#amaranthine_enihtnarama

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

ᴴⁱˢ ᴹᵘˢᵉ.

Summary: Charlotte, a talented harpist, attracts Remmick with her music. Against her better judgement, she explores the new frontiers of her desire.

Warnings -> Mentions of the Klan, p in v s3x, oral (f! receiving), oral (m! receiving), doggystyle, cum play, spit play, breath play, blood play, creampie, corruption kink, dom!Remmick, miss girl cannot handle a touch-starved freak like him pray for that cooch mama, not proofread because i'm perfect

A/N: I've become aware that another user has a Sinners OC named Lottie as well--this is a pure coincidence and this story has no association with their character (which I love, by the way!). Truly a sign I need to write faster, though.

Word Count: 10.8k

Lottie had been cooped up inside for weeks when Mama heard of what happened at the Juke Joint a couple towns over. She didn’t go anywhere without her brothers then—although it wasn’t like they didn’t hover before— they stuck to her sides like gnats in a flytrap. It didn’t make any sense to her, why her Mama kept such close watch over her, even though she’d always spin endless reasons why:

“You too pretty, them boys ain’t gon’ act right!”

“You sure as hell ain’t goin’ out with them little fast girls—ain’t bringing back no babies under my roof…”

“You ain’t gone waste your smarts talking to them good-for-nuthin’ boys. You got music to practice fa’ Sunday.”

And on, and on, and on.

It had been summer, too—usually Papa could get his wife to see sense, let the kids go into town under his watchful eye, but the summer after the Juke Joint was different.

Everything after that night was different.

People talked to each other—mothers and aunties, of course, but even the men—pondering their troubles about what they’d heard or what so-and-so might’ve seen under feverish, urgent whisper. Maybe it was from the Klansmen one of the Smokestack twins had killed. Vengeful white men put trouble in the air that reached across sky and land, choking everything in its path. But the white men never came.

Not any new ones, anyhow. Besides, white folks loved Lottie and her Mama—she worked in one of those white men’s houses, and the wife loved having Lottie and her harp traverse the dirt roads into town to sing through their halls. She grew a little famous, even, putting on mini-concerts of Fauré and Debussy for living rooms full of white women, while their patient husbands smoked cigars over brandy in the other room. They would watch her slight, dark hands nimbly dance over the strings with their flutes of champagne on holidays, eyes damn near full of tears—or that’s what her Mama told her, at least.

White folks loved Lottie and her Mama so much the wife hosted her for music lessons on her dime. From twelve to eighteen, she would hitch a ride in someone’s car to meet with Mrs. Desjardins, who was too severe to marvel at her, but too impressed to not impart a compliment.

“You could go somewhere with a gift like that, Charlotte,” she would tell her, “Not too many of you get such a chance.”

But Lottie didn’t think of chances that summer. She heard whispers under the adults’ breath, felt the tension in the air when she played for her church on Sundays, could practically taste the sweat and alcohol and hear the screams echoing out into the unyielding darkness in her dreams.

“I hear there ain’t even no bodies. Just blood and burnt dirt. I tell you, it’s the devil’s work.”

“I ain’t takin no chances with me or my children, Esther,” her mother said, voice hushed, “I mean, how a whole juke joint of folks just up and disappear like that? Just some ashes and some cars. How we know we ain’t next?”

It made Lottie wonder, especially at the worst times when she was the only one awake with the stillness of night to keep her company. She would listen to the crickets and cicadas and feel her heart pound in her chest as sweat trickled down her temples. How could all those people disappear? What was out there, in the darkness, waiting for them?

The thought would make her draw the blinds, trying the get the images of haunts out of her mind so she wouldn’t scare herself to death, but the silence made it worse, pressing down on her mind like the Delta heat.

So, she played.

Softly, so as not to wake anyone else up, especially her brothers, who were already sick of the sight of the thing, always grumbling about having to carry it in and out of the house. No, no, not too loud.

Just soft enough for her to hear. To soothe her nerves. Rêverie did the trick.

Something in the air changed when she played, something she could feel. The night wasn’t so mysterious and vast anymore, full of blood-hungry Klansmen or ghosts and haints. There was no more fear. She could close her eyes, imagine an audience, and play.

She didn’t know the power her playing had, to move people, to heal, to bring God down in the room with you. But she felt Him at night, Him and His angels answering her call, to watch over her and her family through the night.

She didn’t know that one day, the night would answer her call, too.

Years passed, and fear was forgotten for happier times. Lottie managed to pick up piano and become a music teacher. She grew into a woman, too tall and full of curves to be welcomed into a white man’s house by his wife, but received fifty dollars every two months from Mrs. Desjardins, who had her mind set on sending her East. There wasn’t much work for a colored music teacher, but the women she used to play for had begun to hire her for proper gigs. After putting her money together, she’d finally saved enough for a home of her own.

It was a rotting shack at first, but her father and brothers made it up into a proper place to live. Soon enough, talk made it through town of the colored woman music teacher living by the edge of the woods, just outside of town, and gifts poured in to decorate her home. Quilts, drapes, a tablecloth—all mended together by hand by church women. (A shotgun, from her father. A pistol from Freddie, her old schoolmate.)

“Now, all you need is a husband,” her mother told her, “And I won’t have to worry bout nothing no more.”

Lottie laughed at the remark. “Nothing ‘cept some grandbabies making your house a mess.”

Now, she was twenty-three. Too old to be scared of the dark, too busy with students to practice during the day. She practiced her harp late into the night now for work, sitting with God all the while, her fingertips callousing with hours spent perched at her instrument, squinting in the oil-lamp light.

That was when he found her.

It was summer. Too hot to keep the blinds drawn when she desperately needed to let fresh air in, so she’d put screens over the windows and cracked them open. She was working on Vers la source dans le bois, too absorbed in her practice to catch the glimmers of reflective pupils in the trees. Her playing sang into the shadows as her fingers danced over the strings. The music fell onto her ears like rain, drowning out the sweat rolling down her neck, the way her mouth dried with thirst, even the cicadas. Her brows knit in focus and effort as she gracefully traveled back and forth over the strings, her head cocked ever-so-slightly despite her rigid posture, her eyes darting briefly over to the sheet music to check her tempo.

“Ow!”

She winced as her finger slipped, nicking on the string. She stopped abruptly, sucking on her fingertip, then pressing it onto her thigh through her cotton nightgown. Slowly, with a groan, she stretched out her back, then rolled her neck and massaged her hands. She looked around her home as if for the first time, snapped out of her trance.

That was when she heard it: the silence.

It hadn’t just been her playing drowning out the cicadas; they had gone dead quiet in a way that made her stomach drop. She stood quickly, brows drawn again as she swallowed. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room, then peered out of the windows. On the left, there was nothing, just vast expanse under the moonlight. But…on the right…

Lottie was too grown to be scared of the woods, she knew it, but they didn’t sit right with her the moment she saw them. Trouble was, this house was the only one she could afford while still saving money, so she put on her big girl boots and dealt with it. But now, as her skin crawled under the silence, she regretted her choice.

Quickly, she slammed her left window shut and drew the blinds, unwilling to look out the right. She turned out her oil lamp, finding a sense of shelter in the dark, and after grabbing her pistol from the floor right next to her, finally approached the right window.

Her hair stood on her arms.

She could feel it now.

The eyes watching her from the trees.

She couldn’t see a damn thing through that thicket, but she could feel it. It froze her in place. She didn’t want to move closer, not even to close the window.

Don’t stop, the air suddenly whispered. So lovely.

Lottie felt her heart drop down to her stomach as a soft voice carried over the still air. Her heart was beginning to pick up its pace. Surely she imagined it.

Play.

Lottie clicked the safety of her pistol. She most surely didn’t.

She inched carefully toward the window, pulse thrumming in her ears.

“Whoever out there better be ready to get shot,” she warned, the timbre of her voice surprising her.

She didn’t even think she could speak.

Then, they finally appeared: a pair of wolf’s eyes, but too high to be a wolf’s. Her eyes widened as her shoulders tightened. Ain’t no way it was a bear, either.

Something moved in the trees as the eyes came closer, and Lottie’s legs nearly gave as her eyes made out the silhouette of a man. No man’s eyes glowed like that. His voice gently lilted through the window.

“I don’t mean no harm,” he reassured, coming into view.

It was a white man, dark-haired in a button up shirt and suspenders. Despite what he said, the moonlight carved shadows out of his eye sockets that sent a shiver down her spine. She pointed the gun at the window, making him stop and lift his hands in surrender.

“Just appreciatin’ yer playin’s all.”

She squinted, but couldn’t make out his face.

“What the hell a white boy doin’ in the forest this time of night if he ain’t looking for trouble?”

“Ah,” he remarked, a chuckle making his shoulders shake for a moment, “I suppose it is strange on my part, but I happen to live around here.”

“I ain’t never seen you.”

“Nor I you, till tonight.”

He came closer to the window, and Lottie turned her oil lamp back on to see his face instead of the silhouette that made her blood run cold. His features were handsome, but it didn’t put her at ease. He smiled as if it did.

“I happen to play myself,” he continued, revealing a banjo strapped to his torso, “Though not half as pretty as you.”

His eyes fixed onto her in a way that set her teeth on edge.

“I don’t think I’ve heard a harp in ages,” he said, “How’d you come across such a fine piece?”

She frowned, unsure if she should shoot the strange white man or humor him. If he was a man—the glowing of his eyes was still fresh in her mind. He lowered his hands, resting them on his banjo and beginning to pick a melody.

“My name’s Remmick,” he said, “What’s yours, darlin’?”

“Don’t call me darlin’,” she quickly replied.

He rose his eyebrows, smile still playing on his lips. Slowly, she clicked the safety back on and set her pistol down in the chair.

“Charlotte.”

He stopped playing, frowning. “Not Lottie?”

She groaned in discomfort, quickly running up the window and shutting it. His face fell as if in hurt. With a swallow, she drew the blinds and turned down her oil lamp, hugging her knees in her bed.

Remmick started playing again, lingering outside the window. His voice came through the glass.

“Was it something I said, darlin’?”

She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the stranger away.

“Oh, come now, don’t be so scary,” he teased, “I promise I don’t mean ya any harm. Just heard talk of ya, that’s all. Wanted to hear ya play for myself.”

She stayed on the bed, her knees slipping against her sweaty arms. He played the melody a few more times, then suddenly fell silent. Then his voice sounded closer to the window.

“I know you’re not sleeping in there,” he said, “Not in this heat.”

Lottie stared at the curtains with her heart in her throat.

“Whatchu want with me? Get on outta here,” she said, her voice faltering, “I ain’t got no business with your kind—whatever it is.”

Another chuckle. “Just trying to be neighborly. But if you insist—“

“I do.”

“‘Til next time, darlin’.”

She listened to his playing fade away into the night, and let out a sigh of relief as the sound of cicadas returned.

Lottie barely made it through the day in one piece without a lick of sleep. She couldn’t have after the strange man from the woods. Even after an hour had passed, she half expected to hear him coming back to play his melody again and linger outside her window. She laid still in her bed, sweating through her nightgown, until the sun rose.

Under the protection of the sun, she felt less worried about running into him again, but a pit formed in her stomach as dusk came and went.

She locked up her doors and windows, and began to play. Same piece, same practice, but she couldn’t focus, not in this heat. With a sigh, she sat at the harp in silence, wiping her face and neck off with a cool towel.

Then, a tink.

She tensed at the sound coming from her right window, and sat alert.

Tink.

She frowned. Were those…pebbles?

Tink. Tink.

Slowly, Lottie rose from her seat and peeked through the blinds. The moon was bright tonight, so she could make him out easier. He was between the forest and her window, tossing pebbles at the glass. She squinted.

“Boy, what the hell…”

The light of her oil lamp peeked through her curtains, and he stopped tossing the little rocks, walking up to the window and gently tapping on the glass, puckering out his lower lip in mock sadness. She made a face, wiping her forehead again with her towel. Might as well see what the cracker wants this time.

She pulled one of the curtains open, peering at him cautiously. She unlocked the window and cracked it open. She welcomed the slightly cooler air on her skin.

“I ain’t playing tonight,” she said, “Too hot.”

“Oh, you’re breakin’ my heart, lass.”

“Mhm.”

“I s’pose it’s enough just to see your pretty face, though,” he said, devious smile evident in his voice.

She sucked her teeth, turning away from the window.

“You a fool, ain’t ya?”

“Hardly,” he replied, “I’m just too much a gentleman to say it the first time I met you. Playin’ that harp, you look just like an angel.”

The breeze blew the curtains apart gently, and Remmick leaned against the windowsill, grinning as he cocked his head, his gaze meandering her figure as she turned back around, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Doubt you know much about angels, whatever you is.”

“Enough to recognize one in front o’ me, sweetheart.”

She sighed, wiping her neck and chest as she collapsed in her chair.

“It’s too hot for all that nonsense, quit it. Whatchu doin’ back here, anyway? I told you I ain’t want nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean that,” he said, placing a hand on his chest, “I just gave you a little scare, that’s all.”

She didn’t answer. She rose from her seat, taking her towel to the washbin and swishing it around. She wrung it out and wiped her brow, pressing it against the back of her neck for some cool.

“Don’t leave me lonely over here, Charlotte,” his voice called out into the house, daring to sound wounded, “I only mean to be your friend. Little ladies like you shouldn’t be all alone in the night, sitting in the dark, without any friends.”

“Some friend, leering through my window like you do,” she said as she eased herself back into her seat, eyes shut.

“Well, you could always let me inside,” he suggested, no, offered, “Keep ya company through the night.”

Her head snapped over to him, eyes sharp. He smiled at her. She swallowed, looking at his mouth—his…his teeth. They were sharp and glimmering white like a beast’s. She shivered slightly despite having to wipe sweat from her neck again.

“What kinda monster are you anyhow, can’t make his own way into a little lady’s house?”

His teeth glistened in the lamplight. “I told ya I was a gentleman, ain’t gonna force my way in.”

“Can’t get no way in is more like it,” she dismissed, taking a small music program and starting to fan herself with it. She regarded him cautiously.

“I reckon you’d eat me whole if you got in here.”

He laughed softly, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated all the way to her bones.

“All the way up, sugar.”

Suddenly Lottie felt a bit too naked in the thin little nightgown stuck to her skin. She perched slightly in her chair, holding his gaze as he leaned closer to the window, eyes catching a red glow.

“Ain’t seen nothing as sweet as you.”

She pressed her knees together awkwardly, looking away.

“That ain’t no way to talk to nobody. I hardly know you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, gaze pressing through the fabric, “I’ll fix that soon enough.”

In an instant, he was gone. The vice grip around her heart loosened as she took a deep, gasping breath. With a trembling exhale, she closed the window and shut the curtains.

Another sleepless night passed.

“Where you from, anyway?”

Remmick watched her lithe hands strum through the strings of the harp with a pleased smile on his face. Her pulse was racing, he could hear it, but her hands remained steady. His gaze skimmed the slight curve of her back, the fine muscles working in her slender forearms as she plucked through scales. Then she stopped and looked at him.

“You ain’t from round here.”

“I’m from somewhere long lost, darlin’. Nothing you’d know.”

“Europe, I reckon.”

He grinned, but his focus was on her hands.

“Play something, won’t you? Came all this way just to hear you play.”

The heat had lifted a little tonight, prompting Lottie to cover up a bit with a shawl. She adjusted it over her shoulders with a small bow of her head, then went back to passively strumming the strings.

“Whatchu wanna hear?”

“Somethin’ sweet like you.”

He earned a modest smile from her lips as she shook her head.

“ ‘Spose I can do that.”

She took a deep breath, lifted her arms like a dancer’s, hovering them around the strings. She paused to think, then shut her eyes with a purse of her lips.

“I learned this one a while back,” she said softly. “This here’s Tournier.”

Remmick watched in fascination as her fingers began to work the strings in earnest. The melody started soft, but grew to a resonant level under her hands. The sound was cool and soft, lapping at his ears like the gentle caress of a flowing river. He shut his eyes. The Mississippi heat became a memory as visions of a time long passed flashed in fragments behind his eyes. He could see it, taste it even, the rolling green hills of his homeland, the salt of the crashing sea.

The song only lasted a few minutes. He stood still as she masterfully softened the sound again, gently pulling him from his dream as the music concluded. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Lottie cleared her throat, resting her hands on her knees.

“Well, what’d you think?”

His face had softened. He stared at her hands, then looked up at her face. Where her wide brown eyes watched him curiously.

“You’re a precious thing, Lottie,” he told her, voice soft as silk.

She fidgeted with her shawl again, looking down shyly.

“That’s a mighty fine compliment.”

He smiled slightly, still in a daze from what her playing had conjured.

“Might I listen again from the porch?”

She hesitated, but nodded. He disappeared from the window without a sound. Willing herself to stand, she went to the door, bringing the lamp with her. His weight creaked the floorboards, and she slowly wrapped her hand around the knob, almost too nervous to open the door.

“You promise you can’t come in?”

“Not unless you let me.”

For a moment, her body fought her. She rested her forehead against the wood, her breath trembling. He waited patiently on the other side. She could feel him there.

“I promise I don’t mean you no harm,” he assured her.

After a moment of stillness, the locks clicked and the door slowly creaked open. Lottie peeked out from the other side, eyes both curious and weary. She wasn’t sure what good a devil’s promise was, but his voice sounded different. Gentler. She opened the door wider, turning her lamp up so she could see him better.

Up close, he wasn’t half as scary. More beautiful if anything. The warm light kissed his pale skin lovingly, caressing the manly curve of his jaw, the soft blue of his eyes. He looked more like a man than she had imagined possible. She shifted onto one hip, looking down at her feet.

“My, you’re lovely,” he said to her, slowly leaning against the doorframe, “Swear I ain’t ever seen nothing as lovely as you.”

He’d been around too long for that to be true. She slowly met his gaze again through the screen door. He smirked.

“What’s the matter? Man ain’t never told you how lovely you are?”

No man ever came near Lottie. Everyone was too afraid of her Papa to even think of speaking to her in an inappropriate matter. All the boys in town knew he’d come with a shotgun if her Mama caught sight of them looking at her the wrong way. Her brothers grew up big, too, and kept watch like dogs guarding sheep. She used to long for one of them to come in the night, take a chance when the men were fast asleep and her harp sang out the window softly, but they never did. Maybe that’s why Remmick had appeared. Maybe she’d still been calling into the night without realizing it.

His eyes glinted. “Man ain’t never taken care of you?”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she stepped back.

“That ain’t a proper thing to ask.”

“I asked you nicely, didn’t I?”

“Whatchu asking for in the first place,” she hissed back.

His gaze dragged over her face as if he was learning every inch, and he languidly caressed the screen door with the back of his knuckles.

“I’m just tryna figure out what I’ll give you in return for your lovely music. I’m a real generous man, y’know.”

She rose her eyebrows, unamused. “Is that right?”

“Right it is.”

She rolled her eyes and fanned her neck with her shawl. Remmick leaned closer, inhaling her scent. He hummed, hiding his hand behind his back and clenching it into a fist. He could taste it, the sweat on her skin, that slight fruity scent that clung to it.

“You droolin’?”

He quickly wiped his mouth, chuckling a little.

“Look at that,” he remarked.

She eyed him suspiciously. “You tryin’ to eat me?”

He laughed, stepping back from the door. “No, no, I won’t eat ya. Might keep ya, but won’t eat ya.”

She swallowed, frowning at his words. “I think it’s time you went on, Remmick.”

His smile lingered on his lips as he rubbed his lower one with his thumb. He studied her a bit longer, a white silhouette in the doorframe, then descended the steps of her porch.

“You’ll see when I come in,” he said, “It’s not too bad, being kept.”

She turned off her lamp and locked the door. She listened to him play his melody into the night, shutting her eyes with a sigh.

Lottie didn’t know how to feel about it. Being kept. The word echoed in her mind as she watched unsure hands stumble over piano keys inside the chapel, and it made her feel guilty—she couldn’t pinpoint why. The dry air was like sandpaper against her throat as she smiled and gave an encouraging nod to the young boy who glanced up at her in question between measures.

“You’re doin’ just fine, Joe,” she told him.

The boy stopped abruptly and rubbed his hands, wincing. Lottie peered down at him curiously.

“I’ve been playin’ thirty minutes straight, Miss Lottie,” he complained, “Can we take a break?”

Lottie’s heart stopped. Had the time passed that quickly? Why hadn’t she noticed? All she’d been thinking about was…

She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, cheeks burning in shame. Him, she realized. She’d been thinking of him. His strange sounding voice, his slender fingers grazing the screen door, the slight scent of sweat that clung to his skin, the way he’d looked at her.

She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Of course.”

The boy eyed her strangely. “You alright, Miss Lottie?”

Lottie laughed breathlessly. “What makes you say that, Lil’ Joe? ‘Course I’m alright.”

He shrugged, massaging his wrists. Lottie’s mind cleared, and she considered his hands again with newfound perception.

“Play that last part for me again, will you?”

He gave her a rueful look, but obliged. She quickly stopped him before the first note rang out and circled her fingers around his wrists, lifting them slightly then correcting the arch of his hands.

“You gotta hold them like this, okay? Like you’re holding a small baseball.”

“But that hurts worse!”

She tapped his elbows correctively so he’d lift them, then nodded for him to play.

“I can’t, Miss Lottie,” he complained.

With a smile, she lifted her hands to the keys to demonstrate the correct posture.

“Okay, then watch me. I’ll go slow.”

She was about to start playing when the wooden door creaked open, breaking her focus and making her stomach jump in shock. Joe’s father’s eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled as he smiled.

“Didn’t mean to give you a scare, Miss Lottie,” he apologized, taking off his hat as he stepped in, “Just came to get my boy.”

She frowned, checking her watch in confusion. They had about fifteen minutes left.

“We off to visit my mama today, she’s a town over,” he explained, lingering by the doors.

Joe jumped up from the piano bench as Lottie slowly rose, gently closing the piano and gathering up the music from the stand. She watched the young boy ran up to his father and embraced his legs with a smile, following behind him. His father grinned, gathering him up in his arms and resting the boy on his hip, putting his fedora on his son's head. He looked to Lottie warmly.

"Where you headed, Miss Lottie?"

Lottie clutched her music to her chest. "Oh, I don't know, Charlie. Maybe into town, get me something to drink."

She just knew she couldn't go home. Not when Remmick's presence had imprinted itself onto the doorway. She needed a clear head, even for a moment, even if it required corn liquor and muggy, dark rooms.

Charlie flashed a charming smile at her. "Well, we'll walk you there."

Lottie smiled and looked down as Charles offered her passage out of the chapel and closed the door behind them, careful of his son as he went through the doorway. It was high noon—the sun was beaming down with a vengeance today, hotter than usual, with no breeze to grant a reprieve. Charlie and Lottie's feet moved in sync as they walked down the dirt road, squinting under the sun and stealing glances at each other, offering one another polite, fleeting smiles.

"How's work treatin' you," Charlie asked, brown eyes blinking through the sunlight to look at her face. "You seem mighty tired."

Lottie nodded, rubbing her sweaty neck and wiping it off on her dress. She glanced over at Joe pulling Charlie's hat over his eyes to shield them from the sun, and smiled again.

"Work's treatin' me just fine. It's when I'm home the trouble starts."

Charlie's eyebrows rose from their low knit, and he stopped walking, letting Joe down. Joe scampered on ahead, hat bouncing. Charlie eyed Lottie with concern, stepping closer to her in one stride as they started to walk again.

"Ain't a man, givin' you trouble, is it?"

Lottie chuckled. "No, my brothers would've handled any man quite easily."

Charlie hummed, then hesitated. "A woman?"

Lottie gasped, slapping Charlie's arm with her music sheets. "Charlie!"

He let out a deep laugh smooth as molasses, dark forehead glistening in the sun. He stuck his hands in his pockets, cocking his head playfully with a shrug.

"Just askin'."

"Dog," she shot back, a smile playing on her lips. "Bet you'd like that just fine, wouldn't you?"

Charlie squinted at the sky, devilish smile playing on his lips. "Well..."

Lottie shook her head with a chuckle. "You a damn dog. God knows what you teachin' Lil' Joe."

"Aw, no, now, Miss Lottie," he said, "Joe's a good boy. Gonna go to Chicago one day, just like you."

He flashed another brilliant smile, and Lottie was helpless to do anything but be soaked in its radiance. She met his eyes with a small smile of her own, and their gazes lingered on each other for a moment before breaking and focusing on the road ahead. Joe was looking at them curiously, clearly waiting for the slow old people to hurry on up. They picked up their pace accordingly.

"But really, Miss Lottie," Charlie began, eyes focused on his son through the rippling air. "You alright?"

Lottie sighed. That seemed to be everyone's favorite question lately. Her mother, her brothers, Lil' Joe, and now his father. It was only this time, though, that she felt she could answer honestly.

"Somethin's been heavy on my mind," she admitted. "Something...strange."

Charlie nodded, eyes wandering in thought. "What kinda strange?"

Lottie fell quiet, unsure how to begin. How could she explain to Charlie the strange feelings swirling inside her about her dark visitor with the gleaming fangs and beautiful blue eyes? About how he purred, how he smiled, how he always kept coming back despite her attempts to push him off? How could she tell him how it made her feel, for the first time, alive in a way only her music could?

She swallowed, frowning, then abruptly asked--

"What does it mean for a man to keep a woman?"

Charlie paused, taken aback and thoroughly amused. "Thought you said it wasn't a man."

It wasn't, she thought to herself. More animal than man. More creature than human. She quietly fumbled with the worn edges of her music pages, pursing her lips.

"Will you tell me, or not?"

Charlie laughed, then sucked in a deep breath, broad chest puffing up under his overalls and dirtied button-up. He reached for his hat to rub the brim, then remembered it was gone. Awkwardly, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

"Well, Miss Lottie...it means a man's found something real special. Something he can't share with nobody. Something that's...that's got to be all his or he'll go mad."

He stared at Lottie's profile thoughtfully, then cleared his throat and looked away when her eyes slid over to his in question.

"At least, that's what I'd say it means."

Lottie frowned at her shoes in thought, turning the information over in her head. Charlie stole a couple glances at her, then finally spoke again.

"Man want to keep you, Miss Lottie?"

Remmick's soft gaze flashed in her mind, making her breath catch in her throat. Charlie noticed this and tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"Lottie," he said gently, "If a man's botherin' you, all you need to do is say the word and I'm there."

She blinked away the image of Remmick's face, gripping her music pages tightly. Lottie let out an exhale, then gave Charlie a small smile.

"Nothing's wrong, Charlie," she assured him, "I promise. I'd tell you if there was."

She knew not to, but she let him look at her.

She’d play for him, then she’d leave the door open like she ain’t had no sense, and let him linger there, eyes glowing red in the dark as she smoked a cigarette in her bed, knees drawn, her nightgown pooling at her hips. Her chest and thighs sparkled with sweat in the faint lamplight, and she could feel his eyes grazing her bare skin.

She didn’t know why, but something was being drawn out of her by him. Something that liked to be watched. Seen.

She’d look at those glowing embers in the dark and feel some kind of charge build under her skin, a new kind of heat that made the muggy air unbearable. She’d stretch and wriggle slightly in her bed, staring back at them, exhaling smoke as he watched her from the doorway.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to tempt me,” he said to her.

She chuckled to herself, sitting up and grabbing her carton of cigarettes.

“Can devils be tempted, Remmick?”

She took a lighter between her fingers and went over to the door.

“They just as helpless as any ol’ man?”

She opened the screen door slightly, and he pressed himself through the crack, opening it fully. She leaned slightly against the door, blowing cigarette smoke into his face.

“You know what you’re doing, little lady,” he questioned.

She pulled a cigarette from the carton, twirling it between her fingers. She lifted it to his lips, smiling wryly.

“Want one?”

“I take it you don’t.”

“What am I doing, then?”

“You’re playing a game you’re set to lose.”

“I thought you’d love a game,” she said softly.

She gestured for him to come closer, and he did. She placed the cigarette in his lips, then leaned forward to light it with hers, her head peeking out of the doorframe. He inhaled, his cigarette sparking. The corner of her mouth curved slightly, threatening to send him over the edge. He could see her breasts down her nightgown, and swallowed. She quickly ducked back inside, letting out a heavy breath.

“You still scared of me,” he said, smiling, the cigarette hanging from his lips, “I can smell it.”

She just held his stare, finishing her cigarette.

“What ya scared of?” He put the cigarette out on the doorframe. “Scared I’ll fuck you too good?”

He hadn’t said it yet before that moment. He just teased it with his eyes, the rasp of his voice, the way he caged the doorframe like a hungry animal. She licked her lips, taking a shaky breath.

“Oh, don’t get nervous now, darlin’,” he reprimanded gently, “Not after you got me so excited to give you what you want.”

“I ain’t scared of you.”

He tutted at her, shaking his head. “No one likes a liar, baby.”

She honestly hadn’t thought of it before he said it. Now she could see it clearly in her mind. She stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she threatened to cross her own threshold. She was looking at him proper now, imagining what it could be like to feel a man’s touch, or a not-so-man’s touch, and her fingers crept across the doorframe.

“I’m happy to give you what you need, Lottie,” he said, “Just gotta be a big girl and say it.”

She drew her eyebrows, finally meeting his gaze.

“C’mon,” he whispered, “You know I’ll take good care o’ ya.”

Before she could regret it, she grabbed him by the collar and sealed her lips against his, pushing up on her toes to stay behind the doorframe. Then, she quickly jumped back, a line of drool stretching and breaking between them. He looked shocked. Shocked she actually did it, kissed him like that. He didn’t take her to be that bold. Just a little neglected, wanting to toy with him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. It was like watching a foal learn to walk. She stepped carefully near him again, her hands trembling.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she admitted, “But I ain’t never wanted a man much as I want you.”

“I ain’t no man, darlin’,” he said with a grin.

She saw the drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. She leaned forward on her toes again, licking it off. His breath shuddered. She stepped across the doorway, kissing him again, putting his hands on her waist. She nuzzled his neck, taking off his thin suspenders.

“Maybe that’s what I like.”

“Say it,” he told her, “If you’re so big and bad.”

She leaned in to kiss him again but he pulled back, making her weak legs nearly buckle as his glowing eyes peered down at her.

“Come in.”

He smiled.

“Come in and do what?”

His hands palmed the fullness of her ass and squeezed greedily through her nightgown. He could feel her pulse thrumming eagerly as she pressed herself against him, her hips pushing against his.

“Come in an’ fuck me good like you say you can.”

She hooked her fingers into his collar and dragged him in as he kicked the door shut, grabbing the back of her neck and hotly pressing his lips against hers.

“Mm, if you so big and bad,” she breathed into his mouth.

He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back. She whined softly and grabbed at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. His drool smeared against her neck as he bared his fangs against her skin, pressing them against her pulse, feeling how helplessly she melted against him. He gathered up the skirt of her nightgown and dabbed his chin with his fingers, slid his hands between her legs and groaned, pressing her against the wall.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya,” he whispered, fingers rubbing firm circles against her clit. “Tried to show off for me, but you’re just a good girl.”

Her breath fanned against his face as he pressed his forehead against hers, making her hold his stare as he pressed two of his fingers inside her and curled them just right enough to make her eyes fall shut in anguish.

He fell to his knees and pushed her thighs apart, inhaling the smell of her sweat and slick with a growl. He buried his face between her legs without thinking, lapping up her taste greedily before he could remember himself, flicking his tongue against her clit and sucking it until her legs shook too bad for her to stand as she moaned like a sick man. She gripped his hair as her thighs quaked against the sides of his face and clenched as her pussy clamped down on nothing and her body flooded with white hot heat. He groaned into her, only spurred further instead of cooling down.

“Oh god, I can’t—I can’t—“

He held her up by her hips and continued, sealing his mouth over her pussy and circling her clit with his tongue before pushing it inside her. Lottie cried out and grabbed onto nothing desperately, trying not to fall onto his face but gradually sliding lower and lower down the wall as her body melted. Her head was fuzzy and the room was spinning and Remmick only kept going like he was attached to her. Her breath stopped and started as she tugged at her own nightgown and stretched the neck until she came into his mouth with a tortured sob.

She had collapsed on the floor, staring in a daze up at the ceiling as he finally came up from between her legs. His chin and mouth were dripping with sweat and juices. He grinned at her, wiping his face clean and unbuttoning his shirt as she breathed heavily, gently writhing beneath him.

“You’re in for it now, lassie,” he warned, tugging his shirt off, “Sun’s coming up soon, I ain’t goin nowhere, and neither are you, are ya?”

She shook her head slowly, struggling to move. He laughed softly.

“Don’t tell me you’re all tuckered out now, I haven’t even started.”

“No man…ever licked me like that before,” she said under her breath.

“That’s a real shame,” he lamented, shaking his head, lowering himself between her legs again. “Want me to do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

He kissed down her thighs, inhaling deeply, eyes shut as he brushed his nose against her soft skin. He moved slower this time, each kiss getting a slight twitch out of her as it connected, listening to her breath hitch in her chest every time his tickled her pussy. His head dipped low, and Lottie took a deep, heavy breath as he pressed his full tongue against her clit and dragged it up slowly as if he’d already forgotten her taste. The sensation was unbearable, her sensitive nerve endings enveloped by his mouth, velvet tongue sliding up and down and side to side as she pushed into him, her legs pried open by the strength of his hands, her back arching off of the floor.

“Like that?”

“Mmm,” she groaned, sliding her fingers into his dark hair.

His teeth gently scraped against her clit, making her hips buck up in response.

"Attagirl," he whispered.

His tongue danced nimbly against her clit as if he’d already been doing it a lifetime. For all Lottie knew, he had--he was devouring her like a man starved, rough fingertips digging into bruising, soft flesh. She suddenly lurched forward and cried out, nearly sitting up straight before collapsing onto her right elbow and keening against his tongue. The feeling was impossible enough, but the noises...the sounds of slurping and sucking and his feverish, guttural groans against her core sent her over the edge. She could see white out of the corners of her eyes before they rolled back, and her mouth fell open. No sound came from her lips as heat consumed her body like a possession--this must be what it felt like to have some kind of demon take control of your limbs, rip your soul from its throne within your heart. Choked, stuttering breaths broke free from her throat, and she slowly crumbled onto the ground, a tremor rolling down her spine and colliding with Remmick's greedy mouth.

Sweet Jesus.

Her mind was fuzzy for a moment, but he didn't give her one. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder, one hand securing her by her ass. Her thighs trembled as she blinked away tears in her eyes that she didn't realize were there. She had barely sucked in any air into her lungs before he tossed her onto the bed, knocking it all out of her chest as she bounced.

Her glassy eyes made out Remmick’s silhouette as he closed the windows and tugged the curtains shut, leaving her in complete darkness. Lottie held her breath again as she waited, listening to him rustle around, kicking off his boots and taking off his pants. She sat up and fumbled around in the dark blindly until she clutched the oil lamp, jumping back at the residual heat, then turned it on with trembling, clammy hands and set it on the chair.

She only saw a flash of pale skin and he was on her. Lottie gasped weakly as his fingers curled painfully into her hair, tugging roughly to keep her eyes on his. Her heart pounded wildly as those small suns pierced into her soul. Her ragged breathing made him smile.

"Now, darlin'," he said, leading them both to her bed with every step, "I'm gonna need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

She fell into sitting on the bed and found herself met with his cock. It bobbed gently between his thighs, risen to attention, already leaking with precum. It was thick, small veins protruding on the sides, and the sight tortured her—she needed it. He yanked her head upwards to make her eyes focus on his. He tilted his head, smiling.

“Baby, I asked ya a question.”

It was too much to ask of her to speak anymore. Instead, Lottie reached up her back to start to undo the buttons of her nightgown to answer, fingers trembling as they struggled to grab hold of the tiny buttons, spent arm muscles strained in the awkward angle. Remmick watched as the cotton fabric went limp around her chest, exposing her fine clavicle bones, the gentle swell of her breasts, the dainty points of her dark brown nipples. Her breath trembled as she nervously peeled it off, looking up at him for approval, for direction.

His hold in her hair loosened as he stepped closer, grabbing her chin and slowly circling her lips with his thumb. She parted them, and, balling up her nightgown into fists on her thighs, closed her lips around it, letting him ease the pad of his thumb further down her velvet tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took a stuttering breath, knees falling open on their own—much to Remmick’s pleasure. He nudged her chin, making her eyes open. They stared up at him with that same look that drew him in the first night he’d seen her: soft, sweet, lost.

“Don’t take your eyes off mine,” he said, dragging her mouth open with the force of his hand, “Don’t even think of it.”

She shook her head slightly to show her agreement, and he tilted her head further upward, releasing her tongue from his hold.

“I’ll take good care of you, okay? Real good.”

He leaned over her, staring achingly at her open her mouth. She was perfect, already so obedient, waiting on him to do as he pleased. So good.

It was a shame he had to ruin her.

“Gimme yer tongue,” he instructed softly.

Shyly, she obeyed, pink tongue glistening in the lamplight as she stuck it out. Without missing a beat, Remmick’s thumb caressed her jaw as he leaned further down and slowly spit into her mouth. She made a soft, timid sound of surprise, her eyes widening as it trickled to the back of her throat, slimy and alien. She never thought it’d be so easy, but she could feel the spark of desire squeezing her thighs together again.

Straightening up, he hooked his thumb against her teeth and opened her mouth wide, relishing in the confusion that glistened in those brown pools as they remained fixed onto his gaze. He placed his other hand on the crown of her head, positioning her before using it to take hold of his length. His breath shuddered as he teased his tip against her wet, soft lips and watched her gaze soften with desire, begging him to go further. So he did.

He was going to be gentle with her, he’d promised himself. Nothing too harsh, lest he scare her away. But when he felt the way her mouth sucked him in, saw her pretty little lips wrapped around his cock, he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the base of her head again and pushed, easing his hips further into her mouth in greedy lust. He sucked in air sharply, brows furrowing as he moved her head—her mouth—slowly along his shaft to ease her into what he was about to do to her despite himself. She moved in sync, a soft moan rumbling at the back of her throat, the vibration barely reaching his head as his breath shattered out of him. His eyes flashed down at her in surprise.

“Careful, lass,” he warned, but she didn’t listen. She flattered her tongue against him instinctively, one of her beautiful, sacred hands reaching up to close around the base of his cock, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk forward. “F-Fuck…”

His fingers lifted slightly off of her skin as she eased off of the bed, her nightgown falling and pooling around her knees as they met the wooden floor. Remmick lifted his head slightly, staring down at her in disbelief as she dragged her mouth back along his length, took a small breath that teased his cock with cool air, and then enveloped him in that soft warmth again, pushing up on her knees. His hand moved from the base of her head to her hair, tugging her forward, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. She allowed it, moved into it, pressing her breasts against his thighs as she moved her hand away and let him sink deeper into her mouth. He hissed quietly, hips snapping a bit as the tip of his cock pressed hotly against the back of her throat. He held still, pulling her further, daring to slip past into her throat. A violent gag erupted from her body, making her lurch and cling onto his legs as if it would help.

“Don’t move,” he breathed out, firm hold returning to the base of her head, “Stay fuckin’ still.”

Her nails dug into his skin as another gag built up inside her that she fought to keep down. Remmick’s hips keened forward, testing as she tried to breathe, to get any sort of relief, but failed. Everything, every sense she had—her taste, her smell—it was all him. His eyes shut as his head tilted back. He reared his hips back slowly, only to for Lottie to lean forward, determined to take all of him like her body begged for, but he grabbed his cock and pulled it out of her mouth roughly, tutting his tongue.

“What did I just tell you?”

She caught her breath, hands falling to her lap. Remmick sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“ ‘M sorry,” she managed to say, head spinning as her eyes blurred, “I just…need you.”

And she did. Painfully. Her lips trembled as she watched his part thoughtfully, his knuckles caressing her cheekbone tenderly. Her eyes were teary, but Remmick could see the quiet determination in them, the hunger, the need. It was only the gentlemanly thing to do to oblige her.

He gathered up her hair in his hand and her mouth fell open naturally, tongue finding his head like it was the only place it belonged. Remmick allowed it, fascinated by the woman he was now watching worship his cock who had trained a pistol on him barely a week ago. She curved her tongue underneath his shaft and licked up its length, tilting her head to keep her eyes on his like he’d told her to. She let spit bubble from her mouth and, with quivering breaths, spread it slick over him with her lips, watching him melt into her touch as a heavier, deeper sigh escaped his lips.

“That’s a girl,” he said, voice barely a rasp escaping his throat.

She took him into his mouth, eyes flitting up expectantly. He grinned, fingers curling roughly against her scalp.

“You want me to fuck every little part o’ ya,” he muttered, forcing his cock down her throat, “Is that it?”

The sensation was so intense that Lottie felt each thrust echo through her whole body. He didn’t give her time to gag on him, just take his force, his heat, and all of it pooled between her legs as weak moans vibrated out of her. She placed one hand on the floor between her thighs to steady herself, pressing her arm against her swollen clit and squeezing around it to find some release—Remmick was too distracted by the sensations of her mouth to stop her.

She pressed against her wrist, grinding slowly until Remmick abruptly stopped, pulling out of her mouth with a pop. She made a soft whine, trying to catch him. He raised a brow, tugging her head back.

“Think yer slick, rubbing your pussy like that?”

She swallowed against her sore throat, eyes trailing away shyly. Remmick grinned, but dropped it as soon as she managed to meet his eyes again. She really was too perfect. He leaned down, grabbing her by the throat and standing her up on her weak legs. She gasped, hands fluttering around his on her neck, nearly stumbling over her feet. His eyes meandered her lovely, ruined face.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispered, grinned creeping back in again, “Can’t help yourself, can ya?”

She shook her head feebly against his strength, pussy throbbing. She needed him, and she needed him now.

“Please,” she begged quietly.

He leaned his head toward her, moving her closer by his hold on her throat, making her gasp as she was lifted to her toes. She could feel herself getting lightheaded, she hadn’t gotten enough breath after his cock had smothered her before.

“What was that, darlin’?”

“Please,” she choked out, “Please…fuck me.”

He smiled, looking down at her quivering lips, her trembling hands holding onto his securely around her neck. He squeezed gently, toying with the flesh, then pulled her closer to place a soft, slow kiss on her lips. She gasped for air as their lips parted, their mouths slick with saliva and laced with each other's taste, grabbing onto his shoulder and rubbing her thighs together desperately.

"I could snap your neck," he said softly, brushing dark coils off her forehead gently, "I could kill ya without even trying."

He lifted her up a bit more, eyes studying her face as if he was thinking it over, and Lottie couldn't believe how good it felt to be weak, at his mercy. Remmick chuckled.

"I could kill ya, and all knowing that does is make ya even wetter?"

He tossed her back onto the bed, listening as she yelped and gasped for air, rubbing her throat and crawling further onto the bed. Remmick climbed on top of her, admiring the handprint he'd left on her neck, caressing it gently with his fingertips and watching her shiver. He smiled, shaking his head.

"No one knows, do they?"

"Know wha--mmm..."

She eagerly closed her mouth around his fingers, sucking on them as he slid them out of her parted lips. Remmick couldn't help but chuckle again as he parted her weak legs, slowly pressing his two digits inside her slick pussy. He pursed his lips and hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Ooh, no one 'cept me knows."

He slowly dragged his fingers across her spongy walls, curling and pushing them out and in, admiring her slickness as she moaned, grabbing onto his arm as her knees bent to open up more for him.

"Please," she begged, " 's not enough..."

Her head fell back into the bed as he pushed his fingers inside roughly, that wicked grin permanently plastered on his face. His thumb pressed against her clit and rubbed as he picked up his pace with his fingers, watching her hips rock in sync, her pussy desperately closing around his digits and squeezing tightly as she whimpered and came.

"Oh," he murmured in mock surprise, "That easy, baby?"

Lottie felt close to weeping. Her body was on fire--each release only made the feeling worse, the ache for his length to be pounding inside her until his seed quenched the flame raging between her feverish thighs. He slid his fingers out, sliding them into her mouth and smiling as she sucked off her own juices, too hungry for his skin to be put off by the taste. She whined as he slipped his fingers out of her mouth again, grabbing his hand and cupping it against his cheek so he could feel what he was doing to her; the heat...it was unbearable.

"I know," he muttered affectionately, "I know."

His hand slid back to her neck and gripped it tightly as he pressed himself on top of her and kissed her forcefully. Her fractured breath burst out of her nose as she kissed him back, her mouth opening wider for their tongues to meet. The heat on her skin grew stronger each time their jaws moved together, and she began to lose herself in the feeling, the agonizing blaze becoming a little easier to bear, so long as he never stopped kissing her, so long as he never stopped grinding his shaft against her puffy folds and groaned into her mouth. He broke his mouth away from hers, peppering kisses on her cheeks and grunting into her ear.

"You need it, darlin'?"

Her words slurred out, mind numbing out as she struggled to find them. "Fuck, please--"

"You sound so good when you beg," he whispered against her cheek, lining his hips up with hers. "Keep doin' it."

She groaned heavily as he dragged his tip against her cunt, teasing her entrance. "I need you to fuck me so badly, please don't make me wait anymore."

Another whine escaped her lips as he pulled her upright, holding her against his chest as he lined himself up with her cunt then slowly, excruciatingly, eased her onto his cock. Her weight leaned onto him as an overwhelming wave of relief weighed down her limbs, tears pricking at her eyes. It was good, it was so good, it felt impossible to bear. Slowly, with shuddering breaths, she pressed herself deeper so she could fill herself up to the brim with his length, whimpering at the feeling of his engorged head kissing her cervix. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his hands slid up her back and fastened onto the base of her neck, holding her down firmly as her hips slowly rocked against him.

"So good," she slurred, lips smushed against his neck as she gasped, " 's so good, Remmick..."

Lottie's mind swirled into nothingness as her body moved on its own, picking up the pace. She had never felt so full, so complete, and the friction of him against her sweet spot made her keen onto him, shuddering breaths slowly evolving into moans as Remmick's breath grew heavy against her breasts.

"Fuck, baby," he uttered softly, inhaling that fruity scent, pressing his lips into a firm line. "You gon' give it all to me, huh?"

She nodded, eyebrows creasing as she bit down on her lip. The bed began to squeak as they rocked against each other, shaky moans and heavy grunts filling the room. Lottie could feel something sharp digging into her skin, dragging down her back, but the pain only made her squeeze around him as she cried out, grinding against him harder, a surge of energy striking through her like a second wind.

"That's it," Remmick encouraged, voice quaking as his forehead wrinkled, "Oh, that's a girl."

Her hips began to rock and down as she clung to him, desperately trying to create more friction inside her, her folds dragging against ever little ridge of his cock, her pussy clenching and sucking him in as her ass began to bounce off of his thighs, Remmick's hands quickly shifted to her hips, claws digging into her sweaty stomach and lower back as he moved with her, his gravelly moans filling her ears.

"All those boys lookin' at ya," he breathed into her ear, "Thinkin' you're so pure and innocent, scared to touch ya..."

The thought made Lottie groan in frustration as her teeth broke her skin. Remmick moved her hips, his strength lifting her up and down on his cock, claws scratching her thighs and ass as the slivers on her back and stomach began to weep out droplets of blood. His nose flared, fangs peeking out of his gums at the sweet aroma of arousal that poured from the ruby red substance.

"I ain't scared to touch ya," he said, "Am I?"

Lottie shook her head, straightening up and tilting her head backward, tears spilling out of her cheeks. Remmick stopped moving her to grab her chin and kiss her, tongue swiping over her bloodied lips as he let out a soft growl. She whimpered, afraid to open her eyes and see the monster she could feel against her nude, slick body, hanging onto the back of his neck as their tongues met and another painful wave of heat burned through her muscles.

"You taste so sweet, darlin'. So sweet."

Remmick lifted her up to her knees--much to her weak noises of disapproval-- and turned her around, pushing her face into the patchwork quilt and pressing his hand into her back to ease it into a curve. He bent over, tongue greedily skimming the blood on her back, and gently nipped at her neck with his fangs.

"Please--please--"

He caged her body underneath his, leveraging his weight above her, spitting in his blood-smeared hand and stroking his length. "I'm putting it back in, baby."

He did it in one rough thrust, taking all the air out of her lungs. Her breath rasped as he eased his hips against hers, the tip of his cock pressing firmly into the deepest crevices she didn't even know she had. He hooked one hand around one of her hips, leaning on his other, which he placed lovingly on her head, and shifted his hips back and forth slowly to ease her into the new angle he was piercing her with. A string of breathy moans broke through her lips as she gripped onto the quilt, swallowing as heat and slick filled her pussy and gushed around Remmick's cock. He let out a breathy chuckle, then a whimper as his hips moved faster until they drove against hers, making the headboard crash against the wall.

"Oh--my--oh my god," Lottie squeaked, leaning desperately into him, "Oh my god!"

He dug his claws into her punishingly. "Bad word, dove; dirty word."

She cried out, hand flying back to squeeze his wrist and try to tug his claws off of her. He loosened his fingers to ease the pain, watching the muscles in her back shudder and relax. The headboard hit the wall loudly, overpowering the sounds of skin against skin, whimpering, and Remmick's low muttering into Lottie's ear.

"You make the perfect whore, ya know that? You're my perfect little whore," he said hotly into her skin, "I'm not sharing ya with anybody--you're mine. All mine."

Lottie could feel it building at the base of her spine. She tried to lift a weak arm to touch herself, but couldn't manage the strength. With a pained grunt, she backed into his thrusts, making the bed rock fully. It felt like the walls were shrinking, closing in, stealing air from her lungs as the ball of fire inside her built and built until she shrieked.

Her vision went white, and she shuddered violently underneath Remmick's body, trying to bear the force of release that was overtaking her. She thought her brain would melt inside her feverish head and leak out of her ears. Remmick gave two more stilted, harsh thrusts, but the way she squeezed around him was too much. He dug his claws into the quilt, tearing the fabric, fangs baring as hips stuttered and locked against her, cum spilling inside her, hot and fast as her blood.

"Remmick," she gasped, "Remmick, it's inside--"

She moaned as he covered her mouth, grunting, relishing the feeling of emptying into her as she softened beneath him, hips keening into him. Remmick caught his breath, slowly straightening up, fingers gently grazing her back. Lottie's hands trembled as she lay still, eyes shut, the fever mercifully broken.

"Shit," she whispered, inhaling deeply through her nose.

Remmick smiled at the remark. "You liked that, didya?"

Still inside her, he laid them down onto their side delicately, mindful of her cuts. She let out a deep sigh, reaching for his hand and pulling his arm over her waist to hold her closer, intertwining his fingers with his.

"You a real generous man, Remmick," she said, weak smile forming on her lips. "Real generous."

Remmick chuckled, pressing a soft kiss onto her neck. He eyed the baby blue light of the morning against the white drapery, then looked back down at Lottie’s peaceful face. He brushed the hair off her forehead and kissed it, listening to the crows calling outside.

[olenoname]

Gods and Monsters - Chapter 1 - amaranthine_enihtnarama - ワンパンマン | One-Punch Man [Archive of Our Own]

Not my work but had to share

Garou x black reader

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

This Must Be The Place | skins

one | the passenger

“Shit.”

Imani checked her watch again, peeking out of the bus window impatiently as she perched by the double doors. Thirty minutes late and counting on her first day to school—well, college here. She tapped her foot as the bus came to a slow break then burst out the doors, squinting under her shades from the sunlight. Cradling her iPod against her chest and clutching her black purse, she jogged towards Roundview College and through its empty halls, breezing by a couple of stragglers and inhaling a bit of smoke, noticing an extinguished locker as she rushed to class.

“Fuck me, fuck me…”

She came to a harsh stop as she found the classroom number and caught her breath, lingering for a moment to compose herself, pausing Siouxsie and Banshees and shoving her iPod into her bag. Then, with a disappointed sigh, she opened the door. The whole classroom’s eyes fixed onto her, but she didn’t notice, looking at the teacher as she pulled off her sunglasses.

“I’m so sorry, I slept in too late—still jet lagged.”

She offered an uneasy laugh, but the man waved his hand in brazen dismissal.

“Least you’re here. Go to a desk, introduce yourself after that one.”

She eyed him strangely then turned too look to where he was pointing. It was a tall, spindly kid with a face splattered in freckles and acne. He stared at her with small, close-set green eyes that seemed intent on drilling directly through her skull. Yeah, not sitting there. She looked around for a moment, then settled on retreating to the back next a blonde girl with impressive cleavage. She gave her a nod, setting her bag on the table as the girl looked her up and down.

“Henry,” the spindly kid said, finally pulling his stare off of her. “Got six sisters.”

“Lovely,” the teacher said, scribbling on a clipboard. He pointed to her. “Go ahead.”

Slowly, Imani rose from her seat, surveying the class again as she tapped her leg with her sunglasses. She was about to smile, but stopped herself, thinking of how much the teacher seemed pleased by it.

“Imani. Washington.”

Silence hung in the air as the sea of faces looked her expectantly. Involuntarily, she smiled again.

“Sorry, is there something I’m supposed to say?”

“One interesting fact about you,” the teacher told her with an edge of impatience.

She nodded, “Right. Well…um…”

Her eyes scanned the room as she racked her mind. A few interesting faces out of the crowd. One of them, a girl with long brown hair, fishnets, and a neck drenched in chains, gave her a slight acknowledgement when their gazes met, but her eyes were unreadable. Another was a pair of red-haired twins.

“I’m from California. I speak some French. I love Camus.”

“Must not teach you how to count in America, that was three.”

She rose a brow at the teacher’s remark, sitting back down in her seat as a couple chuckles passed through the room. This one’s a charmer.

“Next.”

Imani let out a puffy sigh and sunk down into her seat as another boy rose to his feet, rubbing her forehead. Suddenly, she felt it tingle as if someone was watching her and tensed, lifting her gaze and dreading to look at the green-eyed boy again. This one was different, though; he sat by the window. He was handsome enough that Imani could actually stand to look back, but then a strange, broad grin formed on his face that put her off. She scrunched her nose and put her sunglasses on, facing forward. Doubt the teacher would give a shit.

“You’re American, yeah?”

She tilted her head slightly toward the girl next to her. “Yeah, L.A.”

A bright smile formed on the blonde’s face. “Los Angeles? Like, Hollywood?”

“Like Hollywood,” she affirmed dryly, pressing her lips together in a polite smile back.

“That’s so class,” she exclaimed. She flipped her pin-straight hair, leaning towards her as if to confide something of grave importance. “You know, I want to be an actress, actually.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yeah, for real. I’ve been in a play already; I was one of the witches in Machbeth, I think. Crazy, that one.”

Imani nodded slowly, watching uneasily as the teacher pulled out a CD. “Do we actually learn anything in this class?”

“I’m auditioning for a play today, actually. A musical sort of thing. I can’t sing for shit, really, but it’s good for experience.”

“Ah.”

She glanced over to the window again, seeing the boy was still watching her. She shifted uncomfortably until she realized his focus had moved from her face to her colleague’s breasts, which he happily grinned at as he teased the cap of a pen between his teeth. With a face of disgust, she reached for her bag and pulled out her iPod again, plugging her ears with the buds and pressing play. Siouxsie started up again as she leaned her head against the wall, her eyes growing heavy again now that she had settled. She’d nearly nodded off waiting for the bus to come too, but the was before she checked the time. It had only been eight hours since she’d landed in Bristol, and within that time she’d endured an uncomfortably long drive from the airport with her father and a subsequently quiet dinner, then four hours of sleep before she’d realized her father had gone off to work and she’d have to take the bus to school. Not school, she reminded herself again, college.

The flights between Los Angeles to Bristol granted a total of thirteen hours awake straight since she couldn't sleep on planes. She was due for a siesta.

Siouxsie lulled her into rest as she made herself comfortable, crossing her arms and letting out a sigh.

I am the passenger, I stay under glass…

Her breaths grew deeper as some commotion occurred in the room. She didn’t open her eyes to investigate.

I look through my window so bright, I see the stars come out tonight…

Her shoulders relaxed, and she knocked out quick.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

“Ms. Washington.”

Imani sat still in her chair, lips slightly parted in deep sleep.

“Ms. Washington.”

She stirred slightly and turned her head, one earbud finally descending from her ear and nestling in her braids. The teacher peered at her, leaning closer.

“Ms. Washington?”

“Ungh!”

She woke with a start, shooting up in her seat, her forehead colliding with his. He cried out, stumbling back as Imani took off her sunglasses in a daze. She frowned, touching her forehead as it throbbed, then looked at the teacher in surprise and flew to her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, but the teacher cut her off.

“Fine. It’s fine. Just…get out.”

She nodded and grabbed her leather coat off of the back of her seat and her purse from the desk. Gingerly, she stepped by him as he groaned and muttered to himself under his breath. The hallways were full of commotion now as she slid past other students. She wanted a locker close to the library, just like back home, then she’d get something to eat after setting her things down.

“Fuck me, I didn’t know they made ‘em like you!”

Imani paused, unsure if the voice she’d just heard was directed to her. She didn’t want to turn around, either, lest she encourage whoever said it to her if they had. It was directly behind her, signaling it likely was meant for her ears, but she simply decided against that and kept on walking.

“Hey, didya hear me?”

She cleared her throat in annoyance, weaving past a large cluster of students gathered in the center of the hall. A hand suddenly grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around. It was, she discovered with dismay, the same boy with the strange grin from before. Her expression shifted into brief disgust, then she looked away. He frowned at her, stepping closer and trying to catch her eye.

“You ignoring me?”

“That seems to be that case,” another voice said.

“Fuck off, JJ,” he shot back.

Imani tugged her arm out of his hold and began to walk away briskly, eyebrows drawn. He followed quick on her heels, calling after her.

“Oi! American girl! I’m talking to you!”

She payed him no mind and dove into a group of conversing students. They exclaimed in protest, but she ignored them and made a sharp turn right, quickly slipping into the nurse’s office when she read it as unoccupied. She quickly closed the door behind her and put her back against it, hand clutching the knob tightly. Sure enough, three sets of footsteps appeared soon after.

“Shit,” the same voice hissed, “Some fucking manners.”

“Let’s just leave it,” a new voice suggested.

She discreetly peeked through the window, taking a look at her pursuers. The one who grabbed her was the shortest of the bunch, with a pierced ear and a slim build under his form-fitting red v-neck sweater. There was another with curly hair, who Imani noticed had an interesting blink, that had a slight smile on his face as he watched his friend search the hall like a falcon, jaw tense. Then there was the last one. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment. He was tan-skinned with dark hair that swept over his dark, almond-shaped eyes. He was tall and slender with a bookbag slung over his shoulder. He was cute. Looked sweet.

“That’s got to be the first time I’ve ever seen a girl run away from you, Cook,” the curly-haired one remarked, smile revealing his braces.

“Fuck off, JJ!”

The red one gave him a shove before staring down the hall one more time. Her breath hitched as he stood still, and she retreated behind the door, turning towards the room. That’s when she came face-to-face with the same girl from her class seated on the desk with a cigarette hanging from her mouth half-naked. Her lips curved into a smirk as Imani’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Fuck it, let’s go to the pub.”

Imani let out a sigh as the footsteps departed. She dropped her bag and coat to the ground, turning to peek out of the window again before letting her shoulders slump and leaning against the wall.

“I see you’ve met Cook, then.”

She turned to face the girl as she spoke to her. They held each other’s gazes for a moment in silence, brown on blue. The girl had delicate, foxlike features and an unbelievably slender figure. To be honest, Imani had never seen such a beautiful girl before in her life. She looked like a fairy. A naked one, but still. She lit her cigarette then slid off the desk, walking over to Imani.

“I’m Effy,” she said, offering her cigarette. “You’re Imani, right?”

Imani nodded, taking the cigarette from her fingers and having a drag. Effy smiled enigmatically at her.

“He’s not a bad fuck if you let him catch you,” she said, “Cook, I mean.”

Imani’s face broke into an amused smile and she laughed, passing the cigarette back to Effy.

“I’ll keep that mind, thanks.”

Seemingly pleased by the reaction, Effy turned away and dressed again, which only consisted of an oversized shirt over her underwear and fishnets. She regarded Imani in silence, a pleasant curve settled on her pink lips.

“You fancy a spliff?”

The girl frowned. “A what?”

“A joint.”

“Oh,” she remarked in understanding, giving it some thought. “We don’t have more classes?”

Effy shook her head, eyes fixed on her cooly. Imani picked up her coat and bag, then noticed the barely lit joint on the floor. She picked it up, examining it, then gave Effy an inquisitive look. Effy only smiled again, opening the door. Imani pocketed it and followed her out.

“So, what are you doing in England,” Effy asked as they walked through the hall.

Imani glanced around, noticing all the stares fixed on her newfound acquaintance, and tugged her jacket closer to her side.

“My dad and I just moved. He got a new job in London, decided to drop me here.”

Some of the stares began to shift to her, too. Imani sighed, looking down at her feet. Effy glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“You live alone?”

“A bit, yeah. He comes back for the weekends.”

“Your mum not there?”

Imani offered a wry smile. “She’s in New York.”

“Which one fucked up?”

Imani looked at her in surprise, then smiled again. “They’re so classy about it, you wouldn’t know.”

Effy smirked at her. “Sounds nice. Wish I was so lucky.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Yeah.”

Effy passed her the cigarette, and Imani finished it. They headed for the crowded entrance. Imani pulled on her coat, flipping her braids out of its back after.

“Want to come over? I got a shit ton of leftovers and empty space. Wouldn’t mind company.”

Effy smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

“Effy, there you are!”

The pair turned around as a girl with skewed blonde ponytails ambled up behind them, bright blue eyes alight with excitement. She seemed to be wearing some kind of…ninja outfit, if Imani wasn’t confused, which a lot of folks seemed to be wearing around the school.

“Hey Pandora,” Effy greeted, “This is Imani, she’s from the States.”

Pandora’s eyes met hers, then widened, scanning her face.

“Blimey, you’re gorgeous! You a model or something?”

Imani chuckled. “No, but thanks.”

“Well you’d make a perfect one, wouldn’t you?”

Imani shrugged.

“Panda, we’re going over to Imani’s house. Wanna come?”

“Can I?”

Pandora’s eyes shone at Imani, who couldn’t refuse. With that, the trio headed to the bus stop and waited for their chariot home.

“Effy, I mean it, I really want to surf n’ turf this year,” Pandora insisted, “You’ve got to show me how.”

Imani frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Sex,” Effy clarified.

“Oh.”

“Have you ever surfed n’ turfed a boy, Imani?”

“Yeah, a few. Mostly boyfriends I had to hide from my dad.”

It was Effy’s turn to be amused. “Boyfriends?”

Imani shrugged, rising to her feet as the bus arrived. “A few.”

“You mean you’ve been in love,” Pandora inquired excitedly.

She smiled. “A couple times, yeah.”

Effy smiled to herself sardonically as they seated. Pandora leaned over her, eager to uncover more.

“Well? What’s it like?”

Imani leaned back slightly toward the window. “Well it depends, really. Different kinds of love comes from different kinds of people. Each of them teach you something about yourself. Makes you a better person.”

“All kinds makes you better?”

She frowned, looking out the window in thought. “I can’t imagine it makes you worse. It’s either love or it isn’t. It’s delicate. You gotta take care of it.”

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

“Blimmin’ heck, you’ve got a nice place!”

“It’s alright.”

Imani tossed her keys in the china bowl on the coffee table, tugging off her boots and carrying them with her.

“Shoes off, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Pandora said, leaving them by the door with Effy and padding onto the spotless, plush white carpet.

They took in their surroundings with wide eyes. The place was impeccably furnished with shiny leather couches, a large television, and all kinds of exotic furniture and decor. It smelled sweet but musky, and oriental rugs adorned the floor of the living and dining room. Imani grabbed a remote and clicked a button, and suddenly the air carried the tunes of a jazz song. She turned to the two with a small smile, beckoning them in with a tilt of her head. Effy looked up at the futuristic ceiling light as she passed through the living room. Imani tossed her coat aside, sighing. Pandora smiled brightly at the strange art on the wall.

“Patio’s out back. Want something to drink?”

“This is class, Imani!”

Effy looked at her. “What did you say your father did again?”

“He’s an investment banker, but uh, his side of the family’s a bit…”

She gestured to the room. “Loaded.”

She waited patiently for the shock to wear off of the two, then nodded, going to the kitchen.

“Right, patio.”

The three migrated from the living room to the kitchen, where Imani grabbed a chilled bottle of Merlot from the fridge. She winked at them, grabbing glasses.

“It’s Dad’s but, doesn’t matter. Got the, uh, spliff? Only have the one off the floor.”

“Got a couple more,” Effy said, opening the patio doors.

The backyard was nothing short of sprawling, filled with bright and fragrant roses as well as having a pool. Imani sighed deeply, soaking up the sun as she walked onto the grass.

“Sun’s not bad today. Ladies?”

She smiled, raising her eyebrows at Effy and Pandora. They shared a smile and followed.

It didn’t take long for the wine and spliff to get conversation and laughter flowing. Pandora eagerly shared stories of Effy and her’s past exploits, as well as slightly encouraging Effy to share the same. However, Effy was busy smiling at the sky, watching the clouds thin and weave across the blue expanse on her back. Imani relaxed in a pool chair she carried over, a glass of wine sitting next to her on the grass. She had done her braids up in a bun and let her legs and arms out into the sun. She sipped some wine, giggling, then grabbed the spliff from Effy’s hand.

“Okay, so,” she began, devious smile forming on her face, “Those three guys who followed me today. Who was the tall one?”

Effy’s nirvana dipped. She met Imani’s glittering bronze eyes as she awaited an answer. Imani raised a brow.

“Well?”

“Freddie,” she said, sitting up.

Imani nodded slowly, leaning back in her chair with a coy finger pressed against her lip. “Freddie, huh? Very interesting.”

Effy stared at her in silence for a moment, then smiled. “I can introduce you if you’d like.”

Imani seemed to hesitate, then a grin spread across her face that made her glow as she laughed. “I won’t lie, I'm so fucking stoned right now that I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Pandora laughed along with her as they lied back to look at the sky. Imani began to hum a jazzy tune, eyes shut against the sun. She passed the joint back down to Effy on the ground.

“What do you think of the other one,” she asked as she took it.

“…Who?”

“Cook.”

Imani made a sound, a frown defiling her face. “Psshh…”

She stuck her tongue out. “Blegh.”

The three burst out laughing at her reaction.

“He’s got hair like a…bird.”

Imani crumbled back into laughter, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook.

“I’m guessing he fucks like one too!”

Pandora was delighted by idea and joined in with uncontrollable giggling. Effy smiled and lied back down. They stayed put until the sun set, and dusk brought a chill that forced them back inside, wiping their feet off so as not to stain the carpet and perching awkwardly on the sculptural furniture in the living room. Pandora clicked on the TV, eyes glassy as she giggled at the action movie that was on.

“You guys should totally stay for dinner,” Imani suggested, “I can make some pasta or something. It’d be my pleasure.”

Effy adjusted herself uncomfortably on the leather and bone folding chair. “Sounds fine for me. Panda?”

“Whizzer,” she said, taking in the large, hi-def explosion on the TV.

“Great! I’ll go ahead and get started.”

Imani rose to her feet unsteadily with a little sound of surprise, then made way for the kitchen. She snorted.

“Fuck, I keep forgetting how blasted I am,” she called to the living room giggling, “Might have to order in. You like Thai?”

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Cook just couldn’t get over it.

Even after seven, eight, nine beers, and a fuckton of shots, he still couldn’t—

“—fucking believe what the fuck I saw today.”

He grinned at his friends, laughing. Freddie and JJ shared a look as he gulped down more beer.

“I mean, fuck! That was A-fucking-1, that chick!”

“She didn’t seem to like you very much,” JJ reminded him. “The whole…sleazy bit.”

“Chicks dig sleazy,” Cook corrected, shaking his head, “No, no, I’m shagging that girl. It’s fate.”

Freddie smiled, shaking his head. “Really didn’t seem your style, Cook.”

Cook looked between them, pausing from drinking his beer. “Well, what’s this? You two want a go at her too, that it?”

His eyes pressed on JJ. “I doubt she’ll drop her pants for some magic either, J, but you don’t hear me goin’ on about it do you?”

“She said she liked Camus,” Freddie interjected, “Do you even know what that is?”

Cook peered at him. “Do you?”

Freddie scoffed and drunk his beer. Cook’s eyes darted between them briefly before he spoke again.

“Right, that’s it, I’m settling it now, the American one’s off limits,” he demanded, “Don’t get in the fuckin’ way—Don’t. Got it? I swear I’ll break your fucking faces in.”

He jutted his finger at them, pointing at both individually. Then, he burst into laughter, finishing his drink and slamming it down on the table.

“Right, let’s get out of here.”

The three left the pub and went into the cold night air, starting to head home. Cook lit a cigarette, then paused, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

“A-Fuckin’-1.”

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

“This is quite nice.”

Imani, Pandora, and Effy sat wrapped in towels, sweat dripping from their noses and foreheads. Imani had reclined fully on one of the wooden benches, a damp towel folded and set over her eyes. Effy stared at her, slightly impressed by her ability to withstand this level of heat. Pandora was half asleep and propped up against the wall, water bottle in hand. The familiar hiss of steam made Effy close her eyes, reducing her to nothing but darkness and heat. The scent of lavender filled her nose as steam choked her. Imani exhaled deeply and sank further into her rest. They’d woken up in the morning hungover and spacey, and Imani claimed to know just the cure: sauna. So, she’d called them all a taxi and rode them to a spa to get it done.

“You do this every time you get hungover?”

Imani chuckled at Effy’s question. “No, hot baths do just fine. Just thought I’d take you guys somewhere nice…”

She’d noticed a few concerning things about Imani so far, the forefront being her overwhelming generosity. Maybe it was just because Effy wasn’t rich, but it seemed a bit odd to spoil a couple of strangers. That was the other thing, though—she seemed to have already decided they were friends. Maybe this just the American way.

“Guys want breakfast after?”

Pandora, half-conscious, made a sound of assent.

“Sure,” Effy agreed.

“Cool.”

They sat in silence for about ten more minutes. Effy opened her eyes again, looking around in the stone sauna’s soft purple lighting. Her eyes settled on Imani again. She traced the curves and grooves of her doll-like face and plush bow lips, then blinked away some sweat from her brow as it fell. She really was pretty. No wonder Cook chased her through the halls, with a face like that. She was warm, too, and welcoming. A little shy about her interests, like when Pandora found her art journals in her worn leather trunk at the foot of her bed—she’d begged her to put it away, she was too embarrassed. A little bit sweet, like when she brought the fuzzy black kitten she’d found in the backyard inside and excused herself to clean it up a bit, then proudly declared she had a new cat and held it for the rest of the night.

“Gotta get Mustard food on the way home,” she thought to herself out loud, “Little baby must be starving.”

Effy chuckled. “You’re really gonna keep that thing?”

Imani moved her eye towel to look at her. “Of course.”

“What if it’s sick? What if it has fleas?”

“Nothing a little time and care can’t fix,” she dismissed, putting her towel back over her eyes. “Can’t just leave something that little to fend for itself.”

Pandora snored softly, catching Imani and Effy’s attention. Imani sat up, cradling her towel close to her chest. She chuckled at the sight of Pandora fast asleep.

“Think that’s our cue.”

They took the taxi back to Imani’s after cold showers, then Imani proceeded to lay out a platter of delicious berries and fruits for them to eat.

“I’ve got more food in here then bellies,” she remarked with a smile while grabbing a water bottle.

They all stood at the marble counter, eating silently, until Pandora’s phone suddenly started ringing. Imani looked over curiously as Pandora quickly flipped open the phone and put it to her ear.

“Hello Mum,” she greeted, her voice arier than usual, “Yes, I’m with Effy. Volunteering ran late, super late. Another food drive, Mum. Canned foods, for the homeless. Anyways, I’m at Effie’s now. I’ll be back really soon.”

Imani looked at her with a slight smile as she lied, glancing at Effy.

“Love you too, Mum. Bye-bye.”

She flipped the phone shut, going back to eating.

“No fun allowed,” Imani asked, cutting up a mango for herself.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Pandora explained as she ate, “She lets me have heaping loads of fun—you just can’t tell her the truth, that’s all.”

Imani laughed softly, then popped a chunk of mango into her mouth and brought the bowl with her to the patio. Pandora watched her leave, then turned to Effy.

“Crikey, she’s, like, the nicest girl ever, isn’t she?”

Effy looked over at dining room table, where Mustard the kitten ate her little portion of wet food. She smiled a little.

“Yeah.”

“I should totally invite her to my pajama party, don’t ya think?”

She tried to imagine Imani playing twister and eating brownies but failed. “Totally.”

“Whizzer, I knew it!”

Imani came back inside and rinsed her bowl out, setting it in the dishwasher. She popped a strawberry in her mouth, then a banana slice, then went over to the dining room table.

“Oh, that’s a good baby, huh? You finished all your food!”

She got a shrill, tiny meow in response and cooed back, holding the kitten delicately against her chest and petting it. Then, she turned to Effy and Pandora.

“Well, it was lovely having you over, but I won’t take up your whole day,” she said with a self-conscious chuckle, “Feel free to head out after breakfast. I gotta look up a vet nearby for this little angel.”

She kissed the top of Mustard’s head, then waved at them both, heading upstairs to check her computer. They watched her leave, then finished eating the rest of the apples and blackberries before heading out.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

It was another nice day, so Imani decided she wanted to walk to the vet instead of just a straight taxi. It had started out just fine. She was listening to The Doors through her earbuds with the kitten nestled in a scarf in her arms, enjoying the fresh air and warm weather. Her peace was disturbed in an instant when she passed by a pub, and guess who out came jogging out of it after her if not him. She yelped at the feeling of a hand on her back and whirled around with her purse in full swing. Unfortunately, Cook ducked. Once her nerves had calmed, she watched him laugh, taking an earbud out and sighing.

“You alright,” he asked, grin plastered on his face.

She stared at him, face reticent, observing him silently. He paused, staring at her back.

“You aren’t deaf, right,” he asked a bit more genuinely, “ ‘Cause I’ve made this mistake before, and it didn’t go so well—“

“No,” she answered with a sigh, “I am not deaf.”

His smile bounced back in full force as he stepped towards her, looking her up and down and making a pained face.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he said, “Say, why don’t you come on in to the pub for—“

A tiny meow interrupted him, and he looked at her chest in confusion. “They talking to me?”

She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Yes, Cook. My breasts are talking to you.”

“Oi, so you learned my name,” he remarked with a grin, “Askin’ around, are you?”

“Effy told me about you.”

His eyes glimmered. “She did?”

“Mhm.”

“So you know I’m a proper good fuck then?”

He stepped closer, the same strange smile from before threatening to form on his face, making her face scrunch in displeasure.

“Don’t do that with your face please, it’s genuinely alarming,” she told him, holding her scarf a little closer to her chest.

“Didn’t answer my question, Hollywood,” he poked, the strange smile morphing into an expectant grin.

She shrugged casually. “Yeah, she said you weren’t too bad.”

The door opened again, releasing JJ and Freddie onto the sidewalk behind Cook, who was quite pleased with himself at the moment.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he said with a laugh, “So…what’s it gonna be?”

Imani pursed her lips, looking clueless. “I’m sorry?”

“C’mon, you fancy a ride or not?”

She tried to fight it, she really did, but she couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter, immediately erasing Cook’s smile. JJ and Freddie watched her face glow in subdued awe as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

“I think I’ll be alright.”

He stared at her, taken aback by this form of rejection. In all his years of women turning him down, he’d never heard such genuine amusement as this.

“Fuck’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“It means, Cookie, that I can tell you don’t really know how to fuck.”

Cook was stunned into silence. He started glancing around to check if the moment was real.

“I don’t know how to fuck?” He started laughing in disbelief at the thought. “I don’t know how to fuck?”

Cook rose a brow, eyes trailing up and down her figure through her white dress before he looked at her square in the eye--less a flirtation, more a challenge.

“Wanna bet?”

Imani laughed softly and gave him a patronizing look before she paused at the sight of Freddie behind him. Cook followed her eyeline, his frustration building.

“Fuck you lookin’ at him for?”

She ignored Cook, her face softening a bit as she smiled at Freddie, waving. He turned around for a second to check if someone was behind him, but his face was in full flush once he realized she was looking at him. He almost waved back, but JJ wisely stopped him, eyes fixed on their hotheaded friend.

“I think he’ll actually break your face in,” he warned.

Awkwardly, Freddie put his hands in his pockets, unable to look away from her. He offered a small smile in return, wary of Cook’s stare grilling him. Finally, she looked away, turning her attention back to the one in front of her. She looked away for a second, then met his eyes again. Her eyebrows rose expectantly as she waited for him to leave.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, moved to say something, then wordlessly turned away, walking back into the pub. She watched him go with an apologetic smile on her face, then looked back up at Freddie. She began to walk over to them. JJ panicked, eyes darting to the window.

“Freddie—Freddie, she’s coming over.”

Freddie didn’t answer. He was too busy taking in what was in front of him. She was a little short, but her posture made up for it—she moved gracefully, like a swan. Her dark brown skin still carried a California glow—he’d never seen someone’s so shiny. Her braids curled at the end, framing her heart-shaped face charmingly, giving space for her big brown eyes to swallow any man whole. Her teeth shone like pearls as she smiled up at him, holding out her hand. Her lips were plush and glossy.

“Hi there, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Her voice was sweet but husky, making him swallow. Still, he managed to smile back, taking her hand in his.

“I’m Imani. I just moved here.”

“Hi,” he greeted.

They, quite noticeably, weren’t shaking hands. JJ glanced between the two with concern as they stared at each other. Cook was definitely going to break his face in.

“I’m JJ,” he interjected, “You’re in our class.”

Her eyes slid over to him kindly, and she let go of Freddie’s hand to shake his gently.

“Nice to meet you, JJ. Your friend got a name?”

Her eyes glittered playfully as they flitted over to Freddie again. Quickly, he found his voice to answer.

“I’m Freddie.”

She nodded, swaying slightly onto either foot. Her white dress billowed lightly around her legs as a breeze passed. Her fruity rose perfume filled their noses, making JJ swallow. A small meow broke Imani and Freddie's second stare-down, and the boys peered curiously at her scarf as a fuzzy head peeked out through the fabric. She chuckled, scratching the kitten's head affectionately.

“Well…off to the vet. See you two around.”

She turned her back to them, putting her earbuds back in and petting Mustard. JJ and Freddie watched her walk away.

“She’s lovely,” JJ remarked.

Freddie was still silent. The pub door slammed open as Cook came back out, zipping up his jacket. He eyed the two as he lit a cigarette.

“Fuck you two doin’ standing out here?”

“She’s lovely,” JJ repeated, forgetting himself.

Cook paused, a frown forming on his face. “What did I tell you? Off-limits, yeah?”

JJ and Freddie glanced at each other, then turned to face Cook.

“She laughed at you,” Freddie said, eyebrow raised, “Like, to your face.”

Smoke plumed from Cook’s nose as he shrugged. “So?”

“So I don’t think she’s interested,” Freddie laughed, his hand still tingling from her touch.

Cook eyed him, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“You don’t get it, do you,” he questioned, “Girls like that, they don’t give in easy. They like to play with their food first.”

He watched the white-clad figure in the distance, a grin forming on his face. “Yeah, she’s a naughty one. Just you wait and see.”

JJ and Freddie exchanged another look, mutually unsure of what could’ve led him to that conclusion.

“Don’t know how to fuck,” he muttered to himself, “Cheeky one.”

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

“All done, she’s clean as a whistle.”

Imani smiled as she picked up Mustard from the veterinarian’s hands, giving her a kiss. She meowed back, paws stretching in the air.

“Thanks so much, Mary. Can I schedule her spay now?”

“Of course, we’ve got availability next week Thursday, ‘round 7:30 in the morning.”

“7:30?”

Mustard mewed, reaching for her braid with her tiny arms. She sighed, her eyebrows creasing.

“Alright, guess I can make it.”

“Lovely, I’ll pencil you in."

“Great.”

The bell jingled as she opened the door and slid out into the afternoon. She flipped Mustard on her back, tickling her tummy as the kitten tried to bite her finger. Imani laughed.

“You’re a mean girl, aren’t you? So feisty.”

She let Mustard bite her finger, eyes crinkling affectionately at the feeling of her little teeth. “Sweetie.”

Her phone vibrated in her purse as she brushed past a group of guys in the street laughing amongst themselves. Delicately, she removed her finger from Mustard’s mouth and plucked it out. She paused at the contact name, then smiled, flipping her phone open.

“Maman?” (Mom?)

“Salut, chérie, ça va?” (Hello, darling, are you well?)

“Ouai, ouai, ça va bien,” she answered, glancing across the street as the crossed. “J’ai adopté un nouveau chat. Elle est trop mignonne!” (Yeah, yeah, I'm well. I've adopted a new cat. She's too cute!)

Her mother laughed. “Très bien, ma fille. Où est ton père?” (Very good, my daughter. Where is your father?)

“À Londres.” (In London.)

“Londres? Donc tu es en Angleterre tout seul?” (London? So you're in England all alone?)

She smiled at her mother’s concern as she passed the pub again, thinking of Freddy with some tenderness, Cook with amusement.

“C’est pas grave, maman. Tout ira bien. J’ai déjà fait quelques amis, je vais faire plus.” (It's not serious, mom. Everything will be fine. I've already made some friends, I'll make more.)

“Je sais, je sais, mais vivre à Bristol toute seule…c’est pas quelque chose que nous avons discuté.” (I know, I know, but living in Bristol all alone...It's not something we'd discussed.)

“Ne t’inquiète pas, maman. Je vais m’occuper de tout.” (Don't worry, Mom. I'm going to take care of everything.)

Her phone started to vibrate again, and she found herself surprised again to see Effy’s name.

“Maman, je dois te laisser. À bientôt!” (Mom, I have to let you go. See you later!)

She answered as she stopped at a crosswalk. “Hey! What’s up?”

“There’s a party tonight,” she said, “Do you want to come?”

She hummed in thought, looking down at Mustard, then up to the sky. “Sure, but someone’s got to look after my cat.”

“Come over. I know just the person for it.”

And so she did. She tugged on a short, figure-hugging leather dress and a thigh garter with a small pocket to hold her keys and tuck her switchblade into, put on some combat boots and eyeliner, then made her way over to Effy’s under a large flannel after the sun went down. She smiled at Mustard while she rode the bus, singing quietly to her and ignoring the strange looks she got. Then, she finished the trek and knocked on Effy's red door. A woman answered in a robe with disheveled blonde hair. Imani hesitated, taken by surprise.

“Does Effy live here?”

The woman looked her up and down with tired eyes. “You sound different.”

“American,” she explained with a smile.

Mustard meowed in her flannel pocket, drawing the woman’s attention with a gasp.

“Oh my, who is this little number?”

The scent of alcohol hit Imani’s nose as she stepped closer, but she brushed it off and smiled. “This is Mustard, she’s about three weeks old.”

Effy came down the steps in fishnets, shorts, and a halter top with her hair did up, dark eyeliner making her eyes beacon out from her face. She smiled cooly at Imani as she came to the door.

“Mum, this is my friend, Imani.”

Imani waved politely, smiling at her. The woman nodded.

“Anthea. Come on in.”

She stepped aside as Imani came in and closed the door behind her. Imani looked around the place with interest. It was a little messy and dark, but normal enough. The quiet is what drew her attention, though, that and the empty wine bottles on the counter. Effy brought her upstairs immediately. Imani took a seat in the bed as Effy closed the door behind her. The two smiled at each other. Effy took a seat next to her on the bed. She looked at Mustard as she slept soundly.

“Vet went well?”

Imani nodded. “Yeah, just gotta get her fixed and then she’ll be set.”

“Cool.”

Effy got up, sitting down at her vanity to finish her makeup. Imani slowly reclined on the bed so as not to wake her cat and shut her eyes. She let out a sigh.

“Fuck, my feet are sore. Walked all day today. It was nice, though.”

Effy worked on her eyeshadow. Imani breathed deeply, one hand on Mustard, the other in her braids. Suddenly, she laughed.

“Right, I ran into them again,” she said, “Cook and them.”

Effy paused and looked at Imani through the mirror.

“Well, more like Cook ran into me. I passed by some bar and he came out after me. Asked if I fancied a ride.”

Effy smiled at Imani’s imitation of Cook while she giggled. “Sounds like him.”

Imani sat up, watching Effy finish her eyeshadow. “No offense, but why’d you let him fuck you?”

“Why not,” she smoothly answered.

“I mean, he’s not bad, but…”

Effy set her brush down, turning and leaning on her chair as she looked at Imani.

“But?”

Her nose scrunched. “Guys like that…they talk way more than they can walk. At least in America, they do.”

“Well, this is England,” Effy said, smiling, “Things work a bit differently here.”

Imani rolled her eyes. “Pfft, men are all the same—America, France, Britain, you name it.”

“I thought you were all about love changing people,” Effy questioned with amusement, “Now men are all the same?”

She shrugged, starting to unbutton her flannel. “Nuance. Hold her?”

Effy gently took Mustard out of Imani’s shirt pocket and watched her unveil herself. Her body was slim with curves and toned. She stood as she took the flannel off, the dress riding up her hips a little. She had a serpent tattoo that coiled down her left leg and disappeared into her boot and dress. Effy raised a brow.

“How long did that take?”

Imani paused, a small smile forming on her face. Slowly, she traced the tattoo across the front of her thigh. Effy watched her curiously.

“It was nothing, really.”

She tied the flannel around her waist, then plopped back down on the bed. Her face burst into a smile.

“Awe, she likes you!”

Effy looked down at Mustard in her lap, watching her little paws knead at air. The kitten was tiny and fragile as it stretched. She never cared much for animals. Too trusting. Too delicate.

“Let’s go.”

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Techno music vibrated through the walls and down the street as Effy and Imani drew near, talking amongst themselves and laughing. They brushed past the couples making out by the porch and slid their way in. Imani squinted as the music thudded into her eardrums, mustering a smile as people shoved past her and bumped up against her. She looked around as her hearing recovered. It was someone’s house, she was sure of that, which surprised her a bit. She looked at the decorations through the haze of smoke that had formed in the air: paintings of flowers, family photos, potted plants, things that didn’t belong in a party a wild as the one she was in right now. She yelped as she got shoved into the crowd by some drunk, roaring idiot and crashed into another girl. They fell to the floor with a thud. Imani groaned, pushing herself up off the ground.

“Fuck, can you watch where you’re goin?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The girl shoved her off roughly, her alcohol-laden breath hitting Imani square in the face as she fell back again, knocking against moving legs. She looked at the girl with annoyance as she got to her feet and disappeared. Effy replaced her, taking her hand and helping Imani up.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“Nah, no problem. Just give me tequila, will you?”

Effy smiled and led Imani through the throngs of bodies by her hand until they reached the kitchen. On the counter, aside from the burnt up spliffs and spilled glasses, was an impressive assortment of liquor. Imani smiled as she grabbed a couple shot glasses out of the sink and a bottle of vodka. She poured into both, handing one to Effy.

“Santé,” she said, clinking the glass, then knocking it back.

“Cheers.”

They had a few more shots, then shared the bottle until they were giggling uncontrollably. Effy finished it as Imani swayed, holding herself steady with a cabinet door.

“Fuck,” she muttered, “Haven’t drank this much since ‘07.”

Effy gave her a questioning look and Imani smiled back. “Spain. Let’s go dance. I’m feeling the beat now.”

Imani shoved her way through the crowd and tugged Effy along with her until she found a pocket of space and started to bounce gently to the pounding bass. Effy swayed along with her. They took each other’s hands and began to dance harder, jumping and spinning each other and laughing as they repeatedly crashed into other people who swore at them. Effy pulled out a silver case from her top, grabbing a spliff and lighting it. She exhaled deeply as she passed it to Imani, who took a hit, then handed it back to her, falling back into the rhythm. She rocked her head from side to side and rocked her hips, her movements slightly dragged by the weight of alcohol.

“Fuckin’ groovy,” she said over the music, taking off her flannel.

Effy laughed and watched as she got swept up into the energy of the room and blended into the crowd, barely keeping upright on quick feet as she rocked between sweaty bodies, then disappeared. Effy took another drag of her spliff, picking up Imani’s flannel and putting it on, closing her eyes and letting the music take over.

Freddie, Cook, and JJ walked up to the house as a girl with a blue pixie cut shoved past them, doubled over, and retched onto her shoes. Cook jumped to the side as he narrowly avoided it, spliff falling out of his mouth.

“Fuck me!”

“Guess they started early,” Freddie remarked as he sidestepped her.

JJ stared in slight horror as he passed, then caught up with the other two. A wave of heat emanated from the doorway as they walked in, bathing them in the stench of sweat and weed.

“This looks a bit shit,” Cook remarked, reaching to his mouth for his spliff then pausing once he realized it disappeared. “Ah, fuck.”

He turned around, going back out the gate to retrieve it, but groaned once he saw it was doused in vomit.

“Oh, come the fuck on!”

A laugh carried through the air and reached his ears that made him straighten up to attention. It was sweet, but more importantly, familiar. He whipped his head around to find the source as Freddie and JJ shuffled through the crowd inside. He located it quickly, catching sight of Imani leaning up next to the open window, getting chatted up by a guy. Cook stared as the guy leaned closer to her with a flirtatious smile on his face and whispered in her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut and giggled, pressing a hand against his chest and lightly pushing him away as his hands found her hips and pulled her closer. Coyly, she turned her face away and said something Cook couldn’t hear before laughing again as the guy leaned closer toward her neck and seemed to kiss it. Cook swallowed, watching his hands creep lower down her body as she looked away.

Her eyes met Cook's and widened in surprise a fraction while the guy got more touchy and tried to slip a hand between her legs. She frowned, moving his hand away, saying something and shaking her head with a smile, but he persisted, pressing up against her as she tried to push him off. Her eyes slid to Cook again, and she made an amused face before stomping on the guy’s foot and ramming her knee into his groin. He groaned loudly, leaning onto her as he doubled over, making her grimace and shove him off. Cook chuckled as she watched him drop to the ground, flipping her braids over her shoulder. Her attention shifted back to him, and she leaned out of the window with a small smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she called, leaning onto her elbows as he walked up to her. “Or are you following me?”

He watched the light sheen of sweat over her skin glisten as he looked up at her from the lawn, a smile playing on his lips.

“Wherever there’s a party, I’m there,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. “But what are you doing here?”

“Effy invited me.”

She glanced around, then suddenly began climbing out of the window. Cook’s eyes widened as she eased herself through the frame, dangling her legs over the grass then gracefully hopping down with a drunken stumble. She giggled as she found her footing, then took a deep breath of fresh air. He blinked, cigarette hanging from his lips as she tugged her dress down against her hips with some difficulty, then walked over to him, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it into her own.

“Fucking stinks in there,” she said, looking at him. “Got a light?”

Eyeing her with amusement, he flicked on his lighter and brought the flame to the end of the cigarette. She took a drag, then put it back in his mouth as she blew out the smoke. He stepped back, looking at this new version of her in leather and smudged eyeliner, a grin curling the edges of his mouth.

“Thought I wasn’t good enough to talk to.”

She frowned. “I never said that.”

“You sure acted like it, laughing in my face and all that.”

She looked away innocently, stepping towards him. “Well, I’m talking to you now.”

His eyes lit up with interest as she took the cigarette from his lips again and had another drag, offering a sweet smile.

“Yeah?”

She giggled, leaning onto one hip. “Yeah.”

They held each other’s gazes, Imani’s eyes glittering something curious as she held out the cigarette for him to take. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it and studied her closely as he smoked.

“You’re a tease then, aren’t you,” he accused, knowing grin spreading across his face.

She gasped as if she was shocked, but her smile betrayed her. Cook laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,” he teased, leaning towards her. “Princess.”

Imani frowned playfully, crossing her arms. Cook took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it out for her. She leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it and taking a drag, stepping back as she pushed the smoke out of her nose. She tilted her head slightly, seemingly looking through him as her expression shifted.

“Your friend around?”

Cook paused from whiplash, then his face hardened in annoyance. “Yeah, he’s in there.”

She turned around to look at the door, then faced Cook again with a smile and took the cigarette out of his mouth, backing away as she headed for the steps.

“Thanks.”

He fished in his pocket for his cigarette box again as he watched her leave, transfixed by the way her dress hugged her ass. He shook his head with a deep exhale as she slipped through a group of people and, ultimately, his fingers.

For now, he thought to himself, sparking another cigarette, there’s no way Freddie can handle all that.

With a fresh drink in her hand, Imani caught sight of Freddie and grinned. She slid up next to him and gave him a little nudge, not noticing that he was distracted, nor what he was distracted by, or the pair of blue eyes that went from him down to her as Freddie nervously froze. She looked up at him, brushing some curled ends out of her face, beckoning him to lean down. Effy watched as he obliged and Imani put a hand on his shoulder to reach his ear.

“This music’s shit,” she said, “Want to get out of here?”

“I just got in,” he answered, a smile already building on his lips.

She rose a brow, eyes piercing his. “So?”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment, then laughed. Imani held her hand out, wiggling her fingers, and Freddie hesitantly took it. Before he knew it, they were out of the door. They left the yard and went down the street until they found a curb to sit on together. Imani stretched her legs and crossed one over the other, letting out a pleased sigh then turning her head to look at Freddie with a smile. He held her gaze then looked down as another nervous smile formed on his face. She chuckled, nudging him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said softly, managing another glance at her.

She laughed, leaning toward him. “C’mon, it’s something! Tell me.”

“It’s just…I think this is the first time a girl’s picked me up.”

He watched as she laughed again, clutching her stomach as if she had heard the funniest thing in the world. She tilted backward with a yelp and Freddie quickly caught her, pressing his hand firmly against her upper back to help her sit back up. He eyed her curiously with an amused grin.

“You okay?”

“More than okay, I’m quite drunk.”

He held onto her shoulders gently as she leaned again, frowning slightly. Imani held onto his arm as she steadied herself.

“I take it you’re not drunk often?”

“Mm-mm,” she answered, shaking her head. “But, you know…when in Rome…”

She smiled brightly, leaning back onto her hands as Freddie let her go. He watched as her fit of giggles passed and she tilted her head back, taking a deep and slow breath with shut eyes. She exhaled sharply and opened them again, eyes alert as they fixed onto him.

“Okay, I’m here, I’m good.”

Freddie leaned onto one hand with a chuckle, finally able to maintain eye contact with her. She brushed her braids out of her face again and cleared her throat.

“How do you like it here,” Freddie asked.

“Mm, great,” she said, lifting her cup to her mouth and gulping her drink down.

He chuckled again as she wiped her mouth with a sigh.

“I got a cat last night. Well—I found her.”

“That’s what was in your scarf, right?”

Her eyes lit up as she nodded. “Yeah, yeah! I named her Mustard.”

He laughed. “Mustard? What kind of a name is that?”

“It’s a good name, isn’t it? Cute name.”

She watched him laugh with offense. “Oh, so you have a better idea?”

“It’s cute, it’s cute.”

“Hmph.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a spliff, lighting it as Imani stared quietly at his mouth. He took a long hit then offered it to her, but she smiled and shook her head.

“I’m deep enough as it is.”

He nodded, smoking silently. She stared at the houses across the street then looked up at the sky, admiring the few stars that managed to reach her eye through all the streetlights.

“So, what do you do?”

She hesitated for a moment as if she needed to find the words. To be fair, she probably did—Freddie could see her eyes going in and out of being alert.

“I…dance. Or danced. Still figuring it out.”

“Really? What kind?”

“Ballet,” she said with a smile, finally looking at Freddie again, “Since I was four.”

Freddie raised his eyebrows. “Wow.”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You know, I could tell when I saw you.”

“Really? Do explain.”

“Just…something about the way you move. Very graceful.”

Her back straightened as she looked away with a modest smile, fiddling with her empty cup.

“Why, thank you.”

Freddie put out his spliff as he finished it, fanning the smoke away as he turned to her.

“What are you doing at our college if you’re a ballerina,” he asked, “You should probably be in London or something, right?”

She rubbed the rim of her cup with her thumb, biting her lip as she stared down at it.

“Yeah, or something.”

“Do you like it?”

To his surprise, she laughed at the question, raising her eyebrows. She sighed.

“Worse. I love it.”

She tossed the cup aside, folding her legs and wrapping her arms around them. She looked at him as she rested her cheek on her knee.

“What about you? What do you do?”

Freddie blinked, unsure how to answer. “Uh, I skate.”

She made a ‘ooh’ shape with her mouth. “Fun.”

His head spun slightly as he stared at her and began to space out. Her eyes meandered his face then crinkled as she smiled.

“Dude, you’re so faded,” she teased.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, smiling back.

“I take it you smoke too?”

He rose his hands in surrender and she laughed.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” she said, “I’m from the land of California sober. There’s more weed in the air than oxygen.”

“Nice,” Freddie remarked, “I’ll be sure to put it on my bucket list.”

He watched as her lips curved into another pretty smile, then looked away as she covered her mouth to yawn.

“Fuck, I’m beat. Time to head home.”

Imani grunted as she struggled to get up on her feet from the curb, taking Freddie’s hand as he stood to help her up. She grabbed onto him as she almost lost her footing—blood rushed to her head, and the world tilted under her feet. He held onto her waist to keep her upright. She groaned quietly, squeezing her eyes shut as her head cleared, then looked up at Freddie, eyes widening at the close proximity. Freddie stared down at her. Her eyes were so sweet and tender, like a deer’s. She held his stare quietly, lips parted, waiting. But Freddie couldn’t—he let the moment pass.

Imani didn’t let it bother her, not visibly, at least. She drew her eyebrows together and looked away vacantly, seemingly playing the drunk girl to let him off the hook. Awkwardly, he released her waist and swallowed.

“I’ll walk you home,” he muttered.

“I need to get my cat first. She’s at Effy’s.”

“Alright.”

They walked back to the party in silence. Freddie stole a glance at her, checking for any sign of upset, but her eyes were fixed forward and cool. She was probably more focused on staying upright—at least that’s what he told himself. He kicked himself, what was wrong with him? Of course he knew what, but still. Tentatively, he looked at her, hoping she’d look back up and offer a smile, but she just hugged herself and studied the cars lining the road.

“I have a shed.”

Imani turned her head, eyeing him quizzically.

“Okay.”

“Just…if you’d ever like to come by.”

Her gaze was piercing. It didn’t let up. She was reading him, he could feel it. A small, amused smile formed on her face. A glimmer of hope he hadn’t fucked it all up.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” He pulled out his phone, opening a new contact and handing it to her.

Her smile grew as she paused and took the phone from his hand. Freddie looked up at the house as she lagged behind, typing in her phone number. His stomach dropped, and he stopped at the gate. Cook and Effy were in the window, looking a bit too close for his comfort. Cook grinned at her, and she smiled back coolly. Imani looked up from Freddie’s phone and hesitated to speak as she saw him frozen in place. She tilted her head, walking up quietly and following his gaze. Her eyebrows raised as she watched Cook and Effy kiss in the window. She almost laughed, but then she noticed Freddie’s face as she came up next to him.

He was staring. He was staring like he’d seen the most devastating thing on Earth.

Her smile fell.

“Here’s your phone back,” she said softly.

He jumped, looking down at her in surprise. She smirked slightly as he cleared his throat, taking the phone out of her hand and looking down at the ground. She opened the gate and gestured for him to pass. Freddie couldn’t hold her gaze; he could tell by its sarcastic edge he’d been caught red-handed. He brushed past her, and she followed, peering at him with crossed arms. She glanced at the window again, chuckling at the sight of Cook and Effy still going at it, shaking her head. She patted Freddie on the arm, then walked across the lawn, knocking politely on the window.

“Effy, let’s go.”

Cook stood to attention at the sound of Imani’s voice. Effy, dazed, frowned and tried to pull Cook back into another kiss, but he nudged his head down towards Imani on the lawn. Effy slowly turned her head and stared down at Imani, gears turning. Her eyes suddenly grew alert and shot up past her to Freddie. She straightened up, wiping her mouth and looking away.

“What’s up,” she asked, meeting Imani’s gaze.

“I gotta swing by yours, get my kitty cat.”

Imani raised her eyebrows at Cook playfully, then fixed her eyes back onto Effy.

“Freddie’s gonna walk with us,” she added. “C’mon.”

Cook tried to decipher Imani's expression as Effy brushed past him and headed for the door, easing her way through the boisterous crowd. Imani frowned slightly at the feeling of his stare but didn’t look at him, turning away as Effy came down the steps. He quickly climbed out of the window and jumped down after her as they walked away, slinging an arm around her shoulders as he caught up to the trio as they headed down the sidewalk. Imani let out a cry of surprise, making Cook laugh as she shoved him away and rolled her eyes. He bounced back quick, throwing another arm around her shoulders and glancing ahead at Effy and Freddie walking together.

“Things go well with your man,” he poked, grinning down at her.

She gave him a harsh glare, then shook her head and looked at the cars. He chuckled lightly, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. After taking a drag, he leaned over and put it against her lips. Her head turned sharply, eyebrows drawn together as her eyes simmered at him in warning. Cook didn’t budge. He only smiled at her, wiggling the smoking cigarette between his fingers as they walked.

Imani kept glaring at him while he smoked nonchalantly. His mouth curled knowingly under the heat of her stare. He tugged her closer, the roughness of the movement on a razor’s edge between affectionate and boyishly careless. She huffed and crossed her arms, looking away. Her eyes wandered down to his hand on her shoulder, then flitted up to Freddie ahead.

Fuck it.

Cook moved his hand away as she took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between her teeth, rolling her shoulders back. His crooked teeth shone in the streetlight they passed under together. They stopped at the corner as the light changed, watching Effy and Freddie go down the crosswalk, not even thinking to check back for them. Imani let out a quiet sigh that Cook felt in the movement of her shoulders.

She slowly exhaled, watching the smoke plume over her face, then looked over at Cook. He was watching her silently, eyes fixed onto her mouth, a hint of a smile making his lips twitch. She considered him, placing the cigarette carefully between his teeth.

“I’m not fucking you,” she said bluntly.

His eyes lit up as they met hers. He didn’t answer, just smiled as he took in her face, palm flattening against her skin. It was a wicked smile, the kind that Imani recognized from lazy mornings in plush hotel beds with no-good company that pressed their weight onto her just right, the kind she saw when she gave it, the kind that only meant trouble. She looked at it, finding it contagious as she gave him an incredulous look, accepting the cigarette back in her mouth.

“I meant that, Cook.”

For the first time since she’d met him he didn’t say anything back, just kept smiling that little smile and looking ahead self-assuredly. Imani scoffed, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they crossed the street.

“You are such a…”

“I didn’t say nothing,” he finally answered, eyes twinkling at her with amusement.

“Connard,” she shot back, elbowing him roughly in the ribs. (Asshole)

He stumbled back with a grunt and braced himself on his knees, hunching over. She glanced back over her shoulder with a grin. He rubbed his side, straightening up, watching her walk ahead with a lazy smile.

Freddie was a fucking idiot.

part two

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

This Must Be The Place | skins

two | roller girl

warning for mentions of disordered eating <3 take care of yourself.

part one

Imani tapped her fingers impatiently on the back of her hands. She sank into the oversized leather chair, listening to it groan. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked, droning in the back of her mind as she waited for the hour to pass. Slowly, she met the eyes of the blonde woman across the table--her hair was tightly pulled back into a slick bun, pale pink lips curved into a semi-friendly smile as her green eyes sparked with anticipation. Her pen rose to attention as Imani sighed, clearing her throat and furrowing her eyebrows.

“What was the question again?”

A hint of frustration passed over the woman’s spotless face. She tapped the end of her pen on her writing pad, then rested her elbows on the desk, studying the young woman in front of her.

“How has your diet and sleep been, Ms. Washington?”

Imani’s eyes wandered around the office again, taking in the green Victorian wallpaper and floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases, and gazing at the family photos on the large desk of the same wood that dwarfed her, then at the golden nameplate: Dr. Elaine Forrester.

“It’s been good,” Imani affirmed, eyes distant, “I’ve been good.”

Dr. Forrester stared at her, making her tense reflexively. Slowly, Imani met her gaze again, offering a small smile. Dr. Forrester flipped through a manila folder with a sigh of her own, thumbing through pages: hospital records, prescriptions, past psychological assessments.

“No…restrictions, no over-exercising?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Imani assented, preparing for the cross-examination.

Dr. Forrester paused and rose a brow, green eyes scanning the young woman’s doll-like face.

“And what is the ordinary, Ms. Washington?”

“I jog in the mornings, do yoga, eat healthy. Just to stay in shape until I’m dancing again. No lengthening out.”

“Lengthening out?”

Imani glanced away, then smiled.

“That’s what your ballet teacher tells you when you’re too fat. That you need to lengthen out. I’m sure it’s in there,” she explained, gesturing to the file.

“Ah.”

Dr. Forrester scribbled the term on her writing pad, then looked at Imani closely. She hesitated. She wasn't sure how to ask politely. Might as well just say it.

“And you’re sure you want to?”

Imani frowned. “Want to what?”

“Dance again.”

The question seemed inane to her, and she laughed. “Of course I want to dance again, what else am I going to do?”

“You could…join clubs, study new subjects, find hobbies—“

“I’m dancing."

Dr. Forrester paused after being cut off, tapping her pen with a tight-lipped smile. She parted her lips, then sighed. No way around it.

“Your father is concerned about you training again. About your risk to--"

Imani smiled something akin to baring teeth. “--Backslide."

"Harm yourself," Forrester corrected.

The girl chuckled. “I know what my father is worried about, Doctor. There’s no need to worry. I’ll have it under control.”

“Right. Control.”

Dr. Forrester bobbed her pen at Imani, eyes softened with knowing. Imani shifted uncomfortably in her seat, gazing out the large double windows at the rolling green hills of the countryside. A bird was nesting in the corner of the window, gathering twigs from nearby trees and bringing them back. She smiled at the sight, then turned her attention back to the doctor at the sound of pills rattling.

“I’d like you to start taking these,” Forrester said, pushing an orange bottle across the desk, “For your panic attacks.”

Imani stared at them in silence, eyes unreadable. Her voice was leveled when she finally answered.

“I haven’t had a panic attack in eight months.”

“That’s without any triggers,” Forrester pointed out, “And since you intend to return to dancing—“

“It’s not like I’m going back to the Royal Academy or something,” Imani interjected, “It’s just classes at school—college.”

Dr. Forrester smiled, tapping the bottle cap with a red lacquered index finger.

“This is the agreement your father and I came to. They're just for when symptoms come up.”

Imani fell quiet, staring impassively at the little orange bottle. She quickly took them and dropped them in her black purse, crossing her legs and staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“You’ll find I am quite empathetic to your cause, Ms. Washington,” Forrester said kindly, “I understand what it is like to be young. Ambitious.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied the file again, noticing a photo of young girls in leotards and tights, smiling and posing for a class photo en pointe—the one dark-skinned girl stood out in the front. She smiled.

“Royal Academy…that’s impressive. Especially with your record there.”

Imani looked down at her hands again. She was tired of hearing that word. Impressive. It only brought her back to the past. Four years of hard work for nothing. Impressive had been reduced to a past life.

“I highly doubt you’ll just be doing ballet classes at college for long. I also doubt that you intend to, either.”

Imani glanced up to meet Forrester’s eyes briefly before going back to listening to the grandfather clock tick. It was true, she wasn’t. She’d already been researching ballet studios in London to build her case after a year of good behavior had passed. Her father wasn’t an easy man to convince of anything, but she had inherited his stubbornness. Just because she landed in a hospital bed once didn’t mean it would happen again. Besides, excellence had a cost. He knew that. He knew what kind of child he had raised. The kind you could leave alone in a house for months on end without a hint of worry on your mind. The kind that made sure you had plenty to brag about to your douchey coworkers to make them and their snobby daughters swallow their pride. The kind who stood with their back straight and their eyes steady, who didn’t cry after scraping their knee. Someone solid. Someone like him.

“We just want to make sure that when the pressure comes, you don’t crack.”

Crack. Another word she despised. Imani produced a smile for the doctor, signaling she was ready for the end of the appointment.

“Of course, Doctor Forrester.”

The woman prepared to speak again when Imani's purse vibrated, and Imani quickly fished out her phone—thank god, it was buzzing. She pursed her lips and looked at the contact, eyes flitting apologetically over to Doctor Forrester.

“It’s my dad, do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Imani nodded, gathering her things and slipping out of the room. She smiled at a pair of nurses as she found a side door and went outside. The birds sang to each other as she sat down on the steps. She answered the phone.

“Hey, Eff,” she greeted, “What’s up?”

“I need your help with something. Are you free?”

“I’m out of town right now, but I can head back. What’s going on?”

“Panda and I met this guy from the Congo, Thomas. He needs to make money selling spliff. We’re all going to a party Cook found to help him out.”

Imani chuckled to herself, shaking her head. Of course Effy and Panda would end up doing that. For the few weeks she’d known them, they were always getting into some kind of trouble or fun—fucking Cook the first day of college, downing a mouthful of drugs like powdered sugar (you could guess who), and so on, and so forth. Imani was always left wondering when they had time to do actual schoolwork.

“Sure, sounds like fun. I just gotta get out of here.”

“Where are you?”

“Nowhere important. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, later.”

Imani hung up, going back inside. She quickly made her way back to Dr. Forrester’s office, composing herself so as not to look too amused or excited. She opened the door, putting on a concerned face. Forrester raised her eyebrows in question, her pen tipping over onto her pad.

“I need to head home, Dad says it’s an emergency. Burst pipe. He wants me to come back to help clean it up.”

Dr. Forrester nodded. “Of course, of course. We can finish our intake next session.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

Imani shut the door gently, smiling to herself as she turned the corner. Dr. Forrester scribbled in her notepad again.

Good liar.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani held Mustard in her arms as she perused her closet to decide what to wear. She had forgotten to ask so many details: what kind of party, for a start. The crowd she was going into was important if she was going to sell something effectively. Weed sells itself, depending on who was buying it. She could safely bet the customer base would be people around her age, and considering Cook located it, the party was bound to be a rager. She would need to stand out, draw attention.

She sifted through hangers until she found what she was looking for and smiled at Mustard, raising her eyebrows.

"I think we're in business, sweetie," she said, kissing the kitten on the forehead.

Another tight fit, but effective for her intentions. There would just be one problem.

"Fuck me!"

Cook grinned as Imani walked up, her heels clicking on the ground as her hips swayed. His reaction pulled everyone's eyes towards her, and the boys gawked helplessly at the sight. Effy smirked in amusement at her outfit. She wore a pair of skin-tight leather pants that laced up along the sides of her legs, a velvet tube top, and a pair of rather impressively high stiletto boots. She rolled her eyes as Cook gleefully bounded up to her, hands eager to touch.

"Where’ve you been hidin', huh," he asked, eyes raking her up and down.

She stepped out and dug a sharp heel into the toe of his sneaker, twisting the proverbial knife to elicit a cry from him. She gave him a smile, wagging a finger at him.

"Do not even think about touching me."

She released his foot and smiled brightly at Effy and Pandora, going in for a hug that doused them in her sweet, rosy perfume. Cook hissed, hopping on one foot as he clutched the other. Freddie laughed at the sight.

"It's so good to see you two," she said, cheeks glowing.

Effy and Pandora hugged her back before letting her go, their heads slightly dizzy. That was the thing about Imani, wasn't it? You were never quite ready to take her in--it just hit you all at once, and you had to recover afterwards. Freddie and JJ stared at the straps of the thong that peeked out from her pants as Thomas smiled, walking up to her. Imani turned around, looking up at him warmly.

"I'm Thomas," he greeted, "So good to meet you."

She smiled, shaking his hand. "Ça va, Thomas?" (How are you, Thomas?)

His face brightened. "Tu parles français?" (You speak french?)

"Ouai, ouai, ma mère est française!" (Yeah, yeah, my mom is french!)

The gang stared in bewilderment as the two conversed excitedly, laughing and nodding. Cook frowned as he walked up next to Freddie and JJ, eyeing the two suspiciously.

"Got any idea what they're sayin'?"

JJ shook his head. "Not a clue."

Freddie just stared, a slight smile on his face as he watched Imani, not noticing Effy's eyes on him. Cook shoved him roughly, snapping him out of it.

"Mate, I'm not fuckin' joking," he warned.

Freddie laughed again. "She stabbed your foot!"

Effy watched the two argue in silence, glancing back towards Imani. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling too keen on having invited her. Thomas and Imani finished their cryptic conversation, and Effy moved towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder to turn her away from Cook and Freddie and usher her gently towards the girls.

" 'Mani, this is Katie, Emily, and Naomi."

Imani eyes sparked with recognition of the red-haired twins and their drastically different outfits. Emily smiled politely, reaching out to shake Imani's outstretched hand as Katie stared, unsure how she wanted to deal with her. Naomi shook her hand as well, eyeing her with suspicion.

"Interesting outfit," she remarked.

Imani chuckled. "What can I say, I'm a good saleswoman."

Naomi smiled, seeming to approve of her response. Katie suddenly jumped in recollection.

"You're the American girl from the first day of school," she exclaimed, "The rich one!"

Imani's eyes widened in shock at her words, and she smiled in embarrassment. Naomi eyed her closer, her suspicion renewed. Imani cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing over to Emily, who was looking between her sister and the ground. She chuckled uneasily.

"Yeah, that's me."

Katie shifted onto one hip with a smirk. "I guess we could hang out, too."

Imani blinked in obvious confusion, unsure when she had been evaluated.

"I--Sure. Sounds great."

Emily glanced over at Naomi discreetly, letting out a breath of relief at her expression. The boys came over to join them--Cook's hands immediately found their way to Imani's hips as he moved her aside, quickly letting her go to avoid another stabbing. She glared at him in annoyance, then let out a sigh. No use in being angry at this point.

"Right, let's get to it, then," he said.

He knelt down and lifted the manhole cover beneath their feet, shining light on all of the group's faces as they peered down excitedly, listening to the blaring music as it trailed up from underground.

"Ladies first," Cook teased, offering his hand to Imani.

She shot him an unimpressed look before taking his hand and climbing down, careful of her boots. She landed on the soil with some dismay, already feeling her heels sinking into the dirt, but stepped back to let Katie climb down after her, placing her weight on her toes. Katie huffed, turning around to stand next to Imani despite their current height difference. She glanced over at Imani out of the corner of her eye, but quickly looked away as Emily followed her down, then Naomi, Effy, Pandora, and the boys. Thomas handed out baggies of weed to the group, three or four each, but Imani took one extra, giving him a wink.

"You'll want my price," she assured.

Cook stared at her as she grinned, walking off and disappearing around the curve of the tunnel. He smirked, grabbing one extra as well--"You don't mind, do ya mate?"--and quickly following after her. Effy watched, then turned her attention to Pandora.

"Stay close to me."

Pandora nodded, and the group dispersed into the tunnels.

Imani had headed straight for the action, putting the weed into her purse and easing her way through the crowd, Cook following close on her heels. She stopped abruptly, eyes scanning the crowd for prey. She caught the eye of a tall man with dark hair that curled lusciously around his temples with a cigarette in his mouth. It quirked up at the sight of her. She cocked her head, smiling at him long enough to intrigue, then turned on the ball of her foot and headed for the next tunnel. The bodies thinned out enough for Cook to catch up, bumping into her as they weaved past a pair of girls drinking beer and stumbled into the tunnel. Imani frowned, looking up to God for patience, ignoring Cook and walking inside before turning around to face him.

"Don't you have something to do," she reprimanded, gesturing to his pockets full of Thomas's weed.

"Yeah, yeah, but I wanna see the technique first," he said with a grin, "Get some pointers."

She held up her pinky and wiggled it. "As long as that little prick is sitting between your legs, you're out of luck. Now go, he's coming."

"Who's coming?"

She shoved him away and moved towards the silhouette of the man she'd successfully lured. He was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and patent leather oxfords that didn't match his outfit and revealed striped socks. He walked up to her slowly, eyes trailing up and down her figure, a smile forming on his lips as smoke ghosted out of his mouth. Cook leaned against the wall, acting inconspicuous, lighting a cigarette of his own, and turning away. She smiled back at the man sweetly.

"Hey."

Cook glanced back at the sudden sultry timbre of her voice, but looked away once he locked eyes with her new companion. He chuckled to himself, inhaling deeply from his cigarette as he strained his ears over the blaring music to listen to her.

"Hey, there," the man greeted, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She laughed like a purr, then slipped her purse off her shoulder and opened it, taking out some weed.

"Got a treat for you. Want some?"

He laughed as she came closer, holding the baggie up between them.

"I know, I know," she anticipated, "Not nice."

He eyed her, then looked at the bag, reaching for it only for her to move it away and raise a brow, shaking her head.

"How much," he asked, already reaching for his wallet.

"Forty."

Cook raised his eyebrows in disbelief. No way he'd go for it, no matter how sexy she looked. The man chuckled, taking the drugs out of her hand and considering them. He eyed her with some wariness, taking his cigarette and tossing it onto the ground. She pouted playfully.

"Pretty please, sir."

"Forty five for your number," he offered, stepping closer.

She pretended to think it over, dreaming up a fake number as he smiled flirtatiously.

"Pretty please?"

Imani rolled her eyes with a chuckle, holding out her hand for his phone, which he happily placed in her palm. She typed in a random number, biting her lip and looking at him as if he'd won something.

"You better call me later," she warned, placing his phone in the pocket of his t-shirt.

He tucked forty-five pounds into the string of her thong by her hip. She wanted to vomit all over his face and scream, but just grinned, stepping back.

"Seeya soon," he said, tucking the weed into the pocket of his jacket.

"Seeya."

She kept her smile as long as she could see him, then dropped it and stuck her tongue out in disgust. Cook trailed up behind her, eyeing the bills strapped to her hip. He couldn't believe it.

"Men are so gross," she said to him, shaking her head, "But relatively useful."

She flashed the money at him with a triumphant grin, cocking her head.

"Power of the pussy," she remarked, poking him playfully in the chest, "Beat that."

"You just gave a stranger your number, but won't give it to me?"

She knocked on his forehead. "What are you, thick? I didn't even give him my name. He won't call until later, if he even remembers to."

"How do you know he won't come back pissed the fuck off you gave him a fake number?"

She put a hand on her hip, offended. "I've done that move hundreds of times. Never fails. Unless you think you can do better?"

He eyed her as she raised a playful eyebrow, smirking. She rose the bills again, tucking them into her shirt.

"Whoever makes the most wins."

Cook grinned dangerously. "Wins what?"

Imani hummed, tapping a finger against her lips, then shrugged, gaze suggestive.

"Whatever they want."

Cook's blue eyes lit up, then sharpened. Imani tilted her head in interest, questioning him with her eyes. He stepped back cautiously, wagging a finger at her with a smile.

"You're doing it again."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You're teasin' me."

Imani chuckled, glancing down and tapping the foot she stabbed with hers. She let out a sigh, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You're no fun, Cookie."

He perked up at the challenge. It was honestly too easy with him.

He looked at her squarely. "And you're fuckin' on."

Her face lit up into a smile. “Oh, I am gonna ruin your life when I win.”

He leaned closer, that dangerous smile curving his lips, making Imani lose her focus on keeping her heels from sinking into the ground. She maintained her confident posture, placing a hand on her hip as if to prove she was still playing.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, voice lowering to where only they could hear, “I’m gonna get your number.”

Imani laughed, her left heel sinking sharply into the dirt. She yelped and flailed her arms as she tilted backward and braced for a fall, but Cook caught her before she could. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her hand gripping his shoulder, and that cocky little grin that set her face on fire in embarrassment. He helped her up, holding her steady as she yanked her heel out of the dirt. His hands lingered on the sides of her arms, but to her surprise he actually let her go without any shenanigans.

“Stuipid shoes,” she said, offering a small smile.

“Nah,” he dismissed, “I like ‘em.”

She watched him as he walked away, lips parted as if she was going to answer, but nothing came to mind. He whirled around, pointing at her with a grin.

“You’re on, Hollywood,” he called, startling the other people around him.

Imani chuckled, following him, swinging her purse airily.

The two zipped around the underground party like someone had set them on fire, Imani flirting guys’ wallets open and Cook dealing as if he was a professional. They’d pass by each other, flashing each others’ wads of cash with cocky grins and bright smiles, tallying up the amount each of them had made in competitive shouts. Once everyone had made it aboveground, Imani and Cook counted their money separate from the group, earning strange looks, but they were too engrossed to notice.

“One-hundred and fifteen,” Cook finished, flicking his stack of cash proudly.

Imani sighed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms as if to admit defeat. Cook grinned at her, holding his hand out expectantly. A devious smile formed on her face, and she gently placed her cash in his palm, patting it comfortingly.

“Two hundred.”

“Oh come on!”

Imani laughed loudly, earning a stare from Freddie behind him.

“You’re so done,” she teased, her voice carrying a musical lilt.

She clapped him on the arm, then walked over to the group with her arms open wide, soaking in her victory.

“I win, I’m the best!”

She curtseyed gracefully, smiling brightly until she met the unimpressed faces of the group and quickly composed herself.

“Cook and I made a bet,” she said awkwardly, clearing her throat.

Cook came up behind her, counting the money and handing it to Thomas.

"Four-hundred and ninety five, thanks to 'Mani over here."

Imani smiled as Thomas stared down at the money, then looked around at everyone gratefully. Imani's eyes softened; he must've been in a real pinch.

"You are good people, thank you," he said, "And now, you're my friends as well."

Imani sucked on her teeth, rummaging through her purse. The group watched curiously as she pulled out a money clip, eyes widening as she casually plucked out two hundred-dollar bills and handed it to him.

"Sorry, I haven't converted it yet."

Thomas slowly accepted the money, looking at her in astonishment. Imani glanced around, feeling itchy under everyone's stares. She sighed.

"Yes, I'm rich," she said, tossing her hands in the air, "Ta-da."

JJ squinted. "If you're rich, what are you doing at our college?"

Before Imani could answer, two minivans pulled up and surrounded them. Imani looked around in confusion as Effy grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close to her and Pandora, stumbling over. Imani started to rummage around in her purse for her pepper spray, but soon abandoned the thought once she watched several men with bats hop out of the (rather amusing) cars. One man emerged from the driver's seat and opened the back door, revealing a scrawny blond man in a jumpsuit with piercings and a scowl. He exited the car and walked up to them, eyes zeroing in on Thomas coldly. Imani lowered Thomas's hand full of money and gently took it out of his hand, tucking it inside her bag before the man noticed.

"Dealing on my turf, then?"

He stopped, and his eyes shifted over to Cook, who, for the first time since Imani had known him, looked afraid. He avoided the man's gaze as he closed in on him, hands retreating to his pockets.

"You," the man said, "Didn't I say I'd kill you if I saw you again, boy?"

Imani's hand closed around her taser instead as she surveyed the strange men behind him. They looked a bit silly, sure, but threatening enough to give her a scare. The blond curled his fingers around the golden necklace Cook was wearing and snatched it off, making the young man wince. Knowing Cook, Imani thought, he probably stole it--it was times like this she regretted turning down those judo classes as a kid. The blond took a bat from one of the men as he stared Cook down, making Imani's stomach drop. Her hand tightened around the taser in her purse--she couldn't fight, but she could take down that skinny fucker if she tried.

"I think you are some kind of English pussy cunt," Thomas suddenly said, making her jaw drop.

The blond's dark stare shifted over to Thomas, who remained undaunted. Imani and Effy looked at each other, then between the two as they stared each other down. Thomas wasn't done, though.

"And, possibly, your father was a homosexual donkey."

Imani giggled, making the man glare at her and shut her up, resorting to turning the taser over in her hand. Thomas looked down at him, shoulders set.

"I will fight you myself," he said, "You can choose any weapon."

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani never thought she would watch a man shit himself, but then again, it seems anything could happen in England.

Instead of actual weapons, the man--Johnny White, Freddie told her later--chose to challenge Thomas to a pepper-eating competition. Why a white man chose this, Imani would never know, but he not only lost to a teenager, he shat himself in the process.

Now, the gang was back at Thomas's apartment (or flat, as they called it), laughing and smoking copious amounts of spliff. Imani had taken off her shoes and was nestled between Katie and Emily, finally enjoying a proper conversation with the cushioning of drugs. Cook and Effy were back to sucking each other's faces off, and Freddie was too high and busy staring at Imani to notice.

All was right with the world.

Until, that is, a shocked Thomas said the dreaded word Imani knew all too well.

"Maman!" (Mom!)

Quickly, Imani stood, putting out her spliff and grabbing her purse like a caught burglar.

"What's wrong," Katie asked, eyeing her strangely.

"Parents," Imani whispered sharply, quickly going into Thomas's bedroom.

Pandora gasped as she barged in, covering her chest and smoking her spliff, staring in shock. Imani grabbed her shirt and tugged it over her head, taking the spliff from her. Thomas's mother's voice resonated throughout the room outside the door, making Imani wince and hurry up, but Pandora's head was caught in on of the arm holes and Imani was too busy trying to force it down to notice.

"Get dressed, Thomas's mom--"

The door creaked open, and Imani and Pandora froze, met with a horrified woman staring at them. She gasped, eyes darting between the two like she'd found a dead body.

"Lesbiennes!"

Imani smiled awkwardly, giving a wave. "Bonjour, madame!" (Hello, miss!)

Needless to say, Thomas was going home.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani consoled Pandora as everyone lay out on the grass in Imani's backyard, smoking spliff. Effy sat next to them, smoking quietly as Imani soothed their friend.

"It'll be just fine, Panda," she reassured her, "Just fine. He'll come back."

"But what if he doesn't?!"

Pandora cried into Imani's shoulder, hugging her tightly while everyone else stared. Imani placed her chin on the crown of Pandora's head, catching Effy's eye and widening hers as a signal. Effy raised a questioning brow, putting out her spliff on the concrete lip of the pool.

Your turn, Imani mouthed. I have guests.

Effy sighed, scooting over to put her arm around Pandora, who turned and clung to her desperately, sobbing.

"Let's go to my room," Imani offered, flaring her eyes at Effy.

Effy rolled her eyes at Imani's compulsory need to organize, but stood and helped Pandora to her feet. Cook watched as the three dried their feet on a towel Imani had left by the patio door before ushering Pandora inside and upstairs. The silence had been unbearable, but he could finally do it.

"Right, fuck it," he announced, starting to undress.

Freddie and JJ looked at him in confusion as she stripped down to his underwear and walked past the other girls.

"Fuck are you doing, Cook," Kate demanded in annoyance, "You're at a nice place, have some fucking manners!"

Cook laughed, tugging at his underwear, giving everyone else little to no warning to prepare themselves as he took them off. Naomi groaned in displeasure, looking away. Cook turned around, spread his arms, and fell backwards into the pool. The water was warm--he expected it to be cold, but it embraced him readily as he sank lower, falling still for a moment, watching bubbles trickle up from his stinging nose. Rippling shadows lined the edge of the pool and he grinned--of course, they'd come and watch. He finally moved, swimming to the surface, gasping for air once he made it. Everyone stared at him owlishly.

"It's fucking paradise in here," he said, gesturing to the girls, "Any one of you want to join?"

Katie had had enough of James Cook to stomach for one day. Her face twisted in disgust, and she stood.

"You're a pig," she spat, turning away, "C'mon, Emily."

Cook only laughed, doing a backstroke, gleeful at the group's distress as they complained and turned away. Emily glanced back at Katie as she grabbed her heels and headed for the backyard door. Katie checked for her sister and huffed in exasperation when she didn't find her.

"Emily!"

Emily scrambled to her feet and lightly jogged after her, picking up her flats. Naomi watched her, looked at Cook, then rolled her eyes and went inside. JJ and Freddie lingered, hesitant to leave Cook unsupervised. They averted their eyes as Cook floated on his back, watching them with anticipation.

" 'Mani's going to kill you," JJ warned.

Cook grinned. "Water's warm, J."

"Mate, we're not getting naked with you," Freddie exclaimed.

He glanced at the upper windows anxiously, then shook his head, backing away from the pool.

"Sorry, I'm out of here."

"Aw, mate," Cook groaned, calling after Freddie as he jogged away and scaled the back gate, "Don't be like that!"

JJ watched Freddie leave, frozen helplessly in place. Cook swam up to him, tugging at his wrist to pull him in, but JJ managed to wrench himself away and retreat to the grass.

"I'm--I'm going inside."

Cook watched him go as he shook his head, laughing.

They really were no fun.

Effy’s cool blue eyes scanned Imani’s bedroom, taking in all the details she’d missed from being spliffed, drunk, and too full of pad thai to think. The stacked boxes had nearly cleared out, giving floor space for Imani to put down yet another persian rug, one whose fibers yielded to the force of her toes as she sat on the dark leather chest that faced Imani’s dresser at the end of her bed. Her bed had changed too. It had a sheer white canopy hanging from a copper frame, a white duvet that didn’t match its fuzzy cheetah print blanket, which couldn’t encompass the size of her queen bed, and pink satin pillows and sheets that Pandora was carefully nestled under like Sleeping Beauty.

Effy stood, strolling around the room. She had a dark wooden vanity with a large mirror that had polaroids and postcards tucked into the oval-shaped frame. Effy leaned over the mess of bottles of Poison Girl--one half empty, one fresh--various shades of red lipstick and pink and clear lip gloss, and makeup tools to peer at them. The postcards came from Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles, Morocco even, all spilling over with messages of love and longing: Miss the taste of your mouth; Love you lots ; Come back bitch!; Remember when we did shrooms here? XO. The polaroids varied between works of art and scenes of chaos on sidewalks, encapsulated in flash. One caught Effy’s eye, though; Imani dressed in a halo and a white silk nightgown that brushed her upper thighs and had a border of lace on the end, grinning brightly in a pair of angel wings.

Effy smiled at it, then turned around to look at her desk on the opposite side of the room, brushing past the open dresser full of lace bralettes and underwear. The black desk was smaller than the vanity, and looked older, too. It was one of those ones with lids you could close. It was scraped at the edges with a pink ottoman tucked nearly underneath, and there were large stacks of books on top of it with the spines facing outwards. Effy traced them with her finger, finding biographies about Jane Birkin and a much thicker one in french about Albert Camus. There were several books by someone named Angela Davis that had titles Effy found rather cryptic—Women, Race and Class—and of course, a worn-down stack of more Camus, all in french.

The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs distracted her from the rest of the books as she checked the door, but there was no one there, so she kept investigating. There were more photos, these ones tucked under the built-in cubbies under the lid. They were small but had circular golden frames. A beautiful woman was in one of them, her smile dazzling, nearly blinding Effy through the glass. Her skin was dark and radiant; her hair fell down her shoulders in tiny braids. Her eyes were slender and almond shaped and dusted with bronze eyeshadow, her mouth a blooming rose of red that accentuated her perfect teeth. The beginnings of a man’s face were visible, but it was cut out. Effy picked it up, lingered on it, then set it back down where it belonged.

The centerpiece of the desk was a white typewriter with no paper—just a small ticket for the New York City Ballet dated for June 10th, 2008, at 7:30 PM.

“That’s the last time I saw her.”

Effy turned to face the door sharply, startled by Imani’s gentle voice. She was smiling, dressed in a faded and oversized Pet Sematary shirt and sweatpants, her leather attire draped over her forearm. Effy shifted on her feet uncomfortably, holding her gaze.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Imani dismissed, coming inside and going to the closet, “After all, I’m quite interesting.”

Effy smiled again at the ironic twinge in her words. She picked up the photo of the beautiful woman again, tracing the frame.

“This your mum?”

Imani glanced back, her face falling slightly at the sight of the photo. She quickly went back to hanging up her clothes, brushing a few curled ends out of her face.

“Yeah.”

Effy turned at the tone of her voice, but she was facing away, kneeled down and organizing her shoes. Effy looked up at the wide array of fine fabrics she had hung up: animal print, silk, denim, leather, vinyl, polka dots and knitted wear—it was like she was a spy who had collected several disguises to blend in wherever she went.

Cool.

“Are you close?”

Her voice lightened. “Yeah. We talk all the time. She always wants to know what I’m doing, how I’m feeling.”

“But you live with your dad?”

She paused, turning her head towards Effy slightly, then shrugged, standing up. “Well, he got custody.”

Effy blinked, then set the photo down. Imani went over to her dresser and closed the drawer of underwear with some embarrassment, then looked over to Pandora. She smiled affectionately.

“God, she’s precious, isn’t she?”

Effy didn’t answer. She’d finally noticed all the trophies lined up neatly atop the dresser. They glimmered with their own pride, shining like Olympian gold even though Effy knew they were plastic. 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002…there was one for each year up to 2005. Her eyes settled on a rhinestone tiara that sat next to them, and she reached up for it, taking it carefully in her hands and studying it. It wasn’t plastic. Probably some kind of metal. The gems glittered like diamonds.

“Where’s this from,” she asked.

Imani looked over, watching Effy examine the crown with interest. She'd forgotten it was even up there.

“The nutcracker. My first performance from when I was in the Academy.”

Effy turned it over, her face unreadable. She set it back on the dresser, then gave Imani a small smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were a ballerina.”

Imani laughed. “Didn’t come up.”

Pandora stirred in Imani’s bed, eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the soft light of the pink-shaded lamp on her nightstand. Imani quickly went over to her as she sat up and rubbed her tear-streaked face. She sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around Panda’s shoulders.

“Hey, you alright?”

Effy almost wanted to laugh—she looked like her mother. Pandora nodded and gave Imani a smile.

“Thanks, ‘Mani.”

“Do you want some tea? You hungry?”

“Do you have more of those cookies?”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

Pandora hopped out of bed and gladly allowed Imani to lead her downstairs to the kitchen. Effy glanced back up at the crown, then followed with a smirk.

The television blared with some inane reality show as JJ and Naomi sat on either ends of the leather couch, both perking up at Imani coming down the stairs. She looked out of the window, saw the signs of dusk, and her cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! You guys want something to eat? I completely forgot myself…”

She gestured for everyone to follow her, flicking on the kitchen and dining room lights as she set Pandora at the kitchen island and opened the pantry to hunt for the Belgian waffle cookies she asked for.

“Anything to drink,” she called out, “Soda, wine?”

“I’ll take a glass,” Naomi accepted, watching her smile at Pandora as she handed her the tin.

“Lovely. JJ?”

“Water’s fine,” he answered quickly, stealing a glance at Effy as she took the seat at the end of the table next to him.

Imani pouted her lips as she grabbed a wine glass and opened the fridge, looking at JJ earnestly.

“Oh, you sure?”

He nodded, eyes darting between Naomi and Effy uncertainly. Imani shrugged as she popped the cork on a red.

“Suit yourself. Eff?”

“Wine.”

Smiling, Imani grabbed another glass. Naomi watched as she gracefully poured two glasses, passed Pandora a soda, then got JJ a crisp bottle of water. She set them all down in front of each, then sat down at the other end of the table with a sigh, placing her hands on the table and crossing her legs.

“So! Dinner. Any preferences?”

Pandora was the first to speak. "Can we have thai food again? I liked that spicy stuff. Mum doesn't let me eat spicy food."

Imani was intrigued by such an odd rule, but kept it to herself. She looked to everyone else.

"I haven't eaten thai food before," JJ admitted, "Sounds...interesting."

"Don't worry, it's not all spicy," Imani assured him with a smile. "Naomi? Eff?"

Effy nodded, and Naomi shrugged. Imani got up from the table and grabbed the house phone, punching in the number of the only thai restaurant in town worth spending money on, and ordered for everyone.

It was a pleasant dinner. Imani knew how to ply a room into jovial conversation--it only took a little alcohol and a full belly. Pandora added chili paste to her spicy eggplant and burned her tongue, gorging on ice cream while everyone laughed and tasted it as a challenge. Only Imani and Naomi could take it. JJ ended up a wounded member of the Ice Cream Club with Panda. The dinner wasn't long, though--parents called, especially Pandora's, and people went home.

Imani was once again sitting alone at a table full of leftovers she couldn't eat.

She tapped her fingers on the dining table, staring down at her untouched plate of pad see ew, and glanced thoughtfully at the greasy fork she'd poked at it with. As far as she knew, no one noticed she'd left her dinner alone, save for the eggplant challenge. Maybe Effy, she was observant like that, but the only person she'd think would notice had disappeared in the late afternoon. Where did everyone go, anyway?

With a sigh, she rose from the table, packing up the food, stacking it in the refrigerator, and grabbing an apple. Her tongue burned vengefully against its cold skin as she bit into it; relief made her jaw soften as she filled her mouth with juicy, cold, apple flesh. That damn chili paste nearly burned her tongue off. She shut the fridge and rested her head against it. The house was quiet again. She hated the quiet.

Suddenly, she remembered.

"Muzzie!"

Imani quickly ran upstairs and looked for her kitten on the bed and in the closet, where she liked to snuggle in her sneakers, but Mustard wasn't there. Not on the dining table, and obviously not in Dad's room. Worry started to knot in her stomach--the house was big, but not that big. Had she lost her cat already? She went downstairs, checking and feeling the couch to make sure she didn't miss her in the inconsistent lighting from the television. Agitated, she bit into her apple again and slid open the patio door.

"Mustard," she called, flicking the backyard lights on. "Mus--"

Cook was lounging on a pool chair, smoking as he scratched behind the black kitten's ear. His focused expression shifted as he looked up at the sound of her voice. He smiled.

He wasn't wearing any clothes.

Imani hesitated to get near him, but relented, going to retrieve her cat. He placed Mustard in her outstretched hands and eyed her up and down as she turned away, kissing her tiny head and nuzzling it.

"You scared me, little girl," she said softly, "How'd you get out here?"

"She's cute," Cook said. "Found her under the chair."

He knocked on it casually, then sighed, swiveling to put his feet on the grass. Imani tentatively glanced back at him as he stood and was relieved to see he was wearing his underwear. She fully turned to face him after noticing his discarded clothes on the ground. Incredulous, she chuckled.

"Took a swim?"

Cook shrugged, hooking his thumbs into the band of his underwear.

"Water was warm."

She looked at him with an amused smile. "Was it, now?"

Crickets chirped loudly as she went back to the patio doors to set Mustard down on the dining room table to sleep, then grabbed a box of cigarettes from the counter and pulled one out, lighting it on the stove and rejoining Cook outside where he was waiting for her. She shut the sliding door behind her softly, exhaling smoke through her nose. They regarded each other warmly, Imani bursting into a smile and Cook laughing.

"You really have no manners, do you?"

Cook grinned and shook his head, playful as a child. Imani laughed softly, smoke framing her dark pink lips and shining, perfect teeth. Cook stared at them, then met her eyes again. She held his gaze, then looked away, biting her lower lip as her eyes skimmed the grass. She glanced back at the sliding door as she took a drag of her cigarette again before she dared to look at him. She didn't meet his eyes, but looked at the large cross tattoo on his rib and gestured toward it lightly.

"Nice ink," she complimented.

He grinned as her eyes lingered, tracing his torso, then flitted up to his. He raised his eyebrows, looking down at it as he'd just remembered it was there.

"You like? I got more."

"Really?"

She lifted her hand with a coy smile, twirling her finger as it pointed downward.

"Give me a spin, let me see."

Spreading his arms with a chuckle, he obliged, turning slowly, leaning heavily on either foot like he was drunk. He could feel her gaze raking against his skin, and it made his blood rush with anticipation. Imani teased her lower lip with her thumb while her cigarette burned between her fingers, neglected. Her eyes spanned the width of his slender shoulders, the slim muscles of his back. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he finished his turn and she smiled, applauding with a nod.

"Nice, very nice. Good work."

He cocked his head slightly, eyes lasering through her pajamas. "Your turn, then."

"You've already seen it, remember?"

He frowned. She sighed, flicking her cigarette as she reminded him.

"The one on my leg. The snake."

"Oh. Didn't notice."

He went over to his clothes and started tugging on his jeans. Imani stayed put, eyes lingering on the pool. Cook came up next to her as he pulled his shirt on over his head, watching her intently. She tapped her lips with her thumb, then smoked, exhaling slowly.

"You know, I haven't been in that pool yet," she remarked thoughtfully.

Cook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, smile playing on his lips. She sighed, tossing her cigarette butt in the glass, starting to take off her sweats. Cook’s smile widened; God was truly answering all of his prayers.

“Been here a whole month with my dad paying for a warmed pool,” she said, kicking them off, “And I haven’t been in once.”

Cooked eyes drank in her dancer’s legs, and he finally recognized the tattoo on her right one. It coiled the entire length of her leg, the snake’s head nestled beneath her hip, its tail stretched over her foot. Her underwear were white and lace, and he would’ve moved to touch it if she hadn’t taken off her shirt, turned and grinned at him, and threw it onto his face.

He struggled to get it off his head fast enough to get a glimpse of her before she was in the pool. He only saw her cannonball in with a laugh, and threw the shirt to the ground in frustration, listening to the splash.

Fishing another cigarette out of his pocket as he walked over to the pool, he twirled his lighter between his fingers as she came to the surface and rested her arms on the ledge, propping her chin up on her forearms and smiling sweetly. He kneeled down and placed the cigarette he found between her lips, the tips of his fingers brushing against their soft skin, creating electricity that buzzed through his entire hand. He sat down cross-legged and lit it for her, plucking it from her mouth as she exhaled and pushed off the pool wall, going back to swimming underwater. The cigarette tasted of chlorine and strawberry chapstick. Cook swallowed.

She came back up on the ledge, sucking in air and letting out a heavy exhale, wiping the water from her eyes before they fixed onto Cook, glinting playfully. He admired the way the pool lighting accentuated her cheekbones, wanting to reach out and touch one, but fiddled with the cigarette instead. She’d slip through his fingers if he tried to grab hold of her—it took him a while to understand it, but he did now, and he could only accept it if he wanted her attention to stay on him.

Her eyes, he thought to himself. Something about them. They were so innocent and sweet-looking, yet they leered up at him with the cruelty of a torturer.

“Turn around,” she said.

“Again?”

She smiled, the water lapping at her slight shoulders.

“It’s lace. It’s see-through.”

Immediately, Cook leaned forward and tried to peek through the water, making Imani laugh and splash water in his face.

“Fuck off, you pervert!”

She laughs. Imani laughs. Cook is, well, Cook, and Imani laughs. He doesn’t know what that means, if she’s into it or not, if he’s ever going to shag her like he desperately needs to, but it’s enough to make him feel at ease. Rest. He places the cigarette in her mouth and turns around, playfully peeking over his shoulder in the hopes she’ll laugh again—she does.

“I should drown you,” she teases.

“Use your thighs,” he shoots back.

Silence, then movement. He feels her chest against his back, his shirt soaking up the water on her skin, the pungent scent of smoke filling his nose. Then, it happens again: electric. Her lips brush against his ear as she whispers.

“Close your eyes.”

He obeys.

Imani pushed herself out of the pool and looked down at him leaning on his hand, eyes shut but eyebrows raised expectantly. She chuckles and walks onto the grass, peeling off her underwear and putting her pajamas back on, squeezing out the lace and bunching it into her pocket. She takes a puff of her cigarette then squeezes out her hair.

“You hungry?”

He doesn’t answer, still as a rock. Imani rolled her eyes.

“You can look now.”

Cook opened his eyes and stood, grinning as he moved towards her. She looked up at him, eyes as dangerous as ever.

“Hungry or no?”

“I could eat.”

She nudged her head towards the sliding door. “C’mon. Hope you like thai."

Cook laughed. "Fuckin' thai, of course."

They padded inside quietly. Cook looked around with an edge of caution at the sound of the television in the living room.

"Your parents in," he asked, scratching Mustard's belly as he tried to get a look at the couch.

"No."

Imani grabbed the pad see ew from the refrigerator and put it in the microwave, setting it on a few minutes to warm it back up. Cook eyed the clock skeptically.

"It's nearly twelve, and your parents aren't back in?"

Imani raised her eyebrows in agreement, but simply sighed, rubbing her eyes and watching the microwave dish spin slowly.

"My dad works late."

"Pretty fuckin' late," he remarked.

She didn't have a charming answer, so she just kept quiet. Cook watched her curiously as the light glowed against her face until it stopped. Imani opened the door before it could beep, stirring the noodles and plating them before placing them on the kitchen island. She gave a mild smile, which threw Cook off because it was the first one that hadn't reached her eyes.

"I'll be right back," she said, grabbing the half empty wine bottle from the fridge and placing it in his hands, "Don't stain the carpet."

She went upstairs and closed the door to her room. Cook stood in a daze, then opened the bottle of wine and dug into his food without giving what had happened much thought. At least, he tried not to give it much thought. Had he said something wrong? Was he supposed to make a move?

He’d moved to the living room with the wine bottle on the glass coffee table by the time she came back in the same shirt, pajama shorts, and a towel on her head. Cook focused on the television—it was some rerun of a play he hadn’t been paying attention to—but discreetly stole a glance at her as she flicked on the light and took a seat on the other end of the couch. The leather creaked under her from disuse as she sighed, propping her feet up on the coffee table and flipping open a book. Dismayed, Cook looked at her slowly.

She felt his eyes on her as a trickle of water rolled down her forehead. She wiped it before it could fall on the page, clearing her throat and settling deeper into the couch.

“What’s that,” Cook asked.

“Hamlet.”

Hamlet, of course. He smiled at the absurdity of it.

“What’re you reading that for?”

A small, amused smile formed on her lips as she read the page.

“It’s for our class, Cook. We have homework, you know.”

He waved his hand in dismissal, scooting over towards her.

“Nah, fuck that. Have some of this, watch the—er—movie.”

He held the wine bottle toward her. She finally looked up at him, giving him a goodnatured smile. He lit up in anticipation, moving the bottle closer, eager for more fun. She was getting bored of him, he could feel it.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, taking the bottle by the neck. Their hands touched, and Cook sweared hers lingered before she took a long swig and set it on the table with a sense of finality.

“There.”

She went back to reading, and Cook frowned, trying to figure out what her angle was now.

“Right, so, I’m confused.”

She raised a brow, not looking up from the page. “Confused?”

“You’ve been coming onto me all day, pressing your tits against me and everything, and now you’re reading?”

She chuckled, turning the page without answering. Taken aback, Cook leaned back against the couch, staring at the play with a furrowed brow. It was a hideous sight, two old actors were doing a sex scene. He looked back to Imani impatiently.

“Are you fuckin’ with me or something?”

Her smirk did nothing to ease his suspicions. Frustrated, he grabbed the wine bottle and gulped it down, wiping his mouth with a sigh. He forced himself between the hard leather cushions with a huff, taking out his lighter and twirling between his fingers. What was he still doing here if she wasn’t going to shag him? She already had a pet, she didn’t need him. He sighed, looking around the room, looking at the strange director’s chair made of animal hide perched on shiny wooden legs, then decided he was done.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, sitting up sharply.

Imani’s smirk grew as he grabbed his shoes by the door, then peeked back into the living room to see if she’d moved. She only turned the page.

“Right, I’m going.”

She answered smooth as silk, nodding. “Okay.”

Her calm tugged on the yoke of his frustration. He pulled on his sneakers and opened the door.

“Hang on.”

She was behind him. He jumped, looking back at her from the doorway. The cold night air made goosebumps rise on her legs as he looked at her expectantly, fingers drumming on the doorframe with impatience. Slowly, she lifted her hand and held it out to him. He stared in confusion and turned around.

“Well?”

He squinted at her. “Well what?”

“Your phone.”

His blue eyes widened, and he quickly pulled his phone out of his back pocket, placing it in her palm. She smiled, then made a new contact and punched in her number. Cook watched, a grin forming on his face as she handed it back to him.

"Cheers," he said, then hesitated, giving her a look. "This is your real number, right?"

She laughed softly at his question, shaking her head.

"Night, Cookie."

She shut the door lightly. Cook watched her silhouette linger, then disappear behind the frosted glass. He stayed on the porch, smiling, then checked his phone. He checked I, no one there. He checked M, and laughed at her contact name: Ms. Washington. He dialed the number, sniffing and holding the phone up to his ear. It rang a few times, and Cook could see hints of her figure passing from the living room and disappearing up the stairs. A playful grin formed as she answered.

"Night, Princess," he said.

She opened her window and peered down at him. He glanced up, grin brightening as she shook her head, her chuckle buzzing in his ear. She hung up without a word but left the window open. He lingered, staring at the dresser, seeing the tiara glisten from the streetlight's glow.

Of course, he thought to himself as he walked down the dark, damp street. Of course, she has a crown.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Nah fr hit me UP

Gokutober 2022 Official Prompts List

( List in text in read more )

Thank you to everyone who sent in suggestions!

Event starts October 1st and ends after October 31st.

All posts and pieces need to be about or relate to Goku.

Please tag @gokutober​ and in your posts so we can see and reblog them!

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[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

I started writing a Remmick fic cause I’m nasty

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Guys its not funny anymore i need to pass my finals and all i can think about is this fucking skins fic

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

I just recently found ur Cook fic! OMG, its been a long time since i read a genuine, slow-burn fic. I rlly luv how u dont rush to make the reader cook an item but also explore their dynamic, their own selves! Even though it only has 2 chapters, they are so detailed, SOO worth the wait! I hope u take ur time and bless me woth another great fic🙏🙂‍↕️🫣😋🥰

THANK UUU <3

I hope you like the next chapter because we explore Imani's background and character more, as well as her friendships with the girls and how her budding connection with Cook is impacting it.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Finals are done!!!

Skins fic chappie three coming soon.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Is This Desire? (Feyd Rautha x Reader)

honeymoon Feyd laying down that husband pipe 😩 all media besides the story does not belong to me. there IS d1cking down, there IS political intrigue, there ARE in-law tensions, “rehabilitated” Feyd, warnings for s3x

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen and Sanura Sur-Kar have been lifelong friends since the day they were betrothed as children—-a mutual coldness in the eyes inspired respect and appreciation between the two kindred spirits. On the day of the na-Baron’s coming of age, however, simmering tensions between the pair rise to an all-consuming firestorm as the young Baron attempts to finally act on the desires he has harbored for her, but there is significant challenge: how he can manage to break past her impenetrable composure; the dispassionate mask of his treasured Bene Gesserit master?

part one is here!

the high priestess.

***

Here, in his wife’s arms, the newly titled—and wedded—Duke understood the legends of this planet all at once.

The wealth of which so many spoke—-it was beyond precious metals, jewels, esteemed stations; it was the restful quality of the golden suns, the alien sense of community that sprawled around him in astonishing splendor. There was so much, such promise seemingly teeming at every corner of this planet; that the thought of stealing or cheating, clawing at anything seemed a useless and bizarre farce.

Still, as he still took in this new home of his, the most important of his newfound wealth was fast asleep in his protective embrace. Her breaths were soft and slow. He had never seen her beautiful face so peaceful.

Their hearts beat towards each other through their naked chests, aching to embrace in a way that could prove somehow closer than their intertwined bodies. He inhaled her scent and he let his eyes fall shut.

Roses.

***

Feyd was still waiting to wake up from this dream. Her bright cheeks and smile enthralled and confounded him all the same. Now, her eyes were closed—before, she had never once dared to turn her back on him, and now she was sleeping in his arms. Years of longing still burned within him, blistering his insides as he inhaled her scent, but her gift would be enough to stave him off for the moment. Her breathing suddenly sharpened into an inhale and her eyes opened, meeting his. He was still getting used to her blissful expression but he quite liked it. When her features softened, her beauty bloomed in his eyes, like a flower that only opened its petals under the moonlight. She smiled as if she could hear the poetry she conjured in him.

No one else will do, she’d told him. I want you to be my husband.

“What do I call you,” he rasped softly, admiring her radiant face, “Your name.”

She seemed to blush. It hadn’t crossed his mind how she must’ve felt succumbing to his affections, but something told him it hadn’t crossed hers, either—nether of them were the kind to put themselves in others’ shoes without a useful purpose.

“Ah,” she began, hesitating slightly before a bashful smile, “Nitetis is my secret name.”

“Nitetis,” he whispered. A sacred hymn.

Her name lazily flowed from his lips like honey onto hers as he pulled her in for a kiss. That seemed to be easier for them both, no need for thought when flesh met flesh. He felt goosebumps rising on her nape.

“Nitetis,” he muttered, pulling her against him.

She chuckled. “Feyd, stop it.”

A black smile bloomed on his face. His hands confidently roamed along her back, feeling the muscle underneath the soft skin. She laughed in amusement at his passions as if she was not being engulfed with the same spark, and his eyes swept down hungrily to her mouth, stealing her lips for another kiss.

Feyd did not like being separated from his bride. The acceptable few hours they initially had apart being measured by seamstresses upon arriving in Daquan cruelly stretched into days with no sign of her, only tutoring on the wedding rites that awaited him, and the rules he had to follow before the ceremony—he nearly slit the minister’s throat upon being told he would be separated from his bride until they were to be wed. He didn’t care for this planet very much already.

Of course, if his brain went beyond his cock, he was able to appreciate his new court. Feyd knew better than to embarrass his betrothed with his violent impulses, but he was certainly having his patience tested in a way he didn’t anticipate; the purpose of his bride’s confounding behavior over the years was becoming clearer every moment he held onto the reward he had gotten while on the ship to keep his slim thread of patience intact. They had intentionally isolated the na-Baron, disposing of any illusion of diplomacy the moment they’d crossed the belt (after all, a few deaths under his watch didn’t cause anyone to bat an eye). As frustrated as he was, it rested on his shoulders to not jeopardize his fiancée’s hard work. And work she did.

He could see it on the faces of the ministers that spoke to him, the servant men that bathed him in sweet, perfumed water in the vaulted-ceilinged hammam, and the servants that tended to him that the Daquant weren’t pleased at the prospect of keeping a Harkonnen so close. Something told him in the way the soldiers who stood post at every corner of this sprawling palace watched him that his current conditions weren’t part of their plan. He found himself feeling gratitude towards his clever wife-to-be, a strange feeling, but it was nothing compared to the multitude of bizarre experiences he was regularly struggling to navigate. For instance, the living father of his betrothed was…kind. He seemed pleased to welcome the man who his daughter grew so willing to marry; the Duke expressed he was relieved by how well they got along, he looked forward to having more than one grandchild. (Daquani noblewomen were famously inclined towards disposing of unpleasant marriages after an heir had been consummated.)

Weeks passed without word from or even a glimpse of Tii Sanura. Not even a dream. He was starting to feel just a little stir crazy; he was under house arrest after all, they would escort him to the hammam and to dinner with the Duke and Duchess, but she was never to be found, almost as if her presence had only been a dream. It only occurred to him, when the Duchess visited his guest quarters, to simply ask. She was a quiet woman, but amicable enough from what he’d gathered of her.

“Ah, yes, I imagine you’d like to know,” she remarked with the same serene smile as her daughter, “Custom prevents me from telling you our sacred rites for brides here, but I assure you she is quite busy. Here, union is a very sacred thing—we try not to do it frivolously out of respect for our ancestors’ traditions—it is quite a serious matter for any woman here to commit herself to a man as a wife, especially for us noblewomen.”

His eyes wandered the vast corridor they strolled through heavily accompanied by soldiers. He knew the woman before him was Bene Gesserit, so he didn’t understand the purpose of such muscle supervising him with her. Perhaps just keeping an eye on the Harkonnen savage.

“I must say, although I’m not complaining,” she started slowly, her shrewd golden eyes studying him, “You seem rather eager to marry her.”

Feyd met her gaze with a hint of a smile. “Should I not be?”

“I never said it was a problem, just interesting. You didn’t strike me as a husband type.”

“I believe we’ve only met when I was a child, My Lady.”

“I could see forming in your eyes then what has taken shape now.”

Feyd looked out of the window to the sprawling palace courtyard, making a small sound of acknowledgment.

“And what is it you see in your daughter’s eyes?”

She laughed quietly. “Oh dear, certainly boredom. Sometimes annoyance.”

Feyd smiled slightly, looking at her pensive face and catlike features. She was a delicate-looking woman with dark hair and slightly pouted lips. Her eyebrows were slender, resting above a pair of fascinating golden eyes. Feyd was still baffled how his wife—wife-to-be— didn’t inherit them.

“My daughter is quite cool-headed, masterfully instructed by the best tutors in the empire to be a great leader. I see in her eyes the product of a job well done. But she is also a woman capable of great love. Or she may have been, a long while ago. Her heart grows colder.”

“Do you think I am the root of this?”

Her eyebrows rose at the bluntness of his inquiry, but her eyes’ peaceful quality never changed. She smiled at him, it was a vaguely familiar sight: the knowing, sage like smile of a mother.

“You are merely a symptom, young Harkonnen,” she replied kindly, “But make no mistake.”

Her eyes caught the rich sun through the window, and he felt as if he was being scathed by the furious gaze of a divine being. Her eyes were pointed, sharp, protective. In a series of instants, the Duchess suddenly awakened—it was the only way he could describe it. The expression she held was placid, but the Harkonnen knew better. He knew that look, that face. The one that made goosebumps rise on his pale peach skin; the face he had been met with so long ago when he was being presented to his future wife as a young boy. A face that gave no indication of intentions or passive analysis, eyes that held a gaze you couldn’t escape once it had fixed itself onto you—no running away or hiding, no matter how powerful the instinct was to do so. Feyd held it in cloaked defiance.

“Your journey continues on borrowed grace. My daughter is wise, but is still a young woman. I know some of her motivations are not purely out of political savvy or duty. She favors you, certainly against my counsel. She speaks of you very well, in her own way. It sickens me.”

His dark stare matched the woman’s aware gaze. He felt, very quietly, that he was staring at the sun, doing the unthinkable by standing his ground against this woman. It gave him some satisfaction to finally hear plainly what servants said quietly amongst themselves as they bathed him with barely hidden displeasure, assuming he could not understand them.

“You speak boldly. It is unlike a Bene Gesserit to do so,” he retorted.

“My daughter wishes to see you redeemed. So you will either prove your worthiness of my daughter’s hand, or we will deal with your defections in our own way.”

Feyd could only imagine the zombie they would make him into with all of their Bene Gesserit mind games. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I am honored to have the opportunity.”

He could see Tii Sanura’s irate wrinkle between the older woman’s slim eyebrows. Her golden jewelry sung sweetly as she slowly turned away, walking ahead of him without word.

It disgusted him to humble himself to strangers, regardless of their affiliation to his beloved, but the satisfaction of infuriating his soon-to-be Mother in Law with every breath he took and every night he would take her daughter was more than compensation.

“How am I to prove my worth, My Lady?”

She was quiet, only walking with sudden intent. No Sur Kar ever seemed to rush—not even servants—even when moving quickly, their steps were gracefully measured. The Duchess was moving with the force of a lioness. The guards closed in behind him, forcing him to catch up. Once they were in matching stride she finally answered.

“You will undergo thorough training. I will see to it that your mind and discipline is elevated beyond what you think you’ve been taught. I will see to it that you properly train—it would be unseemly for my daughter’s husband to be a pathetic fighter. You will think beyond mere perversions and treachery if you intend to take my husband’s title one day. Simply put, I will make you a leader. It will be difficult enough for the people here to stomach the look of you. That is enough chaos in this court to deal with.”

They had returned to his quarters without him noticing. Her words, while sounding gentle from her restful voice, were beyond insult. But they could not be denied. Tii Sanura constantly outwitted and outfought him. Tii Sanura could choose anyone in a room, even the ones she despised the most, and make them believe they were an invaluable friend to her, that she saw them for their pure soul and loved it in her own modest, tender way. He knew it because she’d done it before, charming and enrapturing a peer of theirs from the Imperial Court, an heir of a formerly rogue house trying to regain the Emperor’s graces.

He was an idiot, it was plain, and Feyd almost appreciated the amusement he provided. Sadly, after he had insulted the prestige of the Great House of Sur Kar, even making the occasional pass at her while in the company of both of the betrothed, Tii Sanura despised him. She never seemed angry. In fact, the curses she spoke of him sounded calm, meditative even. He never saw rage from her, pure, hot rage. It was because, he realized, she didn’t really get angry, she had developed too much control.

She got revenge. She punished. And she reveled in it.

His mind wandered to that boy from so long ago. He knew something was wrong the moment she suddenly let out a soft laugh at another one of his insults to their arranged marriage; he could suddenly see Death’s shadow looming over him, Its bloody mouth grinning at the young Duke’s brazen teenage zeal. His death was slow and cruel, the kind where it stole the light of the entire family, where he slowly deteriorated in front of the young na-Baron’s eyes until one day he spit up blood and was kept in bed. Tii Sanura was asked to keep him company—he had kept calling for her—and she glibly obliged. When she returned and relayed her trip to Feyd she was buzzing with subdued joy, and he took her in, fascinated and amused all the same. Perhaps those were the days he began to see her as a woman he could see himself standing by, fighting for, perhaps even love. He had never known such a beautiful monster.

“Young man?”

Feyd blinked, looking up a little to meet the Duchess’s curious gaze. He forgot himself for a moment.

“Where is she really,” he asked, silently cursing himself afterward, “Tii Sanura. I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

Her shoulders were square as she stood up straight, peering down at him.

“You will see her when it is time.”

***

A whisper.

Feyd.

He turned over in his bed, brow furrowing as visions danced behind his restful eyelids.

Feyd.

The blur began to stabilize until he saw a glimpse of her face, her smile on the ship, her rich brown eyes.

“Feyd…”

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice growing clearer. He was met with a harsh, pale sun. The smooth ground beneath him scaled his skin with uncompromising heat. His senses were fuzzy; but he knew he was lying on sand. The light was too much—he shut his eyes again. Darkness eclipsed the visions of sand dunes and the hoof prints of horses; a horse racing through the desert, his beloved perched masterfully over the saddle as the scarf wrapped around her face and head billowed under the force of her speed against the current of the wind. He knew it was her, he could feel her pulse racing, the heat that made her tongue dry and head spin. He could feel the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat in tandem with the horse’s gallop.

She was in a cave now. Water dripped, and his vision of her rippled.

“Feyd.”

There were women all around her, chanting or praying, heads cloaked under blood red scarves. They swung golden incense burners from chains, diligent in their prayer. She was in danger. She was dying. She was too far away, he couldn’t save her.

A scream tore its way from her parched, trembling lips. Blood.

With a grunt, he shot upright in his bed, waking with a horrified start. His fists bunched up the golden silk bedsheets as he fought to calm his nervous system. A dream, he told himself, it was only a dream. But it wasn’t—he could sense it, and it made him feel almost sick. Spice Agony is what she’d called it, and it had been haunting his dreams for the past three nights in a row.

He swallowed, rubbing his eyes with his hand and letting out a sigh. The dreams had never been so vivid when they were teenagers, and it seemed they were only getting more difficult to parse from when he was awake. That’s how he realized that he was being given Spice.

So much for barren lands.

He knew better than to protest, but it was troubling to be drugged by in-laws he wasn’t sure wanted him alive or not in a methodical fashion—he frequently recalled the poisoning of that long-forgotten Duke’s son with some trepidation. It had been nearly three months since landing on Daquan and he had still not wed Tii Sanura. Clearly, the Duke and Duchess felt he still had a ways to go before he was worthy of their daughter.

He hadn’t seen her either, but the longer he was in their court, the more he felt her. He knew that Spice caused hallucinations, aside from the health benefits he’d learned about, but there were times when his mind reached into something he couldn’t comprehend—not dreams, not hallucinations. Something more.

With an exhausted sigh, he rose from his bed and went to the window, taking in the splendrous courtyard that sprawled across the sand. beneath the glittering marble floors the soldiers and servants weaved between each other on as they all prepared to wake the Honorable family and their guest. Dawn was creeping close, but the moon was still bright and visible in the indigo sky. He stretched, feeling a satisfying extension of his muscles as he turned the door handles and stepped out onto the balcony. The air was balmy and already warm as he took a deep inhale, picking up the floral aroma that sweetened the air in the Sur-Kar palace.

He went to the door afterward, picking up a piece of paper off of the floor with a small smile. He’d never thought Tii Sanura to be the rule-bending type, at least not before their tryst on the trip to Daquan, but she was very willing to press the boundaries of the wedding customs she had insisted were never to be even questioned. They were not supposed to speak or see each other, but she began having letters sent to his room before anyone besides them were awake. Feyd would gladly lose himself in fantasies of all the pleasures they would share in the early hours once they were wed—he would smell her perfume, hear remnants of her laugh within the corridor he was being chaperoned down, or even just flat out envision the beauty of her nude body, with gold on her deep, dark brown skin, the velvet feel of ever inch of it, how she grabbed onto his hips to anchor him against her and pressed herself against his painfully hard length, whispering his name with feverish agony.

He suspected they were both suffering under the lack of release; the sensual quality of the richly embroidered silk couches, the steam against your brow when you bathed, the taste of the Daquani’s traditional sweet wine and how it created hot pools of desire in your body—he had never hungered for a companion as deeply as he did in this lavish cage. The trainings—especially the combat—was brutal in its rigor, but Feyd sensed that he might’ve been getting a bit less upsetting than before. He didn’t even know there was a balcony initially because it had been covered by a velvet curtain and blocked away by soldiers. Perhaps he was seeming a bit more civilized, although he certainly didn’t feel any different—then again, though, he wasn’t thinking straight with the constant surges of need that made him retreat to his quarters as soon as possible and fuck his cock through his oiled fist in the perfumed bath, inhaling the myrhh incense as he took sharp breaths through his nose and mouth, jaw clenching like iron. He was going slightly mad without having her close.

He opened the note and paused, rereading it.

Open the doors, it read.

He glanced at the large, loud, and heavy double doors with some skepticism until he abruptly turned and went back to the balcony. He could feel her; she was near. He opened the doors and stepped out again, squinting under the bright golden sunlight beaconing over the horizon. He looked around, scoured the courtyard but she was nowhere to be found. He huffed slightly through his nose, she was toying with him again. Scoffing quietly at her cruel joke, he closed the balcony doors again and went inside—the moment he had passed the doors, a heavy weight landed on his shoulders, nearly making him lose his balance as that rosy perfume filled his senses.

“Ah, look at that, you can still stand,” she teasingly remarked, smiling down at him as she sat atop his shoulders, “You are learning.”

“Is that not why you brought me here, Nitetis,” he questioned, holding onto her knees as a greeting, “To learn?”

“That doesn’t mean I thought you wouldn’t die,” she admitted, “But the Great Mother smiles upon you.”

She hopped from his shoulders onto the ground gracefully, her face still slightly hidden by the intense shadows casted by the bright sun’s rise. She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her, taking her by the waist and kissing her without question or hesitation. He felt her soft smile against his lips, the modest one, but he would quickly coax her out of her inhibition the moment he got the opportunity. She pulled back, then cocked her head.

“Ah, what happened to your teeth?”

He chuckled. “Your mother was disgusted by them.”

“So?”

“Your mother can still kill me, you know.”

“Over teeth,” she questioned, then cut him off. “No, no, that actually sounds like her.”

She held his face, seeming to study him even closer. “They have not hurt you badly, have they?”

“Would I miss you so much if they didn’t?”

She sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Ah, still disgusting.”

He smiled at her annoyance as she playfully returned to the balcony, embracing her tightly from behind. “Don’t even think of leaving so soon.”

Tii Sanura blushed, but rested her hands on his arms, tentatively resting against his chest. She smiled softly at his reflection in the glass.

“I will not.”

Feud took in her smile curiously, thinking to himself. What was she doing here? It was beyond forbidden for a bride and groom to see each other before they were bonded under the eyes of the Great Mother, the supreme goddess of the Daquani people. Even Tii Sanura, in all her cynicism and cleverness, was obedient to religious duties. She seemed to watch the gears turn in his mind, waiting for him to get to the conclusion.

“Is it today, my love,” he asked, voice heavy with residual sleep.

“Yes,” she told him, “Today is the day.”

He took her up in his arms and swept her up over into the bed, making her laugh softly as they crashed onto the silk sheets. He kissed her hungrily all over her face, making the volume of her laughter grow. It was taking so much of his might to restrain himself, but he knew the reward would be sweet. He held her tightly as sunlight showered into the room and illuminated both of their faces. Feyd closed his eyes, pressing his face into her neck, but she pushed him up.

She placed a hand on his chest to push him back as he tried to kiss her neck, and he begrudgingly relented, making her smile.

“It should be something you’ll like,” she assured, pinching his cheek sweetly, “But let’s see first.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes mysterious.

“How would you like being the sole ruler of Geidi Prime,” she asked, “How would you like to become the Baron Harkonnen you’ve always wanted to be?”

His blood got hot like fire, but he kept his head, caressing her arm with his finger. He felt new scars there, he realized.

“I like being called Prince better,” he teased.

She smiled, but did not seem amused.

“Geidi Prime must be conquered,” she said, “We both know the only way we can take his kingdom is through blood.”

Blood. Feyd almost licked his lips. He loved this woman, he knew it.

“It starts with Arrakis,” she continued, “There is a Fremen leader taking over.”

“Muad’dib,” he quickly recalled.

“He is no everyday Feydakin,” she said, “It’s him, I’ve seen it. It’s Paul.”

He frowned. “Paul?”

“Right, I forget you never met him,” she corrected, “Duke Atreides’s son. He lives.”

Feyd blinked, feeling a slight pit in his stomach—something he wasn’t fond of but had grown used to.

“And you call him Paul?”

She rolled her eyes, amused by the sliver of jealousy.

“I am marrying you, am I not? Focus.”

His eyes narrowed. She leaned toward him with a smile.

“Don’t get too jealous. He could’ve been your wife.”

Disgust quickly washed over his features.

“He is to become the Emperor,” she told him, “I’ve seen it.”

He studied her closely, wondering if she would lie to him for the sake of her Paul. Her gaze lowered under his.

“I refuse to let you die,” she muttered, “Please, just this once. Do not be foolish.”

He felt as if the sun was warming all of his insides, that perhaps this Great Mother truly was smiling on him. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, taking in his love’s face.

“I will not leave you, Nitetis.”

She shied away from his frankness. “I didn’t say that.”

He only smiled in response. Tii Sanura felt her heart beat a bit harder in her chest; he had taken to her homeland’s sun quite nicely and it kissed his cheeks in a way that felt almost stupefying. She cleared her throat, rubbing her neck and sitting up.

“When you marry me today, you will be pledging loyalty to my house, my people. You must relinquish your loyalty to your family.”

His smile only broadened. “Is it not the other way around?”

“I’m not marrying up, na-Baron,” she reminded him slyly, “You will need to give something in return.”

“Are my heirs not enough?”

“Are you going to pledge loyalty or not?”

“Have I ever given you a reason to doubt I would?”

“Many, yes.”

He sat up, pulling her closer by her arm and admiring her face.

“My loyalty lies with you. Only you.”

She was quick to refine his declaration. “And our family.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you wish of me, I will do it for you.”

She laughed heartily. “They are coming around to you, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s what they’re telling you.”

“They’ll warm up to you. We are very wary people; outsiders, especially enemies of our sister home, are a bit more difficult to get used to. Besides, they know I wouldn’t allow it. Don’t let it trouble you. You only need to prove your worth and loyalty; my father will be pleased enough with that.”

“And your mother?”

“Only she knows such things,” she admitted, “Just keep learning.”

He nodded again, then pulled her in for a kiss, which she welcomed and returned. She whispered against his lips.

“I must go, my friend. I will see you soon.”

“Ah-ah,” he corrected, holding her arm firmly, “Not so soon.”

“You know how long preparations already take,” she reprimanded, “I must be prepared for the wedding. There is a schedule, you know—oh!”

He pulled her onto the bed and flipped them over, silencing her with a kiss as he pressed himself onto her. She softened into him, just as he thought, but she broke the kiss.

“They will be here any minute,” she warned, “It was fine once—“

Another hungry kiss, and she hummed softly in his mouth.

“Feyd, I have to—“

Another kiss and she laughed, pulling back as well as she could.

“Feyd, my mother will kill us both if today’s schedule is delayed.”

That gave him enough pause. With annoyance, he pushed himself off of her with a grumble. She kissed him as she got up from the bed.

“We will have more than enough time tonight, husband.”

He stared up at her, ready to risk the Duchess’s wrath to take her in that very instant. She quickly slipped away before he could change his mind, climbing out of sight. The lock on the double doors turned almost immediately after—that was close.

The menservants bowed as priests shuffled in with various holy tools. Feyd cleared his throat.

“I must bathe alone first.”

***

Tii Sanura was perched gracefully on an ornate silk ottoman as the Duchess was guided into her daughter’s quarters by other ladies in waiting. Her feline features were stony, a look the young woman knew well. The servants were brushing through her long, freshly washed coils with their fingers, nourishing the strands with sweet oils. Tii Sanura held her composure as her mother entered the room. She offered a small smile through the mirror.

“Mother,” she greeted.

“You disobeyed holy tradition.”

There was never time for niceties when the Duchess of Daquan brought a matter to you. Tii Sanura sighed, her shoulders faltering slightly.

“I know. I apologize.”

“Apologies are nothing in the face of our ancestors,” she insisted, “Do I need to worry about this marriage between you and that Harkonnen boy? I have held my tongue in faith of your expertise, but you are starting to concern me.”

Her shadowy figure crept up behind Tii Sanura in the crystal vanity.

“You’ve been distracted. Growing slower by the day. The Harkonnens have no worth to this family; I have allowed this purely out of faith in your judgement.”

“Do you question it now, mother?”

Her reddened lips drew into a firm line. “I fear, my girl, that you have made this choice not out of reason, but affection.”

Tii Sanura faltered, her chin dipping as the servant women fastened her thickly braided hair against her head, wrapping it up with a shimmering golden cloth before the Duchess stepped forward, causing them to bow and retreat. Her eyes peered into her daughter’s reflection as she placed a gentle hand on her soft shoulder.

“I fear that my child has had many scars before that we were able to mend, but that we cannot mend what she chooses to let break her.”

“He cannot hurt me.”

“He is a Harkonnen boy,” she nearly hissed, “It is danger enough. We have taught him what we could, but it couldn’t change what he is.”

Tii Sanura’s eyelids glittered as she shut them. “And what would that be? A monster, killer, or animal? Cold-blooded, untrustworthy?”

“Among many others.’

Tii Sanura was quiet for a long while before her mother let go of her shoulder, allowing the servants to return to their diligent work.

“Mother, I have seen what this union brings me. In dreams that were visions, ever since I was fifteen, he has haunted my future like an unstoppable prophecy. We are bound. Our fates are intertwined, and he knows it too, because what is in his heart for me troubles him to the core. He is…”

She hesitated, then finished. “He is ready to be my husband as I am to be his wife. This is the path forward.”

The Duchess slowly turned away, unwilling to trouble her daughter with her obvious fear. Her voice remained cool.

“You vowed it. House Harkonnen will fall. There will be no mercies.”

Tii Sanura smiled to herself. “Put yourself at rest, mother. He will be more than ready to answer our call. He knows the duty asked of him to the Empire.”

“I shall carry his child, and House Harkonnen will fall. We will rule as Sur-Kar.”

The silence from her mother did not satisfy her.

“Mother, it is a cause for celebration. Our power is expanding. This is a blessing.”

“That is what your father would say.”

“And you doubt him?”

The Duchess lingered, then left.

The sun scorched down on the bride and groom as they stood stiffly next to each other, the fanfare outside the great double doors planting their feet onto the ground like led. Feyd tried to steel his nerves but when the priest stepped before him and held his gaze as he smeared a golden power that reeked of rust between his eyebrows and up his forehead, the way it stung distracted his ability to focus. The priest proceeded to flick sweet floral water onto his face, then onto Tii Sanura's veil. The marriage customs were different on Daquan. There were no vows or ceremony to watch; they would be presented as wedded Prince and Princess (or Duke and Duchess) of the Kingdom of Sur-Kar, if the Great Mother willed it so. Festivities were already underway as two white-clad priestesses removed the ornate, heavy veil from Tii Sanura's head, revealing her beautifully decorated face which Feyd tried his best not to stare at, lest he be scorned by the holy men and women.

The priest lifted his golden scepter, and Feyd followed Tii Sanura in kneeling before him. He brandished a large jeweled ceremony knife that made Feyd tense on instinct, feeling the Duchess's shadow looming over him even in this sacred ceremony. Two small earthen pots were placed before them, and the priest sliced a modest incison on each of their palms. They squeezed their blood into the pots, hands trembling. Feyd had never felt a blade so sharp in his life.

Their hands were then bound together with a soft, prickly ivory cloth, probably one of those precious fabrics with gold or silver woven in, and a scale was brought in. Feyd watched as one pot was filled with more sweet water, and a small amount of water and blood was poured into a tiny container. It reminded him of the Gom Jabbar--horrible timing to think of such a thing--and he swallowed slightly when Tii Sanura's grip on his hand briefly squeezed tighter. A feather was placed on one scale, the white glimmering container on the other. The priest lifted the scale into the sunbeam that burned the pair's forehead, casting a shadow over their faces.

To Feyd's astonishment, it balanced.

Tii Sanura let out a small sigh, and the veil was placed back over her head. They were guided to rise by their hands, and the doors slowly rumbled open. Searing light poured into the temple, blinding Feyd for a moment as they stepped together through the doorway and into the sun. Sonorus cheering filled his ears as his hand throbbed painfully against his wife's. The priest's booming voice silenced the crowd, then, after his next words, the cheering came back with even more force. Horns screamed into the air in celebration, and white petals rained from the sky as Tii Sanura led them both down the shimmering quartz stairs. Her eyes were level through her copper colored veil, which had been lined with kohl for the procession. At the foot of the stairs was a grand palaquin, and the newlyweds took their seats atop the shimmering red cushion as Feyd gratefully found refuge under the shade and within the sheer fabric seperating them from the harsh, sandy wind. Four large men took their stations on each corner of the palaquin and smoothly lifted them, taking them on a procession for the throngs of people that had come to the Holy City to see them. Feyd stole a look at his bride.

"Where are going," he asked her.

She smiled under her veil. "Home."

The procession seemed to last for hours. Throngs of citizens were cheering, jumping, even weeping as the palaquin passed them by. Feyd was taken aback by the devotion of these people. He had known subservience, subjects that knew no more nor better than Harkonnen rule, but reverence…

Tii Sanura’s eyes rested on him as he soaked in the fanfare, smile rested loftily on her face. This was her plan, she thought her herself, the vision of a boy turned prince, the man who would father her children, the only man she could ever dare to trust. Sometimes she wondered what her mother and father saw when they looked at her. A Bene Gesserit, a half-breed, a pawn of the Empire…she knew they cared nothing for games of politics, only to keep the kingdom stable and safe. It was honorable, but not enough. She felt the weight of the kingdom on her shoulders very early—now, she hoped, her betrothed would be capable of carrying it with her, dark as his heart was.

He felt her stare on his neck and turned to look at her. He reached over to touch her face through the veil, tracing the curve of her jaw, the swell of her lips, before placing his own over hers. Her body was alight with so many anticipations as he pulled away and went back to watching the silhouettes. This man was her husband now, she thought to herself, feeling the many ways she truly didn’t know him yet, despite the years they’d shared. She wanted to say his name so he would meet her gaze and she could see into his eyes. She wanted to know his secrets; what did he feel when killing his mother? What happened to him when she wasn’t there? Did he love her? Could they love each other? What even was the use for such a thing?

She let out a sigh, deciding to watch the silhouettes dance too.

The palace was sleekly built compared to the ancient tombs Feyd had grown accustomed to in his imprisonment. Their new home had much more technology, more walls and shadows, dramatic skylights and cool colored silks. It felt like home. The servants immediately tended to their hands, cleaning the wounds and dressing them with a strange glittering paste Feyd suspected was imbued with Spice. The only sounds were the gentle trickling of water and birdsongs—a welcome respite from the roaring masses. Feyd watched as Tii Sanura’s great headdress was lifted and placed on a cushion, revealing her radiant face. His features softened in admiration, and he stepped towards her, took her face in his hands and kissed her again. She could hardly breathe, it was so gentle. He touched her like a precious thing.

“I must get this makeup off,” she said after a thick swallow, “Then I’ll…meet you.”

He smiled. “So shy, my wife? I imagined much more confidence.”

“I’m sure you imagined many things, Feyd.”

He didn’t answer, only drunk her face in with his cool eyes. She felt girlishly bashful under his pressing, cryptic stare, looking away. They were surrounded by servants, yet he acts so uninhibited; it was strangely humbling to be reduced to a lover, a woman.

“Feyd, I must take these things off,” she pleaded softly.

Hesitantly, he released her face from his hands, eyes fixed on her lips that still tasted of fig she must’ve eaten earlier. He wanted to see what else of his wife tasted so sweet, he wanted it now.

“Don’t take long.”

She nodded, turning away with her procession of ladies in waiting, gracefully floating over the floor in her white gown. Feyd eyed the men carrying the train of metallic fabric behind her with suspicion, but resigned himself, it was a foolish suspicion to have of his wife. His wife. His wife.

He could recite those words to himself for hours.

“I must bathe,” he announced, and he was led to a steam-filled, pristine bathhouse.

A wave of heat made sweat form under his richly embroidered fabrics, and his menservants undressed him as he inhaled the aromas of fresh roses and frankincense.

“Leave me,” he commanded.

The men filed out, save for a few, who lowered their heads and gestured to the water. Feyd was annoyed.

“We must bathe His Highness,” one slender man explained, “For His wife’s arrival.”

Frustrated, he accepted the insolence of the remaining men and entered the pool of water. It was silken and warm against his body, somehow a reprieve from the dry, muggy heat of the desert. They poured buckets or perfumed water over his head and scrubbed mindfully while Feyd tolerated the entire process with a deep frown. Surely the Prince of Daquan would have some right to privacy, he reasoned.

The men worked quicker after another man opened the doors and spoke to them, as if time was of the essence. Feyd didn’t enjoy these strangers scrubbing at his naked body, he would’ve much preferred his wife to do such a thing—he tried to not think of it while they worked. They manicured his nails and scrubbed his feet before nearly rubbing him down with a mysterious balm when Feyd insisted they stop, eyes warning of firm retribution. The men shared a look, then bowed, talking amongst themselves as they left the bathhouse. He sighed frustratedly as the doors closed behind them.

His muscles relaxed as he reentered the water, reclining his head and closing his eyes, inhaling the steam. His wife…

Another set of doors opened but Feyd ignored them. He heard the sound of fabric dragging over the tiles and lazily opened his eyes when they stopped, regarding Tii Sanura with a soothed expression. She seemed timid, he noticed.

“Your servants are far too familiar,” he said, wanting to ply her with his own humiliation.

“Yes,” she merely agreed.

He eyed her as she stood wrapped in a long, purple, silk robe. He dared to smile.

“Are you hiding from me, Tii-Tii?”

She seemed to blush as she sighed heavily and averted her gaze.

“I have never…shown myself to a man before.”

“I am not a man, I am your husband.”

“Do try to sound less eager,” she reprimanded, slowly sitting down and dipping her feet into the water.

Feyd watched her with amusement, sitting up in the water, watching how she averted her gaze from his chiseled torso as he moved towards her.

“Is Her Highness waiting for permission,” he teased, mindful not to come too close.

Tii Sanura hesitated. She knew of his exploits, how insatiable he was despite the restraint he had exercised while in her mother and father’s court. But now there was nothing between them, no saving grace.

“Promise you’ll be gentle,” she said, finally meeting his dark gaze.

Feyd was taken aback by such a request. She slowly lowered the robe, eyes darting away again. He wanted to make her look at him like the proud woman he knew, not the timid girl before him.

“I have never been with a man before. You are my first.”

She quickly slipped into the water, wrapping her arms around herself. He couldn’t deny the desire he felt seeing the water droplets already forming on her tattooed, shimmering skin.

“After the ship, I find that hard to believe,” he said with a hint of a smile.

“A trick I learned from a servant,” she admitted, “I have not laid with a man. I haven’t desired it.”

He finally came close enough to caress her arms, wanting to soothe her into his lead. She met his eyes uncertainly.

“Do you desire it now, Sanura,” he rasped lowly, adding, “I will be gentle.”

She didn’t speak, but leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the salt on his lips as he carefully embraced her, holding her flush against him as their kiss deepened, and her velvet tongue welcomed his. He held the base of her head as she gradually softened, her arms resting against his body, her breasts slowly pressing against his firm chest. He inhaled deeply, parting their lips to take a breath. The steam was choking him. A soft gasp came from her lips as she remembered to take a inhale. She looked up at him as her arms fell open, and her lids grew heavy as he kissed her again. This time they didn’t stop. There was no one around to stop them anymore.

Tii Sanura’s chest caved with every trembling breath that passed through her nose as Feyd’s fingers pressed into her skin, one hand snaking up her back and curling his fingers into her braids, pulling her head back slowly as her hands timidly glided over his shoulders and she pressed herself closer against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their bodies swayed, making ripples throughout the water, but they didn’t make a splash or a sound, the only noise was their lips meeting and barely daring to part before their tongues slid together and another kiss was sealed. Feyd’s grip on the back of her head tightened before it loosened, and he suddenly swept her up by her thighs, bringing her to the edge of the pool.

“Push yourself up,” he muttered, and she followed his guide, “Lie back.”

She reclined onto the warm stone floor, her lips stinging and swollen from his hungry kisses as his hands firmly took hold of the tops of her thighs and parted them. He gave her no time to prepare for his hunger to devour the soft, sensitive skin that led down between her legs and crescendo into his tongue pressing and gliding against her core, making her tense and shiver.

“Relax,” he whispered against her.

His tongue slid and rolled, pressing her body against the floor then arching her back and grabbing a moan from her throat. He pushed her legs back, making her face flush from the sheer indecency, and began to use his entire mouth, holding her still as she held her fingers between her teeth and fought to keep hold over her breath.

“Feyd,” she breathed, desperate, but he didn’t answer.

She tasted so, very, sweet.

A soft cry came from lips, and Feyd eagerly lapped up his reward for his hard work; it wet his lips and his chin and he sought more and she cried out louder, her thighs clenching against his fingers as he sealed his mouth and pressed his tongue inside, tasting more of what made his mouth water every time he bathed alone, watched her walk, felt her pulse against his fingertips. Her head threw about listlessly as he insisted further, his hands moving up to grip the sides of her quivering stomach firmly, and she weakly placed one of her hands over his.

His wife. His wife.

She came again, agonized from the effort, gripping his hand tightly, and he finally released her, pushing himself out of the water and climbing on top of her, pressing himself against her slick pussy and groaning. He pressed his weeping forehead against hers, his gaze scathing.

“Tell me,” he whispered, feeling her quiver with each roll of his hips, “How much you want it.”

Her eyebrows had creased in surrender as she leaned up against him, pressing a hand against his chest.

“Do it,” she demanded, then, weakly, “Please.”

He smiled. “I think I like you this way, wife…”

He swooped down and kissed across her throat, feeling her swallow, and skinned his teeth against her pulse, feeling her hang onto him as if there were anywhere to fall, as if the ground beneath her would disappear.

“Put your legs over my shoulders,” he instructed, looking down at how his thick manhood rubbed against her cunt, his breath shuddering, “I’ll give it to you easy this time; you’ve been so good so long…”

He lined himself up, then slowly pressed himself into her pulsing core, his hands clenching into fists at the way she squeezed, swallowing thickly as her breath and her moan feebly reached his ears.

“My pretty little wife,” he breathed against the shell of her ear as their hips connected.

“Feyd,” was all she could manage, “Don’t…”

“I won’t stop,” he assured her.

He pulled his hips back then firmly thrust into her, then again, then she began to hold onto his shoulders as he kept the thrusts close and hard, he forgot to be gentle, she couldn’t help but need more. Her nails dug into his skin as his hips rocked against hers. Their breaths grew heavy, desperate, their bodies intertwined and pressed against each other and melded. There were no thoughts, no separation between them. They were one breath, one moment. And that moment burned red hot, scalded them to the point that once they’d finished, they couldn’t move. He was still inside her, her stomach was still quaking and sweating. She caressed his scalp, wiping streams of salt off of her face and lips.

He looked up at her, resting his face on her breast. She wiped the sweat from his brow. She has many clever things to say, but no energy to say them. Her head fell back on the floor, and her eyes shut.

His wife, she thought to herself.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

‘mani <3

(This Must Be The Place, 2025)

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

I can write porn. I can write porn. I can write porn I can write porn I can write por n I ca n w ri tie p..

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

New Update on AO3 for Journey to the North!

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Coming To A Screen Near You…

how y’all dune?

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

guys dw i’m already working on part two for His Muse, it’ll be even hornier than the first😼. and This Must Be The Place part three is being written in tandem. learning to strike better while the iron is hot!

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Remmick porn is coming along, shoutout to the Remmick discord frfr