#but I'm seemingly already at that age where I'm going 'ah fuck I'm aging and I still have nothing much except being alive to show for it'

[hollenka99]

Finally got around to watching Tick, Tick... Boom! tonight and 30/90? Nah man, it's all about 23/22 up in here.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow  pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin  forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

[diaco1968]

Nerves of Steel part 1

NSFW, SMUT

WARNING! Dirty Cockwarming headcanons/mini stories

For Bakugou, Izuku, Todoroki and Shinsou ;) all aged up and adults

Part 2

Want to take revenge on them? Here you go >;D

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"C'mon then, beg, baby girl." His gruff voice rasped in your ear as his hot breath fanned the side of your neck. You could practically feel his smirk with the way his words dripped with pride, making you grit your teeth as your grip on the edges of the table in front of you tightened, knuckles turning white. You had made the mistake of challenging him to a friendly game of self restraint. That he seemingly lost. In retrospect, you've been played. He let you have your little victory, only so he could get you back at it 10 times without you being able to complain or plot revenge. Can't have revenge if he was the one taking his revenge on you for your own damned master idea now, could you? "What's the matter? No more dirty little taunts and threats of what you'll do to me?" You whined loudly as he playfully rolled his hips up into yours, his tip nudging agaisnt your cervix, giving you a cruel taste of what you could've been feeling if you had only kept your mouth shut, before stopping all movements once again. "Just like I thought, you're all bark and no bite, babe."

IZUKU MIDORIYA

"Baby please!...I need you." You should've known it was not okay at all, you thought to yourself as you tilted your head back onto his shoulder letting out a shaky sigh. You had nagged and prodded at him all day long, sarcasm and sharp wit, about how he never gave you enough attention. Maybe also made the mistake of calling him a limp broccoli. But as karma is a bitch, your plans of a spicy evening got ruined by a suddenly too eventful day after which you were the one who got home with excuses, already half asleep, apologizing to him and asked him if it was okay to go and sleep cause you were so tired. He had smiled and said that it was okay and wished you a well rest. That little lying snake... it was almost morning and the time to get up and head to work when his arm wrapped tightly against your waist pulling you flush against himself. You stirred and was about to turn around to nuzzle into him and you found yourself locked, unable to turn. You turned your head just in time for him to capture your lips in a loving kiss, that turned a bit too wet and hot when you opened your mouth to mewl as he slipped his dick in you right away. Perfect angle, rubbing and prodding against all the right spots, you knew he had taken his time to learn about you. Then. Stopped. Rock hard cock just sheathed deep in through your folds. "A limp broccoli, (y/n)? Really?" You tried to move, back onto him, away, anything, but his arms were tightly wrapped around you as he buried his face in your neck, bitting and sucking on the spot that made you wild with lust, you a writhing, whimpering, moaning mess in his arms "I'm sorry Izu, please!" He smiled cupping your breast with one hand and squeezing the soft mound as his other hand creeped down the front of your body, and between your legs "not so sassy now, are we?"

SHOTO TODOROKI

"I promise it won't happen again! J-just move a little bit!" You whispered in Shoto's ear desperately, from your place in the back of his car, seated sideways on Shoto's lap and arms clinging to his neck, facing the rear end of the car and chin resting on his shoulder. The car rode over some bump in the road and you squeaked loudly as you were jerked up and landed back onto his dick, making him nestle even deeper in your core, nudging roughly, painfully, against your cervix. His girth located sideways inside your heat was already stretching you up quite a bit, now he was balls deep inside and his response was only to tighten his grip on your ass, where he was keeping you firmly in place, with a low hiss escaping his lips. To your utter embarrassment the driver rolled the middle window down and apologised for the bumpy road, making you hide your heated crimson face further in the cool right side of Shoto's neck, whimpering for him to show you mercy. He dismissed the driver and he rolled the window back up, leaving the 2 of you a little more privacy. "Sh-Shoto..." you moved your legs and grinded down on him lightly, whining when he stopped you as his hand on your ass heated up threateningly and he gave your cheek a firm squeeze, eyes moving away from the window to glare down at you coldly "you move those hips of yours one more time and you'll regret it, little lady."

SHINSOU HITOSHI

"Are you going to fuck me or not?! Please?" You gripped the sheets under you tight, letting out an annoyed sound between a huff and a whine as you looked up at Hitoshi's smug face in between your legs, smirking down at you through his half lidded eyes. You clenched your jaw and tried using your arms to move your hips closer to his, but he only gripped your thighs tighter and stopped you, keeping you the same distance away from himself as you were earlier. His lenghth half sheathed inside you and half not, the agitation almost stinging. You groaned and turned your face, breaking eye contact. Wrong move. "Ah! Shins-! Fuh!" He leaned down over you all the way, keeping your legs firmly over his shoulders as he did so, bending you in half and thrusting deep into you. You kept your head turned to the side whimpering when he stopped moving again. "Look at me, kitten." He ordered as he grabbed your jaw, turning your face firmly but gently towards himself so you were facing him again, but you shut your eyes tightly. He leaned even lower to wisper in your ear, making you squeak. "You know I can just get off alone, on watching you writhe and beg under me like this." Your eyes snapped open meeting his sly smirk as he slipped his thumb past your lips and in your mouth, letting you suck on it eagerly.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 37

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Five more chapters to go, guys. This is coming to an end 😭 I enjoyed writing it so, so much! In this chapter we have fluff. Literally only fluff and snark, because my babies have suffered enough. And the remainder is gonna be the same. Because fuck pain.

Coulson was mad. Outwardly, of course, he seemed as level-headed as ever, handing out orders and signing papers out left and right, but coming to sit within five feet of him seemed like the worst mistake I had recently made. His phone was ringing practically non-stop and he answered every call, sometimes speaking in different languages I didn't understand, sometimes in rapid-fire English that sounded like Morse code to me.

I'd never been sent to the principal's office but I imagine that's how it feels like. Finally, his shoulders sagged and the breath he took in left his lungs slowly, deflating his body into a tense ball of quiet fury.

"You and mister Brock ruined months worth of investigation and undercover work," The agent finally spoke. "But I can't even be mad at you properly. We've apprehended the main culprit, detained all of his followers except select few that Dr. Xavier took upon himself to handle," His words shocked me; not at all the scolding I was expecting. A deeper part of me was even afraid I'd be taken away and buried under so much red tape not even Tony's seemingly endless money and influence could have gotten me out. "I... Really don't know what more to say." Coulson folded his hands atop the desk, looking over me with a blank look.

"A thank you would be nice," I let my mouth run before the words even really registered in my brain, the cursed thing.

The agent chortled, "Perhaps, we really do owe you a solid one," Before standing up and walking over to the coffee machine in the far corner of his office. "Coffee?" He motioned to a pile of empty cups next to it. I nodded and he set to work. "The guys should be back in two hours, tops," He remarked off-handedly, watching me out of the corner of his eye. There was no way he had missed how my body relaxed into the uncomfortable office chair at the news. "Nobody is hurt except Rogers but I think he'd find how to hurt himself even on recon duty." The man laughed, bringing over two cups of dark, delicious, steamiy hot bean juice. Nhghhgg.

"Steve is a dumbass," I agreed amicably, blowing over the rim of the cup. The stone of coffee on it's own seemed to wake up my previously anxious, half-empty half-racing brain. The past twelve hours were full of urgency, the team being called in for assistance in mere minutes after my and Venom's return to the tower.

They barely had time to wipe their tears and shelf their worries before the suit-up call came, haste hugs and kisses being traded on their way to the quinjet. Coulson showed up not much later after that, a quinjet of his own and a stack of papers for Eddie to fill out, stern instructions for me to follow him and stay glued to his side at all times. I didn't need to ask: it was obvious there was a rat in SHIELD, again. Thankfully, the rat was discovered before they could come and try to increase their odds by doing something to me; I'd hid out in Coulson's office, crashing down into a strange, most likely Venom-induced sleep as footsteps raced past the door.

I'd woken up anxious and disoriented, the owner of the office pacing along the furthest wall and pointedly whispering into his cellphone. The rest was history.

"Your father called," The agent remarked, watching my reaction carefully. "Said to call him back whenever you can."

I was drained, beyond wrung out, and not just from my latest stunt as a parasitic symbiotic alien's host. The past couple of months were a nightmare, an anxiety-riddled, paranoia-spiced mess of a shit show. I was very much looking forward to breathing freely and enjoying my science without hiding my WIPs, enjoying my relationship (s) without fear of being abducted and sending my men into a panicked, destructive spiral.

My voice remained even as I carefully contemplated and spoke my next words. "He can go fuck himself. Him and that harpy of a woman," I sighed: disappointed in my parents, but not surprised. "I'm freshly out of fucks to give. I'm done."

Coulson, if he even was surprised, didn't show it. His expression remained neutral and supportive. "I understand you. There's enough basis for us to aid you in creating a new identity for you, if you'd like," He pushed a stack of papers towards me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. It would be handy, sure, I could be rid of the curse that became of my family name and my parents couldn't legally do anything at all to me; on the other side there was my name plastered on several inventions and projects I'd done over the years. In all my years, I was taught that my name is to be my business card.

The decision was obvious. "No, thank you," I looked at him, hoping to convey the sincerity. "I think I will be okay."

He smiled and went back to his paperwork, all but verbally dismissing me. As soon as I finished my coffee and washed the mug, the couch called to me once again and I curled up under the fleece blanket Coulson had thrown over me while I slept, alternating my attention between sneaking glances at his concentrated form and my cellphone and the few meager games it had. There was no signal and no wi-fi access on the Helicarrier. Security reasons, blah blah blah...

A knock sounded out, startling me out of my sluggish thoughts; one of Coulson's hands crawled down to one of the drawers on his right side where I assumed he had hidden a gun. "Come in," He called out, shooting me a pointed look. I sat up, alert.

"M'here to pick up - uh - a Baby," A tired but amused, familiar voice called out. Clint stepped into the room, still wearing his dirty and bloody uniform, and, as my eyes briefly scanned him, the archer appeared to be unhurt save for a few bruises here and there. His eyes landed on me immediately, visibly relieved.

"Waa," I deadpanned indignantly, raising my hands like a toddler would do when they wanted to be picked up. The only thing Clint was missing was a courier's ball cap.

"I assume the mission went smoothly?" Coulson asked, a soft grin and even softer eyes landing on our interaction.

Clint nodded affirmative, walking over and picking me up with ease, disregarding my shierk completely and stopping only when I poked him in the ear - closest appendage to me - in retaliation. His eyes were laughing and his tone was flat. "Caw caw, motherfucker," He announced to me flatly, waving goodbye to Coulson.

We passed more than a dozen agents giving us the biggest side-eye as I dangled over his shoulder, ass up in the air, fiddling with the numerous straps of his gear as Clint power-walked us to the Avengers quinjet. I'd even stuck out my tongue to some dude pointing a finger at us.

My family was already loaded into the vehicle, all in various stages of dirty, bloody and undressed. Coulson's words were true - only Steve sported a wide bandage over his shoulder, neck and head - one look at Bucky and I just knew the Captain would be regretting his stupidity in a few hours time. Even Stephen was there, looking unhurt but very annoyed and tired, as he hovered a few feet off the ground with Cloaky majestically swaying behind him.

"And what the fuck was that little performance for?" I asked once Clint deposited me in the very front row, between a dozing Bruce and a tinkering Tony.

"I had strict instructions from the Hulk," The archer grinned, pushing a few buttons on the dashboard of the vehicle. In seconds, we took off home.

"Oh, hi," Bruce must've heard his green counterpart being mentioned; his eyes cracked open just as I smiled at the scientist and reached over to brush his curly mop of hair out of his face. "M'yes, Hulk is demanding you do not set foot on the ground these days," Bruce was sleepy and warm, so soft when he kissed my hand, I felt my heart swell.

"Gonna spoil me rotten, you lot," I snorted, keeping the happy smile and the warm feeling as Stephen came back from the Astral world, opening his eyes and giving me a grin of his own.

"That's my job," Tony mumbled, still very occupied with a part of his suit. I turned around expecting a kiss; I had to stifle an ugly snort upon discovering one of the parts of his Iron Man suit got damaged and stuck, making a part of the chestplate render one of his arms temporarily immobile. Tony looked like a frustrated toddler building Legos.

"Someone get me a screwdriver and some pliers," I gently pried away the calloused fingers away from the jagged piece of metal, kissing Tony's cheek in the moments until Natasha handed me the required instruments. Tony was free, grimacing in discomfort as he stretched and rotated his arm, in little under ten minutes. "What happened to the nanosuit?" I asked, not remembering the last time I'd seen Tony in one of his older, clunkier creations.

"They had some sort of technopath mutant," He grumbled - I had discovered the source of his ire. "Turns out, Bruce snuck in my special anti-mutant suit I'd made ages ago. Nanosuit got destroyed in seconds and Hulk had to carry me back to the quinjet for a change of equipment," Despite his sour mood, Tony was visibly more relaxed than since the day I confessed I'd been drugged. "Brucie-bear, this is exactly why it remained a prototype."

"It's better to get stuck in a suit than to be a meat pancake on the sidewalk," Used to Tony's tantrums, Bruce merely blinked and continued eating the chocolate that he procured only God knew where.

I locked eyes with Stephen, both of us shaking our heads in almost identical, semi-fond semi-annoyed way. Ah, sweet sweet normalcy.

There were towers of pizza boxes as we arrived in the tower; a couple of agents got all but yeeted out by Tony, with little to no thank you as they had been the ones that arranged the food for us - still, I understood Tony's dislike of the super-secret organisation and merely paid the two for the pizza, politely waving goodbye as they side-eyed Tony with disdain.

Then, I had to tow both Clint and Thor as they attempted to begin eating, still wearing muddy bloody clothes - of course, I did not possess the physical strength required to handle two adult men, so I merely began a small lecture on parasites (Stephen gleefully joined in) and both of them scattered towards the showers like two spooked little first-graders.

I also used the brief moment of stagnation to hug Loki; these days he didn't freeze in surprise but rather warmly hugged me back, whispering something cheeky to me as I buried my face in his chest. Stephen was the one to cough extra-loudly to attempt to separate us - it was, once again, unanimously decided to have a family dinner and a cuddle pile straight after. Food coma had never sounded nicer.

"So, what'd Coulson say to you?" Clint asked curiously as we all settled in, freshly showered and those who needed it, re-bandaged. I was warm and toasty between Tony and Stephen, wearing the former's gym shorts and the latter's hoodie, Bruce's t-shirt underneath it. The scientist himself was drooling onto Tony's shoulder, somwhere between sleep and awareness, glasses askew.

"He basically thanked me and offered me a new identity," I shrugged, polishing off the last of my smoothie and handing the second bottle over to Loki. As usual, no food was wasted and I always had someone to finish my leftovers, especially since Bucky tended to think I could eat as much as him and kept trying to overfeed me like a foie gras goose.

"Congrats, you've been adopted," Natasha snorted from her place between Clint and Steve. Only the red of her hair was visible behind the man-bulk and the blankets.

"Uh," My response was, as always, deeply informative and astute.

"He likes to take in strays," Clint full-belly laughed. "Me at first, then Natasha. He's got a soft spot for Tony and Bucky but he won't admit it."

My eyebrows rose. "That's... That's my job?" I remembered the whole Venom/Eddie situation, our rogue wizard. Coulson was aiming for my place- the audacity! "He can't just do that!"

"And you can?" Stephen's finger booped my nose, making me huff and cuddle up to Tony, turning my butt towards the sorcerer to show him exactly what I thought about his observations. He only laughed harder. "Sounds like someone's a little jealous."

"Okay, boomer," I rolled my eyes. Stephen Strange, a supreme troll is what he is.

"But that's why you love me," He continued as others around us groaned and snorted, too used to us teasing each other about our age difference and my old man kink. Whatever, I got to bang my hot old men anyways.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[oikoik]

—jealous (y.terushima)

warnings; explicit nsfw contents, jealous sex, car sex, dirty talk, some praising, light degrading, fingering, fem!reader, dom!Terushima, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ya'll)

word count; 1.7k

a/n; all characters are aged up

The human mind was truly a complex thing. No matter how hard Terushima tried to make sense of your behavior, he couldn't bring himself to find a reasonable explanation as to why you were seemingly flirting with another guy across the bar. He wasn't even gone for five minutes, but you couldn't resist the urge push his buttons just a little bit. After all, he made it so easy.

He watched as you placed a delicate hand on the man's arm, a gentle laugh coming from you after he told what was probably a stupid ass joke. He was well aware of your little plan. He knew what you wanted, and he was determined to let you have it, however, this just meant that now he could have his own fun as well.

With drinks forgotten, the heavy bass from the music reverberating throughout the crowded bar thrumming in his ribcage, and a sadistic smile on his face, he approached where you sat next to the man who was trying (and failing) to contain his excitement as you leaned in to whisper something in his ear. The sight made Terushima's blood boil. And the fact that you maintained eye contact with him while you proceeded to whisper god knows what into the other man's ear just solidified your punishment.

His lips were pulled into a loose smirk, his eyes conveying every promised intention he planned to put you through made you falter in your smooth movements. Terushima never looked away from you as he came to stand next to you and the man you were currently toying with.

"Where's my drink, Teru?"

"I think you've had enough to drink tonight."

You visibly pouted, flashing your puppy eyes at him before casting a sidelong glance towards the bar top, "I didn't even have that much yet, you're no fun, Teru."

The man paid no mind to Terushima, but was quick to offer to buy you a drink instead, an offer that brought a sickeningly sweet smile to your features. Your boyfriend scoffed when you accepted, his tongue coming to run across his bottom lip. You were in for it tonight.

He watched as you took a sip of a sugar-rimmed drink, clearly enjoying yourself. When the man laid a hand dangerously close to the small of your back, he broke his façade. A quick hand slapped away the man's touch, and he leaned down to whisper into your ear, his lips grazing across the shell of delicate skin, "I think it's about time we go home, don't you, babygirl?"

That was your code. You couldn't deny the heat that filled your abdomen, sending small jolts to your core at the mere thought of what he may do. All you do, though, is sigh a little before shrugging with faux indifference. "I suppose we could head out."

You didn't miss the disappointment that flashed across the other man's face as he watched your boyfriend wrapped his arm securely around your waist. It would've been foolish of you to think Terushima would actually wait until you got home to teach you your lesson. As soon as you made it outside, his arm fell away from your side. He walked to his car and you followed closely behind him, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

"Get in the back, now."

You obeyed, watching as he cast a single glance over his shoulder before opening the door on the other side and climbing in. He had your back pressed the corner of the seat and the door, his face dangerously close to yours and it takes everything not to swear under your breath as you watch him lick his lips. The small metal ball of his tongue piercing glinting in the dull light of the distant lamppost made your core clench around nothing.

Terushima brought a hand to cup your chin gently, titling it ever so slightly before leaning in to plant warm kisses against the soft flesh of your neck. He alternated between gentle pecks and bites across your throat. Your thighs came together, working to gain any sort of friction. The boy above you chuckled at the vain attempt of satisfaction. He brought his face up to stare into your eyes, his other hand between your legs, fingers slipping beneath the material of your skirt to rub circles against your clothed clit, scrutinizing you when a stifled moan left your lips.

A soft whimper came from your chest as he pulled his hand away to rest on your hip. "You really think a brat like you should get any satisfaction after behaving like a slut in there? Hm?" He groped at your breast, groaning when he realized you weren't wearing a bra. "Damn, you didn't even wear a bra. What a whore." His words tickled your lips, his own just barely ghosting over.

You moved to kiss him, but he moved back, eliciting a whine from you. "Please, Yuji. Touch me."

"I'm not sure I'm convinced, babygirl." He licked a strip up your neck, the metal of the piercing causing goosebumps to form across your skin. "Look, at you, such a mess already."

You had to take a breath to steady yourself as his hand suddenly slipped past your panties, hissing at the feeling of his fingers against the slickness of your folds. "Yuji, oh my god. Please, fuck me, please."

"That's right, beg for me baby, and maybe I'll consider giving you what you want," he groaned. The image of you writhing beneath him, begging for him to touch had him going feral, but he keeps his composure. You still have a lesson to learn, he's can't have his way with you just yet.

"Please, baby, please fuck me. I want you inside of me, only you can make me come. Please make me come, Yuji," you begged, wanton needs slipping out of your mouth with such desire it left you reeling.

Your wish became his pleasure as you felt two fingers easily slip into you. The sudden addition left you clenching around his digits with a breathless moan. Terushima groaned at the feeling of his fingers being sucked in further, lewd sounds filling the cab of the car as he pumped them in and out of you.

Your head rolled back onto the headrest, your eyes watching Yuji became obsessed with how you looked wrapped around his fingers. "Your cunt is always so tight for me," he bit his lip, watching as your chest heaved with a particular flick of his fingertips, "such a pretty little cunt."

You were close, so close. You could feel your thighs begin to shake with every stroke of his fingers deep within you, hitting the spot that leaves you seeing white. The sensation quickly becomes overwhelming as his movements sped up, causing a loud string of moans and curses to leaves your lips as your orgasm hit you like a wave. High pitched, breathy whimpers of his name left your swollen lips.

"That's it babygirl, you look so pretty when you come. I want to see you do it again." He leans down, allowing his lips to finally meet your own in a heated clash of tongues as he licked into your mouth. "Fuck, the things you do to me."

You could hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor of the car. He pulled you down so you were laying with your back pressed against the seat, the cramped space making it difficult to maneuver with ease. He hovered above you, his hand anchored by you head to support him as the other shoved his pants to the middle of his thighs. He brought his lips down to yours again, this time kissing you with such tenderness it took the air out of your lungs. "You gonna take my cock like a good little slut?"

"Yes, please, Yuji. Fuck me."

He kisses you as he pushes in slowly. The stretch always left you breathless, the pleasure of feeling full clouding every one of your senses until all you could think about was being filled by Yuji. A broken gasp left your lips when he bottomed out, planting an openmouthed kissed against your throat and chest, sucking on the spot as he gently began to rock into you.

"F-Fuck, Yuji."

He anchored himself above you, watching you come undone below him. "That's it, babygirl. Tell me who owns this pussy."

You could still feel the effects of your first orgasm building into a second one, the feeling alone making you moan loudly. A slap to you thigh brought you back to Yuji's gaze. You threw your head back as he hit that perfect spot inside you. You moaned unabashedly, "You do… Ah! You own this pussy!"

Terushima groaned as you clenched around his dick, making him bite his lip. "Yeah, this pussy is all mine, right, baby? No one else's?"

"No!" You cry, the pleasure running through your veins, coating your tongue as you gripped at his shoulders, "It's all yours, only yours!"

Your boyfriend slammed his hips into yours with such a force you were sure the car was shaking. The condensation that had built up on the windows dripped onto the floor as Terushima's hand pressed against the cool glass, his own high approaching at a dangerous pace.

His other hand came to circle your clit mercilessly, the sudden sensation enough to snap the coil in your stomach. You came around his cock with a broken moan. He didn't last much longer as your walls clenched almost painfully around him. With a guttural groan, he pulled out, painting your thighs with thick white stripes of his release.

Heavy breathing filled the car as your both came down from your highs. You looked at the come on your legs. With a smirk on your face, you collected some of the liquid on your finger, making sure to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend as you brought it to your lips.

"Holy shit, babygirl, you're going to be the death of me."

[princebugs]

A meeting with Niles.

Quivering digits rub and scratch at the back of his own neck, goosebumps rising as his eyes shift from corner to corner. He swallows, the nervous lump in his throat dissipating for only mere moments before quickly arising once more. His movements remain shaky, and shifty. He feels nervosa creeping up his spine leisurely, causing his hyperactivity to skyrocket. Remaining still is no easy task.

The male can almost discern a feeling of eyes on the back of his brunette tresses, watching him from the shadowed corner of the room. Perhaps a figure is awaiting the perfect time to pounce on the human and rip his throat out, at a pace fast enough that he wouldn't scream--- no one would hear his death. He whips his head in that direction, his heart pounding against his chest.

Cue a sigh of relief.

It's just dust. It's just dust, Gavin. Can't hurt you. Maybe fuck with your allergies a bit, but it won't hurt you. You're probably just crazy, like your uncle Kevin--- he still lives in that shed, right? Still talking about those damned 'creatures of the night', hiding in there with a shotgun with hopes that he'll be the one to kill 'em.

Maybe you'll be like that soon, if these delusions go any farther.

A sound of a doorknob clicking interrupts his thoughts and causes the male to jump in his seat, right forearm raising in a defensive manner before realizing that it was only his new therapist, clad in a black turtleneck and black pants.

When did he get here?

Gavin briefly takes a glance down at himself, and is just a slight bit pissed at himself for not dressing nicer.

If this was anything but a therapy session where Gavin would have to speak openly about his mental problems, he would have dressed better. He didn't see the point of wearing something appealing when it was just therapy, and his therapist was most likely going to be some old man or young female that he didn't need to impress.

Sadly for him, the male was definitely not an old man. He looked, roughly, around Gavin's age--- yet he had the sort of timeless face that could pass for a nineteen-year-old. The turtleneck's sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Gavin usually considers turtlenecks "phckin' ugly" but this guy has changed the definition for him.

And he was overwhelmingly pale. Did he never go outside?

Lesson learned. Wear cute clothes EVERYWHERE.

“Mr. Reed?“ A voice brings Gavin out of his train of thought, and he notices that the male is no longer standing, and is, in fact, sitting right in the position ahead of him, with his head tilted in slight concern as well as confusion.

Dammit.

“Shit, ah,“ Gavin struggles to push away his thoughts for the time being, his nails scratching at the back of his neck as he awkwardly laughs half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah. That's me, alright.“

The therapist merely emits a soft chuckle, though his mind seems to be elsewhere. He doesn't know for sure, but he thinks that he's making a mental note of some sort--- probably from his behavior. This feels almost like a job interview, and that makes Gavin straighten out his back and lock eye-contact with the male across from him, his cerulean optics now gazing into steel hues. This, however, prompts another brief snicker from him.

“This isn't a professional setting, Mr. Reed. You can sit however you see fit; it is better that you feel comfortable while we converse with one another.“

Gavin's brows furrow together in exiguous uncertainty--- this man spoke like he was reading from a college art essay. Though he said it wasn't professional, it almost felt like it was; like Gavin was being judged for every single movement he followed through with.

It was almost as if he was being ordered to feel more comfortable, which is the most awkward thing ever. It puts on pressure, and makes the situation even more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Gavin leans back, slouching a modest amount whilst placing his elbows on the back of the couch he sat upon. He stared ahead with half-lidded eyes, and his therapist was studying his body language the entire time.

Gavin would consider this creepy, but it's alright because it's his therapist.

“I'm Dr. Anderson, but you can just refer to me as Niles,“ His therapist--Niles-- begins, his nimble fingers picking up a set of reading glasses and placing them on his visage for a few moments to seemingly read Gavin's file, then setting both the glasses and the file down on the table in front of him. “How about you tell me why you set this urgent appointment with me, hm?“

His voice was smooth, like velvet draped across pale skin. It brought chills down Gavin's back. Compared to how coarse and rough Gavin's voice was, Niles' voice was soothing.

Calm down, dude. This isn't a therapy session for questioning your sexuality. Reply to his question, fucknut!

“Yeah, sure, sure. Uh, where do I fuckin' start?“ Again, Gavin laughs to release some tension, and when the room is silent, he coughs. And continues. “Hah, erm... well, I've been having these weird delusions and feelings of someone watching me. Paranoia, or whatever. I can't sleep, either.“

The concept of therapy wasn't really Gavin's thing; the idea of sharing all of his thoughts with another person was just plain idiotic, in his opinion. He'd much rather keep his feelings to himself, but since his mother called him out of the blue and informed him that she had scheduled an appointment with an "experienced therapist with good reviews" (which sounded shady as hell) because she was worried.

Truth is, he couldn't blame her for being worried. He had shut himself in his apartment, and wasn't even going to work the majority of the time. And when he did go to work, he only got sent home because he continuously kept falling asleep at his desk. Probably because he doesn't feel the eyes on him as he sleeps at work.

“Interesting,“ Niles bobbed his cranium in confirmation, his weight now leaning back as he crosses his arms over one another. He always seems like he is analyzing Gavin in some way.

Weird as fuck.

“So, perhaps you could be having some sort of stalker, or PTSD from something happening to you in the pa--“

“No, no. It's not like that.“

Niles seems suddenly interested and more inclined to listen, his head once again now tilted to the side in curiosity as his brows raise upwards. “Oh?“

Gavin gulped--- the aura that this guy gave off was intimidating as hell, and it was difficult to trust him. “Yeah, like... if it was something like that, then wouldn't I feel some sort of recognition kind of thing? Stalkers are usually people that the person knows personally or knew personally, and PTSD... don't think that's applicable to this situation. I don't think it's that.“

“Elaborate.“

“If it was PTSD, then it wouldn't feel so... so...“ He struggled to search and find the correct vocabulary, the right words-- it was on the tip of his tongue. His eyebrows knit together in comprehension, irises looking down at the couch as he--

“Real?“

Niles' tone is almost demanding in generality; it causes Gavin to shudder and almost cower in fear. Momentarily, he remembers how stern his father's voice was, how it terrified him to his core. Fear can make anyone curl in on themselves.

Gavin nods his head, his grey-blue hues now gazing out the large-sized window located directly to his left, watching as doves fly away. “Y-- yeah. Real. I've experienced PTSD before, and it's nothing like that, at least not this time. It's inhuman, almost. Like... like someone, some thing is going to pounce on me at any second. I don't feel safe in my apartment by myself. Hah, I even had a little moment in here before you got here--- thought something was in the corner.“

His therapist only stares, bobbing his head every now and then as a way to show that he was listening. Though, it didn't seem like it. It was as if he already knew everything that Gavin was saying. He identifies a sudden feeling of recognition--- one that chills Gavin to his very core.

“I, uh--- have I met you before?“ The detective leans forward now, setting his elbows on his knees. He can feel the shadows under his eyes growing deeper-- is that normal? How long had it been since he had slept? Gavin's calloused phalanges weave through his brunette locks, then gripping them tightly. “God, I must be going crazy. Of course, I haven't seen you anywhere--- what am I thinking? Turnin' into Uncle Kev-- I've been seein' shit that just isn't there. It's probably just sleep deprivation, and this therapy session won't do anything, I'm just wastin' my ti--“

“Here, walk with me outside,“ His incoherent rambling is cut short by Niles' request.

Gavin's pate raises upwards, catching sight of the therapist's outstretched palm, reaching for him. Motioning for Gavin to take his hand. His eyes lock with Niles.

“Wowza! Hand-holding? At least take me out to dinner first, eh?“ Gavin internally slaps himself. Meanwhile, Niles just rolls his eyes. Not in an annoyed way--- in an amused manner. Phew, Gavin didn't scare away his therapist.

“Come on, you said that being in here made you have a little 'fit' as well, right? Perhaps being out instead of holed inside your apartment will make you feel better, in some fashion?“

Gavin ponders about his next move, though it didn't seem much like a request at this point. Niles just seemed like he was politely ordering him to go outside. Reluctantly, he places his tan-colored hand in Niles' pale palm, letting his hand envelop over Gavin's and pull him up to his feet abruptly.

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

They meandered around the perimeter of the building for several moments, neither of them uttering a single word the duration of their walk. Gavin wasn't particularly skilled at breaking the ice when it came to long periods of silence similar to this; he would usually make it worse, actually. Saying something that would be so unexpected that it catches the recipient off-guard, or something that just makes the air between them extremely awkward all of the sudden.

Eventually, Gavin can't stand it anymore. He coughs to clear his throat up, his hand clenching into a fist for him to cough into for a few moments before scratching at the back of his neck again, and again.

“So, like, you have any family around this area, or are you new to Detroit?“

Greaaat question, Gavin. What if he has no family, and you just brought up shitty memories? GOOD GOIN', PRICK.

Niles hums. “I am relatively new here, but my brother lives here with me. You probably saw him whilst walking around the building, yes? Shorter than me, brown eyes?“

Gavin recalls seeing someone who fit that description. “Yeah, that's your brother?“

“Indeed, he is. He's... a little brat sometimes, prefers to do his own thing, but he's still family. We had to move rather abruptly due to some... sudden consequences of our actions, I suppose. Nothing for you to worry about.“

That bewildered Gavin, but he decided not to press further.

Luckily, Niles kept the conversation going. If the silence began once more, Gavin thought he could die.

“You mentioned an uncle earlier?“

Right, during his ramble.

“Yeah, hahah--- Uncle Kevin. He's like, the weird family member, y'know? The one who lives in a shed with a shotgun--- claiming that he'll prevent the apocalypse by killing the bloodsuckers, or something like that,“ Gavin laughs at this, yet Niles is silent.

“How peculiar. Bloodsuckers, you say?“ Niles inclines his head towards Gavin, his arms remaining behind his back as he walked. “What do you think of that?“

Gavin's face scrunches up, emitting a confused noise before sighing softly, remembering that this was a therapy session after all. “I dunno, man. Frankly, I think the idea of vampires existing is stupid as fuck, actually. Like, wasn't it just a myth, or fairytale? Or something like that. Nonetheless, it's hella dumb, and I don't believe in it one bit. If I ever saw a vampire in front of my face, I'd probably call it ugly and scream.“

Niles does laugh at this. “Be careful about what you say, Mr. Reed, you never know who, or what, might be listening.“

The way he said this caused shivers to go down Gavin's back. He sneered at Niles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and emitting a disgruntled huff. “Don't even joke about that shit, man. I mean, I may find it funny, but the way you say that shit just makes me feel hella uneasy.“

“What if I told you that you should be feeling uneasy right now, Gavin?“ Niles' tone is almost playful, like a cat playing with its prey before chomping down on it.

Gavin just emits a confused noise in return. “Huh?“ He should be feeling uneasy? Why is that such a... weird statement to make?

“I'm just messing with you-- a mere jest. Everyone feels uneasy with their new therapist; that's a sign that you're normal, Gavin.“

Exhaling a soft suspire of relief. “See, when you're all serious like that all the time, I can't even tell the difference between the real seriousness and the fake. That's what makes me feel uneasy.“

“That's how life really is, though. No one can distinguish reality from dream, but we believe that we can. How sure are you right now that you are in reality? At this exact moment, do you know if I am real, or a figment of your imagination?“ The taller male stops in his tracks, and Gavin struggles to stammer out his reply.

Gavin turns his head to Niles.

“I-- I'm totally freaked right now, dude. You're gettin' all... weird. How the fuck did we go from talkin' about vampires to--- this??“

“Gavin. Keep your windows unlocked at night, okay? It's extremely difficult for someone to break a window in a quiet manner. And it just becomes a hassle to clean up later on...“

What the fuck?

Gavin has no time to respond, Niles speeds up and just walks away with a mere wink and a smirk with relatively sharp canine teeth for a human. Remarkably, Niles had no shadow. Weird, weird, weird. Everything about Niles was weird and unexplainable.

Gavin is left on the pavement outside the building with no one around him, awkwardly standing there. He didn't know where to go. Should he follow Niles? No, no--- Gavin didn't want to be around him anymore.

He must look pathetic, wanting to run away and cry to his mother about what had just occurred--- but he'll do it nonetheless.

There was only one thing that Gavin knew from his first and last encounter with his therapist.

He's locking the windows.

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

ALSO POSTED ON AO3:

[etlunainmorte]

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

VI

***

"So, how did your first night go?" Avery mildly asked later that same morning in the dining hall as all the occupants of the room enjoyed their fluffy pancakes, maple syrup, and coffee.

To this question, V carefully placed (Y/N)'s diary on top of the table, hoping Avery would recognize it.

"What's that?" Nico asked with her mouth full of those fluffy pancakes as she pointed at the leather - bound book with her fork.

"I believe this,... belongs to someone you know,... Ms. Avery." V simply answered as his peripheral vision landed straight onto Griffon as the demonic bird slyly landed on Roman's chair, probably with the full intention of terrorizing the man once more.

Avery's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took the book from the table and examined it. "This looked super old." She opened it, and upon reading the words on the first page of the journal, her eyes widened like saucers. "Damn! I thought this thing's lost! Like, what the fuck!"

"My love, what is it?" Roman curiously asked as he leaned closer to her to see what was written on the journal. At the same time Griffon managed to steal one of his pancakes.

Avery focused her gaze on V, looking really baffled, and yet, happy at the same time. "This belongs to my great grandmother who died at 1899. You see, there was, how should I say this,... ?" She mused aloud as the others, especially V, waited for her answer. She pursed her lips, her fingers drumming on the table, and looked at them once more. "Something huge, like, really huge, happened here on that year, and I believe it was the cause of her death. You see, she passed away at the very young age of nineteen."

"What happened to her?" V, who was so shocked upon learning that the girl he saw - that radiant and lovely and happy girl he just saw - died that young, asked, his voice a bit unintentionally louder than he liked.

"I'm not sure, really. Some say she died of childbirth. Some say she died of an illness. I even heard some relatives say she died due to heart attack. The only thing I could remember was: every time I ask my relatives about it, there would always be a different version of how (Y/N) (L/N) - Lancaster died. And this thing?" Avery declared as she showed them her ancestor's diary. "It's thought to be lost. Either stolen by one of the Lancaster servants on the day she died or lost in a fire. But, you found this, V. What a strange coincidence!"

"I did. Yes." The poet uneasily answered due to the fact that the things around this house were really turning too mysterious for his own liking,...

... and due to the fact that Griffon was now happily lapping away at Roman's coffee, and no one even noticed, or they're just playing ignorant about it to not make Avery's soft Hispanic fiancé upset.

"Where did you find this?"

"At the room on the second floor. The one from the left."

"Hmm." Avery hummed as she closed the book shut. "That one from the left? That's very strange." She uttered, then slid the book back to V, who received it with much care and pride like a veteran soldier receiving a medal for his years of services. "Well, I'm not really a diary kind of person, and it's useless to me, anyway, so, you can have it. Nothing's written on it, anyway. Except for her name, that is."

"For real?" Nico asked, intrigued at what she just heard from Avery. "Like, nothing at all?"

"Yep."

"V?"

The poet obliged and opened the book. He browsed and re - browsed the pages and found nothing, except for (Y/N)'s name at the first page, and the date she wrote it.

May 1, 1898

V ignored the fact that he certainly saw (Y/N) write something in it on that weird vision he saw last night and turned his attention back to the group. Maybe she ripped the pages she wrote on or something?

"Ms. Avery, would you kindly tell me about these,... strange occurrences,... you've been experiencing as of late?" V asked, carefully choosing his words while trying to ignore Griffon as the bird ate one more of Roman's pancakes.

"Ah, yes. The ghost." She answered, emphasizing on the word, ghost. "If you want, I'll show you something first, then I'll tell you everything I know."

"Of course." V agreed as he stood up and finally gave Griffon, who successfully consumed Roman's entire breakfast, the subtle angry eye.

"What in the world?!" Roman gasped as he finally noticed his breakfast, or lack, thereof. Griffon simply flew away from him with what sounded like a strange and, yet satisfied, cackle.

A few moments later, all four of them found themselves in the music room that also served as the mansion's library, and as V glanced at the whole place, and the shelves upon shelves of old books, not to mention the grand piano in the middle of the massive room, with much wonder in his eyes, he could not help but smile to himself. The whole house may feel depressing and both physically and emotionally draining but, this place? V felt happy, or giddy, in it, as a matter of fact. Excited, even. Almost as if he was in an entirely different place, altogether.

It's as if what's left of the happiness, or positive energy, in this house were all concentrated in this area, and this area alone. Particularly on that old, grand piano. Yes. He could definitely feel it.

But, why?

"I stay in here whenever things in this house get too scary." Roman admitted to him with a sheepish smile, probably in admittance that he's not the bravest soul around. "When things get too much around here, I go to this room, lock the door, and read something." Roman chuckled as he scratched his temple and gestured at the grand piano. "I can't play the piano but, I'd really like to learn how. Avery can't really teach me, to be honest."

"Well, I'm right here if you need some musical assistance." V graciously offered.

"Wait, are you serious?!"

But only as compensation for being terrorized by this little Demon. "I' am."

"Gracias! I mean, thanks!"

"No problem."

"Over here!" Avery called from the farthest corner of the room. "Here's a portrait of my great gran."

In his eagerness to see (Y/N) as a portrait, V practically rushed to where Avery was. He wanted so much to see the happy and infatuated girl in that vision he had. He wanted so much to see her infectious smile, those shiny and bouncing (H/C) curls, the twinkle in her eyes.

Yes. Those big and beautiful (E/C) eyes,...

However, the smile on V's face vanished as soon as he laid eyes on (Y/N)'s portrait.

"Ah, she looks,... kinda sad?" Nico muttered as she looked up at the portrait of the Lancaster matriarch.

It was true. The girl that V saw and the girl in this portrait,...

... they looked very different. It was like they were a different person. For the once cheerful and radiant girl full of life,...

... was somehow depicted as a sorrowful woman without even a hint of a smile. That youthful face he once saw has seemingly aged a few decades, and those radiant eyes that captured his undivided attention looked dull and hopeless. Those plump, cherry - colored cupid lips turned into one thin, emotionless line, and her flushed cheeks turned hollow and ill - looking. The positive aura she gave off was absent in her frigid state, and the healthy color of her skin has become noticeably pale. And probably the most important of all: the girl he saw may only be wearing a simple white dress but, her beauty and charisma outmatched that of the matriarch's in the portrait, who sported the high fashion of the late 1800s from head to foot.

She really looked entirely different.

V's eyebrows furrowed and his lips went down to a frown at the sight.

What made her into this,... ?

Avery cleared her throat and gestured at the painting as if she was introducing them to a real person. "I'd like you to meet gran. Lady (Y/N) (L/N) - Lancaster." She sighed and dropped her arms. "Honestly though, Roman is right. This room is the safest place in this house. Anywhere else, you'll just end up either depressed, if you aren't already, or badly injured or wounded. Things don't just float around here. They'll float, then land straight to your face without a warning if you're not careful. The last six helpers I have left this place with all kinds of bruises and wounds on their body, even injuries like broken bones. And they all blamed that one ghost who resides within those rooms on the right side of the second floor."

That's where I first checked until that specter led me to (Y/N)'s room. "What's in those rooms?" V questioned her.

"Just an old bedroom and two study rooms. Nothing too important."

"I see." V answered. He, then, crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Avery very, very seriously. "Have you, perhaps, felt something else in it? A strong feeling? Anything at all?"

Roman and Nico watched the woman as she crossed her arms, herself, thinking deeply about the question. At the same time, V's trusty familiars, Griffon and Shadow, grabbed this opportunity to snoop around the area, particularly the shelves and the grand piano in the middle of the room.

"Now that you mention it, yes, I have!" She finally answered. "The last time I slept in one of those rooms, I felt,... sad and super tired. Like I wanted to end my own life! But, I know myself. I'm stronger than that. So, I moved my things to the first floor right next to this room. I may have acquired a bruise and some scratches during my sleep on the second floor but, I don't care. My great gran has protected me since I moved down here."

Roman smiled at his fiancé and wrapped her in a gentle embrace as he planted a kiss on top of her head. And the tender gesture displayed by the two kind of embarrassed both V and Nico, who looked away just in time when Avery reciprocated with a kiss.

"So, we would really appreciate it if you could get to the bottom of this mystery for us." Avery pleaded with a tone unlike the one she used the first time V met her. "If you want to ask any questions, or want to ask for any kind of thing at all. Please. Don't hesitate to let us know. Your presence alone means a lot to me and Roman. Thank you for coming here, V and Nico."

Nico smiled and nudged V with an elbow. "Sure. We don't want a ghost crashing on your wedding day, after all. Isn't that right, V?"

The poet only smiled as he simply nodded, his peripheral vision catching sight of his familiars already waiting for him near the piano, signaling to him that they have found a sort of clue.

After all, they would need all the clues, and help, they could get.

A restless and violent spirit that has the ability to manipulate things and hurt people.

That strong feeling of depression that could overwhelm anyone into committing suicide.

That one room on the left, and those three rooms on the right.

The huge time skips when he visited certain parts of the house.

This one safe room.

That strange journal he found.

The (Y/N) he saw on the vision.

And the (Y/N) that was depicted in the painting.

Not to mention her alleged "protection" to anyone who came into this room.

Many things don't add up. The scattered and unreliable information provided by Avery's relatives regarding the Lancaster matriarch's death and the things that took place in this house in the late 1800s, Maria and her enigmatic statements, that strange boy, that veiled ghost,...

... and (Y/N)'s drastic change to that unspeakable being of hopelessness,...

V has to stitch them all up and find more clues, and he truly hoped that Avery or Nico could help him solve this mystery.

But, first, he has to speak with his familiars about that thing they just found.

And maybe scold Griffon for stealing the red handkerchief from Roman's pocket just now,...

***

✒ @la-vita and @micaelagua . ✒

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[ifishouldvanish]

Nighthawks, Morningbirds

Chapter 3

Summary: Some unresolved feelings result in a bit of a meltdown. Rating: M

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Read on AO3]

Lacey French sleeping in one of his shirts is one of the most welcome sights Gold has ever woken up to. Her makeup from last night is smudged all over her cheeks and his pillowcase, her hair looks like a nest, and having her spend the night in his bed probably wasn't the best thing for this budding whatever it is between them— but it just feels so good to wake up and not be alone. To wake up next to someone who hasn't been sleeping with another man for five years. Next to someone who, for some ungodly reason, seems to actually like him and desire him.

Gods, he is going to fuck this up. How can he not fuck this up?

He scoffs. How presumptuous of him: Assuming there is anything to fuck up.

Lacey stirs and a little groan escapes her. Her eyes quickly flutter open and she already looks much more wakeful than he feels. “Hey.”

He smiles at her, convinced that if he were to reach out and touch her, she might disappear. “...Hey.”

“You're awake now.” She says, stretching her arms out and squirming up to him.

His smile widens. “I'm sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” He sneaks a glance at the alarm clock because seriously— did he? But it’s hardly a quarter past seven.

“Well, as a matter of fact…” She mumbles, leaning over and nuzzling his neck. “Yeah. You kinda did.”

“How… Terribly rude of me.” He hums. Lacey's hair falls onto his chest and in his face, and it still smells like berries and honeysuckle. She buries her face in his neck and starts kissing, or licking, or— biting?

“Ah!” He winces because that was definitely a bite, and the sharp sensation already has his cock beginning to stir. Files that particular bit of information away to consider later.

“Yeah,” She perks up with a giggle and nibbles her lip. “You could uh, make it up to me though?”

He gives her a lopsided grin. “And which of your wildest erotic fantasies might I be able to fulfill for you this morning?”

She studies him for a moment and fights back a smile. “You ever watch Highlander?”

He groans and rolls his eyes.

“I'm kidding! I'm kidding!” She laughs, swatting a hand at his shoulder and straddling over his lap. “...I just want your cock inside me again.”

For a second, he just blinks at her. Lacey is nothing, if not forward.

“...Oh.” He chuckles a little uncomfortably. Gold won't deny that he finds the prospect of being inside her again to be a very appealing one, but her enthusiasm this morning is a jarring contrast from last night and he's a bit skeptical. Nonetheless, she seems nothing short of eager now and he’s come to find that her moods are subject to turning on a dime. “Well,” he says, “I believe that could be arranged.”

“I thought so.” She shrugs, already beginning to grind her hips into him, working him up. “I was gonna wake you up with some head, but I figured you'd probably freak out on me again.”

He recalls his reaction in the car the last night and huffs out a laugh. “How considerate of you.”

“Mhmm.” She nods, stripping out of his shirt. She slides it off of her shoulders and carelessly tosses it on the floor. “I can be very considerate when I want to be.”

He lets out a groan and closes his eyes as she continues rubbing against him through his pajamas. God, it feels so good to be wanted. He reaches over to open the top drawer of the nightstand and fumbles inside for a condom.

His heart stops when he remembers he has none. Why would he? He hasn't gotten properly laid in six years.

He clears his throat. “Lacey.”

“...Yeah?”

“I don't… I don't have any protection.” He mumbles quickly in embarrassment.

She stops rolling her hips and frowns for a moment. “That's… okay? I mean— I'm like, clean, you know?”

“Lacey.”

“You can just pull out.” She shrugs. “I trust you.”

He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I'm glad you do, but I don't.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it’s cool.” She says, belied by her slouching shoulders.

“...Raincheck?” He offers weakly.

Lacey smiles and leans down over him.  “I didn't think Mr Gold did rainchecks.” She teases. “That's like… requesting an extension— How do I know you're good for it?”

“Ah—” He smirks and holds up a finger. “Because I never back out of a deal.” He taps her nose, delighted when she goes cross-eyed and it scrunches adorably in response.

“Hmm. You do have a point there…” She tilts her head and thinks for a moment. “I guess if I can't get a ride on your cock, I'd be willing to settle for a ride on your face instead?” She suggests, already crawling further up his body. “You do me and I do you?”

Gold cracks a shark-like smile. “...And people say negotiation is a lost art.” He deadpans as she dips down to meet him for a kiss. Being with Lacey is so intoxicating, kissing her so dizzying, that he suddenly thinks he understands why Milah was able to carry out an affair for so long, and have seemingly so little guilt over it. It's a sobering thought that’s quickly replaced by the realization that he must look like some sort of poster child for recently divorced men who have crises and start sleeping with women half their age— if for no other reason than to assure themselves that they've still got it.

The train of thought is interrupted by a buzzing sound nearby. They stare blankly at each other until Gold manages a pointed glance at his phone where it sits idly on the nightstand. Lacey rolls her eyes and climbs off the side of the bed, fishing her own phone out of her purse.

“Ugh. It's my dad.” She scowls, setting the phone on the nightstand to continue its buzzing.

Christ, she is too young for him.

“You should answer it, dearie.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's becoming a goddamned lecher. Perfect.

Lacey stares at the buzzing phone again and huffs. “I guess.” She groans, snatching it up.

“Hey, dad.”

A rambling, thunderous voice erupts from the speaker and Lacey pulls the phone a few inches from her ear until it stops. Gold closes his eyes and exhales deeply. Of course Moe French would find a way to ruin his morning.

“I’m fine.” She grumbles, rolling her eyes again as she sits up comfortably in bed. “No. I'm… at a friend's. No. No. Yes, a male friend — Christ, dad!” Lacey throws her head back and sighs. “We are so not having this conversation right now! ...Dad? ...Dad. Dad, I’m hanging up! Bye! Love you! Don’t forget to take your meds!”

Her father’s voice continues to ramble from the other end of the line until Lacey hangs up and tosses her phone back on the nightstand.

“Sorry about that.” She shrugs, crawling back on top of him.

Gold just chuckles weakly. “Nothing to apologize for.” Is it possible to mean something, but not feel it?

“Anyway…” Lacey nuzzles his neck again but it’s nowhere near as enjoyable as it was five minutes ago. Fucking Moe French. “We were… negotiating,” she says with a giggle before claiming his mouth for another kiss.

Gold tries to reciprocate— he wants to—  but his mind is stuck replaying that phone call on an infinite loop. And then it hits him.

Shit. Meds. Dr Whale.

In his ambitious mood the other day, he had accepted the 9:30AM appointment on Tuesday that just happened to have opened up. Gods, he's been drinking himself to sleep for months without managing to do anything he regretted in the morning half as much as this.

“Maybe we—” With a sigh, he breaks the kiss and pulls away, not quite meeting her eyes. “Maybe we shouldn't. Actually.”

Lacey fists at the sheets and pulls them up to her chin, covering herself. “Why not?” She asks, not quite looking him in the eyes.

He can think of about a dozen reasons why not.

I’m old enough to be your father.

I’m clingy and you’ll regret having ever slept with me at all.

I still really like you and don’t want whatever this is to just be about sex.

I don’t think I can handle another person getting bored and inevitably leaving me.

Gold presses his lips into a thin line for a moment and scoffs. “I… well, I—” He sits up and smiles at her, taking her hand in his. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I promised you breakfast, is all.”

She narrows her eyes at him and smiles. “Sounds like a cop-out.”

He isn’t going to argue that.

“C’mon.” He says, patting a hand on her bottom until she takes the cue and climbs off of his lap. He swings his feet out of bed and begins rolling the stiffness out of his ankle. “What do you like? Pancakes? Omelette? Toast?”

“Hmm… Surprise me?”

He looks over his shoulder at her, where she’s buttoning his shirt back up. “Something tells me it takes a lot to surprise you.” He teases. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

 *****

 Lacey’s actually feeling pretty optimistic about today. She woke up at 5:30 and couldn’t fall back asleep— but it gave her a chance to think about their encounter with Arthur last night, and she thinks she’s figured out why he got under her skin so quickly. She couldn’t care less when a guy like Keith hounds her because she knows he ain’t worth shit. But Arthur was a complete stranger. Wear did it mean if someone who had never even seen her before could say those kinds of things to her? Does it all just follow her around like a bad smell?

It doesn’t matter. Given another chance, she’d still knock that asshole’s teeth out, because he ain’t worth shit either. Arthur might have ruined her dinner with Gold, but she'll be God damned if she'll let him ruin her morning with him. Admittedly, she’s a little disappointed that she wasn't able to properly thank him for getting her off last night— but she's sure he'll mention it later.

The breakfast Gold is putting together definitely looks and smells better than Lacey's usual bowl of Cocoa Pops. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone appear so in their element in the kitchen before. But when she tried hovering over his shoulder to watch, he kept insisting, “no peeking.” All she knows is that whatever he’s making, it involves a measure of bourbon, so it has to be good.

When Lacey’s eyes aren’t fixed on Gold’s rear, they’re focused on his china cabinet. It really is a beautiful piece— when you pretend the glass isn't missing and the muntins aren't snapped and splintered. But moreover, there's the cutest little teacup sitting all by itself atop one of the shelves, and Lacey feels drawn to it. She wouldn't mind adding something like it to her own collection. It’s so dainty and delicate that it just might look perfectly rebellious sitting beside her assortment of irreverent novelty coffee mugs.

“Coffee's ready.” Gold calls out softly. “Black?”

“Mhmm.” She nods, watching as he reaches into one of the cabinets for a cup. “Hey— can I use that cup?”

He looks to where she's pointing and knits his brows together. “I… I guess.” He scowls. “If you like.”

“Cool.” She shrugs and carries it over to him so he can pour her a cupful.

“Just— be careful.” He warns. “It’s chipped.”

Lacey rolls her eyes. “I'm not that clumsy, Gold. Just gotta drink from the good side, see?” She says, tilting the cup demonstratively. Gold just smiles and returns to the stove.

Fifteen minutes and half an orgasmic plate of bourbon peach French toast later, Lacey is in fact very clumsy.

Gold keeps staring at the clock and anxiously tapping a finger on the side of his coffee mug, and quite frankly it’s terribly distracting— ’It’ being the wonderful view she has of his sharp, angular profile and the hypnotic pulsing of the tendons in his hand. She’s debating whether or not to ask him what the fuck he keeps staring at the clock for (because honestly? How rude) when she takes a fateful sip from the wrong side of the cup.

Hot coffee dribbles down her chest and onto her lap and she yelps, nearly jumping out of her seat. “Fuck!”

Gold’s eyes snap away from the clock and he lunges across the table, rushing to take the cup from her hands and almost knocking his own over in the process. “What-what-what— Are you alright?!”

She looks down at the splash of coffee on her shirt— his shirt, his perfectly white shirt— and groans. “God dammit...”

He reaches a trembling hand out to her but withdraws it quickly before making contact. “You— you're alright? You're not burned?”

“It's fine. It’s not that hot.” She says, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. “Just… whoops?”

Gold sighs and shakes his head before finally scrambling for the roll of paper towels. “I-I'm sorry—”

“It's fine—”

“Let me get that—”

“It’s fine.”

“I am so sorry.” He hastily tears a sheet off and moves to dab her chest with it but stops himself, holding the towel up in the air uselessly. “I-I don't even know why I still have that stupid thing—” He stammers.

“It's fine!”

“No, it’s my fault.” He insists, and he sounds so angry with himself. He honestly believes it. “I should have thrown that bloody thing out with the rest—”

“Gold.” She grunts, ripping the paper towel out of his hand and wiping the coffee off of her thighs. “It’s fine.”

His eyes dart frantically over her face while his mouth hangs open. He doesn't know what to do with himself.

“...I—I'm sorry?” He stammers again.

“Stop apologizing!” She snaps. “I'm over it, alright?! ...You can stop coddling me!”

Gold takes a half step back and stares blankly at her, his arms drawn tightly against his chest.

Lacey feels her face grow hot and her pulse starting to throb in her temples. Nothing says, “I'm over what happened last night,” like screaming, “I’m over it, alright!?” at somebody who's just trying to clean spilled coffee. So much for her 5:30AM revelation.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. “I'm sorry, it just— I’m the one who ruined your shirt, okay?”

He knits his brows together in confusion. “...I never wear white.” He says matter-of-factly.

Lacey blinks at him for a moment. “What?”

He suddenly seems to notice the way she’s staring and his cheeks grow pink. “...What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just forget it, alright? I made the mess. I’ll clean it up myself. I can do that much.”

“You… you don’t have to.” He says meekly.

“Well, I want to, okay?” She sighs, swiping the roll of paper towels from the table and getting on her knees. “I’m not completely fucking helpless, you know.” She mutters under her breath as she soaks the puddle up off of the floor. Her lip is trembling though and she feels the urge to cry and just how fucking embarrassing is that?

Gold clears his throat. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”

In her effort to not bust into tears over spilled coffee, she can only manage a litany of snivels and huffs.

“You—” He cuts himself off and kneels down beside her and she wishes he wouldn’t because she knows it’ll be a bitch for him to get back up because of his ankle. “I don’t think you’re helpless.” He says. “You’re strong. Much stronger than I am.”

“Don't.” Lacey shakes her head. “You were right.” She mumbles, wiping her nose with her forearm.

“Right about what?”

“That I’m full of shit!” She says, tossing the saturated paper towel across the floor. “I said I didn’t give a damn what people think, but I do!”

He doesn’t offer any assurances to her right away, but she can tell he’s trying by the way his lips are pressed together.

“Of course you do.” He says and she rolls her eyes. “B-But... the thing— it— well—” He keeps stammering and she feels so bad because he’s trying so hard and she knows she’s hardly worth the effort. “I think it’s good to give a damn.” He finally says. “You have a right to be angry. And hurt.”

Lacey scoffs and shakes her head. “If that was true, they wouldn’t have punished you for it with anger management classes.” She says bitterly.

Gold huffs out a laugh.

“No.” She says. “It’s bullshit. People like us get fucked over by assholes our whole lives but when we finally say fuck that, fuck you and stand up for ourselves, we’re the ones who get shit for it and it’s not fucking fair!”

“I know, I know.” He hushes. He takes her hand and rubs his gently thumb over her skin. The gesture itself doesn't do as much to comfort her as the realization that he's trying . That for once someone isn't just calling her a psycho bitch and running away.

“H-He talked about me like I wasn’t even there.” She snivels, wiping her running nose on her arm again. “I hate— I hate that, okay?! I fucking hate that!”

“I know,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around her. “I do too.”

Lacey's not sure whether she's talking about Arthur or Gerard at this point, or if they've just merged into one entity best defined as people who've hurt me. She buries her face in his chest and cries, and he just rubs a hand over her back.

“Shh… it's alright.”

It’s several minutes until Lacey calms down. She slowly untangles herself from his arms and wipes her cheeks.

“Better?” He asks, tucking a lock of hair away from her tear-dampened face.

She nods and takes a deep breath, staring back and the now dried puddle of coffee on the tile. “I just— I want to clean it up by myself.”

“Okay.” He gives her a weak smile. “I understand.”

Gold groans as he pulls himself off the floor, leaning heavily on the table to spare his ankle the stress. He grabs the cup again and carries it over to the sink to dump it. Lacey tears her eyes away from the floor at the sound of the coffee sloshing into the sink and babbling down the drain. He starts walking the cup over to the garbage can and she sighs.

“No.” She insists and he stops to look over his shoulder at her. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“I like it.”

“...What?” He asks again, and he's so adorably confused at this point that Lacey almost forgets to answer him.

“I like the cup.” She mumbles, climbing to her feet and taking it from his hands.

“You could have hurt yourself.”

Lacey's never seen somebody so distraught over the possibility of hurting her before, let alone so inadvertently. Spilled coffee. She spilled a half a cup of coffee and he went into panic mode. If she didn’t know any better, she might find it comical. But she does know better, and it’s actually just really sad.

“Look.” She says softly. “This cup has clearly been through some shit,” she says, smiling weakly and holding it up for him to see. “But um, you can still drink out of it. ...You know?”

He looks down at it and opens his mouth as if to protest.

“I mean... we’re kinda chipped too.” She adds shyly, her eyes focused on the cup because she can't quite bring herself to meet his eyes. “People look at us the wrong way, or say the wrong thing, and they get a lap full of coffee.”

The uncertainty finally leaves his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a little smile. “...Or a foot up the arse?”

Lacey bites down on her lip, trying to fight the little giggle that wants to bubble out of her. “Exactly.” She traces her finger along the notch in the cup’s rim for a moment. “I’m just not ready to be thrown out yet. Are you?”

“No. I-I suppose not.” He places his hand over hers, his thumb brushing over her own where she's picking at the chip. “We'll just… have to rinse it out and try again, hm?”

Lacey nods. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

 *****

 Gold insisted Lacey relax and make herself at home while he cleans the kitchen, so she hopped in the shower to wash the smell of coffee off of her body before changing into her clothes from the night before. She may have also sloshed around some mouthwash she found under the sink while she was looking for condoms to no avail.

She might still have some ruminating to do as far as that prick Arthur is concerned, but she's at least decided on one thing: she wants to sleep with Gold again— sooner rather than later, and she doesn't give a damn about whether or not she “should”. It’s different with him, she’s decided, because she actually likes him. It’s as if the two of them speak a language together that no one else understands. When she gets upset and snaps, he has this look in his eyes like he knows exactly what she’s feeling. It’s not about thanking him or wanting to return a favor. He just makes her smile and feel good and she wants to make him feel good too. The other night in her bed he was so content and at ease and she did that. Who says she couldn't do it again?

Having given up on raiding the bathroom cabinets, Lacey grabs her purse and plops onto Gold’s bed. She rummages through all of the compartments, then dumps all of its contents out in frustration. Her phone, her keys, some cash, several crumpled up gum wrappers and receipts from the liquor store, her favorite tube of lipstick, a tampon.

“Seriously?” She huffs, shoving her hand inside the bag again and groping at the now empty lining. Finally, something pointy pokes at her skin. Holding her breath, she slowly pulls it out, and she's pretty sure she can hear a choir of angels singing. “Oh, thank God!” She says with a relieved sigh, tucking the little foil packet into her bra.

Gold's still finishing up when Lacey makes it back downstairs. She should sneak up behind him and nibble his neck, but for some reason she can't bring herself to. For some reason, she’s nervous about it. Instead she just watches him with a little smile on her face and a warmth in her chest until the last plate makes it into the dishwasher and he spins around. He smiles at her, but then he looks at the fucking clock again and Lacey feels her heart drop into her stomach. Has she worn her welcome? Does he want her to leave? Can she blame him?

“I forgot, I ah, I have an appointment.” He says, wringing his hands together. “I’ll… I’ll get ready and I can drop you home on the way?”

“Oh.” On one hand, it explains his sudden infatuation with the clock. On the other, it looks like she won’t be jumping his bones after all. “Yeah. Sounds good.” She says, and he gives her a tight-lipped smile before disappearing up the stairs.

Lacey finds herself pacing around the living room. Every surface in Gold’s home is crowded merrily with antique lamps, tiny metal ornaments painted with colorful patterns, and old books bound in worn leather. She cautiously picks up one of the pieces— an enameled candlestick holder— and marvels at all of its tiny details. There’s soaring dragons and blooming lotuses in pinks and reds and greens sprawling across a field of blue.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lacey hurries to put it back down, almost knocking over a photo frame in the process. Gold is standing in the doorway— looking criminally handsome in one of his suits— and if the way he’s leaning against the frame is any indication, he’s been standing there for some time.

“I’m sorry, it’s expensive, isn't it? I shouldn't have—”

“No, no. You’re fine.” Gold hushes, walking over and picking it back up.

Lacey slowly turns to look at it with him.  “It’s uh, really pretty.”

“Cloisonné.” He says. “Technique dates back to the ancient Middle East. They solder this thin wire into intricate patterns—” He indicates the gold strokes that make up the design with his finger, “then fill each of the spaces— the cloisons — with enamel and fire it. This particular piece is from nineteenth century China. Qing Dynasty.”

Lacey stares at it for a moment and wets her lips. Smiles. “Is that what the guy who sold it to you said?”

Gold huffs out a laugh. “You don’t trust my appraisal skills?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at him. “Well I mean, c’mon— how do you know? ”

His lips slowly curl into a smug grin. “One simply must know what to look for, Miss French.” He says. He flips it over and taps a finger on the bottom of the base. “This here… is an imperial seal. Went out of favor at the turn of the century. Any pieces made for export after that time will say China or Made in China instead, so that dates it before 1897.”

Lacey blinks owlishly, trying not to look too impressed yet. “Okay.” She says, putting her hands on her hips. “I'm listening.”

“Now—” He winks and flips it over again to point at the thin wires that make up the shapes in the design. “If you look closely, the diameter of the wires is consistent. It doesn't get thicker in some places and thinner in others. Wrought wiring like this wasn’t used until the late Qing dynasty which, of course, was the last dynastic period before China became a republic in 1911.”

Lacey always imagined the only reason people collected antiques was because they were expensive and therefore a good way to show off how much money you have to other people who also have lots of money. But Gold is smiling brightly, dimples and all, and speaking with such a genuine passion for the history and the craftsmanship of the thing that she has no choice but to dispel the idea entirely.

In short, he's a total fucking nerd.

“You might also notice that these wires haven't been soldered at all.” He continues, holding it up to her closely. “Soldered wiring is usually riddled with imperfections— pits and dark spots, fractures from the baking process, that sort of thing. But during the eighteenth century, they started using an adhesive to lay the wire, which produced a much cleaner result like we see here.”

He’s speaking so confidently and as cute as he is when he’s a flustered, babbling mess, confidence is such a good color on him. “I have to admit—” Lacey says, bobbing her head thoughtfully, “I'm kinda getting weirdly turned on by this.”

“Ah, but there's more!” He beams. “Look at these areas of pink.”

Lacey squints at the lotus petals and frowns, not sure what she's supposed to be looking for. “Yeah, that's um… definitely pink.”

“Precisely.” He says, holding a finger up in the air. “Prior to the Qing dynasty, they didn't use pink enamel. They would use white and red within the same cloison to create the illusion of pink. Furthermore, the cloisons that form the dragons’ scales have a smooth gradation of color— another technique that wasn’t introduced until the 18th century. However, the scrolling design motif— the lotus in particular— is a trademark of the Ming dynasty.” He pauses and wets his lips. “You see, during the nineteenth century, the antique market was growing and there was a demand for pieces that replicated the Ming style. Paired with techniques developed in late Qing dynasty, a Ming design motif dates the piece quite firmly in the nineteenth century.”

“...Huh.”

“So.” He coughs and looks away shyly, a small blush rising to his cheeks. “That’s how I know.”

Lacey blinks at the piece owlishly. “...Cool.” She says with a chuckle, meeting his eyes again. “I mean, I guess it's kinda like how I can hear a few seconds of a Van Halen song and know what album it is judging by the way the guitars sound.”

He pouts thoughtfully for a moment, then lets out a little scoff. “...Aye. I suppose it is.”

“Or how you can tell a Def Leppard song from a Poison or a Whitesnake one?”

He sets the candlestick back down without taking his eyes off of her. “You'll have to enlighten me sometime.” He says, his head bobbling ever so slightly as he wiggles his brows.

“I will.” She grins, taking a step closer to him. Lacey can't think of anything she'd enjoy more than subjecting Mr Gold to her beloved, though in all honesty pretty shameful, record collection. They could order pizza, or takeout, or just whatever (she's not picky), and talk about things that aren't depressing— like her very strong opinions on what the top five guitar solos to come out of 1987 are. After all, she doesn't know the first thing about antiques, but she enjoyed listening to him talk about the history of Chinese cloisonné techniques anyway.

“You know, I uh, have some pieces from China too.” She says. “...Late twentieth, early twenty-first century?”

Gold raises a brow at her and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a little smirk.

“Really cool technique where they uh, make these molds and fill them with plastic?” She explains, trying not to laugh. “Allows them to produce hundreds of thousands of units that are completely identical.”

He cracks a toothy grin and inches closer to her. “Sounds incredible.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She snorts, wholly aware of the light, bubbling feeling in her chest. “Not gonna lie.”

His focus darts back and forth between her eyes and lips, and they lean into each other almost imperceptibly. Lacey wets her lips and lids her eyes, wanting so badly to close the gap between them.

She feels his breath land on her cheek and she goes all in, because it’s all the invitation she needs. She catches his eyes going wide as she pulls him close, but he doesn’t hesitate to respond in kind with a little moan when she traces her tongue along his lips. His hair is still a little damp when she runs her fingers through it and he smells so amazing and tastes so good and Lacey’s certain she wouldn’t mind standing there and kissing him all day long. But when they finally part to catch their breath, there’s a strange, disorienting giddiness that keeps her from doing anything more than just staring and smiling at him— and judging by the lopsided grin on his face, she’s pretty sure he feels it too.

She shifts on her feet, her eyes fixed on the knot of his tie. “You uh, sure about that appointment?” She asks. “Maybe you should call in sick.”

“That’d be a shite excuse for missing a doctor’s appointment, Miss French.”

Lacey folds her arms over her chest. “The only shite excuse I'm hearing is the one for that thing you call a sense of humor.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Says the woman who was just flirting with me over the mass production of consumer goods.”

“Well it worked, didn't it?” She laughs. “I think that says more about you than it does about me.”

“Fair enough.” He gives her a peck on the forehead, looking far too pleased with himself when she huffs and scrunches her face in response. “Now put those ridiculous things back on your feet,” he says, nodding toward her heels by the front door. “You're going to make me late.”

“Fine.” She giggles, traipsing across the floor for her shoes. “I’d hate for all of your anxiety this morning to be for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing.” He shrugs. “If there’s anything that makes me more nervous than a doctor’s appointment, it’s the company of a charming woman.”

Lacey snorts. “I think you’re full of shit.” She says.

But what she really thinks— or dares to hope— is that he isn’t.