Fenrys shrugged, unbothered by both her reaction and his own revelation. “He probably was, to be fair. He flirts with everyone.”

It was that moment that Rowan chose to come into the kitchen.

She fought the small wave of embarrassment at the sight of him, at the thought of the conversation they had had when she thanked him for putting her to bed. She hadn’t been sure whether to mention it or not but decided it would have been worse to not acknowledge it.

He had been graceful, reassuring her with a small smile that it was no bother. Which she appreciated, had the roles been switched she would have made sure he got to bed. Well, she would have tried.

And she was grateful, any of her other roommates probably would have left her on the couch. Lorcan probably would have even taken photos of her passed out, probably would have enjoyed seeing how many things he could have balanced on her sleeping form.  

“Who flirts with everyone?” He asked, stepping around her to get to the fridge.

He was dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a flannel shirt; this one was green, and it complemented his silver hair.

“Fenrys’ ex, one of the teachers at the school.” She told him, but Fenrys shook his head around a mouthful of his beer.

“Not my ex,” He said once he had swallowed. “It was a one-time thing. Years ago.”

It reassured her slightly that she hadn’t been crazy, and that she had probably picked up on the cues from Dorian correctly.

“He was flirting with you?” Rowan turned to her, pulling his own beer out of the fridge, his tan face unreadable.

“I think so,” She pursed her lips.

“Oh,” Rowan’s voice was quiet, and he looked down to the beer in his hand.

“It was probably nothing,” She found herself saying. “I wasn’t flirting back.”

“You could.” Fenrys said from beside her. “It would be fine with me, he’s a decent enough guy. Good in bed too.”

She pushed him on the arm, and he laughed.

“Didn’t need to know that,” She laughed as she pushed his arm again when he made a suggestive gesture at her. “Get out that’s gross.”

“Didn’t think you were a prude, Galathynius.” He teased, but turned from the room, blowing a kiss at her as he left.

She turned to Rowan, who remained leaning against the counter opposite her, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“Office romance on day one, huh?” He teased her, his lips twitching with the smirk that was threatening to break through.

“Stop that,” She told him. “It was very light flirting.”

He shrugged at her, taking a sip of his beer.  

“If that even, he probably wasn’t. Or maybe I’m making it up.”

“Now you stop.” Rowan told her; his eyebrows drawn as he pushed off from the counter. “Why wouldn’t he have been flirting with you?”

She raised her eyebrow at him, unimpressed, daring him to continue.

“I’m serious,” He continued, stepping over until he was directly in front of her.

Every time they were close she was struck by how much bigger he was than her. And how good he smelled, his pine and snow combination was clean and fresh, she took a deep breath in.

“Why wouldn’t he want to flirt with you?”

She tilted her head up to look at him, suddenly vulnerable in what had previously been a light-hearted conversation, taking in his serious expression. His eyes were earnest as he looked into her own.

“I don’t know,” She started, not drawing her eyes away from his. She wasn’t sure she was able to. “After Arobynn I haven’t been flirted with for a while.”

She loosed a self-deprecating laugh.

He put his beer down on the counter, resting his hand on the counter by her side, his front was almost pressed up against hers now and her breaths came quickly.

“Of course you have,” He told her, his voice soft. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed.”

She swallowed hard.

He picked up a piece of her hair between two of his fingers, smiling gently as he twisted the strand around a knuckle. Aelin liked his smile, it showed a lighter side of him, and he looked especially handsome when he did.

“I think I would notice if guys had been flirting with me.” Her voice was rough as his other hand came down on the bench by her waist. He boxed her in to the island now, close enough to her to share breath, as he hummed in response.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt as if an electric current was thrumming below her skin at his close proximity.

“I’m not convinced.” His voice rumbled over her skin, his breath brushing her ear sending shivers down her spine as she tucked her chin down at the sensation. Her action pinned Rowan’s face in the crook of her neck, but he didn’t pull away, instead he pressed his face into the spot where her shoulder met her neck, breathing her in deeply.

His lips brushed against her neck, their touch feather light.

Aelin couldn’t move. She was sure she was panting now; Rowan’s own breaths had increased their pace where she felt his chest pressing against her own. Each brush lighting sparks along her skin.

She needed to be careful, this would look incriminating to any of their roommates if they walked in now, but she couldn’t connect her brain to her body.

While her rational brain was screaming at her to step away and put some distance between herself and Rowan, her traitorous body urged her to press closer into Rowan. Urged her to press her hips against his own and generate the friction she craved.

Rowan’s brain seemed to work faster than her own as he drew his head back with a hiss, leaning on his heels to put some distance between them. She felt the cold where her body now touched only air.

His green eyes were dark, almost taken over by his pupils as he scanned her face.

He cleared his throat and picked his beer back up of the island.

“I think you’d notice.” He told her with a hint of a smile.

He stepped back from her fully and left the kitchen without another word. She heard his bedroom door close before she managed to breathe again.

She screwed her eyes shut as she squeezed her thighs together, trying to convince herself she felt nothing.

He was a rutting good flirt, damn him. She definitely noticed.

------

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@maybekindasortaace​

@slytheringalathynius​

@http-itsrebecca​

@morganofthewildfire​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@fictional-horan​

@tottenhamboys20​

@dressedindustandshadows​

@sleeping-and-books​

@perseusannabeth​

@ireallyshouldsleeprn​

@superspiritfestival​

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

@spyofthenightcourt​

@jlinez​

@queen-of-glass​

@booknerdproblems​

I’ve combined the tag list for this fic and general tog for ease, but I’m not convinced I’ve done it right so let me know if I need to make any changes.

[takadasaiko]

Conflict of Interest (a Superman & Lois oneshot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: His daughter’s relationship with Clark Kent has always been a conflict of interest for Sam, but never so much as it had been that day. Set after the main events of 1.12

Conflict of Interest

He had warned her. When Lois had dropped the bombshell that she'd agreed to marry Clark Kent, he'd warned her. She wasn't just marrying the bespeckled reporter that she'd fallen for - while lying to her for the first several months of their relationship and putting a bullseye on her back for the ones that followed - she was marrying Superman. Their lives would never be normal, no matter how much they wanted it to be. How much they pretended, because that's what it really was once the boys came along. Lois might know her husband's secret, but little boys that had no concept of the kind of danger they'd put their mother and themselves in? No, there was no way to tell them, and that left their parents lying to them, because their father - Lois' husband - wasn't normal. Earthquakes collapsed bridges during family dinner and supervillains didn't give a damn about PTA meetings.

Sam had hoped one of those warnings might stick all the way up to the wedding, but he'd raised a stubborn daughter. For a brief time he'd wavered back and forth on if he should assign one of his more promising up-and-comers to play liaison between Superman and the DOD. That didn't happen, though, and as he had stood on the Kent farm in full dress uniform and watched as the alien that the world had come to rely on so heavily lifted his laughing daughter up into his arms and spun her around, he had grimly started to come to terms with the fact that it never would. It was a clear conflict of interest and the military wouldn't blink twice before stripping him of all involvement with Superman if they ever found out. If they did that, though, Sam wouldn't be able to protect his little girl. To protect his family, and if he liked it or not, that included her husband.

They'd made it work, the two men finding a new and awkward balance between family and work. Sam had kept the casual meetings to a minimum. It wasn't until the boys were born that things started to get more complicated. Suddenly Lois wanted him around more. There were Christmas invites and birthdays, not to mention the once a year dinners that Martha Kent somehow thought he was required to attend. He even made it to the occasional pee wee football game or piano recital. Still, Sam was able to compartmentalize for the most part. He and Clark had lost the formal undertones of their conversations outside of the DOD and most days it was like talking to two separate people that wore the same face. So much so that Sam could almost understand how a pair of glasses somehow threw the world off his scent.

Somewhere along the way they got closer. Clark never approached him for parenting advice - Sam imagined that Lois had had a few warnings for him on that front - but there were moments when he caught the question behind the question the younger man was asking. His own father had been gone for years unless you counted some hologram something or the other that had access to the history of his home planet that apparently took on his biological father's form, and it was clear that Clark held a respect for Sam, even if there were a frustrating amount of times that they didn't see eye-to-eye on something. Personal conversations were had behind closed doors and eventually, as long as no one else was around, he became Clark even in red and blue. He was, no matter what name others referred to him as at that very moment, his son-in-law. He was family, and Sam always did whatever he thought was necessarily to protect his family. Sure, it was a conflict of interest, but one that he had told himself benefited everyone in the long run. He helped to protect his daughter's husband and, in turn, his daughter's husband helped protect the world.

He had just never expected to have to choose.

Clark Kent was many things, and one of those was steadfast in his devotion to the world that had welcomed him. He felt a responsibility, he'd told Sam time and again, and Sam believed him. That's why the four star general had thought that the worst case scenario that he'd authorized John Henry for was going to be just that. He'd been firm with Lois - give her an inch and she'd take a mile with it - and was treating it like any other threat. It wasn't until Irons was boots on the ground and Superman had laid him out like a ragdoll that it became evident that the worst case was also the reality and Sam was left with two choices: trust the man that he'd come to respect or take out the alien threat before he could destroy the very people that he'd once loved.

It couldn't be a conflict of interest. The world depended on it.

And with that, Sam had authorized Irons to put his son-in-law down like a rabid dog.

A long, loud car horn dragged him out of the horrible day's memory and Sam realized he'd simply stopped his SUV at the point he should have hung right down the dirt road leading to the Kent farm. A neighbor he was blocking down the east-bound lane made a frustrated gesture as he swerved around him and Sam steeled himself to make the turn. Well, they'd left the lights on for him. Apparently he was still an acceptable guest even if maybe not a welcomed one. It was fine. It was late enough that the household would be asleep and he could grab a quick shower and sleep for a few hours before hitting the ground running the next morning with the sun. After some rest maybe he could find the words to tell Lois… something. He was proud of her, he wished he'd had her resolve, he was sorry he put her through that. Something. Heaven knew she deserved it and he had promised things were going to be different.

Sam pulled the SUV up and parked it in front of the white paneled farmhouse before he killed the engine. His overnight bag was already in the guest room and he all but fell out of the vehicle, exhaustion snapping at his heels. He trudged up the path and was at the next-to-top step before he realized that he wasn't alone. "Clark," he greeted roughly, drawing the younger man's attention over to him from where he was leaning heavily against the railing that lined the porch.

"Sam. Hey. Get everything wrapped up?"

"We'll be wrapping up for a few more days, but we have -"

"Can it wait 'til morning?"

The question stopped Sam mid-sentence and he registered the pained expression on his son-in-law's face. A little pale, a little hunched over. He looked beyond exhausted. "You doin' alright?"

Clark forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "All alone in here," he promised, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "Just like the scans said."

"I know they did." Sam shifted his weight, feeling oddly uncomfortable under that blue-green gaze he'd long since become accustomed to. He loosed a long breath. "Listen, Clark…"

"If this is going to be an apology, I don't need one. I don't want one."

"I did give John Henry the green light to kill you."

"And it was the right call."

"Clark."

"In the moment, it was the right call." He grimaced and plucked his glasses from their place so that he could squeeze the bridge of his nose. There was a long, tense silence between them before he put them back, the weight not lifting off of him as he did. "He would have killed everybody we love."

"He?"

"The Kryptonian Tal-Roh tried to use me to resurrect," Clark answered softly.

Sam moved a little closer to better hear him. Not everyone on the property had super hearing. "Who was he?"

His gaze was distant, fixed on the cornfield that stretched out beyond the house he had grown up in. "A general. Zod. My father - Jor-El - knew him, but I only know the highlights. They're nothing compared to having him battering around your head even for a few hours."

"Is this someone we should be concerned about moving forward?"

"I don't think so. I think it was all or nothing. Either he won or I did."

"Glad you came out on top."

"Me too." He perked up, head swiveling towards the door like he heard something and Sam saw a shadow before his daughter became visible. She was dressed for bed in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt with a Smallville High crow on it. Her house shoes had quieted her steps.

"Dad," she greeted, though it half sounded like a question as she pushed through the screen door. "It's freezing out here." Well, at least it didn't sound like she was about to turn him away. She did, however, turn to Clark. "The fresh air helping your headache?"

"A little."

"No one gets away from that one, huh?" Sam murmured, thinking about the one constant response from everyone they'd spoken to the night the Kryptonian consciousnesses had been ripped from them.

Clark gave a small, mirthless chuckle. "First one I've ever had. I think it's safe to say I'm not a fan."

The attempt at a joke tugged very slightly at the corner of Sam's lips and he risked a glance back at his daughter. Lois, though, was focused in with a worried expression on Clark. The tiny smile instantly vanished. "I'll let you two get some rest."

That brought her attention back around. "Is there any update?"

"It can wait 'til morning," he echoed Clark's earlier request. "Good night."

Sam thought he heard a quiet response as he pushed through the screen door and into the house. Shower, then bed. Tomorrow would be a new day and by then he was sure he'd know how to say what needed to be said. How to convey that, despite what Clark had just said, he disagreed. He hadn't made the right call that day. He should have taken a page from Lois' book and had a little more faith in the man that had proven himself time and time again.

And he would. It was time to end the conflict of interest and choose his family.

---

Notes: I've been wanting to write a one shot touching on Sam and Clark's relationship for some time now. I have two unfinished fics, but apparently this is the one that I could finish, so here we are.

Seriously considering a second chapter that follows Clark and Lois after Sam leaves and their conversation between his return and the next morning's debrief. Anyone interested?

[monsoonblooms12]

Christmas with the Waverleys ❄️: Part II

Summary: How do things turn out when Alex and Pooja are teleported to the 19th century for a Victorian Christmas🎄?

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing💫💛? Firstly, wishing a very happy Christmas Eve to everyone🎄! TBH I still cannot believe this year is about to end. Anywho, I wish everyone’s life is filled with joy, wonder and happiness and the new year brings you loads of new possibilities and new memories. Love you all!💛

If you enjoyed the story, please like, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going 💕

Thank you so very much @caseyvalentineramsey for prereading and @jamespotterthefirst for prereading and helping me up with the editing. You guys are life-savers and I love you💛💛

Characters: For this part, the characters are my OH f!MC(Dr. Pooja Sharma) and OH F!OC (Dr. Alexandra Walton), Eleanor Waverley, Thomas Waverley, Clarissa Waverley, Simon Waverley, Rose Waverley and William Waverley

Word Count: around 3.2K

Rating: General

Prompts :-

CFWC(@choicesficwriterscreations ) Winter Season Prompt #6: Character A doesn’t like the holidays. B loves it. Will B try to find out why or convince A to celebrate it?

@choicesmonthlychallenge ​~Sibling Appreciation: The Waverley Siblings

@choicesdecemberchallenge ​ Day 24: Eve

December 24th (contd.)

Suddenly it felt as if the world was spinning very, very rapidly around them. They felt dizzy, nauseous. Just when bearing everything was becoming too much, a chilly air went past them.

They slowly opened their eyes. And the sight in front of them had them holding their breath without their knowledge.

A huge medieval mansion, covered in snow, appeared before them. It was majestic, beautiful and warm.

They looked around. As far as the eye could see, No other house was visible.

Is this the place they were supposed to reach? Or did something go wrong?

Pooja and Alex looked around in utter awe. Both due to the mansion and the wonder if they had been teleported to 19th century London.

"There you are!" A deep, humble, feminine voice called out.

Turning around they saw a young girl either approaching 20 or in her very early 20s coming out from the mansion towards them. She wore a medieval red gown, the upper half of which was covered by a shawl, and only the lower half with minute patterns of red silk was visible.

Not knowing what else to do, Pooja and Alex, too started walking through the snow towards her.

After a few minutes, they stood face to face. The girl had a small, faint smile, but her eyes expressed the happiness she felt on meeting her visitors.

She bowed slightly.

"I am Eleanor Waverley."

"You both must be Pooja and Alexandra!"

Confused, both of them bowed similarly as Eleanor had. Confirming her words, Pooja spoke, "Yes! I am Pooja, and she" She pointed towards Alex, " is Alexandra."

"Great! Oh! I haven't even invited you in. Please follow me."

"This is our house, The Braidwood Manor." 

Eleanor added as she opened the brown panelled glass door and led them in.

The interiors of the Manor gave a majestic vibe. A huge golden chandelier with 7 ornate lamps hung down from the high ceiling. The floor had decorated tiles of various shades of orange and brown. 

On entering, Pooja and Alex were mesmerized with the beautiful inside. It also provided them with the warmth which they were craving since the time they teleported to the Victorian Era of Britain.

When the two were taking in all the details, Eleanor's voice jolted them out of their thoughts.

"From the time Mrs Ainsworth informed us that some guests were going to join us for Christmas, we were excited. Especially my sister and my little brother." A smile lightened up her face as Eleanor gazed gratefully at her guests.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for joining us this year. I promise you will not regret anything about all this. We rarely have visitors on Christmas. Your presence is like a light in our dark, solitary winter nights. Thank you, thank you very much!"

 A little tear slipped down her eye as the smile remained still on her face, signifying her happiness.

Pooja stepped forward. 

"Eleanor, It is not you but us who should be thankful. Thank you for letting us celebrate this Christmas with you. Maybe, finally, my best friend—" She pointed towards Alex "—will warm up to the idea of holidays. We are very excited for the celebrations" 

She finished with a smile as Alex joined her. Alex's face, too, bore a smile, but it didn't quite crinkle the corners of her eye. It was a pleasantry.

"We are excited too! Let me introduce you to my famil- Oh!" Eleanor abruptly stopped. "I nearly forgot! Let me first show you your rooms. And-" 

She seemed awkward, as if searching for words. She looked down at their dresses.

And Alex, understanding what she was trying to signify, relieved her from her awkwardness.

"Eleanor, I guess it has something to do with our dresses, right?"

Not knowing what to say, She nodded her head slightly.

Pooja said, "Ohh Yes! Eleanor, please help us with them?"

Eleanor was relieved for not having to say it herself. She was pleased with their intuition and understanding nature.

"Please follow me. I will provide you with everything."

She led the two of them up the Grand stairs to their rooms. As the two slowly took in their surroundings, Eleanor came and provided them both with a beautiful Victorian gown. Pooja's was teal and white, while Alex's was hunter green and Congo red.

Once ready and all decked up, Eleanor took them for introductions.

The three of them entered the dining area of the Manor, and slowly the big family of three young children and their parents came into view, seated on the dining table, behind which, the wall bore an intricately decorated mural and a magnificent fireplace along with some painting of the family.

The sound of the footsteps caused five heads to turn their way, each accompanied by a gentle smile and warmth in their eyes. Each, except one. The boy's face did turn towards them, but it remained hostile and indifferent.

"Seems like he doesn't prefer our company"

"Mmm-hmm. It's okay, We are just here for a day"

Pooja and Alex went up to the friendly members who had now got up from their chairs and stood to welcome them. 

Eleanor, went to the elder lady, and spoke to her, "Mum, they are our guests for Christmas." She went up to Pooja. "This is Pooja" and then to Alex "and this is Alexandra"

Her mother stepped forward and the two girls bowed like they had seen Eleanor do when she met them. She was pleased and warmly welcomed them.

"Ahh! So happy to have two golden girls joining us. I am Rose Waverley." She kindly gestured them to get seated at the table along with everyone else.

Once everyone settled down, Eleanor finished up the rest of the introductions. Her father William Waverley, her sister Clarissa Waverley and her two brothers, Thomas and Simon.

After chatting a bit more, they finally delved into the Celebration plans.

"My dears, we haven't started putting the decorations yet, because I very strongly believe that decorations are a very essential part of igniting the holiday spirit." Mrs. Waverley informed.

Alex nearly scoffed at the 'Holiday Spirit' but realizing the circumstances they were in, she stopped herself.

Holiday spirit, ugh! Why Poo Why?

But Pooja was genuinely excited. She always wanted to visit a Victorian house and celebrate Holidays the Victorian way.

And all this? It felt like a dream come true.

She excitedly said, "Very True, Mrs. Waverley! And please don't worry! We will help in every way we can."

"Great then! We can start working then. Ellie, and our guests can put up the decorations, while Clarissa helps me in the kitchen. Thomas can put up everyone's stockings, and two more for our guests, at the fireplace, while Simon and Dad finish the book they were reading."

Everyone happily nodded and went on to carry out their assigned jobs.

Pooja, Alex and Eleanor, headed towards the Parlour. It was grand. 

Two huge bay windows brought in the faint light of the exteriors. By one of the window, an elegant piano sat peacefully and on the other side was a large, comfortable couch, perfect for family seating.

And just beside the couch, was a beautiful, delicately manicured, fir tree stood as the symbolism of the Festivals.

Pooja and Alex were so immersed in viewing everything that they didn't notice that Eleanor was not there with them. They realized the same when she came with a huge box in her hand.

"Here are the decorations that are to be placed" 

She set down the box that she was carrying. It was filled to the rim with glass ornaments, crackers, lights, red paper strips and various other decors of tin and leather.

"But I am really confused about which pieces to put up and which to skip out?" 

Eleanor sighed, staring at the plethora of ornaments. 

Pooja nudged Alex, "Don't worry! When Alexandra Walton is here, nothing can go wrong!"

What in the world? Poo has lost her mind. Oh, No!! Now what?

"Uh... Huh. Ya, I mean, sure. I will help."

"Help, Lex? Nah. You will lead, we will follow."

Eleanor let out a gentle chortle as Pooja continued to tease Alex. She was in awe of both of their friendships.

Suddenly she remembered that soon, very soon, they will take their leave.

She sighed as she thought. Even though they had come in her life for an hour or so at most, it felt like they knew each other since forever.

"Eleanor?" She was brought back to the Braidwood Manor by the sublimely worried voice of Pooja. She looked at them to see both the girls looking at her with a concerned look.

"Eleanor? Is everything alright? If there is any trouble troubling you, you can share it. We will help any way we can!" Pooja and Alex assured.

"No! No worries, as such. Just..." A pause. "I have never had anyone like both of you in my life. Although my family is loving, and I will forever be grateful for them, but... I have, never had friends like you both are."

"Oh, Ellie!" Pooja calling her by her nickname caught her off guard for a moment, but she soon got her grip and smiled at her. "You are our friend. Good friend," 

"Great friend" Alex inserted.

"No matter, we are here tomorrow or not, you will always be our friend,"

"Always?" Eleanor sought for a confirmation.

"Always." The two assured while placing a hand on Ellie's shoulder. Their hearts were full of the feelings of a freshly sprouted planting of friendship.

"Oh-kay! So let's start creating a masterpiece out of this tree, shall we?" Pooja shot an excited look towards her friends.

"Yaa, Happy Holidays." Alex groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Alexandra, you won't regret it! Let's get going!"

"If you say so." Alex gave her a tiny smile. She was not the one to turn down a good friend.

"And, it's Alex" she added as the three went up to look through the ornament.

Time passed, like a gushing stream flowing down a rocky hill, as the three meticulously put each glass ornament, each cracker and the fairy lights, one by one, with extreme care and perfection. 

Pooja was hyped, Eleanor excited, and Alex, very strangely, was Happy. 

Was it because of the company, or had she finally begun to enjoy holidays? That will forever remain a mystery. 

But will it be so bad to see Alexandra Walton opening up to the idea of festivals? Not a mince!

An unknown number of hours later, they were finally done. They stepped back to admire their handiwork.

And didn't it reflect their hard work! 

Each delicately placed ornament, each strand of fairy light, each funfilled cracker made the tree look heavenly. 

Their placements complemented each other and their collaboration was splendid. 

If they weren't friends made for each other, who were?

As Pooja, Alex and Ellie stood admiring the bejewelled fir, a soft aroma filled the room. It was then they realized, how hungry they had been! As soon as the thoughts crossed their mind, Clarissa came into the parlour. The power of telepathy!

"The food had been served! Mom invited you all to the dining room." She almost left when her eyes fell on the tree.

"Woooow! This is so pretty! Mom and Dad will be so happy."

She went to where Pooja and Alex stood.

"Thank you soo much for this. I have never seen our tree looking soo beautiful! You two are angels."

The little girl's happiness reflected in her eyes.

Alex lightly placed her hand on her shoulder. "We enjoyed decorating it too! But you should thank your sister first. Without her, this wouldn't have been able to do it so perfectly."

Clarissa went to her sister and gave her a big hug. "You know you're the best Eleanor. You're the best big sister." 

Eleanor shed a tear as she hugged her little sister back. "You are precious too, Clarissa! You, Thomas, Simon, you all are!"

After staying in the hug for a bit longer, Clarissa escorted them to the dining room. As soon as they entered, the delicious aroma of several lavish and extravagant delicacies overpowered their senses. Their mouths watered. 

At the table, they say a perfectly roasted stuffed turkey sat at the centre. Mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables were placed in sparkly silver. There was cranberry sauce. Oysters, Yorkshire Pudding and tender Chicken looked delightful.

"Please take a seat my dears" Mrs Waverley urged as she placed two decorative plates in front of them along with all the additional pieces of cutlery.

"This is a traditional English Christmas Feast. Enjoy yourselves!" She said as she whole-heartedly served her guests.

After they finished the huge servings of the main course, dessert was served. A beautifully made Christmas pudding and a piece of fruitcake.

If not before, Alex had definitely melted by now. As she finished the last crumb of the delicacies served, she thought to herself, "Maybe Holidays aren't so bad. Food, Friends, Happiness. I don't think I could ask for more." 

What a growth!

After the dinner, as Pooja went to see the Christmas tree one last time, she heard a soft melody touching her ears, which came from the Parlour. As Pooja went in, she saw the silhouette of a boy playing the Grand Piano. As she went in, she realized that it was Thomas.

Without disturbing him, she stood a little closer. Thomas must have realized that someone was there. He abruptly turned back.

"What are you doing here?"

"I remembered a tune that I learnt some while ago. Is it okay if I play?" Pooja enquired.

"Fine. Go On." 

Thomas remained Stoic, but he was definitely intrigued.

Pooja slowly took a seat at the piano. She played the gentle notes of a Parlour music tune she had picked up from Alekhya. Thomas closed his head as he lightly swayed his head with the soft tune.

Once finished, He looked up to Pooja at awe.

"Where did he you learn that from? That was melodious!"

Not answering his question, Pooja offered, "Do want to learn it?"

Thomas let out an excited Yes. And the duo spent the rest of the evening teaching each other tunes and talking a bit here & there.

All this while Alex went to Simon. The little boy was so excited to see her. Mr Waverley left him with her as he went to have a stroll.

Simon sat on her lap and Alex, told him colourful stories, of fairies, of dragons and even of the future. Her storytelling won his heart and his demands for One More! never diminished.

 At last, as he fell in a sweet slumber, the long evening of stories ended.

A little while later, Pooja came searching her. She told her about her evening with Thomas and Alex softly told about how she spent her evening with Little Simon.

As they chatted, they did not take notice of Mr Waverley coming back in the room. When he slowly called for Simon, that's when they got aware of his presence.

As Alex handed Simon back to him and the two took their leave, Mr Waverley stopped them. They turned to see the man having a smile of gratitude on his lightly wrinkled face.

"I can not thank the both of you enough for coming here today. Our Christmas, Holidays have always been just the family. My kids always wanted to have someone over for the occasion, but living in a solitary area like this didn't make it easy for people to come over. Having you here, I can undoubtedly say that this was the Best Christmas Eve we have ever had!"

At his words, both Pooja and Alex had tiny droplets at the corner of their eyes. They thanked him and chatted with him for a little while before finally retiring for the night.

December 25th

The Christmas morning began when Eleanor came waking the two sleepyheads and asking them to come and see the gifts they had received.

They got dressed and as they entered the Parlour, were greeted with excited squeals and heartfelt laughter, that rubbed away any reminiscences of sleep that remained.

They saw the family opening their gifts and the floor all covered with handkerchiefs, pieces of jewellery, board games books, mufflers, embroidered suspenders and even larger articles like a theatrophone and a dishwasher.

Pooja and Alex too got sweets, nuts, little handmade trinkets, jewellery, reading books, watch case and scarves. 

The unique article that Pooja got was a vintage board game while for Alex it was an Indian work humidor. 

Both of them also received a box of home-made cookies each. Everything was too precious for them, the bonding that they had formed with this happy family was all they needed for a great time.

A lot of talks, food and smiles later, all of them dressed up for the Church.

However, Pooja and Alex realized they didn't have much time left. They asked Eleanor about the time.

It was still early. Perhaps they would be able to listen to the carols before they had to take their leave.

"Ellie, I don't think we will be able to stay for longer. We will get to hear the carols but, we don't much time left."

"Can't you stay here with us?" Eleanor said as sadness spread over her features.

"We are sorry Eleanor, but there are some circumstances not in our hand. When time comes, one has to bid Adieu! But the feeling is definitely mutual." Alex softly replied.

Their heart broke at the thought that they would never be able to see each other again. But what is the use of denying the inevitable.

Eleanor was one determined girl. She wouldn't let them miss the carols!

"You came this time, you will come again. You know the right person who can bring you back. Promise me, Promise me you will come back!" Eleanor requested.

Then it dawned upon them. If the lady brought them here once, she could bring them back again!

Happily, they promised, "Promise."

And with that, the three hurried down to join the family on their way to the Church.

Carol singers and musicians played and sang the five melodious and popular carols of the era. Beginning their performance with O Come all ye Faithful, and the symphony continued with Once in Royal David’s City, moving on to See Amid the Winters Snow, O Little Town of Bethlehem.

At last came the majestic music of Away in a Manger.

Each of the performance was a musical gem, and if they could, they would have recorded each of the pieces and take them with them.

But just as the ending notes of the Carol began playing, Pooja and Alex, started feeling slightly light-headed.

Their time, here, was coming to an end.

Quietly whispering their hurried goodbyes, they picked the bag of their gifts.

As they went last notes of the Carols faded, they faded from the 19th century with the pieces of love they had garnered from the Era of Victoria.

Only one thought crossed their mind as their senses finally gave out.

This was a Christmas well spent.

PS: Lots of hearty thank yous to you for reading💖! I hope you have a great day ahead💖, and wishing you a Very Merry Christmas is Advance🎄!

Fic Tags (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!) : @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey  @hopelessromanticmonie @trrfanaddict @nervoussaladsludgeopera @imonlybibecauseofethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @arcticriver @aylaramseycarrera  @drariellevalentine @mvalentine ​ @aestheticartsx ​@angela8754 ​ @schnitzelbutterfingers ​ @ao719 ​ @choicesstan1 @nikki-2406 ​ @neotericthemis ​ @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @zoehanji

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Managed: Part 3

Pairings: Clark Kent x Reader (Henry Cavill Clark)

Warnings: Maybe swearing

Word Count: 2,777

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

Part 1 / Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“OK, hold the fuck on.” Your best friend from work, Sarah, said as she waited patiently for you to safely enter your currently room temperature hot tub to cool off on your first hot day of spring. “You’re the one dating Clark Kent?! Tall, drop dead gorgeous, hasn’t looked at a single woman since he started at Blue Ridge to the point we were starting to think he was gay, Clark Kent?”

“People thought he was gay?” You asked with a huffed laugh as you sat down in your favorite spot.

“I mean, have you seen how he dresses?” She asked as she got in and sat across from you. “Those tight shirts?”

“So that makes him gay?!” You laughed as you wrapped your ponytail into a bun and secured it with the hair tie on your wrist.

“OK, not exclusively.” She laughed as she hit the display panel and turned on her jets. “It’s all talk, you know. That’s all. He’s just never showed interest in getting to know people and he’s never once mentioned a significant other to anyone... you know how usually that shit just kinda slips out in passing. I don’t know, it’s just an observation.”

“Well now that it’s out, it’s spreading like wildfire. Everyone seems to know now.”

“That’s the fun part of working at Blue Ridge.” She said over the sound of your jets starting up. “Everybody is in everybody else’s business. I’m just surprised that y’all were able to keep it a secret as long as you did.”

“It was more out of fear than anything else.” You started as you looked over at the familiar rumble of a pick up truck and its tires coming up your gravel drive. “He was worried about my job, I was worried about his. Now that people know, it’s like a weight has been lifted off our shoulders.”

“Is that his truck?” You nodded your head and turned the slightest bit to yell at Clark that you were down stairs when he got out of his truck. “Does he live here?”

“We go back and forth between here and his place. We have been slowly starting to throw around the idea of getting a place but it’s still just pillow talk.”

“I swear, you live in that hot tub.” Clark teased as he walked through the side fence.

“Sue me, I’m a mermaid.”

“Got that right.” He chuckled as he came into the screened in porch. “Hello, Sarah.”

“How’s it going, boss man.” She teased. “Or is it baby daddy now?”

“Clark still works just fine.” He laughed as he leaned over the side to kiss your forehead. “I’m gunna go shower and wash this day off me and thank God we have the next two days off.”

“For doctors appointments.” You pointed out. “So many doctors appointments.” With a nod of his head, he said good bye to Sarah and headed inside, while your friend simply shook her head at you.

“Luckiest bitch in the world.” She muttered when she was sure the down stairs door to your house was closed.

“I know.” You laughed with a shrug as you stretched your legs out under the water and got even more comfortable in front of your jets. “He’s a heaven sent angel for sure. That man has the patience of a saint to put up with all my crazy.”

“Yea, and we both know how much crazy that is.” She laughed, which made you pout and splash some water in her direction.

“I’m serious though. He puts up with me and helps me not spiral out of control better than my own mother can. I seriously have no idea how or why he has stuck around this long...”

“Because you are worth it, (Y/N). You are worth this happiness I can actually see in your eyes. You deserve to be happy just like the rest of us... well, not me. I’m a piece of shit.”

“And you have Larry.” You pointed out as you turned in your chair to grab your bottle of water off the side.

“Two fucked up sides to the same coin.” She laughed, whole heartedly. “God, I love that man. Pain in my ass, and I definitely don’t deserve him, but I love him for loving me all the same. We should all grab dinner sometime. Like a...”

“If you say ‘double date’ to me right now, I will drown you, pregnant or not.”

“Spoil sport.”

——

“So I’ve been thinking...”

“Oh that’s a dangerous thing to do.” Clark teased as he got ready for bed later that night.

“Maybe it’s time to revisit us moving in together and buying a house.” Your boyfriend actually froze half way through taking his under shirt off and stared at you as you looked away from your Facebook feed and up at him through your lashes. “Save money before the baby comes and all.”

“So you wanna buy a house to save money.” He laughed as he took off his shirt and tossed it in the laundry basket. “What brought this on?”

“Well.” You breathed as you turned off your phone screen and rolled over onto your side to face him. “Sarah asked if we were living together when she saw you pull up and I told her we were just talking about it, but the only reason I have been hesitant about it was because of work but since work knows, there really isn’t an issue anymore so there isn’t any reason not to now, right?” He nodded his head slowly as he put his folded jeans on his dresser for the morning and sat down on his side of the bed facing you.

“You know that I have wanted to move in with you for months.” He started as he reached out to put his hand on your hip. “So I am beyond excited at the idea of this actually happening. But I want to make sure that you are ready for this and not just jumping into it because you think its gunna make other people happy.”

“No, I know.” You agreed as you scooted forward so you were a little closer to him. “I have wanted to live with you since you asked me to. I know it’s a big step and yes, its already stressing me out, but I know that at the end of it all, I will be with you. And that’s all I want. I just want to be with you. You make me so happy, more than I’ll ever deserve. And I know that it’s time to take the next step in our lives together. Besides that, we can’t really start our family living in two different houses, one of which is with my mother...”

“OK, well that is another thing we need to discuss.” He said as he leaned over so that he was propped up on the bed behind you with his elbow but still partially laying on your legs. “Because I already know you well enough to know that your mother is a big part of your support group and moving you too far away from her isn’t going to work for both of your sakes. She needs you as much as you need her...”

“OK...”

“And there aren’t many properties in this area for sale right now. Trust me, I’ve been keeping an eye on it for a few months.”

“Of course you have.” You giggled as you propped yourself up on your hand to see him a little better.

“But, there are two different plots of land, one across the street and one a little ways up the road that are up for sale and are pretty cheap. We could possibly build a house...”

“We could... And there’s also the bottom of mom’s property...”

“What, in her yard?”

“No, the neighbor’s old garden.” You replied a you gestured in that direction. “Mom made that comment when we first moved up here, of me possibly building down there so she’s a little less alone on the mountain. If that’s not too crazy of an idea to you, we could talk to her and see if she’s still ok with something like that and maybe see if she would sell us that land. Maybe, I don’t know...”

“Honestly, knowing you as well as I do, that would be the best case scenario here.” He agreed.

“That’s not weird for you?” He smirked and shook his head as he moved his hand enough to rub your back.

“Baby, I love you. And I know that family is important to you. I knew a long time ago that we’d be living near your mother and I don’t have an issue with that now, like I didn’t when I realized that. I like your mom, she’s funny...”

“Oh, don’t ever let her hear you say that.” You laughed as you reached down to run your fingers through his dark curls.

“And I know she respects boundaries enough that it’s not going to turn into an ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’ situation. But we need to talk to her. And we need to really think about this and make sure building a house is something we wanna do right now. It takes a while to do, and there’s a chance, even if we start on Monday with talking to the city and getting the ball rolling, we might not be in the house before the baby is born... You’ve stopped listening, haven’t you?”

“No, I’m hearing you.” You said through your giant smile. 

“No you’re not.” He laughed as he sat up and gave you a chaste kiss. “We’ll talk to mom after your morning appointment.”

“You’re way to good to me.” You sighed as he got up to brush his teeth for bed.

“I’m just treating you like you deserve, sweetheart. That’s all.”

——

“OK, scale of one to ten.” Clark said behind you as you walked through your almost finished house, making sure all the details were exactly right like you did every night you got home from work. “How badly do you crave a trip to Disney?” You stopped and looked back at him before gesturing to the Disney character drawer pulls that you had put on the drawers of the dressers in your closet, and the Star Wars ones in your bathroom.

“Really?” You asked as you gestured toward the guest bathroom, that was going to be finished to look like the hallway in the Haunted Mansion, and the stacks of boxes in the master bedroom behind him of the collection of Disney things the pair of you had collected over the years. “Really?”

“So like a four?”

“Like a ten million.”

“Enough to wanna go on a short baby moon in a few weeks?”

“Is that why I was approved for my paid time off days that I never requested off?” You giggled as you turned turned back to the closet to look at the painting that got finished in there today. He laughed whole heartedly behind you and nodded his head behind your back.

“I thought I beat the response on that and we gotta use them anyways or we lose them. Hey...” You paused your inspection and turned around with your hands on your bump and your back, and he smiled and pulled you toward him by your shirt. “Let’s go to Disney for a bit. The house is close to being done, you haven’t found a single issue with it in the the last seven months, and I think we should just relax for a few days while we still can. Before Wendy comes...”

“Her name is Evangeline.” You countered with a smile. “The sooner you accept that...”

“Yea, yea, yea.” He chuckled, knowing that your daughter’s name was going to be Evangeline (since he picked it out in the first place), but just wanting to pick on you to see the cute annoyed face you gave him every time. “I’m still partial to Tegan...”

“Then you shouldn’t have given me Evangeline.” You said in a sing song voice as you turned to head back up to your mom’s place for dinner, since your kitchen was not even close to being finished yet. “It’s all your fault.”

“You haven’t given me an answer, sweetheart.”

“Why do we have to wait a few weeks to go?” You asked as you stepped over some boxes of flooring that was waiting to go in your kitchen once the island was installed.

“Because that’s the way it works.” He countered as he helped you squeeze between all of the  cabinets for the kitchen and the bathrooms that were going up later that week when the painters were done. “That’s when I could get a site at Fort Wilderness so we can use your mom’s camper to save us some money...”

“Wait, how are we affording Disney right now? We have so much money tied up in the build...?”

“I still know people working at Disney, sweetheart. So I called in a few favors from people who were more than happy to spare some tickets, let us use their discounts, and spread a little pixie dust on two expecting Disney fanatics.”

“Ok, but even still, it’s gunna cost us...” You tried as you stepped out the front door on to the porch.

“Let me worry about that.” Clark interrupted as he locked the door and you turned back to face him.

“You can’t keep doing that.” You said softly with a shake of your head. “You can’t shut me down when it comes to money anymore. I understand you want to give me the world and you don’t want me to ever have to worry, but that’s not how this works. We’re building a house, and starting a family, Clark. And you can’t take on that financial responsibility alone no matter how long you have saved up for it. You’re not the only one who has. But you have to let me... please. Because otherwise, I will keep canceling orders on things like the paint, and those drawer knobs, and these rocking chairs and rebuying them on my name, on my cards...”

“I was wondering how I had more money in my account than I should have.” He sighed as he sat down on one of the two rockers and gestured for you to sit down as well. “I don’t like it...”

“You don’t have to like it.” You grumbled as you sort of just flopped down after a long day on your feet. “Just like I don’t have to like growing a child. We still gotta do it though.” With one more sigh, he nodded and sat back in his chair.

“I’ve had money for the house for years. Evangeline is throwing me for a bit of a loop, but I um... well I opened another credit card and it’s covering her expenses...”

“Clark, you didn’t have to do that.” You sighed as you leaned to the side the slightest bit to reach out for his hand. “Because you’re not the only one saving money here. And there’s no point in me saving money just for it to gain interest in a bank when it could be used to help us better ourselves by... oh I don’t know, buying a crib and diapers and cute little dresses and sweaters and little baby booties. It can buy those towels I love for the guest bathroom, which, by the way, it already has and they will be delivered on Tuesday.”

“I thought you changed your mind on those and that’s why they were canceled.”

“Nope, just repurchased.” You clarified as you sat back to rock yourself back and forth.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” He said softly after a few moments. “It’s just... hard. I was raised to be the man of the house and that leaves me with the burden.”

“And if that’s the case, then I’ll stay at home and parent. But either way, I still have money saved that can help us out here, OK? Money for a house, and a wedding. May even be able to afford a trip to Disney and the baby I’m growing, too. So you are not allowed to take on the burden of our life together alone anymore. Or you can sleep in my mom’s basement while I enjoy our house with Evangeline all by ourselves.”

“Alright, fine. You win.” He breathed with a nod. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

“Oh, don’t you know it.” You giggled as you stood up to head home. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Dark Paradise (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: AU! With their ‘arrangement’ in place, reader and Keanu go apartment hunting. Part of the Always the quiet ones universe. Part 1 - Always the quiet ones | Part 2 - The Proposal | Part 4 - Without You

Author’s notes: I don’t know about you people, but I’m slightly addicted to this series. It’s so fun to write! As usual, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 4247

Warnings: Age gap; smut (dirty talk; d/s undertones; exhibitionism)

It was strange to be in the presidential suite without Keanu, but definitely something you could get used to. You took your time in a long bath, using the deliciously scented bath products from the hotel that you were very familiar with, despite never using them yourself.

You stepped out once the water turned tepid, your skin feeling silky soft and smelling amazing as you wrapped your body on one of the fluffy white robes, a towel holding your hair on top of your head. You scanned the menu for room service, your stomach rumbling. It was late and your last meal had been lunch.

Picking up the phone, you paused in hesitation. Everyone in the reception desk knew you. They would recognize your voice at the same second. How were you gonna explain this? You set the phone down again, choosing instead to order your favorite burger and milkshake from the diner a couple of streets over. They frequently delivered to the hotel guests and employees so no one would bat an eye to see them there.

You grabbed your laptop and books, bringing it to the bed with you because you had an essay for your abnormal psychology class to deliver next week and you hadn’t had time to start. Between work and all the other courses, you had been feeling overwhelmed and stressed and every time you tried to sit down to write, it was like your brain would just shut down and refuse to form any coherent thought.

Tonight, it was the first time in a while you felt completely relaxed and as you pulled out your reference notes, the text flowed easily, the essay practically writing itself as you swayed to The Weeknd playing on your earbuds.

You finished the first draft in record time, saving it on your college folder with a smile. So, this was how studying felt like when you had plenty of time and no distractions? It was amazing and the idea of not only having an apartment of your own but not to worry about long work hours and crushing debt was starting to sound even more appealing.

Pulling up a few real-estate websites, you started to browse apartments you liked which were around St. Joseph’s College, but after another moment’s consideration, decided to look for places closer to Columbia University, where you were planning to attend for Law School.

At first, you searched for an apartment with two beds two baths just like you first envisioned, but the prices terrified you. Why was everything in New York so fucking expensive? You could never ask Keanu to spend so much on you, a woman he barely knew. Then again, what would be the right price under those circumstances?

With a sigh, you got up, putting your clothes back on and moving to the balcony to watch the Manhattan lights. What were you thinking by getting in such a weird, messed up situation? You could already foresee that every single step of this would be riddled with uncertainty and self-doubt and you already hated.

You were usually so sure about your own choices. You had been sure that you needed to move away for college and even though you hated leaving your mom and brother behind, you knew it would be the only way to ease the weight of responsibility on your mother. If you stayed, she would insist you dedicated exclusively to school and she would kill herself working two, three jobs to keep your family finances afloat.

From a distance, with only phone calls twice a week, it was easier to pretend you weren’t struggling. It was easier to pretend that you were having the life she always dreamt of for you. The life Keanu was offering you right now.

And when you accepted his proposal, you had been sure too. Thinking about your future and the fact that even though you barely knew him, Keanu made you feel like no other man or boy ever managed.

It wasn’t a coincidence that, even though you knew next to nothing about him, he had been your first. You knew he was the kind of man you wanted, and you didn’t regret your decision. You were just doubting if this was the right way to go about things.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you start and giggle, especially when he pressed his cold nose against your neck.

“I could hear you overthinking things as soon as I stepped inside the suite,” Keanu commented, tugging you closer to his body, surrounding you with his heat and you rested against his chest, relaxing in an instant. How was this possible? “If you changed your mind…”

“No,” you sighed, turning in his embrace, your arms coming around his neck, fingers combing through the soft hairs in his nape. “I just…”

“Unsure if it’s the right thing for you?” he asked, and you chuckled because you hated and loved how he could just read your mind.

“Maybe,” you replied as Keanu rested his forehead against yours, letting out his own sigh. “I mostly wondering why you’re doing this.” He pulled back long enough to give you a look, his eyebrow arched in question and you felt heat rising to your cheeks. “I mean, you’re a handsome guy. Smart, educated, very good at…”

“Sex?” he offered with a smirk and you chuckled.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t really what I was gonna say.” Even if you were thinking it. “My point is, you literally could just ask me or any other woman out and they most likely say yes.”

“Truth is, I’m selfish,” Keanu said with a shrug, his hands trailing softly down your back, rough fingers under your shirt, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “I have very little free time and when I do and I want to spend it with someone, I want their undivided attention. Bills and unfulfilling jobs tend to take their focus away.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” you asked carefully because you’ve been dying to know.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pulling away from you and there was a tension in his shoulders that you hadn’t seen before.

“Yes,” you replied a little more firmly because you needed to know. You needed to know what kind of future could be waiting for you.

“Twice,” Keanu finally replied, stepping closer to the railing and lighting up a cigarette. “First time, she ended it. It wasn’t what she wanted in the long run. She’s married now. With a kid.”

“And the second time?” you prodded, trying to be gentle.

“She wanted more than I could give so I had to end things. For her own good and mine.”

You could tell there was more to it but decided to leave it alone, your curiosity sated for now. Instead, you fitted yourself between his body and the railing, making Keanu smile as he looked at you. His gaze held you with its intensity and you wanted to hide, but also to expose your entire self to him because it made you feel like the only person on Earth and it was such a strange but thrilling feeling.

“It never felt like this, though,” he whispered, leaning closer, filling your nose with the smell of smoke and expensive cologne. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone the way I want you.”

“I want you too,” you assured, arms returning to his neck.

Your mouth found his and for a moment you got lost in the taste of him. Just the touch of his lips upon yours was enough to make your knees feel weak and arousal pool between your legs.

“You should eat first,” Keanu said with a soft smile. “Your burger is getting cold and your milkshake is melting.” You followed him back to the bedroom, surprised to see the takeout bag on top of a bedside table. “The delivery guy was at the reception desk when I got in, so I just brought it with me.”

“Thanks.” You grinned, your belly growling at the smell of the greasy food.

“Where are you going?” Keanu asked when you took a step to the sitting room.

“I’m not gonna eat in bed,” you replied with a snort. You knew how much of a pain in the ass it was to clean up those sheets from grease stains.

Instead, you brought everything to the small dining table in the sitting room, mouth watering as you unpacked your food. You were halfway into your burger when Keanu came in, your laptop in hands.

“Looking for apartments?” he asked, sitting next to you. “Let me see?”

“Sure. Third tab is my favorite so far,” you said licking the excess of ketchup from your fingers before you popped a fry in your mouth and tilted your head to see the screen too.

“It’s a shoebox,” Keanu complained with a displeased noise, moving to the next tab and then the following one and the one after that. “They’re all shoeboxes.”

“I don’t need much,” you shrugged and watched as he altered the search parameters, his brown eyes scanning the options, his forehead slightly creased in concentration. “Fry?”

“I already had dinner,” he said, clicking in one of the adds.

“Ok, but this is French fries,” you pointed out, waving it in front of his gaze. “The best in town.” He chuckled, before snatching it from your fingers with his lips.

“I like this,” he said and the first thing you noticed was the price that nearly made you choke on the mouthful of milkshake. “Don’t worry about prices,” Keanu assured with a smile. “Just tell me if you liked it.”

“Well, obviously,” you sighed, glancing back at the pictures and the wide window panels. “But seriously, Keanu, I’d good with a studio or…” You trailed off when you saw him pull out the real-estate agent information, take out his phone. “It’s almost eleven p.m. Keanu, you can’t just…”

He shushed you, a smirk on his face as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, the other traveling up your thigh, making you shiver.

“This is Keanu Reeves.”

His hand moving higher as he spoke to the woman on the other side. You tried to still his wandering fingers when they reached between your legs, but Keanu just gave you a wicked smile, his voice not wavering even the slightly as he started teasing you. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your noises as you rocked against his fingers.

You got lost in the sensations, in his teasing and you didn’t even realize he ended his call. Not until Keanu pulled your hand away from your mouth, meeting your lips for a sweet kiss.

“We have an appointment tomorrow at noon. Can you make it?”  

“Yeah,” you assured, moving to his lap. “Now, are you gonna fuck me again, sir?”

“Yes,” Keanu replied, smirking. This time when he stood up with you in his arms, you barely made a sound. “Until you can’t sit straight without feeling and remembering me.”

----

You tried your best to focus on what the professor was droning on about, but it was hard when every time you shifted in your chair, you could feel the throb in your center, not exactly painful, but definitely making sure you didn’t forget the pounding you got last night and you had to hide your satisfied grin behind a sip of your water so not to drag attention to yourself.

You never thought sex could be quite like that. Sure, Keanu was your first real experience, everything else just awkward fumbling, but even in your inexperience, you could tell that wasn’t just good. It was unbelievably amazing.

Feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket, you reached for it and the sight of Keanu’s name on the screen made your heart speed up. It was just a text message; sending you the address for the apartment complex you’d be visiting and asking if you wanted him to send a car for you. You had no idea why you were acting like this.

With a quick reply, you assured you’d be there and that you could take the subway before you tried to get your attention back to the lecture. This was one of the toughest classes in your course, you knew only 5 percent of the class would get grades higher than B and you planned to be in that percentage.

Once the class was finally over, you put your things away and checked the time to make sure you could pop in your dorm to drop your stuff and change before you met Keanu. You wanted to look nice and maybe a little more… mature? Maybe it was silly of you, but you wanted to make sure to cause a good impression and jeans and a ratty tee wasn’t the ideal way.

So, you exchanged them for one of your favorite sweater dresses, cream-colored and tied around your waist with a ribbon. You always felt the shape complimented your curves, as well as the tone, made the earthy hue of your skin pop up.

           “You look hot,” your roommate commented, making you grin. She was hardly your favorite person sometimes, but she did have an amazing taste. “Meeting the boyfriend?”

“Never said I had a boyfriend,” you pointed out as you put on your boots.

“The hickeys told the tale,” she smirked, nodding that the bruise peeking from under the hem of your dress and you blushed, tugging it down. “No shame. Maybe he can get that stick from up your ass.” She called out from over her shoulder as she moved away, taking your charger without asking once again.

“Soon,” you whispered to your mirror self, before picking up your bag and heading out, fidgeting the entire way to Morningside Heights, the neighborhood a distant cry from your own and you felt slightly out of place as you approached the elegant building.

Keanu was waiting for you at the foyer, once again in a suit, this time all black, his hair neatly combed and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, especially with the way he smiled when he spotted you, his gaze traveling appreciatively down your body before he met your eyes again.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, letting Keanu pull you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“You’re just in time, sweetheart,” he replied, his eyes never leaving you. “We’re ready, Gwen.”

For the first time, you noticed the woman in a crisp pantsuit, her hair pinned back in a neat bun, a fake smile plastered in her face as she looked at you and at the way Keanu was holding you close, his large hand pressed against your hip, warm and possessive.

You matched her smile, daring her to say a word, knowing that she wouldn’t, not in front of Keanu anyway.

This was something you would have to get used to it. The judgmental looks whenever you were anywhere near Keanu. He seemed oblivious to it, but you could just feel eyes following the pair of you as Gwen led the way to the wall of elevators.

The first apartment she showed was one of the studios you had seen originally. Yes, it was small, but the wide windows let plenty of sunshine in; the modern concept kitchen was gorgeous, and the bathroom had plenty of space. You loved it.

“Shoebox,” Keanu whispered in your ear as Gwen droned on and on about the qualities of the place, making you giggle. “Can you show us the other one we talked about?”

“Absolutely,” the woman said, leading the way out, the elevator taking you three to a higher floor in the building.

This one was also amazing and considerably bigger. Two bedrooms, two baths, an open kitchen, the master bathroom was huge, with a tub that looked very inviting and a closet bigger than you knew what to do with.

“What you think?” Keanu asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you ran your fingers over the stone countertops.

“It’s amazing,” you told him with a grin, which he returned. “What do you think?”

You followed him as Keanu walked the apartment, analyzing every inch before, turning to look at Gwen.

“You have a penthouse?” The woman stilled for a second, stunned before she checked something on her phone and then looked back at Keanu.

“We do, but it’s already reserved,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“Show us anyway.” And who could resist when Keanu was flashing that charming smile, looking so suave and unflappable?

You watched as flustered Gwen raised a finger asking for a minute and scurried off, phone to her ear, probably talking to her superiors.

“What’s the point of checking an apartment someone else already getting ready to buy?” you asked, coming to stand next to him. The idea of it being the penthouse scared you a little and something told you Keanu knew.

“Just to sate my curiosity,” he said, fingers toying with the edge of your dress. “I like this look on you,” Keanu said, pulling you closer, his hands coming to your ass. “Easy access.”

You giggled and pushed his hands away moments before Gwen returned, her smile wide and you could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she led the way to the top floor, the elevator opening to a small hall that had only one door. She unlocked it and let you and Keanu step in first.

Your breath caught in your throat once again. This time due to the ceiling to floor window panels that showed the most gorgeous view of New York. There was a huge terrace and your heart leaped when you noticed you could see Columbia University from up there, closer than you could have hoped for. St. John’s cathedral too.

This apartment wasn’t much bigger than the other one you just visited and had all the same winning features. The biggest difference was the terrace and it was definitely something. You could see yourself having breakfast out there with Keanu when the weather was nice or cuddling at the lounge seat overlooking Manhattan and the Hudson River.

“You loved it, don’t you?” Keanu asked in a throaty chuckle, his arm surrounding you, his lips grazing your cheek, his beard tickling your skin.

“Ok, yes,” you admitted, turning your head to look at him. “But it’s too…” He silenced your words pressing a finger to your lips, his brown eyes shining bright as he looked at you.

“It’s just right. For both of us.” With a final kiss to your cheek, Keanu moved away, meeting Gwen in the living room.

You could protest of course. Insist on the smaller one but Keanu was right. This was perfect, the kind of place you had only dared to think about in dreams. The master bedroom was large enough that you could have a small home office in it and leave the second bedroom exclusively as a guest room. Your mom would die for that kitchen. It was everything you wanted, and Keanu was more than willing to buy it for you.

With much struggle, you turned your back to the view so you could watch Keanu and Gwen talking. There it was again, the flustered look confronted with his smooth ways and you almost felt bad for her. You had no idea what he was saying, but it was enough for the real estate agent to lift her finger once again and scurry off.

“Even if we love it,” you said returning to the living room, but pausing to admire the high windows. “Someone else is already about to buy it.”

“You’d be surprised what the right offer can do,” Keanu replied with a smirk. He shrugged off his blazer and set on the kitchen counter before he moved towards you, his gaze dark with desire.

“Keanu, we can’t…” you warned just as he crowded you against the window, his lips hot against your neck, his hands on your thighs, sneaking under the hem of your dress.

“Why not?”

“This isn’t our place.” Your voice turned a bit high-pitched as he nipped at your skin. “And she can come back at any moment.”

“She’s talking to her boss, who’s gonna talk to their bosses so they can find a compatible, but more affordable place to offer to the other interested part. That will take a while, so we have time.”

His hands moved to the front of your thighs, dipping in between before nudging them apart and you let him. Any resistance you had reduced to shambles when Keanu pressed a wet, sucking kiss to that sensitive point just bellow your ear that always made you soaked in seconds.

You rested your hands on the sun-warmed glass of the window, bending your body just enough so your ass was pressed against his growing erection, making Keanu smirk against your neck as he tugged your dress up, your panties down and dipped two of his fingers inside you and making you moan.

“Today you have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he said, and you could hear the noise of his buttons and belt being undone. “And I don’t have time to prep you like I usually do.”

“I can take it, sir,” you replied, voice shaking as he continued to move his fingers in and out at a fast pace, making pleasure shoot through you like lightning bolts, the surge of arousal and lust igniting your nerves.

“I know,” Keanu whispered against your cheek. “You’re already drenching my hand, your cunt desperate for my cock.”

You didn’t have time to reply nor to feel embarrassed, because he was replacing his fingers with his cock, burying into you till the hilt and muffling your cries by pushing two fingers into your mouth, his other hand positioning your hips so Keanu could better thrust into you.

His pace was punishing and soon you were pressed against the window, his hand coming up to play with your breasts as he fucked you, his grunts and curses tickling your ear, his smell surrounding you as he took you.

If there was any cognitive function left in you, you would be worried about getting caught; about someone from the nearby buildings seeing the two of you, but all you knew was the shattering pleasure spreading from your center to the rest of your body, coiling deep inside you and building like wildfire. You just knew your orgasm would be the kind that left you completely shattered and weak.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” Keanu asked, tone breathless as he ground into you, his thrusts short and angled just right. “I wanna feel you squeezing me tight when I cum inside you.”

You only nodded, bringing his hand from your breasts to your clit and Keanu started rubbing circles, his soft touch a contrast to the way he was taking you, but it worked, because in moments you were whimpering and shaking as the tension coil snapped and you came, gushing and throbbing around him.

“Fuck! I love how tight your cunt gets when you come,” he grunted, his thrusts gaining speed and losing coordination as he fucked with abandon, muffling his own groan with a bite to your shoulder.

His weight pressed you against the window, the glass smudged by your sweat as the two of you caught your breath and, in your case, also recovered the control for your lower limbs.

You were barely aware of Keanu fumbling behind you, slowly pulling his fingers from inside your mouth, wiping the spit the escaped from the corner of your lips and drying them on his pants before, pulling out his softening cock as the same time he brought a handkerchief between your legs, gathering most of the mess the two of you made.

At the sound of steps on the foyer, you hurried to fix your dress, hoping your hair wasn’t too much of a mess as the Gwen returned to the room, taking one look at the two of you and blushing bright red.

She knew. Of course, she knew. It was written on your faces. She could probably smell it in the air.

“The apartment is yours, Mr. Reeves.”

“Perfect,” he said, smiling wide, both hands inside his pockets. “I’ll have my people send all the required documents to your office.”

“Alright,” she nodded, a timid smile in her face. “Would you like some more time to… uh, look?”

You could feel your cheeks flaming as her gaze moved your direction. You quickly looked out the window, avoiding her eyes.

“Please,” Keanu replied with a smirk, and you felt his hand back on your hip. “I’d like the inspect the master bedroom a little more closely.”

“Just drop the keys at the lobby once you’re done,” she said, her eyes knowingly as she walked out of the loft.

Once the door closed, Keanu tugged you into his arms, his mouth seeking yours for a searing kiss.

“I hope you cleared your schedule because I’m planning on fucking you in each and every one of these rooms,” he said against your lips.

“I’m all yours,” you replied with a matching smirk, sucking on his bottom lip just to hear him grunt, his hands tightening over your hips.

“Don’t you forget it.”

xxx

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[atamascolily]

Shield of Lies, continued.

What would my mother think of me? he wondered, and it was the first time such a thought had ever confronted him.

Luke, you really suck at introspection, don’t you? Like... NEVER in TEN YEARS have you EVER wondered about your mother? Sigh.

Shortly after the reorganization of the government, Nanaod Engh had given Luke keys to most of the real treasures of the New Republic—the central data libraries maintained by various branches of the General Ministry. Thanks to Admiral Ackbar’s intervention, Luke also carried the highest-grade security clearance held by any civilian.

Between the two, Luke had—potentially—a great deal of information at his fingertips. But the access he had been granted was a courtesy, not a necessity. Luke’s most urgent curiosities were in areas of little interest to bureaucracies, and he had never found reason to make much use of the favors extended him.

But he found himself with reason now.

Speaking of lack of imagination.... SIGH.

Luke returned to the pilot’s couch and curled up sideways in it. “How do people become part of the circle?”

“Curiosity is not sufficient—which I hazard you know. Some are born to it. Some come to it. Is it any different in your discipline?”

“Born with the gift, do you mean, or born to someone who already belongs, to a trained adept?”

“Is the gift not in the blood?”

“Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes it seems as if the talent goes wild, almost as if the Force chooses its own,” Luke said, turning on his back and propping one foot on the control panel.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Look at the way the Jedi are coming back,” said Luke. “The Empire hunted us so relentlessly that most everyone who escaped thought they were the only Jedi left. But it isn’t just that a few solitaries who were hiding have resurfaced. I’ve found students with no family history whatsoever, in species that were never represented before in the Order.”

“Some of your number may have been adventurous travelers,” said Akanah. “On Carratos, I heard many jokes about how the Emperor spent his evenings. If a Jedi sleeps alone, surely it must be by choice, as it is with you.”

LOL, Akanah doesn’t know about Callista. Or Gaeriel. Or anything else about Luke’s messed-up love life.

“Are you saying that you expected me to warm a bed with you?” Luke said. “I didn’t think that was our bargain.”

“No,” she said. “I never expected that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That Luke Skywalker could have a hundred children by now. A thousand.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No—that’s the simple truth. There are different rules for heroes and royalty, and you’re seen as a little of both. You can’t be unaware of that.”

Luke frowned and looked away. “I don’t know how to be a father to one child, much less a thousand.”

“You wouldn’t need to know,” she said. “Their mothers wouldn’t expect it. They would be grateful enough for the gift.”

“I’d expect it of me,” he said, and firmly steered the conversation back on course. “We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

Again, I’m surprised by Luke’s lack of imagination--and offers--given how people at the spaceport viewed him. Did none of them really think, “I would totally bang this dude?” WHY IS HE SO SURPRISED?

Also Luke, just say “fuck,” it’s okay, I promise.

“We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

“Not honorary,” she corrected. “Novice.”

“Novice, then. But there’s an exception in your oath for people like me?”

“Every adept has the right to judge and the duty to teach,” she said. “I’ve made my judgment.”

“And the rest?” Luke asked. “We’ve had many hours together—why haven’t you started to teach me?”

“But I have,” she said. “I’ve asked you to think about what you know and believe. To go beyond that, the novice must ask for the door to be opened. But you aren’t ready to think of yourself as a student again—not yet. You run too well and easily to go back to crawling.”

#accurate. Luke spends most of this book so convinced he knows everything and yet he can’t figure out why he’s so stuck in a rut.

“No,” Luke said, shaking his head. “To be a Jedi is to be a seeker. A Jedi is always learning. It’s only on the dark side that one becomes obsessed with knowing, and impressed with doing.”

“There’s a touch of the dark side,” Akanah said slowly, “in the way you cling to the privilege of killing, and resist the teaching I’ve offered you. A hint of a mind that has settled on answers and resents being challenged with new questions.”

Luke toyed with the lacing on his longshirt as he considered her words. “You may be right,” he said finally. “I found the Force at a time when what I needed was power. I wanted a weapon to protect my friends, not enlightenment. I was thinking of war against the Empire, not peace with the universe. Perhaps something of that lingers in how I see myself. I’ll think on it.”

“Good,” she said. “Your words give me hope. And hope is the beginning of everything worthwhile.”

I have no idea how the chronology lines up with the other plots and honestly it’s hard to care. This is the most interesting part of the book to me, and I’m STILL reeling at how late in the game this is.

He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his first complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant. Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently went through the complex exercises which brought him to a profound state of restful clarity.

It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom of the simple words: There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and the serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the Force and with his connection through the Force to all that was.

Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation of a Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an experienced Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.

But the chaos of the real world was another matter. When ego returned, so did will. The surrender became tainted, the connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped away under the continuous assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the greatest of the masters needed to perform the practice regularly lest they lose the discipline that made them what they were.

GAH. WHY IS IT ALWAYS DUALITY WITH YOU, KUBE-MCDOWELL? WHAT ABOUT  A MIDDLE WAY BETWEEN THE “TAINTED WORLD” AND “PURITY OF ISOLATION”. What about “entering the market-place with gift-bestowing hands”? And nothing ever stays the same “indefinitely”!!!!!

The drills were as much a test for the body as for the mind, and the docking bay’s newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to muscles that were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in too long. He stood for a long time in the place where the six needle jets converged, letting the water flowing down his body become another meditation.

Yeah, maybe you should have thought of that in your hermitage-quarantine-sulk thing??

I’d forgotten about the bookstore full of Jedi forgeries!!! 

The offerings included Emperor Palpatine’s Principles of Power, a private publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings and rituals; the H’kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type claqa group-minds, among others—with a special discount if Luke took any three or more. Most of the documents were undoubtedly frauds, and none tempted Luke beyond idle curiosity over the skillfulness of the fraud.

And the Jabba’s palace re-creation OH MY GOODNESS:

But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a corner and was taken aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a club bar called Jabba’s Throne Room. Performing Nightly—The Original Max Rebo Band, said the scroll. Visit Jabba’s Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the Mighty Rancor in the Pit of Death—

Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke joined the line and paid the membership charge without haggling. Inside, he descended a curving flight of stairs into a remarkably faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba’s desert palace on Tatooine. Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more tables in front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit, but the architecture and atmosphere were authentic.

“Why, it’s just like the Palace Museum,” [he] said to the tall and elegantly dressed Twi’lek barring the way at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m afraid my master Jabba is away on business,” said the Bib Fortuna look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. “But I’m having a little party in his absence, and I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” His head-tails stirred in signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing girls hurried to him.

“Yes, Lord Fortuna,” the server said.

“Oola, this is a friend of mine,” said the major-domo. “Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table.”

The same fiction was carried through everywhere else—an Ortolan keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the roaring of the rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian monkey-lizard skittering around the room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen Han Solo hanging in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was concealed down the corridor to the servant’s quarters, and the price card “Oola” left for him included various services available upstairs in the guest quarters and downstairs in Jabba’s dungeon.

It was tasteless and exploitative, but the music was surprisingly agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was markedly more subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. [He] ordered a drink and the executioner’s cut of nerf, refused all other offers with a polite smile, and settled in to discover the truth quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.

Shortly after his meal arrived, Luke’s consciousness was pricked by hearing a familiar name spoken at a nearby table: Leia’s. He looked up, fearing that the evening’s entertainment at Jabba’s Throne Room would be a dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on a break and the transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit deserted.

I’m honestly surprised this isn’t at Galaxy’s Edge, tbh.

Shortly after, a holographic Jabba made an appearance on the dais above the main floor. That signaled the start of an elaborately scripted show that promised to involve not only “Bib Fortuna” and the dancers, but additional actors and the audience as well.

Luke took that as his cue to leave. His decision was affirmed when, climbing up the curving stairs to the street, he encountered the bounty hunter Boushh coming down them with an unconvincing Chewbacca in tow.

“Aren’t you a little short for a Wookiee?” he muttered under his breath as they passed.

LOL. Anyway, here’s some stuff on archives searches in the GFFA:

From Carratos he requested any information available from newsgrid, political, or police records on Akanah Norand Pell, Andras Pell, and Talsava. He sent the same query to Coruscant’s criminal records office and citizen registry and to the home offices of both the Coruscant Global Newsgrid and the New Republic Prime Newsgrid.

From the New Republic Reference Service, he requested a quickreport on naming conventions on Lucazec and Carratos, thinking he might parse another lead from the names in hand.

A second request to the same source asked for five-hundred-word excerpts from all matches on the key words “Fallanassi” and “White Current.” After a short debate with himself, and despite the pathetic and sensational inaccuracies of Secrets of the Jedi, Luke also contacted an information broker on Atzerri and paid a hundred credits for a search on the same keys.

He also requested a Current Terms & Conditions brochure from the chief librarian’s office on Obroa-skai. The library computers there were the only resource offering both a greater variety and a greater volume of records than those held by Coruscant.

But Obroa-skai’s generosity with its planetary treasure was limited. To protect against theft of the library, and to provide the resources needed to maintain it, accessing the records meant either going to Obroa-skai or hiring one of the library’s own trained contract researchers.

In either case, Obroa-skai was not a resource one turned to for quick answers. The official language of New Republic recordkeeping was Basic, and everything held by Coruscant was kept in one of several readily searchable data specifications. But the Obroa-skai library was a collection of primary documents, in ten thousand storage formats and uncountable languages. The most complete general index covered only fifteen percent of the library’s holdings, and all the specialty indexes combined added only a few percent to that.

Those were the principal reasons why the brochure—which Luke received within minutes of requesting it, as the first response to any of his inquiries—reported that a normal single-part library search was averaging eight days. The waiting list for terminal time was holding at fifteen days, and the backlog for contract researchers had climbed to seventy.

LOL. I should definitely use that in a fic at some point.

[book-addict-03]

Hello, starting a Tenrose fic and wanting some advice. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated <3

Chapter I - The Beginning and The End

Rose knew it was a stupid idea, even as she was sitting, watching the house full of Torchwood agents. The only reason she even considered it was because she was so tired of running. She was even more tired of losing people. It didn’t matter that there was no one left. It didn’t matter that she was finally going to give them what they wanted.

She listened to the fallen Autumn leaves crunch under her boots as she stalked towards the house. The rustling sounds of the trees and the chatter of distant birds soothed her as she headed towards what would surely result in her torture. After all, why hunt someone for over 60 years if you didn’t have a truly malicious plan in mind?

As she kicked the door open, she couldn’t help the small smirk that graced her features. She had planned to surprise them, of course, but she was pleased to see the shocked and flummoxed looks on the faces of all 15 Torchwood Agents. She would take this sight with her, to pass away the time while she’s strapped down to a table in the Labs.

They had started hunting her when she turned 40 and it became clear to everyone that she hadn’t aged past 20. Of course, they’d suspected it throughout the years, especially when paired with her rapid healing. She’d had the extent of her healing tested throughout the years, obviously, but when it became clear that her young looks were truly unorthodox rather than good genes, Torchwood had started seeking her out for tests on top of her usual quarterly examinations. She hadn’t planned on going into hiding, but eventually she was left with no other choice.

So here she was, aged 107 years old looking no older than 20, surrounded by confused Torchwood agents, finally handing herself in. It had taken over half a century, but they were finally seeing it. Rose Tyler had finally given up.

She didn’t fight back, even as four men jumped to wrestle her to the ground, all flailing limbs and elbows. Truly terrible form, she thought, their training regime really must have changed if they thought this sort of performance would suffice in the capture of London’s most wanted criminal.

Of course, she could have fought back if she’d wanted to, years of running and fighting had left her with a toned and strong body, as well as a full martial arts skillset from her training and employment at Torchwood. So no, she hadn’t been overcome, she had submitted. She knew the distinction wouldn’t be made in the records or to the public, but she had to keep her pride intact if nothing else. Honestly, who would expect anything else from the long-lost heiress of the Vitex fortune?

“Hello boys!” she said with a wide grin, seemingly nonplussed by the agents currently holding her to the cold, hard concrete floor, “Honestly, is this how you greet your guests? I must say, this is really poor hospitality. I mean, I’ve been in some really bad establishments, and when I say really bad, I mean really bad but honestly, this is unrivalled.”

“Shut up, you bitch” said the person wearing the boots that were currently right in front of her face. The man laying across the top of her back prevented her from angling her neck to see the speakers face but from the burly voice, she decided it was safe to assume the person was male. “Goodard, get up and chain her.” Also in a role of power, she noted as she was roughly jerked upright and put straight into a cold metal chair. She tried to cross her knees but the men chaining her down wouldn’t allow it. With an exaggerated huff, she allowed the young men to chain her to the chair, ankles tied firmly to the legs of the chair.

Finally allowed to see the man that would probably be hailed as her captor, Rose took a few moments to observe his harsh features. If she was being honest to herself, he looked like a stereotypical Disney villain. He sneered down at her with a sharp, elongated face, greying hair and a rapidly receding hairline. He could be no older than 50, but he had only a small amount of hair left.

“If you’re tying an old woman down with truck chains then I must be making a good impression.” She said, with a smirk. She was bored and wished, not for the first time, that she could just fast forward through certain moments.

“You and I both know your age is not an accurate depiction of your strength or abilities, which is precisely why we’ve been looking for you for so long, Agent Tyler.” He said, clearly enunciating her previous title from her employment at Torchwood. If he expected a reaction, he must’ve been sorely disappointed, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“Fingal! Jab her, get her in the truck and let’s go” followed by a sharp prick in her neck and a veil of black taking over her consciousness.

…~oOo~…

Six months later, Rose was recovering from her 17th surgery while also preparing for her 46th MRI. This time they were going to try drowning her to see what would happen afterwards. It was one of the least imaginative deaths they had come up with so far, but she still wasn’t looking forward to the time spent swimming in a swirling haze of pain that always followed her death.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time she’d died.

The first time had been a shock, she had been hit by a stray bullet, fired by a hunter who must’ve thought her to be a deer or some other sort of animal. Her mother and Tony were still alive at the time. They had discussed what was to be done in the event of her death a while beforehand, so they had carted her body off to a cave deeper in the woods to wait until nightfall so they could light a pyre. Just as twilight peaked, Rose woke up with a gasp and scared the absolute shit out of her family. Her mother had been yelling at her for weeks after that, saying that Rose had surely knocked 10 years off her life span.

That time she’d been out for over 5 hours, lately they had been cut down to an hour or less. Rose assumed it was a ‘practice makes perfect’ sort of scenario. Well, she hoped.

…~oOo~…

Rose knew something was different from the moment she stepped into the room. Her skin felt tingly and she felt slightly invigorated, she knew her evolved senses were picking up on something, something she was unable to interpret. Of course, the strange occurrence didn’t change her actions. She didn’t even falter, she knew doing anything other than what they asked was pointless. No matter what, they were going to force her into the tub of cold water. She could do nothing to stop them, she’d tried before on several occasions. They always sent her with multitudes of armed guards who were instructed to use brutal force if she showed any sign of resistance. So, she’d pretended nothing was amiss and forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, climb into the tub and accept the blanket of numbness that was handed to her as the water blacked out her vision.

She swam in the inky depths of her mind, waiting for her body to come alive once again. Usually, it just felt as though she had been asleep, sometimes she would remember different moments of her life or dream of a different future for herself. This time was different, she was aware of everything going on outside of her own head but remained unable to do anything. Instead, it was like she was in a viewing panel inside her own mind. Weird.

“Hello, my Wolf,” said a mystical voice from behind her. She turned to see herself, wearing different clothes and with the bleached blonde hair she had grown out decades ago, but still her. She immediately knew who was speaking to her through her own image, because who else could it be?

“TARDIS” she greeted with a nod and grin, “it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. Though I must say, we don’t really speak, do we? It’s usually like a telepathic game of charades. This is new,” she said, waving at the whole of the entity in front of her.

The TARDIS smiled and nodded to Rose, “I have no other corporeal image for myself other than you, the one who shares my heart. You must know by now that your link to Bad Wolf was not removed from you, as my Thief had thought” Rose wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but she nodded anyway. “Good, that makes this easier”

“Makes what easier?” Rose asked, with a suspicious expression marring her features.

“My magnificent plan, of course. I know that your journey since the Bay has been taxing on your soul. You have lost many, and I want you to know that I cannot fix that. I wish to give my Wolf and my Thief the second chance they deserve… I believe that you both need each other; you know that as well as I do. This is my gift to you. I can take you back to your own universe. I can take you back to him.”

The TARDIS said this with an air of finality that didn’t sit well with Rose. Her passionate yet detached deliverance of her speech didn’t do anything to help either. She was sick of detachment. She hadn’t spoken any of this to anyone, so when the TARDIS prodded at such painful memories, the floodgates of thoughts and feelings hidden away over decades of life faltered and she broke.

“What if I don’t want to go back? I have lost everything since Bad Wolf Bay, I lost my chance at a normal life, I lost my family, all because your thief didn’t give me a choice! What makes you think I’d willingly go back to him?” She was pacing, her minor rant had made her realise how exhausted she was and the warmth on her face alerted her to the fact that she was crying.

“You need home. The TARDIS is and always will be your home. I will care for you, as I always have. I can’t help you while you’re here though. You don’t belong in this universe; you already know that they will not accept your modified biology. You know that my Thief will at least understand your situation and the loss that has followed. I wish for no more than to allow you both the comfort you desire, but it is still your choice. Do you wish to stay here, or are you ready to come home?” Her soft-spoken words pierced Rose’s armour and she crumpled to the floor. Decades of loss, sorrow and pain suddenly cascading through her barriers.

“Please. Please, take me home” She sobbed. The TARDIS gave a small, affectionate smile. Her plan would work. She just knew it.

Of course, she knew her Wolf’s anger and nonchalance were a shield to protect her already worn-down heart, much like her Thief and his indifference towards others who seek to help him. The fact that the Void had warped time a lot more for this universe than her own was likely going to be a slight issue, but that couldn’t be helped. She would take care of them; she would make sure they were happy again. Together.

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Potential (A General Hux x Reader Insert Multi-Chapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter Two

As much as Starkiller was a failure in your eyes, you wouldn’t deny that it made certain things easier. You didn’t have to worry about planting politicians in the Senate if said Senate had been blown up. Still, the vacuum that left in the galaxy needed to be filled. Smaller planets and peoples were left without leaders or guidance and they needed to be reached before the Resistance got there. That had been your mission for the past few months. 

You and the General had been sending triple encoded messages back and forth, discussing which politicians to endorse and which to drop. There were plenty of First Order sympathizers even with the demise of Starkiller but they couldn’t be too headstrong. They had to be open to suggestions and molding. A true puppet government wouldn’t work right now, you’d have to build up to it. So with his ideas and some of your own in mind, you traveled under the banner of the First Order, going from planet to planet and spaceport to spaceport, sowing pride and loyalty for your cause. For your husband’s cause. 

You had married in a beautiful but small ceremony, wanting to appeal to the grandeur of the old Empire while also acknowledging the salary of a General, even the most important one. Your father regarded the whole affair with bemusement, focusing on brown-nosing the guests and drinking expensive liquor. Your mother regarded the whole day with tired chagrin, knowing she couldn’t really complain without seeming sour and ungrateful. Perhaps it was petty, but after years of being ignored and put down, you relished in your joy. In the end, everyone got what they wanted. Your brother got the job, Hux got his money, and you got your foothold.

Then, as the night drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel flutters of something in your stomach. You wondered what kind of experience you had coming. There were rumors about General Hux’s predilections and you wondered which were true. You were not above using sex as a way to get what you wanted from him, and he was very handsome in his dress uniform. But when you left the party and went to your suite, General Hux had merely squeezed your hand, kissed it, and then retreated to a side room to work. The air turned cold after the door between you whooshed shut and unsure of the swirl of emotions inside you- anger, betrayal, sadness, relief, happiness, confusion, embarrassment- you went to bed. Two days later, you left for your mission and he for the Finalizer.

And now you’re coming home, or what would be your home for the foreseeable future. You had plans to settle planetside but that would be a few years off. The ship was a small one, only big enough for yourself, two pilots, and a small group of Stormtroopers for your protection. They were all good, hard working people and you ingratiated yourself to them easily. It was never too early to start getting allies. Despite coming from a noble family,  you were an outsider to the First Order. The more people you had thinking of you fondly, the better off you’d be should disaster strike.

The Finalizer comes into view- massive and imposing, and your breath catches in your throat at the truly awesome amount of power it holds. The co-pilot, mistaking your gasp for romantic excitement, turns towards you with a fond smile. 

“Eager to get home to the General, my Lady?” He asks, his aged face looking kind. You glance down as if embarrassed but then quickly look back at the viewport and sigh. You couldn’t truly miss your husband, you’d been in contact with him these whole four months. The encrypted messages, though pointed and factual, made you feel something akin to closeness. You spoke of ambition and treason and he never spoke down to you but instead took your ideas into consideration. It was honestly the perfect way to be married. You never had to see him, but he still did everything you told him too.

“Oh yes! These past few months have been difficult but the Order must always come first. I know my dear husband has been so hard at work and getting to see him in action will truly be a gift.” You say with all the breathless anticipation of a newlywed. The pilots chuckle and nod, perhaps remembering their own youth, and the ship is silent until you land in the loading dock. If you roll your eyes anymore they’ll pop out of your skull. 

The Stormtroopers gather your bags and walk behind you as you exit the ship onto the Finalizer. The landing bay is a large and open area, bright floodlights hitting the silver walls and floors in a way that makes the whole place shine. It is also very cold and unfriendly. No one stops to greet you when you finally stop walking, barely anyone gives you a second glance. It’s honestly insulting. As a general’s wife, as the General’s wife, you deserve more respect. That’s not even including the fact that you are technically still a member of the ruling noble class from your home planet. At least your retinue of Stormtroopers remains behind you, loyal to a fault.

The sound of boots reach your ears and a young woman comes into view, the bands on her arm suggesting her rank of Lieutenant if you remembered correctly. Stopping in front of you, she bows slightly and you give an indulgent smile at the action.

“Good evening Lady Hux, I’m Lieutenant Stynnix. General Hux has asked me to take you to your quarters and help get you settled in.” She says, clearly impressed or at least interested in you and your dress. You bristle anyway, the insult of your own husband not coming to greet you being more important. Clearing your throat, you nod in her direction and follow her out of the landing bay and towards the officer’s quarters.

You don’t pay attention as she guides you through corridors and in lifts. You’ll make the General give you a tour later. This would be a way to speak to him and also annoy him, and you were always an expert at multitasking. Using a code you didn’t know, Lieutenant Stynnix opens the doors to General Hux’s quarters.

“The General has provided you with a datapad. All of the codes you’ll need are there, as well as a few forms you’ll need to fill out for your medical profile. You can set up your fingerprint analysis with this and send messages to anyone on the ship within your clearance level.” She explains, handing you a shiny black datapad, bigger than your hand but not unwieldy. You want to sound petty and ask exactly what clearance level your husband had so thoughtfully assigned you to, but you hold your tongue.

The quarters were large, certainly comfortable for two people. The doors opened to a sitting area, sparsely furnished. There was a low coffee table and one black leather chair. There was no artwork but there was a floor to ceiling wall of transparisteel, showing the beautiful stars as you traveled through space. Across from the coffee table and against the other wall was a light blue couch that looked uncomfortable. You admired the color, interested at it’s addition in such a utilitarian room.  Next to the transparisteel wall was a simple desk, covered in flimsi and models. It was neat and organized and you wondered if moving something over an inch would set a klaxon off. There were doors leading to other rooms, probably the bedroom and refresher, maybe a kitchen?

You turn in a circle, the silver and pink cape of your traveling dress twirling around you. It wasn’t a perfect space, far from it, but it could work. It just needed a feminine touch and some warmth; you could provide that. 

“Yes, this will do quite nicely I think. Thank you Lieutenant Stynnix. I appreciate you getting me settled in. You’ll have to forgive me though, I’m very tired. I would like to unpack, start filling out those forms, perhaps even eat something.” You say, putting your hands on your hips. 

“Of course my Lady. If you’re hungry, you can call up for a droid. The control panel for the lighting and temperature in your quarters is next to the door. The General has tasked me with acclimating you to life aboard a starship so if you need anything please feel free to send me a message.” She says with a click of her heels and a salute. You’re about to apologize for the task of babysitting you but instead she seems proud of her assignment. You decide you like Lieutenant Stynnix and having her in your corner will be a benefit. Plus, it’s always nice to have other women to talk to.

You thank her again, kindly and sincerely, and she leaves. Your bags are sitting on the floor next to the door and you let your shoulders sag. Sinking down on the blue couch, you make a noise in surprise at it’s comfort. Like everything else in this room, it looks hard and more for show than actual use. A beeping sound starts and a mouse droid enters, zooming around the room before stopping at your feet. 

“Yes?” You ask, amused at the little droid. It rolls back and forth for a moment before a transmission plays.

“This is a message from General Hux of the First Order. Welcome aboard the Finalizer. I will return to my quarters at the end of my shift. 1900 hours. Please prepare yourself to meet the troops. Fill out the forms.” The automated message repeats and you break out into laughter. What a romantic, your husband was. Still, it would be exciting to stand in front of the assembly of the First Order. Your first introduction as their Queen, even if they didn’t know it. You do have some time to change but you decide against it. It will seem more cost conscious and humble if you appear in your travel attire. Besides, it was extravagant enough to work for a simple address.

“Yes, I will. Thank you.” You respond, reaching down to pat the little mouse droid. It chirps as if used to such treatment and retreats back into it’s charging station. More pieces are added to the puzzle that is your husband. It was never a bad thing to be kind to droids and it suggested kindness in other areas that would hopefully be revealed to you soon enough. 

There was a chronometer on the desk and you realize the General will be returning sooner than you thought. Now that was something you’d have to speak to him about. You knew he didn’t like his first name but you certainly couldn’t call him “the General” for the rest of your life. Perhaps he had a nickname or enjoyed endearments? You’d have to ask him at some point, lest you embarrass him. You barely liked the man but you needed to appear united, and him jumping in shock if you called him Snookums on the bridge would work against that.

Squaring your shoulders with resolve, you get up and explore the rest of the rooms. You’re right about the doors. One leads to a small galley kitchen filled with more mugs than usable cooking equipment. That works for you; used to being served meals. Your husband likes Tarine tea and apparently nothing else. It suits him, the thought of the bitter tea making your tongue go dry in your mouth. It was almost sad, how much of General Hux’s life lacked sweetness and comfort. Did the man do anything for the simple pleasure of it? When you made him Emperor would he even enjoy it? 

Slamming a cabinet door and stalking out of the kitchen, you avoid the idea. Opening the door to the bedroom, something makes you pause before entering. You suddenly remember your wedding night, the shame and anger coiling inside of you. From the doorway you can see that it’s a simple room featuring a large bed with black sheets and two night tables. There is a dresser and an armoire and you wonder if your clothing will even fit there. Your clothing and various accessories are very important to you and you will not give them up. There is an open archway leading off to what you assume is the refresher but you close the door and return to the sitting area. The bedroom is not for you and you feel unwelcome trying to force your way in right now. 

How horrible of your husband; to make you feel so unsettled in your own home! That’s your bedroom too and yet you avoid it like the bed will swallow you whole. You’re probably safer in there then out by his desk. He certainly wouldn’t touch you among the sheets if his past behavior was anything to go off of.  You feel the urge to cry suddenly; the emotion strange and choking but you hold back. Now is not the time, especially at the start of your journey. You have no reason to cry, everything is going well. Just because your husband refused to greet you in person and has a dark, bleak home doesn’t mean you can break down. You don’t even know why you need to cry anyway; nothing is wrong, nothing bad has happened. You unpack and attempt to imagine your life here instead.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, a beep sounds and the door opens. You stand and face your husband as he enters, your hands resting at your sides to avoid fiddling with your dress or jewelry. His eyes scan your form briefly, more mechanical than appreciating, but you can’t help the way your heart skips when his bright eyes meet yours. The uniform is not a very attractive one and not even necessarily flattering but it fits him impeccably and you admire the striking figure he presents with his greatcoat. Were you other people, you’d run to his arms and kiss him madly. But you’re not other people, you don’t want his love, just his participation and obedience. 

Still, you smile as he walks towards you, pleasant and welcoming. He removes his hat and tucks it under his arm. He is speechless and you’re not quite sure why. Has the sight of you after so many long months truly arrested him? You didn’t think he considered your beauty that amazing but you would take the silence for what it was.

“Welcome home, it’s so wonderful to see you again.” You breathe out with all the sweetness you can muster. There’s no reason for you to put on an act for him, he knows of your ambitions but seeing him in person has made you want to be affectionate. You have been alone for four months.

“I hope you had a safe and comfortable journey. You look well. I know the officers are eager to meet you after my speech. As for everything else, we can discuss it later. Do you need more time to get ready? This will be broadcast to the First Order systems.” He says, before breaking away from you and going over to his desk. He moves a sheet of flimsi over to the left and you smirk behind his back. 

“No, I’m alright. Unless you don’t think this is appropriate? I’m used to galas and lunch gatherings, not addressing the entirety of the military and government. Perhaps I’ll add a circlet?” You ask, not caring about the answer at all. You want to get this over with, you want to discuss your progress and start the next phase of your plan.

“It’s fine, your dress is very becoming and fitting of your status.” He says brusquely before softening a little. He seems to consider his behavior and his shoulders drop causing you to freeze in shock. 

“Forgive me, it’s been a very long day and I won’t deny that I’m tired. (Y/N), you look very beautiful and I’m glad you’re here. I’ve enjoyed talking with you these past few months and I look forward to doing it in person. I am proud to introduce you to my fellow officers and subordinates. Please, let’s go.” He says, the ice that surrounds him melting a little. You give a genuine smile and give him your hand. The leather of his gloves feels warm against your own gloves and while he doesn’t smile in return, his gaze is less severe. He looks so young this way, so approachable. Were he any other man, you could see yourself falling in love with him.

Heading towards the bridge is an interesting exercise. Everyone must have been alerted to your presence because Stormtroopers salute and bow as you both pass and officers move out of the way to let you ahead. This is the behavior you were expecting and you give them all elegant nods. Perhaps it’s not true respect, just marvel at your unstandard dress, but you’d take their approval in whatever way you could. 

Entering the bridge causes a hush to fall over the room and you give a soft smile in response. Glancing at your husband, he leads down a walkway and towards the windows. The stars will be your backdrop as you’re introduced to your future subjects. You see Lieutenant Stynnix and give her a playful wink; she blushes. 

They’re setting up the cameras when you finally come face to face with Kylo Ren. He is ominous, tall and dark with an unforgiving mask. Your hand twitches with the urge to touch it and feel the grooves. You’re not sure if his title is one of actual nobility but you curtsy anyway. 

“Lord Ren, it’s nice to finally meet you. The General has mentioned you often and I’m eager to know if his assessment of you was correct. I have a feeling you will exceed any expectations I have and I look forward to getting acquainted.” You say, keeping your voice soft and mind blank. You were told that Kylo Ren could read minds and so you thought of simple things to make him skip over you. You thought of unpacking and cleaning your quarters, your nervousness at addressing the Order, your husband’s profile against the blackness of space. 

Kylo Ren’s only response was to cock his head at you and then walk away towards a corner. You feign confusion and disappointment and turn back to General Hux. It seemed the Force user was a very different kind of beast. You wonder if your family would be watching the broadcast and the thought fills you with malicious glee.

The address actually had nothing to do with you but this would be your first appearance in front of the First Order. There would be a little placard under the footage of you, declaring your new name and place in the universe. 

A throat clears and you face the camera as a red light turns on. General Hux squeezes your hand and steps forward towards the center of the bridge. There were a few cameras moving around and one was focused solely on you.

You were live in front of the galaxy, your galaxy, and the surge of pride that entered your being caused a sparkle in your eyes that people would talk about for decades to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If asked about it, you wouldn’t be able to say what your husband talked about. During his speech, you focused on keeping your face pleasant but neutral while occasionally sending adoring looks his way. Let them think you vapid and simple, let them underestimate you. They would learn the truth in time.

After the broadcast ends, Hux in a surprisingly display of cleverness and foresight, returns to you and takes your hand. You don’t expect him to kiss you in happy exhilaration; it would be out of character for the staid man. But showing the crew small affectations of intimacy would endear you to them. 

You’d done your research on the troop’s view of General Hux, especially after Starkiller. You wouldn’t have been surprised if they hated him, distrusted him, and ignored him. But instead, it seemed like the crew respected him more. They admired him for his calm under pressure and his acknowledgement of failure. They didn’t believe Starkiller was his fault and gave him more trust and loyalty. The First Order loved General Hux with a level of fanaticism that inspired you. 

If they thought he loved you and respected you, they’d fall in line. All you had to do was keep up a good reputation and blush in front of your husband a few times and they’d support you in your endeavors. They would listen to your flesh and blood General before the flickering image of Snoke. While your path to power wouldn’t be easy or quick, it was nice to have built in supporters.

Several officers approach you, awe in their eyes. Lieutenant Mitaka stammers out a hello and bows far too deeply to you as did the other younger officers. The older colonels and captains address your husband first before grasping your hand with approval. The female officers compliment your dress and composure. Captain Phasma, resplendent in chrome approaches but does not bow or genuflect. 

“Welcome aboard the Finalizer Lady Hux. Your work the past few months has not gone unnoticed and the Stromtroopers who you traveled with spoke very warmly of you.” Her modulated voice giving no indication of her emotion. You hate all these masks, they make you feel so uneasy.

“Thank you Captain. The same goes for you. Your Troopers are expertly trained and I felt well protected with them. I didn’t expect anything less from someone as revered and respected as you.” You say, looking up and up at her. General Hux’s hand touches briefly at your lower back before moving away and the gesture is unexpectedly sweet. 

The parade of people you have to meet seems never ending but at last it does. As General Hux leads you back towards your quarters, you recognize your path. Learning this ship is easier than you thought, though you’re sure if left to your own devices you would get lost.

“I’ve ordered dinner for us. I imagine you must be hungry.” He says as the pneumatic doors close behind you. He removes his hat again and places it on a table before heading into the bedroom. At a loss for what to do, you follow him, breaching the threshold.

“Yes, thank you. I am hungry.” You assume you’ll eat at the small table in the kitchen. There’s no space for entertaining here and that makes you frown. You’re not expecting to throw dinner parties but as a wife and nothing more for the time being, your home will be your work space. Perhaps you could commandeer a meeting room for such an occasion and only focus on small groups for the sitting area.

He nods at your agreement and taps out a few things on his datapad before taking off his gloves and laying them gently on a night table. His side obviously; it’s already been chosen for you. The sight of his bare hands stuns you and you sink to the bed unknowingly. There is an elegance to his pale hands, a grace to the long fingers and short, manicured nails. You wonder if they’re as soft as they look and if they will be as cold as the rest of him. He doesn’t notice you staring as he disrobes, or if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. 

The greatcoat comes off next and he looks so much smaller without it. He looks less like the megalomaniac you know him to be and more like a regular person. Even without the breadth his coat affords him, you still enjoy the shape of his body. You like a man you can overpower. There is something effortlessly beautiful about your husband, a sharpness to his features that shifts into curves and keeps him from looking too old and severe. His nose and cheekbones lend an aristocratic air to him while his tapered waist spoke of good proportions and decent breeding. His hair would need some work, the vibrant color dulled by gel and plastered to his skull. You understood that there were certain rules about grooming but even just a little less would be nice. His hairline was strong, he luckily wouldn’t go bald too soon. Yes, you could enjoy seeing him age, that much you decide.

“Dinner should be here in a few minutes. You can put your clothes in here, although I fear we may have to get another one if all your dresses go out like that.” He says with good humor, gesturing to the armoire. You couldn’t decide if you were offended by the statement or in agreement. You did have dresses with fuller skirts and flamboyant sleeves- though you were no Padme Amidala- so another bureau or armoire would probably come in handy. You’d need at least two drawers for your jewelry and headpieces alone. 

The door chimes and General Hux leaves the bedroom, you following quickly behind. A droid enters pushing a cart and he directs it to the kitchen. It smelled surprisingly delicious, and the relief you felt at not having to eat the officer’s rations was palpable. General Hux smirks knowingly before setting the covered platters down and thanking the droid. A surge of affection went through you at that, charmed by his behavior. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked but I knew you wouldn’t eat the normal meals officer’s get. Perhaps you could make a list of food you prefer and we’ll get that to the cooks for the future.” He says, taking off the covers to reveal a fragrant and juicy looking fowl with colorful vegetables and mashed tubers. His own meal was a protein pack and the strange sludge you knew the officers ate in the mess hall. It almost put you off your own dinner. How sad, that he was the leader of the First Order and he still ate the same things his lowest subordinates ate. His tastebuds must be shot. 

Him having better tasting meals wasn’t necessary to your plan but it would make you feel better. His well-being mattered to you and it would be very uncouth for an Emperor to still be eating rations when everyone around him was eating penne all’arrabbiata. You would improve everything in his life, get him used to the luxury of his new life.

You eat in comfortable silence, commenting on the food occasionally. It seemed that outside of his grandiose speeches, your husband was not a talker. Better for you, you had plenty to talk about.

After dinner, he sets the trays back onto the cart and wheels it outside for a droid to return to the kitchen. An awkward air settles around you as you wait for him to do something, anything. He goes to his desk and turns on a projector, fingers tapping at his datapad. Apparently it is time for work.

Throwing your hands up with a groan, you go to the bedroom to change into sleep clothes. You might as well be comfortable. If your nightgown also happens to be very flattering and thin, then that was a coincidence. You return quietly to his desk, looking at the spinning holograms for a moment before turning his chair around to face you. His look of consternation makes you chuckle. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough work for today? You promised we would talk and I have a lot to say. There’s so much to figure out. All of this can wait.” You say, knowing that you could be wrong and he could rebuff you like your wedding night. But he doesn’t disagree or yell at you. Instead, he gets up and leads you towards the blue couch. Curling up on the cushion, legs tucked underneath you, he retreats to the bedroom. You’re about to start screaming about his cowardice at abandoning you once again when you realize he’s getting into his sleep clothes as well. Through the open door you watch him remove his boots with a jack and the sight of his socked feet strikes you as so vulnerable and innocent. You don’t see him remove any other clothing and you don��t know whether to be grateful or discontented with that.

He returns to the couch, and to you, in a simple black shirt and soft black pants. Does the First Order make no other clothing? Is everything black and red and white with the occasional grey? No wonder they all stared at your colorful gown.

He reclines next to you and settles a gentle hand on your knee. You can’t feel it through your gown and you keep yours in your lap. You are still conflicted in your desire to be close to him.

“Tell me about your trip, (Y/N). What do we control and what comes next?” He asks, your name coming from his lips making your skin buzz. Any anger or annoyance you experienced earlier dissipates and a smile appears on your face, wide and wicked.

“We control it all. Ando and Atollon are under the First Order banner, as are Iego and their moons. I went to Eriadu and spoke with many older Empire families and they are in full support of the First Order’s current conquests though they still seem bitter about losing Hosnian Prime. Despite the fact that the planet was the home of the New Republic, they miss the exports. We should look into replacements. It may seem silly but we need the support of the Empire. We need their money and their influence, especially on the Core Worlds.” You say, grabbing your data pad off the coffee table and showing him the current statistics. They weren’t one hundred percent accurate but they gave a good overview of the First Order’s reach across the galaxy. Your finger swiped across the screen, showing him the profiles of the people in charge and the current approval rating. All in all, it was very promising. 

“Excellent. I’m glad the families on Eriadu didn’t cause you too much trouble. I find them exhausting and foolish but you’re not wrong. We do need them, as much as I loathe to admit it. Promise me that when we take control we’ll ship them off to a work camp or an ice planet and ignore them.” He asks, rubbing his eyes. The brief show of his exhaustion causes a flare of worry to rise in you. 

You gently remove his hand and kiss his fingertips, correct in your assessment that they were cold. He doesn’t stop you, moving his hand to caress your cheek. It’s the most he has ever touched you. It’s a lot for him to do this, you can tell. It’s obvious that the General has never known soft and gentle touch. Unlike on the bridge when everyone was watching, his movements here are hesitant and slow. You reward him for his bravery by turning your head in his grip and kissing his palm. It warms under your lips and you think it’s a fitting metaphor. 

His face is still and calm but his eyes have taken on a peculiar quality. It is intrigue but of a different kind than you’ve seen before. It thrills you and gives you hope that this could perhaps become a true marriage. You would’ve been happy with just a understanding partnership filled with contentment. But his reaction to you suggested more. Your kiss turns into a bite and he raises a red eyebrow in challenge.

“I promise.”

Chapter Three Coming Soon...

Tagging: @babbushka, @livy1391, @girl-next-door-writes, @renaissance-mama, @peqchynero, @the-temple-pythoness, @cupofmoonlighttea, @sincerely-cronch, @brujademente, @potato-ren​. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Aftermath Part 3 - The Meeting

Sorry for the delay in the release of this next part. Mun has found herself lacking in motivation in writing. I hope you enjoy the next installment in my apocalyptic TMNT story. 

Raphael and Reader

Everything hurt; even your eyelids ached, throbbing red flashes of pain as you tried to peel them open to see where you were, this wasn’t normal. What was going on, why did…..oh….OH….it was coming back in vivid angry snaps of memory. You were fighting off those men on the roof, who came unannounced and dead set on bringing you back to someone, to break you? Those assholes almost had you too before those four giant turtle men came, distracting them. The red banded one’s face flashed before your eyes concerned etched in his features. He had tried to save your dumb ass as you stumbled back in shock. The rotted out opening in the roof, how could you have not been aware of your surroundings? You could hear your mother scolding you in the back of your mind. Idiot!

As the world came rushing back you heard voices, male voices, not good. The fear bubbling up from your gut hoped it wasn’t those men you had encountered on the roof, prayed in fact, which you hadn’t done in years.

“I think she’s coming around?”

“Dudes, you think she’s gonna freak?”

“Can you get back nutball? She’s gonna freak if she wakes up and your ugly mug is inches from her fucking face.”

“Raphael can you please watch your language. We have a guest.”

As the light pierced your vision green became the forefront. Once, twice you blinked as the green blurry masses came into focus. Crystal clear they became, large muscle bound shelled behemoths just a few feet from where you lay. In the back of your mind you had hoped they were a figment of your imagination as you tumbled to your doom, but the four very large, very real man turtles stood around you.

The tallest of the four seemed to be concerned the most, his brown eyes moving behind a tattered purple mask and a pair of tech goggles sat upon his green bald forehead. His upper body well-muscled was sans clothing except for suspenders littered with multicolored patches and an arm band which seemed to hold a working tablet. He had a pack on the back of his shell and a small solar panel perched on the top with a weird pole attached to its side, it looked electric? From what you could see of his lower half he was wearing black cargo pants that held an array of gadgets and unknown gizmos strapped to his narrow hips. His left arm despite green with scales was covered in several all black tattoos that went from his shoulder cap to his pointer finger. His right arm had a nasty looking scar around his bicep, the green scaled flesh faded to white scar tissue reaching from mid bicep to his armpit. By the looks of the damage he had nearly lost it.

The one next to him was the smallest of the bunch but did not lack in bulk, his eyes were a brilliant light blue outlined in orange fabric. The front of his plastron looked carved in intricate designs, scrolling from the top left to the bottom right, but to your trained eye you could see the designs were hiding a long deep gash that had to have been painful to endure. His whole right arm down to the middle of his open side was drenched in vivid pigment and abstract watercolors. Along with a brightly colored octopus on his left shoulder, tentacles running up towards his throat to around his collar bone. His lower half was covered with brown shorts and knee pads and what looked like homemade shoes for his massive feet. And hanging on each swaying hip were a pair of fucking nunchaku?! Nunchaku?

The third was the second shortest but by the way he held himself he was very important, maybe the leader?  His green crown was wrapped in blue silhouetting his vibrant ocean blue eyes, he definitely oozed control. The top of his plastron had the same intricate detailed carvings covering what looked like a jagged gash across his chest moving from the left to just past the middle of the boney plates. The difference in his carvings was the indents looked blackened, enhancing the artwork, making it pop. Across his broad chest sat what look like a holster, black leather with dark blue embroidering running the length of the strap. His lower half was covered by black pants with knee pads protecting his joints with a strap around his left thigh holding an array of blades.

The last was the brute, not quite the tallest but definitely the one who worked out the most. A red bandana covered his whole head draping down to cover the back of his thick neck. His biceps were bigger than your head with dense muscles shifting under the green flesh as he palmed a half eaten apple in his right fist. His plastron had the most carvings covering nearly all his front breast plates besides the lower left section. His wide hips held a belt that slung lazily holding a set of red sais. His bulky legs were covered in dark green camo pants tattered and worn from years of abuse. His feet also adorned specially made footwear because you had never seen such gigantic black boots in your life. You wondered who the shoemaker of the group was.

Slowly you braced your hands under your back and sat up eyeing each mutant warily.

“Careful now, you got a pretty nasty concussion when you fell. Take it nice and easy.” The tall purple one yelped reaching for you out of reflex. When you recoiled, his face fell into a deep frown and stepped back out of your personal space.

You didn’t feel like you were in danger but that didn’t mean that you weren’t. You’re first interaction with humans in 10 years had left a sour taste in your mouth. But these four weren’t really human, were they?

“Umm….did you set up your rig, it’s quite impressive?” the tall one asked obviously trying to break the tense moment between you all. “How did you get the engine to take the solar power?”

You were about to say something but the horror of it hit you, your truck and camper! How long had you been out? Someone could steal all your hard work! Then you’d be stuck here!

The one in blue must have sensed your inner panic and lifted his large green hands in a non threatening manner. “Hey, hey miss calm down. Your truck and camper are safe; it’s down here with us. After you fell and we dispatched Donovan’s men, we brought you and your vehicle down here where they can’t get to it. The reason Donnie is asking because he got to drive it and hasn’t stopped talking about your work for almost 3 hours.”

“Down here? Donnie? Where are we? Who are you? Why did you help me? Donovan’s men?”

“Whoa whoa whoa there, that’s a lot of questions.” The red one chuckled taking another healthy bite from the apple. “By the way, thanks for the apple.” He winked finishing the sweet flesh in one final crunch. “It’s been years since I’ve had one.”

“God damnit Raph.” The purple one moaned in frustration hold his head in his hands. When he lifted his face you could have sworn his green cheeks had a red tint to them. “I’m sorry miss; you are in the sewers below what used to be New York City. I’m Donatello aka Donnie. This one here..” he wrapped his arm around the small but bulky orange banded one pulling him closer. “Is Michelangelo and he’s the youngest of us all.”

“You can call me Mikey though.” Michelangelo winked reaching his hand out for a knuckle bump.

His large knuckles were massive and highly scarred, like he had lived a very hard life. Which from the looks of their battle worn bodies was true for all of them? Reluctantly you lifted your hand and completed the bump to his very apparent excitement. His blue eyes shone bright as he leaned further into Donatello gracing you with a large white smile that warmed your soul.

The blue one stepped forward and bowed slightly, “I am Leonardo, and I’m the eldest of my three brothers and the leader of our clan. The one who took an apple without permission is Raphael, my second in command and 2nd oldest. I apologize for his rudeness, but I must confess we all were a little excited seeing fresh fruit and vegetables. It’s been a while since we’ve seen, let alone consumed any. We live underground but Mikey had a garden set up on a roof top not too far from here, but it kept getting looted. Soon there was nothing left to regrow because seeds grew scarce and no left-over parts of the food to replant. It was a major disappointment to all of us. How have you managed to grow them after all this time?”

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you rested on you cracked your neck and took a deep breath. “Ummm, my name is Y/N, yes I set up the rig, been working on it for years. I’m not from New York, let’s just say I’m from somewhere with a lot of land. I’m here scavenging for parts. My parents were preppers so when everything went down and I lost everyone, I had enough skill set to be able to survive.” And there it was, like an idiot with no filter you word vomited too much information to four complete strangers who were the first to be nice to you in ten years. “I have an extensive garden at home as well as live stock…..fuck.”

All four of them chuckled as you spewed word after word at an alarming rate. In fact they were surprised they could understand you at all with how fast you were talking. Donnie lowered his goggles and saw just how fast your heart rate was and the temp of your body rising rapidly. He began to worry if this was too much for you?

“You’re having a panic attack aren’t you? Are we too much for you or have you been alone all this time and not use to this much social interaction in one day?” he asked quickly stepping towards you still keeping an eye on the red flush drenching your cheeks.

Looking to your hands you saw them shaking and your lungs, Jesus Christ they felt like they were being squeezed from the inside. And let’s not talk about your heart, it felt like it was trying to hammer straight through your chest. Your fingers curled in your shirt clutching at your thumping breast. “Is that was this is? A panic attack? I feel like I’m dying…”

Soon you felt two hands, two very large hands on your shoulders holding you steady before you tumbled back from the bed you were perched upon. Golden green eyes and red flooded your vision and a musky scent of engine oil and leather invaded your senses.

Raphael was inches from your face, his massive body so close you could feel the heat radiating off his pebbled flesh. He smelled of masculinity and something rough, you could taste it on your tongue and it traveled to your belly warming it pleasantly. “Look at me, listen to my voice.” The rumble from his deep voice vibrated fluidly through the little space between you. Seeping into your pores and headed straight to the apex of your thighs. He smelled of trouble, the best kind of trouble.

“Deep breaths now, we ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

God he smelled good, you took slow deep pulls of his scent and found everything slowing down, your heart, your lungs and the whole damn room around you. All you could see was his face and the slow creeping smile that revealed his white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue bit between them.

“Do ya feel better now?”

Another hard swallow and you suddenly because aware your hand was now resting on the boney plates of his warm plastron. Why did it feel so comforting to touch him? Yep you were in trouble, so much trouble.

 All my works

@blossom-skies​

[aniray]

Where You Least Expect It... Part 2

Part 2 of 5

@maryams-things

~*~

Day 1

Lizzie sat in the moving truck watching men carry her life into the Shelby guest house. It wasn’t much- she’d barely had enough to fill the small truck. But the men acted as if she’d the crown jewels tucked away in those boxes. Or perhaps her clothes were couture instead of from the clearance racks. It was odd, and more than a bit uncomfortable, knowing her little things would be living inside such a nice place. Even if it was only for a few months. 

But it was easier to imagine her clothes and books and trinkets in the house than it was imagining herself in it. It seemed wrong somehow, like she was playing a trick. She’d always known her place in the world, always known she’d not be anyone important or do much that would matter. She’d wake each day, go to work, pay her bills, and then maybe one day she’d find a man to settle down with. Maybe one day she’d have a kid or two. It hadn’t been her dream- not really. But she’d figured it in, just in case. The future had always been murky on those types of details. But the one she was sure of was that she’d live, work, and then die. And the world wouldn’t miss her or know the difference. 

So yeah, it left Lizzie feeling a bit off to know she’d be living in such a fancy house. She glanced out the side window and tensed when she caught sight of Tommy Shelby walking towards the moving truck. Taking a quick breath, Lizzie waited as the man made his way to her window. He didn’t knock. He didn’t even turn his head to look at her. But she knew he was there to talk to her. And somehow she knew he’d stay there until she acknowledged him.

The window hadn’t stopped lowering before he turned to face her. “Nothing broken?” She shook her head. “Good. Have you been in?” She shook her head again. He gave a slow nod. “Right. You plan on going in?” Lizzie shot him a sharp look. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice- not after she’d just had all her things moved over. But Tommy ignored her glare. She’d a feeling it was something he did often- ignored things. “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.”

It wasn’t a question, so Lizzie didn’t respond. Instead she opened the door of the truck, ignoring the weight of Tommy’s gaze as she hopped down. It took another deep breath before Lizzie started walking, the idea of stepping inside that house making her skin prick with nerves. But Tommy wasn’t patient and Lizzie wasn’t one to hide when there was someone to see her do it. 

“Its…nice,” she started, taking in the place. Tommy let out a grunt beside her. She took it as agreement, but who really knew. But as she took in the house, she realized that aside from the size and the neat landscaping, it really was a nice house. It was one storey- she was sure they called it a bungalow. There were big windows and a nice porch with chairs and a table. Two small windows were set above the front door on either side. Blue-grey paint with white trim around the windows and door. And curtains in the windows. Lizzie’d didn’t much like curtains- reminded her of her mother. Still, it made the house seem light and welcoming, even if she wasn’t truly welcome. 

The inside was lovely. All warmth and light. It was the kind of place Lizzie might have dreamed of once- before things got so bad. It was dark wood floors with blue and cream colored furniture. The walls were paneled from the floor to about waist high, with pale blue paint going up the rest of the wall. And it was all so big and open. The kitchen was nice, though she wasn’t much good at cooking. And there was a dining area that she knew she’d never use- not when there was such a cozy little window seat facing a side garden. Everything was modern, but somehow felt liked she’d stepped back in time a bit. 

“So it’ll do, then?” Lizzie turned from where she’d been heading down the hall. Tommy stood just inside the house, hands in the pockets of his dress pants and he leaned against the wall. Lizzie nodded. “Only one bedroom, on the right. Bath’s on the left.” A quick peek around an open door showed the bedroom. Just as nice as the rest of the place. Still too nice for her. “Long way from Small Heath, eh?”

“Not much different. No money there, no money here, same problems everywhere.” There was a sound, but Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was a cough or a laugh. Didn’t really care. She turned and walked into the bathroom. Clean and tidy with a glass shower and nice towels. “But…I guess for you it’d be a nice change. Leaving and being better for it, I mean.” 

“There’s stairs at the back, up to the attic.” Lizzie jumped at how close Tommy’s voice was. Her eyes went to the mirror. Tommy stood in the doorway and their eyes met through the mirror. His face was just as expressionless as always, but his eyes seemed a bit cooler than they’d been. She hadn’t really thought that possible. “There’s a car in the garage out back. Use it whenever. Key’s in the drawer at the front.” 

Then he was gone. 

Lizzie stood for another second staring through the mirror at the now empty doorway. Then she blinked and started after him. He was just getting around to the truck when she got to the door. “Hey!” Tommy stopped. “Just- I mean-“ He turned around to face her properly and Lizzie almost wished he hadn’t. Even from where she stood she could see a bit of something that might have been…She wasn’t sure what it was- she just knew she didn’t like it. “Thanks. For showing me around.” There were a hundred other things she wanted to say, but none of them came out. She was glad of it. 

Tommy glanced at the house behind her, then set his blue eyes back on Lizzie. Eyes were the window to the soul, they said. But his eyes were so empty, like nothing was inside. There was, though- something inside of him. And whatever it was, made Lizzie curious. He blinked, head tilting forward in a slight nod. And for a moment she thought she caught something- something light or curious or… 

He turned and was gone. 

~*~

Tommy came back two days later. 

He had two big plates wrapped up with two smaller plates stacked on top. Lizzie barely had a chance to open her mouth before he’d pushed into the house and headed for the dining table- the one she hadn’t used yet. “Come. Sit.” For some reason Lizzie found herself doing both. She watched as Tommy took his seat, unwrapped the plates and set one of each in front of her. “Why’d you leave Small Heath?”

Lizzie tensed. She hadn’t known what to expect from this surprise visit, but it hadn’t been that. She didn’t like it. But he stayed silent while those cold blue eyes bored into her from across the table. Lizzie looked at the plate in front of her. There were no forks. She got up from her chair and moved into the kitchen, dug around in the drawer for to forks and two knives, grabbed a few napkins as well. Carefully, she folded the cutlery into the napkins- like when she’d been a waitress. She set one set down beside Tommy, careful not to stand too close. Then moved back around the table to her seat. 

“Lizzie.”

Her eyes went to his again. Same blue. Same coldness. Only now there was that hint of annoyance that told her his patience was running thin. She wasn’t surprised- he didn’t seem to have much to begin with. “Parents were dead. Boyfriend started leaving bruises where people could see. No one was hiring.” She shrugged. “Figured it was time to move on.” 

His face didn’t change. To read his expression you wouldn’t know she’d told him anything at all. Especially not anything that meant something. But it might have been him ignoring things he didn’t like again. Glossing over it like it never was. “Ever think of going back?” No. The answer seemed obvious to her. Why would she go back when there was nothing and no one to go back to?

“Why’d you leave?” She didn’t expect an answer. Tommy Shelby didn’t seem like the kind of man to answer questions. Especially not questions about himself. But if he could ask, then so could she. “I looked you up. Says you’ve got brothers and a sister back in Birmingham. Says there’s an aunt and an uncle, too.” She watched a line of tension tighten his shoulders and the corners of his mouth. His eyes got colder.

“Eat your food, Lizzie.”

She didn’t. Neither did he. And not another word passed between them. She was still sat at the table- four plates untouched- when he stood and left. The door closing let her heart finally settle. The sound of the clock ticking helped clear her head. But it was still a long while before she could move. Then it came to her- that feeling she got when things were about to change. And somehow she knew this was the first of many nights with Tommy Shelby. 

~*~

Day 36

Tommy held his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He didn’t look to the clock- knew what time it was. He was late. The meeting had been an emergency. So he’d sat and listened and waited. But his phone had vibrated twice now. He knew Grace was waiting for him- knew that the surrogate was probably already at the doctor’s. But here he was, ignoring his wife’s calls to listen to his men tell him shit he didn’t really care about. Things they should have been able to handle without him. 

“…alright, Mr. Shelby?”

He nodded. didn’t know what the fuck he’d agreed to, but if it meant he got out of  the office and to the doctor before the appointment ended, he’d worry about it later. “Get it in writing and have it on my desk by tomorrow,” he said while he stood up, straightening his suit jacket as he did. Morris nodded while the rest also stood up, preparing to leave. Dismissing them all from his mind Tommy turned and left.

Stepping out of the conference room and into his office, Tommy pulled out his phone. Four texts and two calls- all from Grace. He read the last text but didn’t bother reading the others or listening to the voicemails. Picking up his keys and wallet, he walked out barely stopping to let his secretary know he’d be out the rest of the day. Then he was outside and getting into his car. 

His phone rang as he pulled onto the street. He didn’t bother to check the Caller I.D. It’d be Grace’s name in the screen, he knew. “I know. Got stuck in a meeting. But I’m on my way now.” It was always best to get the first word in when his wife was upset. She didn’t get angry with him often, but things had been different since Lizzie had come- since he’d started having dinner with her a few times a week. 

There was a moment of silence that lasted a bit too long. Then, “Mr. Shel- Tommy?” His eyes went to the screen on his dashboard. Lizzie Stark was the name on display where Grace should have been. “Um, yeah. It’s over. Things are going fine, doctor said. Mrs. Shelby- well, she drove me. But she’s gone now and I-“

“Grace left you at the doctor?”

There was a long beat of silence. That was answer enough. Lizzie may not like Grace, but Tommy had never heard a bad word towards his wife come from the woman’s mouth. “Just thought maybe I’d stay at my apartment tonight. Give everybody a little space from each other.” She lived in the guest house. There was plenty of space between where Lizzie stayed and Grace. But Tommy kept quiet. “Thought I’d just…tell someone,” she finished, hint of what sounded like annoyance in her voice. He didn’t’ ask.

“Yeah, alright.” He saw her before she saw him. She was sat across from the doctor’s office, at the bus stop. “Not letting you take the bus, though.” He pulled to a stop as she looked around in surprised confusion. It made her look younger, softer than she usually did. Then a barely there smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and he imagined a little girl with his eyes and that smile. He coughed a little, ended the call and leaned over to open her door for her. 

He’d never thought of what features she might give to his child. He knew, of course he knew, that the kid wouldn’t look like Grace. It hadn’t been a conscious thing, though- the knowing. But now, in that split second, he realized. His kid would have features that looked like Lizzie. It left an odd feeling in his gut. Like he’d cheated on Grace somehow by having a baby with this woman’s genes. But also a bit of something else, something he couldn’t put a name to. 

The door closed and Lizzie pulled on her seatbelt. It was the distraction he needed to make the thoughts in his head go quiet. He pulled out into traffic and headed towards Lizzie’s apartment. He knew where it was- had driven by once. Before they’d met at the clinic- before things were what they were now. Knew what the inside looked like, though he’d never set foot inside. Places like that all looked the same. Windows painted shut; too hot in summer, too cold in winter. Broken sinks, faulty wiring, and rent too high. It was why he’d fought so hard to get out- clawed his way to the top with bloody hands and blackened soul.

“Thanks for this. I just… Thanks.” 

He didn’t look at her. Somehow knew she wouldn’t like it. He was learning her, Lizzie. He had picked up on the way she’d cut herself off when she was nervous. Noticed how she kept her head up when the staff gave her sideways looks. Watched her meet Grace’s eyes with some strange mix of deference and defiance. He didn’t like that look. Didn’t like that he usually agreed with Lizzie more than Grace when that look came out. 

The rest of the drive was quiet. Grace didn’t call or text. Lizzie kept her face turned out her window. And Tommy let himself think about work- deals and strategy. Anything to keep his mind off of the mess that his personal life seemed to be becoming. So it was only Lizzie’s quiet voice reminding him to turn that kept him from driving on past her apartment. He parked the car and watched as Lizzie stared out at the dirty brick building. “I’ll walk you up.”

“No. My landlord’s watching. Don’t want him to see you.” Tommy turned and caught sight of the rough looking man standing by a side door. He didn’t like the look of him. Didn’t like the way he stared at Lizzie as she got out of the car. She took a step away from the car before turning back. “Thanks again,” she said. He nodded slowly, eyes going back to the landlord. 

Lizzie walked into her building ignoring something the man said. Then the landlord was walking over to Tommy’s car. He rolled his window down as the man stopped beside the car. “Always knew she’d give it up for the right price.” Tommy kept his face blank. “Trust me, she’s easy on the eyes, cunt tastes like sugar-” Tommy’s eyes narrowed as a burst of anger flared in his chest. “-but she’s got razor blades hidden behind that sweet exterior.”

Reaching over to his phone Tommy dialed a number, putting it on speaker. “I want two men to Lizzie Stark’s address. No one goes near her. If anybody tries… You know how to deal with it.” He disconnected the call and turned back to the landlord. The man was glaring at Tommy, but there was a hint of fear behind his eyes. “Ms. Stark is not your concern. If you forget that, I will make you my concern.”

“And who the fuck are you, anyway?”

 Tommy didn’t answer. There was no point. The man would know his name soon enough. Then he’d wish he didn’t. He pulled out of the drive. He saw the landlord standing in the same place, face red with anger and eyes wide with fear. He caught a glimpse of Lizzie through her curtains. For a moment he wondered if he should stay a while longer- until his men came. For a moment he wondered what she was thinking. Then he reminded himself that whatever was between Lizzie and her landlord had nothing to do with him. 

It didn’t quite set right, but he kept driving.

~*~

The lights weren’t on at the guest house when he got home from work the next day. 

Pulling up in front of his house, Tommy watched as Grace stepped out to greet him. She always did. Even on nights like this, when her phone was pressed to her ear as she kissed his cheek. It didn’t matter what was happening- Grace was always there. It made him feel soft, almost weak, the way he lived for that bit of normalcy. But tonight it felt different- like something was missing. Nothing was, nothing had changed between him and Grace in the time between yesterday and that moment. But something was still off. 

Stepping into the house, Tommy shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He still wasn’t used to the clothes- even after having worn them for years. Sometimes it felt like he should still be in jeans and work boots, the sound of a forklift ringing in his ears. Sometimes he could smell the horse shit at his Uncle Charlie’s place. But those memories brought with them visions of his mother’s sad eyes and bruised skin, his father’s fist and loud voice. 

He wrapped his arm around Grace, moved them into his study, and held her to him. She didn’t fight him, didn’t question it. She knew where his head was at when he got like this. She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He leaned them against his desk and still she kept talking to whoever was on the phone. But Tommy didn’t care- business was business. As long as he could still hold on to her, he didn’t care who she talked to. 

“Yes, that’s fine. Mhm, sounds good. Thank you. Goodnight.” She ended the call and turned to face Tommy. “Now. What happened?” He shook his head, fighting back a smile at the way she arched a brow at him. Her lips parted, no doubt to try and coax words out of him. But he kissed her before she could say anything. This was what he’d needed- this closeness that they had. It helped quiet the noise in his head. Only Grace had ever been able to do that. 

He pulled back, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. She was so much better than him, but he’d gotten her- stolen her from the proper men she was truly meant for. Whisked her away from the safety of her family and their money. Pulled her into his world and gotten her hands a bit dirty. But her soul- it was still pure and bright. He hadn’t tainted her yet. Sometimes he wanted to- just to make sure she was as bound to him as he was to her. It was that ‘devilment’ Pol said came from his father. He might use that in business- scheme and cheat and twist things to his will. But not with Grace. Tommy wouldn’t let any part of his father touch her- it was too dangerous. 

“Come back. I miss you.”

He smiled. Turned and sat in his chair, pulling Grace onto his lap. She settled in, fingers sliding through his hair. He drew circles on her thigh with his thumb. This was what he needed, what he looked forward to most after coming home. Only tonight there was still something inside him that wouldn’t settle. Some bit of his mind that still whispered to him. His eyes went to the window. The guest house was just barely visible. Still dark. The whisper came a bit louder, a bit clearer. Then a light came on and he caught a glimpse of Lizzie as she passed a window. His mind went quiet. He held Grace a bit tighter.

He kept his eyes on that one bright window.

~*~

Day 64

The door seemed to be mocking her. Grace had been standing outside of the guest house for almost a full three minutes, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to knock. It felt wrong somehow- knocking when she owned the door and the house and the land it sat on. It seemed wrong when the woman inside was carrying the baby that Grace would be raising, loving, cherishing.  She knew it was illogical- truly ridiculous, even. But she couldn’t help how she felt. She’d tried.

But as she stared at the door, she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer. Things were getting worse and the pregnancy had only just barely started. And if she were honest, which she did try to be, Lizzie Stark hadn’t done anything wrong. Not on the first day or any of the days since. And Grace…Well she was mature enough to admit that she’d been cold and rude when the poor girl didn’t deserve it. But even with that mature knowledge and the desperate desire to fix what she had broken, Grace still couldn’t make herself knock. 

Tommy was beyond annoyed with her over how she treated Ms. Stark. And things had only gotten more difficult between them after Grace had left her at the doctor a month ago. It hadn’t been out of spite- Grace truly had forgotten she’d brought the girl to the appointment. But Tommy… She couldn’t quite blame him for not trusting her word where Ms. Stark was involved. But his coolness towards Grace only made it that much harder to accept the woman- made it that much harder to push down her own insecurities and fears. And really, did he have to defend her at every single turn? You’d think he was married to her and not me.

It was a petty thought, but one she’d found circling her mind far too often, recently. 

Suddenly the door swung open and Grace jerked back in surprise. The woman that brought out so many feelings in Grace stood with a blank expression on her face. Her green eyes gave none of her thoughts away, and it had a strange tension flowing into Grace’s body. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shelby. Did you need something?” 

Her tone was polite, but still Grace felt a twinge of annoyance at Ms. Stark’s words. “I was hoping to catch you. I thought we should talk.” The dark-haired woman hesitated for the smallest moment, but it released some of the tension Grace had been feeling. Lizzie stepped aside. Grace stepped in. It was the same as it had always been once she entered the house. The décor was exactly how she had chosen it- though there were a few things that must have belonged to Ms. Stark. But overall, it left Grace with a feeling a security, knowing that even here she still held the power. 

“I was going to make tea.”

Grace turned slightly to meet Lizzie’s eyes again. It wasn’t an offer- Lizzie didn’t want Grace to have tea with her. But still Grace let a small, cool smile play on her lips. “Yes, that would be lovely.”  She didn’t miss the way Lizzie’s fingers tightened as she turned toward the kitchen. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Grace reminded herself of why she was doing this- why it all mattered. My baby. The little child that Thomas and I will raise together. It was the only thing that mattered.

Settling into the loveseat, Grace watched as Lizzie moved in the kitchen. She seemed comfortable, like she’d always been there. She’ll be gone soon. The thought brought little comfort. For all that Grace wished Lizzie Stark were a million miles away from here, she still wasn’t happy about the woman moving back to her own apartment for the last bit of the pregnancy. But she pushed those thoughts aside as Lizzie carried in two cups of tea.

Grace expected Lizzie to take the seat across from her- face her opponent head on. But instead, Lizzie chose the arm chair to Grace’s right. They both sipped their tea. Lizzie stared at the table, Grace stared at Lizzie. They both waited. She wanted Lizzie to speak first. She wanted to hold on to the position of power. But her tea was half gone and neither of them had said anything. Besides, she hadn’t come to make things harder. She had come to try and smooth things over. So Grace took a quick breath and set down her cup. 

“Thank you.” Grace paused. The words she had been ready to say dying on her tongue at Lizzie’s words. “I know that the clinic did most of the work matching us up, but… Well, you could have picked someone else. They didn’t have another couple lined up for me, so I would have been in trouble. But you picked me. And even though I didn’t agree at first, I’m glad you’re letting me stay here. So… Thank you.”

Grace watched the woman beside her. Lizzie’s eyes were clear. She hadn’t seemed manipulative or dishonest. As far as Grace could tell the woman meant what she had just said. And hearing it eased some of the fear that Grace had been carrying around. Fear that Lizzie was just waiting to sabotage Grace’s plans. And for the first time she looked at Lizzie- really looked at her. She wasn’t a threat- she was just a girl doing a job. 

A job you couldn’t do. The one job you should be able to do.

She shoved those thoughts away- like she always did. There was nothing she could do about her body. She’d tried. And it wasn’t Lizzie Stark’s fault. “You’re welcome.” The words didn’t come easily, but they were sincere for once. “This whole thing is nothing like I’d planned. And I reacted poorly. But I’d like for things to be better between us going forward.” Lizzie didn’t try to hide her skepticism and Grace didn’t blame her. Lizzie had no reason to trust her. But the tentative nod Lizzie gave loosened some of the tightness that had built underneath Grace’s ribs. “Good. I’m glad we could-“

A knock came at the door startled both women. Lizzie recovered faster though. Her eyes slid to Grace for a moment before she stood and went to the door. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see her husband on the other side. Grace knew he met with Lizzie for dinner some nights. She knew he had been trying to make her feel comfortable, since Grace had…not. But still, hurt flared in her chest at the easy way Thomas entered the house- greeting Lizzie with a casual ‘Evening, Liz’. He’d never called Lizzie anything but ‘Ms. Stark’ when he and Grace spoke of her. She hadn’t thought the two were close enough for nicknames.

Thomas stopped when he saw Grace sitting in the living room. His face went blank for a moment and she watched s his eyes darted towards Lizzie. The hurt dug deeper. “Hello Grace. Didn’t think you’d be here.” She gave a slow nod, tried to keep her expression pleasantly neutral. Thomas started towards the kitchen again. “Didn’t bring you a plate, but you can have mine if you want.” 

Grace looked to Lizzie, who was still standing by the, now closed, front door. “No, darling, I think I’ll have dinner at home. Ms. Stark and I were finished chatting, anyway.” It wasn’t true. Everyone knew it wasn’t true. But her husband didn’t contradict her and Grace knew Lizzie wouldn’t. She watched as Thomas pulled out silverware and set it at the table. She wondered exactly how often he had dinner here. She wondered if he ate when he was here… with Liz. He rarely ate dinner when he was at home. She wondered what else he did here that he didn’t at home.

And just like that, the feeling of hope- the feeling of possibility she had felt moments ago, evaporated. Standing, Grace walked over to her husband. His eyes came to rest on her, but she let hers go to Lizzie. She pressed her lips to Thomas’. Her left hand slid up from his waist to his chest. Her right hand came to rest on his cheek. And her eyes stayed on Ms. Stark. 

Lizzie looked away.

Grace pulled back. She strode away from her husband without a second glance. She moved past Lizzie as if she were a piece of furniture.  Then she was out the door, walking across the perfectly manicured lawn towards her house. Her steps were even. Her shoulders relaxed. But her heart pounded in her chest. Tears stung her eyes. And all she could hear was his voice, her husband’s voice, calling that woman ‘Liz’.

[wxyvision]

Incandescent

Challenge 2 of the @daybreakx Writing Challenge

Genre: angst, fluff

Idol/Group: Xiaojun of WayV

Prompt: redamancy (n); the act of loving one who loves you, a love returned in full

Word count: 1,465

I wish I could tell you that this story ends well. In reality, that is a promise I couldn't possibly make. First, because my situation is completely and utterly impossible. Secondly, because this story hasn't ended yet. Although, I'm pretty sure that second point is obvious, considering I'm saying this right now. My best guess, however, is that this story will not be one that ends in happiness, or at least not my happiness. Why not, you ask? Perhaps I'm mistaken, perhaps I'm just pessimistic, right? But if you, too, were in my situation, I'm not so sure that you would be saying the same.

"Are you sure about this? Don't you think this whole thing is a bit…" Xiaojun flaps his arms around, making gestures towards his clothes, and to the fancy decorations adorning the ornate ballroom. The golden floor tiles have been  polished to the point that you could probably see your own reflection. Light floods through the tall sunburst windows, making the blue marble columns gleam. Flecks of rainbow light are cast around the room from the giant golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which is decorated with golden panels. It's a scene that almost anyone would stare at in awe, but the man in front of me fits this place perfectly. I can't help but stare at him in as much awe as I did the room I'm currently standing in. He looks like a deity wearing a white suit embroidered with a floral blue pattern, a pair of white silk gloves in his hand. He looks over at me, breath catching in his throat, and his manservant follows his gaze to look at me. Suddenly I feel as though I'm an outsider intruding, even though I was invited here by the King and Queen themselves. Xiaojun's eyes glimmer as he takes a few steps towards me, the edges of his mouth curling upwards into a shy smile. My eyes flicker over to his manservant, who follows Xiaojun and also flashes me a smile.

"Y/N! Sorry, we weren't expecting you so soon. Shall I get you a drink?" I nod and he looks over at Xiaojun "Your majesty?" Xiaojun glances over at him, nodding. His manservant bows and walks away to fetch us both a drink. The prince takes my hand in his and I almost forgot how smooth his hand was. He spins us both around in the middle of the ballroom, laughing with me. Moments like these were far and few between, and they made everything seem much more normal, as if I wasn't some random Earl's child, but a royal, like him. As if he wasn't going to propose marriage to someone else tonight, not that he had much choice in the matter. As the crown prince, it is his duty to marry someone worthy of the throne. Although the list of worthy people most definitely doesn't include me, Xiaojun had always treated me as such. I'm not sure if he was forgetting that I was close, but not quite important enough to be worthy of him, or whether he doesn't care. All I know is that whenever I'm with him, whenever our hands are intertwined and lips locked, it feels as though it's where I belong. Suddenly, I'm not an earl's child, and he's not the heir to the throne. Suddenly we're two random people in love, with no barriers between us.

Xiaojun's manservant enters, giving us a warning look and handing us our drinks. I know what he was thinking. We shouldn't be this close. If the King and Queen saw us like this, I would no doubt be cast out from the ball. Me and him pull apart, acting as though we weren't too close. The manservant gives me an apologetic smile, which I respond to with a smile of my own. I was thankful that he could be trusted with this piece of information. That he wouldn't run and tell Xiaojun's parents, but help us to keep our love a secret. Soon, though, I would have to accept that our love was doomed from the start. Me and him couldn't marry, and I wasn't prepared to be the third person in a marriage, especially not a royal one. Tonight is the last night that me and him can be close to one another like this. My heart feels heavy at the thought of seeing him marry another person, but I knew from the start that this is how things would play out. I would just have to remind myself that he loves me, and that's all that should matter, no matter who he marries.

Guests start to pile in, greeting one another and moving over to greet the prince, and he gives every single one of them a dazzling smile. I stay nearby, but far away enough that it wouldn't seem obvious that I was trying to stay close to his side. In between greeting his guests, he glances at me, a smitten grin on his face and I lower my head, holding back a grin of my own. It's not long before the King and Queen enter, and at that point, I know that I should move away from his side. It's something neither me nor Xiaojun is happy about, but he understands. I don't belong in his close circle, and he doesn't belong in mine. Our circles should never cross but they do, they're almost one instead of two. I can barely help myself from stealing glances once in a while, and he does the same, being careful not to be caught. The King announces the official start of the ball, and a pianist begins to play a beautiful melody. I wish to dance with Xiaojun, just one song that will forever be our song, our song that will remind us of the night we said goodbye. However, I know that I won't get the chance to. Princes don't dance with people like me.

But Xiaojun proves me wrong when, with just a few songs left, he slips through the crowd and takes my hand, asking for a dance. So this is it, our last dance together. After this dance, he will be engaged to someone else, and I will be alone once again. But in the back of my head, I remind myself that he loves me, unconditionally and wholeheartedly. And that's enough for me to live with. He takes my hand in his and stares deep into my eyes. His expression is sullen and I think he knows, that this is the last night for us. But still his eyes sparkle as he looks at me as though I'm his entire world, and I stare at him the same way. A gentle light cascades through the glass dome above us and takes my breath away. We dance for what feels like an eternity. In that moment there is only us. Everyone else around us doesn't exist, and it's not until the song ends and people around us clap that I realise we were being watched. I shoot a panicked look over to Xiaojun's manservant, and he shares the same look. I break apart from Xiaojun, but he holds onto my elbow, stopping from leaving him. In his eyes are galaxies that I'm pretty certain haven't been discovered yet and I want nothing more than to fall into his arms. But I can't. I shake my head at him, trying to move away again, but he doesn't let me. Instead he moves closer to me, stroking my hand with his thumb.

"Mother," he looks back at the Queen "Father," he shifts his gaze to the King "This is my decision." Both of them stay silent. My heart feels as though it will burst through my chest. Everyone around us is staring and whispering, and I'm certain that I know what they're thinking. How can a prince hold someone like me this way? How can he look at me like this? His parents move closer, giving Xiaojun a stern look, but he doesn't back down. "You told me to choose, and I have. I chose a long time ago. This is the person I want to marry. No, this is the person I will marry." I stare sheepishly at the King and Queen, waiting for them to dismiss his words, but they don't. "So you can either respect my decision and allow our marriage, or I will give up my title and marry them without your blessing." He stares back at me, squeezing my hand. At that point, I'm not sure how our story will end, but all I know is that he loves me, and I love him. So so what if our story ends in shards of broken hearts?

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong? (Michael Langdon X Reader)

SO! a couple months ago, @langdonsrapture and i had some... interesting conversations about stepdad duncan and stepbrother michael, and i ended up agreeing that i’d write a stepbro michael fic if she wrote a stepdad duncan fic. and she wrote her stepdad duncan fic, so..... i present to you, STEPBROTHER MICHAEL! i am so sorry for this foolishness.... (also, this is going to be a multi part series!!) 

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships (I MEAN OBVIOUSLY), fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, drug mentions, alcohol mentions, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk 

word count: 6k 

tagging some people i think might be interested: @langdonsrapture @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @wroteclassicaly @langdonsinferno @americanhorrorstudies @sodanova @alicecooper19 @ccodyfern @starwlkers @duncvn @xtheinevitableprophecyx

i.

The summer before your senior year of high school, your life was abruptly separated into two parts: before Michael Langdon, and after Michael Langdon. Up until then, your life had been peaceful- maybe a little boring, mundane, but peaceful all the same. You’d had a painfully average life with painfully average grades and a painfully average social life, but there was nothing to complain about, living in your modest high-ranch with your father in the middle of the suburbs.

And then your father met Miriam Mead Langdon, a slightly eccentric but nice-enough woman who oftentimes frequented the same grocery store he did. You hadn’t had a problem with Miriam; you were pleased to see your father happy after having been single for so long, ever since your mother passed away years before. No, you didn’t have a problem with Miriam- it was her son, Michael, that you couldn’t fucking stand.

Michael Langdon was everything you hated- cocky, rude, a smart-ass, spoiled. Everyone who met him seemed to fall under his spell, charmed by his smooth talking and boyish good looks, and so he always seemed to get whatever he wanted. There was no question of whether he was attractive, with soft waves of blond hair and admittedly beautiful baby blue eyes, paired with plump pink lips that always seemed to be curled into an infuriating smirk. Girls swooned over him, including your own friends (which you’d gagged over), and boys fought for his approval and friendship. It was beyond nauseating.

When your father had announced that he and Miriam were engaged, you’d been forced to swallow your distaste for the boy who, soon enough, would be your stepbrother. In June they were married, and soon afterwards, Miriam and Michael moved into your father’s home. Michael got the once-vacant guest room down the hall from your bedroom, and within a few days it had become an entirely new place; he’d plastered the walls with posters, depicting everything from horror movies to half-naked girls to metal bands. The top of his dresser was strewn with random things he’d thrown there: an empty Jack Daniels bottle, AXE body spray (because of course), an enormous glass-blown bong, a half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds, designer sunglasses. The entire room reeked of weed, sometimes drifting down the hall and into your room, but for some reason your father never mentioned it (which you were sure he would, had it been you who was stinking up the house and not Michael).

That entire summer, you were forced to witness Michael getting away with things you could never dream to: sneaking in girls at all hours of the night (no headphones were good enough to block out the scarring noises that left his room on these occasions), stealing your father’s expensive liquor from the glass-paneled cabinets, leaving the house at 1 am and coming back home after sunrise. It seemed that he was able to talk himself out of anything, and if you didn’t hate him so much, you might have even said you envied him a little.

The only upside was that you were graduating high school this year; the both of you would be off to college in the fall, and then you’d never have to see his stupid, smug face again. Or, at least, almost never.

That thought was the only thing that kept you from losing grip on your sanity; like a prayer, you’d tell yourself: only a few more months.

ii.

“Michael, I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Just take your sister to school.” The even voice of Miriam filled your kitchen as you glared at Michael, who was slumped over a bowl of cereal- your cereal- at the kitchen table.

“My sister?” he repeated through a mouthful of corn flakes. You gagged dramatically, hoping the gesture caught his eye. “You guys got married not even four months ago and now I’m suddenly expected to act like she’s my blood relative?”

You rolled your eyes, frowning when he reached for the cereal box.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” you muttered, grabbing the box away before he could take more from it.

“Michael,” said Miriam, her voice tinged with warning, but you knew she wasn’t actually going to do anything. Not to Michael, her precious, perfect baby boy who apparently could do not wrong. “You’re going to the same place. It only makes sense for you to drive her.”

“Whatever,” he griped, standing up to grab his backpack off the counter without bothering to put his dish away. Just as you’d expected, Miriam took his bowl and placed it in the sink without a word. “C’mon.”

You followed him to the front door, watching as he retrieved his ring of keys from the back pocket of his black skinny jeans.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just get a ride with (best friend’s name),” he said irritably.

“Because we’re no longer speaking, that’s why.”

“Is it because of-“ he paused, flashing you a shit-eating grin, cocking one eyebrow at you knowingly. Dickhead.

“What do you think?”

“Aww, come on, you’re still mad about that?” he chuckled, pulling his sunglasses off the front of his shirt and sliding them on.

“Yes.” You trailed behind Michael onto the porch, slamming the door behind you loudly. He dug his thumb into a button on his keys, and on cue his sports car- because of fucking course he had a sports car- let out its usual cheery beep as it unlocked.

“You mind getting in the back?” he asked you, tossing his keys up into the air idly and catching them before opening the driver side door.

You scoffed. “Um, yes, I mind?” You opened the passenger door defiantly to find the leather seat strewn with CDs, food wrappers, a math textbook which you highly doubted he used, and- you wrinkled your nose- was that a box of fucking condoms? Yep, condoms, Magnum XL with added lubrication (you seriously regretted taking the time to read the box).

“Ew, Michael,” you said, snatching up the box before tossing it into the back as though you might contract a deadly disease if you touched it for too long. “Very discreet.”

“What, was that the wittle virgin’s first time seeing condoms in real life?” he teased, slipping into the front seat and turning the key in ignition. You picked up as much of his junk as you could before throwing it haphazardly into the back, earning a wince from Michael.

“Not that I have anything to prove to you, but I’m not a virgin,” you lied.

“Riiiight.” He switched on the radio, screwing up his face indecisively as he flipped through the stations.

“No, seriously,” you said, getting in the passenger’s seat and shutting the car door. You considered putting on your seatbelt, but thought that might be something Michael would tease you about, so you refrained.

Why did you even care what he thought?

“Okay, then, who’d you do it with?” he said, reaching into the glove compartment to retrieve a crushed pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and stuck it between his teeth, rotating his body as he searched the floor of the car for a lighter.

Your lips turned down in disgust. “Can you not do that right now?”

“Uh, it’s my car,” he snapped, and you retreated. He found a lighter, flicking it on and off presumably to test if there was any fluid left, and then he lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke unfurl from his nose, before his face lit up once more with a mischievous grin. “Oh right. Who was it that you had sex with, again?”

You pressed your lips together, annoyed that he’d remembered. “You don’t know him.”

You couldn’t see his eyes due to the fact that they were covered with tinted lenses, but you were sure he’d narrowed them suspiciously in your direction at this. It was so obvious that you were full of shit, and you knew it. “I know pretty much everyone who goes to our school.”

“He doesn’t go to our school.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced, but you were grateful when he didn’t press on further. He rolled down the window, bringing the cigarette to his plump lips as he backed out of the driveway, hardly bothering to glance over his shoulders. You weren’t entirely sure how he hadn’t been in a car accident yet. Probably just dumb luck, which Michael always seemed to have an abundance of.

You stared out the window for a while, arms crossed in front of your chest as you attempted to avoid the smoke that Michael made no effort to shield you from. The morning sun shone through the window and bounced off Michael’s effortless mop of blond waves, just slightly overgrown, which he’d attempted to neaten with the smallest hint of hair gel.

He looked like something from a movie, you decided, with his leather jacket and laid-back stance, reclined against the back of the seat with one hand resting on the wheel. You couldn’t help but notice his sharp, angular jawline, clenching slightly as he craned his neck to look at the road, and for a moment you almost caught yourself… admiring him.

You shuddered. Absolutely fucking not.

You were halfway to school when Michael decided to break the silence. “So you and (b/f/n) are really done being friends?”

“I mean, I very clearly asked her not to fuck my brother and she did anyway, so yes, really.”  

You saw the vaguest hint of a smirk play at the corners of his lips, his stump of a cigarette dangling out from between them, and you fought back the urge to backhand him.

“So since you’re no longer friends,” he said, putting his cigarette out on the steering wheel and discarding it outside, “you won’t have a problem with us fucking again, then?”

Of fucking course. You should’ve known better than to believe he actually had any sort of interest in what went on in your life.

“I hate you so fucking much,” you murmured.

“I know,” he said, seeming pretty pleased with himself. Why the fuck did your father have to choose the mother of the worst goddamn person in the world to get married to?

Michael pulled up to the school and into his front-and-center reserved parking space, which he’d allegedly won year-round access to in some kind of charity raffle (though you had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with the fact that every staff member at the school was practically up his ass and gave him whatever he wanted). Pulling the blinder down and sliding open the attached mirror, he examined his reflection for an unsettlingly long period of time before turning to you.

“Do you mind, like, not speaking to me when we get out of the car?”

You let out a huff as you stormed outside, swinging your backpack over your shoulders with exaggerated motions that you hoped were noticeable. Then, still not entirely satisfied, you flipped him the middle finger. From the driver’s seat, still entirely calm and composed, he laughed.

God, you hated him.

iii.

How you’d wound up getting a date with one of Michael’s fuckboy friends was beyond you.

You’d been stranded at school, because of course Michael had ditched you after you’d made him wait all of thirty seconds after the final bell sounded. Next thing you knew, a boy, whom you recognized as one of Michael’s friends, approached you as you wandered aimlessly by the front of the school- you’d exchanged the expected pleasantries (oh, you’re Michael’s sister, right? he’d asked, even though it wasn’t even a question, considering he was at your house almost every weekend) before he’d offered you a ride home, which you’d accepted perhaps against your better judgement.

On the drive home you’d made surprisingly easy conversation, and when he finally pulled up in front of your house, he stopped you before you got out of the car.

“I’d love to take you out sometime,” he’d said sweetly. “How about this weekend?”

Apprehensive as you were, you realized what a prime opportunity this would be to get Michael back. Also, he was pretty damn cute, with prominent dimples and curly brown hair and tanned skin. So you’d accepted the offer, and subsequently arranged for him to pick you up at 8:00 that Friday.

You couldn’t wait for Michael to find out.

iv.

“So how was school?” asked Miriam, shoveling a pile of mashed potatoes onto her plate with an unnaturally friendly grin plastered across her face. You always dreaded family dinners- the forced conversation, the fact that you had to pretend to get along with Michael, the awkward periods of silence as everyone quietly chewed on their food. To you, it was a nightmare, but your father insisted on having “quality family time” every night of the week, and so everyone was expected to be around the kitchen table at 6:00 sharp, no exceptions.

Even Michael wasn’t able to get out of the dinners; he’d attempted every excuse in the book, but your father had refused to let up. Tonight Michael had claimed that he had plans to study at the library- an obvious lie, even to your father, who truly thought Michael was some kind of golden boy; you’d reveled in the dejected look on his face as he’d grudgingly sat down across from you, unable to get his way for once in his charmed life.

“Fine,” you and Michael said in unison, responding to Miriam’s question.

“You kids always say that,” said your father. “Did anything interesting happen? Come on, there has to be more than one word to describe how your day went!”

“Well,” you said slowly, glancing up to see if Michael was paying attention; it didn’t appear that he was, his head resting in the palm of his hand, elbow settled on the edge of the table as he twirled and un-twirled his spaghetti on the end of his fork. You decided to proceed anyway. “I actually got asked out on a date.”

Michael’s head shot up to look at you, eyes wide. “No way. By who?”

You scowled at him. “None of your business.”

“It’s one of my friends, isn’t it?” He seemed pissed, perhaps a bit more pissed than you’d expected, and you were curious as to why he even cared so much.

“Maybe,” you said coyly, taking a sip of water. This was even more satisfying than you thought it would be, getting under his skin, and you made a mental note to try and piss him off more often.

“A date?” your father said, eyebrows furrowed in a stern expression. You weren’t exactly the most popular with boys, and so he wasn’t yet used to the prospect of his baby girl being taken out.

“Mhm,” you said, meeting your gaze with Michael’s and flashing him a barely-detectable wink. Goddamn, did it feel good to finally have the upper hand.

“Well, that’s exciting,” said Miriam. “He’s a very lucky guy.”

Michael still appeared to be beside himself. “Which friend was it? Was it Jacob? Matthew? Chris?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious,” he said, balling his fists up on either side of his plate so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Okay, what the hell was his problem?

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to run around with my friends as much as you want, but if I wanna have fun and go out with one of your friends, it’s not allowed? Grow up, dickhead.”

“Language,” scolded your father. You ignored him.

Michael’s nostrils flared, and for a fleeting second, you almost thought he looked cute, all riled up and angry like this. The second the thought crossed your mind, you shuddered, willing it away as quickly as it had come.

“This is different,” said Michael, giving you a pointed look that said, you know what I’m talking about but I can’t say it right now because our parents are sitting right here.

Still, you weren’t actually sure you did know what he was talking about.

“No, it’s not. You’re just mad that someone’s finally giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you spat, abruptly jumping to your feet and picking up your half-full plate of food. “I have homework to do,” you said to your father, not giving him a chance to protest as you hurried over to the sink and dropped your plate in.

/

You’d just gotten settled on your bed when Michael barged into your room, startling you as he burst through the door without warning.

“You know he’s gonna try and fuck you, right?” was the first thing he said, somewhat smug as he leant against the doorframe to look at you.

“You don’t even know who I’m going out with,” you said as dismissively as you could manage, barely looking up from the Youtube video you were watching.

“If it’s one of my friends, he’s gonna try to fuck you, believe me.” He waited for you to react, and when you didn’t, he let out a condescending snort. “Have fun explaining to him that you’re a big fucking virgin.”

This caught your attention, and you averted your eyes up to your stepbrother, his hair just starting to fall from its hold, soft curls clinging to his forehead and neck. He looked so much more innocent like this- sweet, even, dressed in his plaid flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt rather than his usual all-black ensemble. He had one toned arm hooked in front of his chest, long fingers wrapped around the bicep of his opposite arm, his muscles rippling slightly with each movement of his upper body. You licked your lips, mouth suddenly going dry.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked him sincerely, as if he might decide to drop his act and actually explain to you what was upsetting him.

“I don’t have a problem. You know, excuse me for looking out for my little sister.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms for added emphasis, slumping his shoulders dramatically.

At this, you laughed, full and genuine. What a load of shit.

“First of all, Michael, I’m a month younger than you. And second of all, we both know you don’t give a fuck about me. So cut the shit.”

He sneered. “Whatever. I hope you like getting fucked and dumped.”

With that, he turned on his heels, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway and leaving you alone and, quite frankly, confused.

v.

You were in the midst of straightening your hair on Friday night when someone began pounding urgently on the bathroom door. You didn’t have to see the person on the other side, though, to know exactly who it was.

“What do you want, Michael?” You eased the iron down on a chunk of your hair, taking extra precaution not to accidentally burn yourself.

“You’ve been in there long enough,” he said, voice muffled by the barrier of the door. “I need to shower.”

“You showered this morning, dumbass,” you said, setting down the straightener for a moment to apply some eyeliner along the band of your upper eyelashes. You weren’t exactly well-versed in the art of makeup, but considering tonight was the night of your first real date, you’d decided to do some experimenting with the little makeup you owned.

“I have to pee,” he pressed on. You had been in the bathroom for a long time, enjoying yourself as you got ready and listened to music in only your underwear, but in all honesty you were having fun pissing Michael off.

“Too bad.” You brushed some light pink blush onto your cheeks, leveling your head back and forth in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t too much.

There was a scraping noise as the door swung open- that lock had always been faulty. Your arms flew up to your nearly-exposed chest, and your face bloomed deep red as Michael’s pale eyes dropped downwards towards the smooth expanse of your chest. His mouth fell agape before he shut it again, taking a step back, and you could’ve sworn that he, too, was blushing. Or at least it looked that way. It could be the crappy bathroom lighting, you supposed.

He quickly composed himself, poising an eyebrow at you.

“You own a matching bra and underwear set?” he mused.

You shifted, wishing he would just fuck off already, all at once feeling very insecure in your pale pink set that you’d purchased on sale at Victoria’s Secret a few days before. It was your first ever “nice” set of lingerie, and even though you weren’t necessarily planning for anything sexual to happen on your date, you’d thought that tonight would be the perfect occasion to wear it.

“Uh, yeah?” you said, hoping you came off as nonchalant as possible.

“Did you buy that just for tonight?” he asked you with a mocking twinge to his voice, eyes flashing venomously. Your skin prickled in embarrassment, and you looked away.

“No,” you said, picking up the hair straighter again and clamping it around another section of your hair.

“Aww, is tonight the night? Finally getting rid of that v-card?” You focused on your reflection, knowing that the cocky expression no doubt plastered across his face would only serve in making your blood boil.

“Will you just fuck off?” You shoved his firm chest with your free hand, hardly stirring him at all. He snickered, lips twitching at your attempt at being assertive.

“Have fun tonight,” he said in a singsong tone. “But just don’t expect some kind of amazing romantic experience. He’ll probably never call you again once he blows his load inside you.”

Before you could retaliate, he slammed the door shut, and you could hear him laughing to himself as he retreated to his bedroom down the hall. You could still smell his cologne, lingering in the air, even once he was gone.

All at once, a pit formed in your stomach.

vi.

The date was fine, until it wasn’t anymore.

Michael’s friend had arrived at 8:00 on the dot, wasting no time before he began showering you with compliments- he’d remarked that you smelled amazing, making a point to bring his face close to your neck and inhale deeply, which you’d giggled in response to. He’d gushed over how well your maroon sweater flattered your skin tone, eyes just barely ghosting over your cleavage.

First he’d taken you to a diner. Nothing fancy, but you still appreciated the gesture all the same. Over pancakes you’d discussed your plans for after high school, among other things, and you’d been pleased to find how well you both got along.

After dinner was when things had gone downhill. Instead of driving to the local bowling alley, like he’d told you he would, you’d both somehow ended up on the other side of town, parked outside of an abandoned supermarket.

Here we fucking go, you thought to yourself as he shut off the car and stared at you expectantly.

“So,” he said lowly, leaning in towards you while one hand slipped down the side of your seat, pushing down the lever to recline the back. “What do you wanna do now?”

“I thought we were going bowling,” you deadpanned. Perhaps you might have considered doing something sexual with the boy, had he not pulled some shit like this, but now there wasn’t a fucking chance.

“Mmm,” he said, and you cringed at his attempt at sounding sexy as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck. “I think I know a different game we can play.”

You lifted your shoulders up, the suddenness of your motions jerking his head back. “I think you need to take me home.”

He knit his brows, face falling, as he sat upright again. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Very much so,” you retorted, folding your arms in front of you.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

“And you’re a colossal fucking douchebag.”

You hated that Michael had been right about something, and you most certainly weren’t looking forward to explaining what had happened when you arrived home. You felt stupid, naive, but knew you had nobody to blame but yourself. Your heart sank- there was no way Michael would ever let you live this down.

The drive home was completely silent, and the boy didn’t wait for you to get inside before he sped off into the night. Not that you’d expected him to, after he’d revealed himself to be such a complete and utter fuckboy.

It was barely 9:30 when you arrived through the front door, trying your best to make as little noise as possible so as not to alert anyone of your arrival. The second you’d shut the door behind you, the first tear fell- you hadn’t even realized you were on the verge of crying, but now tears were flowing freely down your cheeks. You wiped your eyes with the back of your sleeve, inadvertently staining the fabric with eyeliner, and you let out a second choked sob at the sight.

You reached down to take off your boots, creeping up the stairs with as much stealth as you could muster. The last thing you wanted right now was for Michael to approach you, especially not while you were vulnerable like this.

Sniffling gently, you padded across the wood flooring to your bedroom, gritting your teeth in concentration as you tiptoed past Michael’s room. Your fingers had just barely brushed your doorknob, however, when you heard Michael’s voice behind you.

“Back already?”

You nearly had a heart attack right then, crying out when his voice cut brashly through the silence. You whipped around, no longer worried about preserving your pride, tear-filled eyes squinted in frustration.

“Yep, I’m back. And before you ask, yes, you were right. He was a fucking asshole. Go ahead and laugh, I don’t give a shit.”

He seemed surprised, the amused look on his face faltering ever-so-slightly. “Told you so.”

He tilted his head, leaning his weight onto his shoulder which rested against the doorframe. It appeared like he wanted to say something else, and you raised your eyebrows at him.

“You know, uh, you might feel better if you smoked some weed.” He pointed over his shoulder into his room. For a moment, you were speechless. Was he—inviting you to hang out with him? “I have some good shit. If you wanna smoke some with me.”

You blinked in disbelief. Was this some sort of sick joke? Something about the way he looked at you, though, told you that he was being serious. Giving him a weak half-smile, you patted away the remainder of your tears with the edge of your sleeve.

“You know what? I think I will.”

vii.

Lying on your back, you watched Michael’s color lamp fade from color to color with bated breath, entranced with the hazy display. The world was so much more beautiful like this, you thought, vision blurred around the edges with a soft glow.

You’d never been high before, but after taking one hit from Michael’s bong (and getting laughed at for coughing so hard), you were gone. Michael was just as stoned as you were, his bloodshot eyes drooping at the corners, lying next to you with his hands folded over his chest.

It was probably the first time the two of you had ever gotten along. You’d talked for what felt like hours- about what, you could hardly remember, but your stomach muscles ached from how hard you’d been laughing all night. Maybe Michael isn’t such a dick, after all, you’d thought in passing.

You turned your head over to Michael, whose porcelain skin was bright pink from the light of the color lamp, and without thinking you reached out and touched his cheek.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a smile, full lips curving upwards on one side, voice raspy and thick.

“Your face is pink.”

“So’s yours.”

You both stared at each other before erupting into hysterics, and then, out of nowhere, Michael’s lips were planted hard against yours. It happened so unexpectedly that it took you a moment to register what had happened, but your lips had already begun to move fluidly against his before the thought processed in your mind.

You whimpered, grasping at the front of his t-shirt and twisting the fabric in your palms, his tongue sliding past your teeth and into your mouth. You could taste his favorite cinnamon gum, the flavor melding seamlessly with that of stale cigarettes, and your breath hitched as he rolled on top of you, propping himself up with his arms on either side of you.

You panted breathlessly beneath him, lifting your hand to the back of his neck and pulling him back down towards you. You craned your neck to meet your lips with his again, your teeth clashing noisily as he deepened the kiss. When he pulled away, a silvery string of spit stretched between your mouths.

What the fuck was happening?

“I knew it,” he mumbled against your jaw, sending vibrations through your body and straight to your cunt.

“Knew what?” You writhed as his torso pushed against yours, feeling the hard protrusion in the front of his flannel pants against your thigh.

“That you’re a virgin. You can’t even kiss properly.”

You gaped at him, heart racing when he brought one hand to wander underneath your sweater, gripping your right breast roughly. You mewled at the possessiveness of his touch, sinking your teeth into your lower lip, and he smirked.

“So sensitive,” he remarked. He pulled down the cups of your bra and tweaked your nipple before massaging it roughly with his thumb, earning him a breathy moan from the back of your throat. “Mm, you like having your big brother touch you, baby?”

You nodded fervently, the ache of your cunt intensifying now, his head moving to the crook of your neck to plant sloppy kisses along your throat. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? What you touch yourself thinking about, late at night when you think nobody can hear you.”

Your eyes widened, gasping slightly when he attached his lips to your neck and began sucking a bruise onto the tender stretch of skin. He brought his hand out from under your shirt, running his fingertips along your bottom lip, and obediently you opened up for him.

He slid two of his fingers into your mouth and over your warm tongue, pressing down as he gathered your saliva on the calloused skin. He bit down slightly on your neck before swiping his tongue over the freshly-formed hickey, relieving you of the small bit of pain he’d caused.

“M-michael,” you whined, once he’d pulled his fingers from your mouth. He shifted himself so he was resting on his side beside you, bringing his wet fingers down to your pelvis and undoing the button of your jeans.

“You want your big bro to make you cum on his fingers? Hm?”

The vulgarity of your words sent a fresh wave of arousal between your thighs, and you groaned.

“Hm?” he repeated, moving his hand from the waistband of your jeans to your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“God, yes,” you breathed. At this point, you were too far gone to think about how goddamn wrong this was. You’d never felt this way before, never been so turned on, and there was nothing in the world that could make you want to stop now.

He exhaled sharply in what sounded like a slight chuckle, and he returned his hand to the zipper of your jeans, pulling it down and shoving his hand into your underwear in one swift motion. You melted at the feeling of his damp fingers moving down the smooth layer of hair along your pubic bone, forming small circles over your clit once he reached it.

“Fuck-“ you exclaimed; all his experience with girls must’ve really paid off, because he knew what he was doing- carefully he pulled back your hood, exposing your pulsing clit, and with his middle finger he tapped lazy patterns on the bud.

Your stomach clenched as he dragged his fingers along your slit, spreading the abundant wetness there and sending shivers down your spine. Parting your lips, he pressed one finger to your entrance experimentally, kissing your shoulder almost comfortingly as he eased it inside.

“So fucking tight,” he rasped, sinking his finger further inside you with a lewd squelching sound. It was your first time being penetrated, and it burned as you felt your walls being stretched out, but within seconds the discomfort was overtaken with pleasure. “My little sis is so wet for me.”

He began pumping in and out steadily, your hips rocking against his hand instinctively, and it wasn’t long before he added a second finger; your jaw unhinged at the intrusion, your thighs spreading further to welcome him inside.

“Michael,” you moaned, eyes rolling back when he quickened his pace, repositioning himself so he could thumb your clit with his free hand. He tilted his head up, biting your swollen lower lip and pulling it towards him, toying with your clit so intensely that it was almost too much.

“You wanna cum, baby?” His hot breath warmed your cheek and desperately you bobbed your head up and down.

He slipped his hand out from between your legs, resulting in a disappointed groan passing your lips. Taking hold of the denim material clinging to your hips, he worked down your jeans and tugged them off, leaving you in only the pale pink lacy thong he’d seen you in earlier.

It was crazy, really, how drastically things had changed in a matter of a few hours.

He crawled down the bed and nestled himself between your legs, spreading them once he’d removed the thin scrap of fabric that was your underwear. You were overtaken with goosebumps as the air hit your throbbing core, his lips brushing teasingly over your inner thighs. You bucked your hips up and he snickered, pushing your pelvis back down on the mattress with one hand.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” he purred.

You would’ve shot him a look of distaste, had you not been so worked up.

Slowly, he dragged his tongue up your slit, your hand immediately flying down to tightly grasp at his mess of curls. He glanced up at you from underneath his eyelashes, eyes heavy-lidded from both lust and the THC in his system.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he said, swirling his tongue over your sensitive clit. You twitched, tugging at the root of his hair perhaps a bit too hard, grinding your hips up against his face. Latching his lips around your bundle of nerves, he sucked ruthlessly, sliding two fingers past your entrance for a second time and thrusting them deep.

“That’s it, cum for your big brother.” His words reverberated against your cunt and you cried out, threading his soft hair between your fingers.

He applied even more suction to your clit, turning his fingers inside you and curling them expertly to brush against your spongey inner walls.

It didn’t take much more of this for you to cum, the coil in your stomach snapping without warning. You cried out in ecstasy, your narrow walls tightening around his slender fingers, abdomen tightening as your orgasm flooded throughout your trembling body.

He didn’t stop until you fell back limply into his pillows, chest rising and falling and eyelids fluttering. Finally he pulled away, wiping your juices from his mouth with the back of his hand, a devious grin situated across his lips.

“And to think, all this time I thought you hated me.”

All you could do was roll your eyes.